My horoscope for this month said “Expect an urge to splurge.” Instead of taking it as a word of caution, I took it as a call for action and decided to personally participate in Fashion’s Night Out, an annual event when stores roll out champagne, live music and discounts. Stores – as in Gucci. Me – as in jeans and a white t-shirt.
B. threatened to buy new electronics but I was a woman on a mission. A couple of weeks ago I came across a woman at Trader Joe’s (as high-end as it gets for my grocery shopping) who looked like what I would want to look like when I grew up. Trouser jeans. Black cardigan. A chiffon top with dangling thingies that looked like it was more expensive than all of my t-shirts combined. Now I was determined to find that same sense of classy understatement preferably under $50.
Enter problem number one. Why was I taking fashion cues from a gal with a grocery cart? Because as it turns out, I had managed to live for over 30 years on complete fashion auto pilot. As in with little to no skills in finding the right colors, matching them with textures and pairing them with something other than jeans. The only color advice I managed to absorb was from B. who had identified me as a “winter” thus giving me some direction, with choices like “pink salmon” and “icy lavender.”
Determined to find the right stuff even with a serious case of color blindness I entered a store where I sometimes shop. And got ignored. To the point where that I had to interrupt their conversation to ask them for a fitting room. When I got called “Honey” I turned around and left.
Just to go to a store across the hallway. Here I usually buy a pair of work pants a season and may a jacket. On sale. Still pretty pissed, I just about bit the head off the sales person who was pointing to a new line of grays that “matched my eyes.” Wait a second. Did she not only talk to me abut also offered color advice? Would she help match an outfit? How about a dress? A couple of belts? Maybe a jacket to go with the new jeans and a new white t-shirt? It would also match that first sweater… Oh and the black top? With dangling things? How much front action? Lots of dangle or a little bit?
“I still feel guilty about how much money I spent last night,” I told my friend M. this morning. “I bought a dress and a skirt in one night. I hadn’t owned either in something like a decade.”
“So?” M said. “Over 30 means confident, beautiful and able to afford it. Enjoy!”