Life as a fashion disaster

It happens every couple of years. I delay as long as possible, but it’s inevitable. There will be tears.

Some women get excited, but personally, I dread it; this need to buy clothing.

It’s something a lot of people struggle with, and it comes down to the fact we’re wearing clothes made to a standard size, when for best fit clothes need to be tailored. There’s no standard body. Beyond that, we don’t dress for the weather as much as for the person we need to be today. I get it. There are lots of factors (that I’m not covering) that make buying clothes suck, and whilst I understand what’s going on, that doesn’t make the suck factor decrease.

I tell my little Goddesses that clothing is a way to express themselves, but that their clothes should also be practical. Bast, like me, expects her clothes to be comfortable. Artemis will sacrifice comfort for beauty. (Elen, she’s naked. That’s four-year-olds for you.) These are hard lessons for children to learn, particularly when their teacher hasn’t mastered them.

It’s a repeating scenario. Every couple of years my clothes fall apart and need to be replaced. Not everything at once, but enough that I can’t ignore it anymore. Winter is the worst for that. Summer is beautiful, the clothes are simple, if required at all. But when it gets cold? Layers of bulky restricting fabric. Too much and you’ll be a humid mess. Yuck. I don’t drive, so there’s nowhere to leave a jacket, no back-up plan if I underdress. My backpack is full of kids’ stuff and lunch, as a general rule.

I was having a whinge to Deer Heart about this earlier; I just want to be comfortable and not look like a couch potato. Oh, and not spend $50+ on each item. And no, I don’t have the time or interest to spend days combing through op-shops, matching up perfect finds, or making adjustments to clothes to have them fit my stubby legs. Clothes are something I am lazy about. You have to pick your battles. I feel like this is a battle I can’t win.

For instance, I had to buy a dress last summer for a family photoshoot. Usually if I have to dress up I’m all about tailored pants and button-down shirts but it’s 40 degrees, and a kid’s party to boot. So, frock it.

I’m there in Sportsgirl trying on dresses. I’ve found one I think is going to be perfect. I put it on. Take a deep breath. Look in the mirror.

No joke, I look like a man who was putting up a tent and it fell on him, and now he can’t get out. I wasn’t even a man in a dress, which I get sometimes. Nope. Man in a floppy tent, tangled and alone in the woods. Frankly my dear, it was fucked.

This kind of thing happens every time I attempt to buy clothes.

Right now my confidence is at an all-time low anyway because no matter how much I explain to Bast that we don’t judge people by their looks, and that words are powerful and can hurt, she won’t stop commenting on my body. I don’t know where she got the idea that fat = bad (certainly wasn’t me,) but it’s stuck in her craw something awful. I’ve explained multiple times why I still look pregnant when I’m not. We talk about muscles and stretching and pregnancy and how it all works. She sees that I eat well and I live an active lifestyle. And yet she’s asked about my belly so many times, both at home and in public, that it’s actually started to affect me.

Elen’s at it too, but not as bad. The other week she grabbed my belly through my shirt, gave it a shake and said “need to do something about this.” Who the fuck has been acting like this in front of my child?! She doesn’t go that many places without me. She doesn’t watch TV. It boggles my mind.

There are clothes I can no longer wear because of my prolapse too. So, I’m already a bit sensitive. Some days I’m all “I’m a powerful goddess and my body is awesome and look at these children they were so worth it and nothing will ever get me down RAWR!” but those days never coincide with having to buy clothes.

I’d really like this to be the year I learn to dress for my personality, not just what I can afford meets it-kinda-fits.

Now I’m trying to figure out how people go about that. How do you find or create your personal style? I figure I need to pick a theme or two, so that all the pieces can mix and match, instead of having three outfits that look nothing alike and I can never change them up.

Getting frustrated, I turn to Deer Heart and I’m like “I’d wear tailored pants, collared shirts and ties every day, but everyone knows I don’t work.”

He goes, “So? Lots of women wear workout clothes all day, and they aren’t going to the gym.”

The man has a point (I’m one of these people in the spring, heh.) but that’s socially acceptable. And I think that’s where my real problem lies. I say, “I don’t care what people think of me,” and for the most part that’s true. Until they approach me and say things like “Who does your hair? I love it.” And “You’re wearing makeup! Going somewhere special?” Or “You look great today.”

These are all positive things. Logic tells me they’re just being nice. But internally I’m freaking out. The last thing I want is to be noticed. I’m nobody, just a shadow. Look away!!

Listen, I’m aware I’m different. Painfully aware. The other ladies at book club are stroking each other’s sweaters and commenting on designers I’ve never heard of. Mums at drop-off are all “I was so rushed this morning; I’ll have to go home and fix my hair!” meanwhile I shaved mine off because I can’t stand the feeling of hair touching my neck. (And also I’m lazy. We covered that, right?)

But whilst I know most of these people are normal, working 9-5, not leaving coffee out for their dead relatives or casting spells, attracted to only one gender, not ashamed to use disposables kind of people, I get a little panic when I’m reminded how different I am. I neither notice nor care what other people wear, but I’m hyper-aware that other people do notice. And they won’t hesitate to approach me.

I desperately want to dress like a witch. Or a hippie nature child. I want to be cosy and soft and swishy, but also be able to run or climb a fence if need be. And maybe be a little scary, scary is cool. I want a raincoat that looks like a cloak, which will totally clash with my backpack covered with nerdy pins. But I can’t have that and be invisible, and comfortable and cost-effective… can I?

So, how do you do it? Is there a secret that I’m missing? (please, don’t say it’s Pinterest. it’s Pinterest isn’t it?) Do you have a “style”? A personal uniform? Do you dress for the job you wish you had? Do you wear your house pants to the supermarket? How often do you update your wardrobe? Help!

Miriam Cumming would rather be naked. Ne lives in Sydney Australia with two cats, her three adorable children, and a sexy man that won’t turn off his computer and come to bed already.