He settles the childless woman in her home as a happy mother of children. —Psalm 113:9

August 5, 2008

Personal Style

I've been thinking that it's high time I cultivated myself some personal style, fashion-wise. I mean, I've been thirty-five for a while now. I'm officially a grown-up, right? And that's what grown-ups supposedly do. They put away the eclectic tee-shirt and pajama bottoms collections, stop dressing according to "what's comfortable" and "what's on clearance," and develop a style and dress accordingly. Right?

So this morning I got a bug up my derriere that compelled me to seek out advice on building my very own personal style. The best advice I came across was on Jezebel, which amounted to, "know your decade." Brilliant! And what is my decade? What is a decade from the last century that embraced curves and made clothing to flatter hips and ample bosoms?

Why, the Fifties, of course! Which works out well, because I've recently developed a fascination with late-fifties/early-sixties style clothing and glamor and whatnot--which, as it turns out, is really big in pin-up girl circles, which I harbor super-sekrit ambitions to join someday. Mainly because I'm enamored with just how girlish and tastefully sexy the look is, pretty and provocative without showing off a lot of skin. I want to be girlish and pretty and tastefully sexy! Bingo! I've found my personal style!

And then I drop my Burt's Bees Lip Shimmer in my lap, sans cap, and stain my plain Jane khaki capris, and I think of all of the other clothes hanging in my closet that are covered with stains, and I think to myself, "Jean, dear, the only personal style to which you need to aspire is called 'clean.'" And there endeth my fantasies of dolling myself up in pinup couture. I guess for now I'm stuck with my eclectic mix of nerdy/preppy/hippy/geeky/don't-give-a-crap-y. Hey, who says I don't have a personal style?

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