They came. They saw. They trashed. Not just by literally throwing my clothes into a recycle bin but by showing me how I really look to the outside world. The stretched-out fabric. The worn-out crotches in jeans. They didn't make fun of the "baby juice," (the dried baby spit often full of crewed up graham crackers that Julian wipes on my shoulder when I pick up him up) but rather pointed out that I'm dressing like someone who should be a grandmother to a baby rather than an attractive young 24-year-old mother of one.
In a way, I knew everything they would say (see previous post). But in another, they totally took me by surprise. The stuff I thought was cute, they ripped apart (they literally ripped up a pair of shorts and a pair of jeans). The bright colors and patterns I was so proud of integrating into my wardrobe were the brunt of Stacy and Clinton's playful cynicism. And it was playful, but oh-so-serious. Serious in the sort of, oh-my-god-how-am-I-going-to-walk-out-of-the-house-until-new-york sort of way.
It really struck me, toward the end of the day, right before they went through my closet, throwing every thing into a recycle bin, that here I was, standing in my little old living room, dishing on Project Runway with Stacy London and Clinton Kelly. (He loves the show; she hates it.) I feel like I'm living in out-of-body experience. But lo and behold, my life goes on. I have to go back to work tomorrow. And Julian and Ian are just now walking through the door as I type this. Life does exist outside so-called reality television. And they are convincing me that if I have this confidence, this outlook on life, this incredible family, it is a betrayal of myself – of this identity I have worked so hard to mold – to continue dressing the way I do. Not that I don't have the occasional outfit to match my spirit, my life outside how I dress, but I most definitely need this. More than I could have realized.
I'm probably not even making sense at this point. Many, many house around a crew of about 15. Intense discussions with Stacy and Clinton about the psychology behind how we chose to present ourselves. Stacy and I had a chance, amid all the craziness of moving lights around and setting up shots, to sit on the couch and really talk about this. She admitted: It seems superficial to the cynic, the naysayer, the I'm-too-cool-to-care-what-anyone thinks of me crowd. But it's not. You do owe it to yourself to look the best you can. Not with the most expensive or most fashionable clothes. But clothes that reflect who you really are.
It sounds cheesy, I know. Maybe I'll be able to explain it better after I've had a chance to sit on it for awhile. I'm just hoping for a good night's sleep and something remotely attractive left over to wear to work tomorrow.
In a way, I knew everything they would say (see previous post). But in another, they totally took me by surprise. The stuff I thought was cute, they ripped apart (they literally ripped up a pair of shorts and a pair of jeans). The bright colors and patterns I was so proud of integrating into my wardrobe were the brunt of Stacy and Clinton's playful cynicism. And it was playful, but oh-so-serious. Serious in the sort of, oh-my-god-how-am-I-going-to-walk-out-of-the-house-until-new-york sort of way.
It really struck me, toward the end of the day, right before they went through my closet, throwing every thing into a recycle bin, that here I was, standing in my little old living room, dishing on Project Runway with Stacy London and Clinton Kelly. (He loves the show; she hates it.) I feel like I'm living in out-of-body experience. But lo and behold, my life goes on. I have to go back to work tomorrow. And Julian and Ian are just now walking through the door as I type this. Life does exist outside so-called reality television. And they are convincing me that if I have this confidence, this outlook on life, this incredible family, it is a betrayal of myself – of this identity I have worked so hard to mold – to continue dressing the way I do. Not that I don't have the occasional outfit to match my spirit, my life outside how I dress, but I most definitely need this. More than I could have realized.
I'm probably not even making sense at this point. Many, many house around a crew of about 15. Intense discussions with Stacy and Clinton about the psychology behind how we chose to present ourselves. Stacy and I had a chance, amid all the craziness of moving lights around and setting up shots, to sit on the couch and really talk about this. She admitted: It seems superficial to the cynic, the naysayer, the I'm-too-cool-to-care-what-anyone thinks of me crowd. But it's not. You do owe it to yourself to look the best you can. Not with the most expensive or most fashionable clothes. But clothes that reflect who you really are.
It sounds cheesy, I know. Maybe I'll be able to explain it better after I've had a chance to sit on it for awhile. I'm just hoping for a good night's sleep and something remotely attractive left over to wear to work tomorrow.
Julian's room became the monitor room.
Living-room- turned-studio for secret-footage reveal.
My own clapboard!
A house filled with crew, who desperately needed Starbucks.
The aftermath of the closet purge. They took everything (well, almost)but the clothes I'll wear for these weeks until I go to New York.
(ed. note: sorry, guys! can't rotate the image. guess that's why i'm taking an html class this semester.)
Easily the best outfit of the night.
5 comments:
I couldn't figure out how to edit my last comment so it got deleted...
I wanted to add (in addition too hoping you had a great time) that it was always your confidence and personality that made you attractive. Good clothes are just a bonus.
Whatever they say or do to your clothes, you are fantastic and this whole crazy thing is whatever you make of it, and knowing you, you will make much of it. So! Exciting!
I think it took me until I was 26 or so to develop any sort of personal style. Maybe you're just getting ahead in the game. :)
This just puts the finishing touches on your beautiful soul.
Awww. You guys are so sweet. Mom, that's the nicest thing anyone could have said. I appreciate the support and kind words. Personal style is most definitely a journey; I guess I just needed a little help along the way!
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