I am a stay-at-home Mama+I drive a minivan+I live in a teeny, tiny mountain town=the vital importance of my subscription to InStyle magazine.
After a full day of swimming and hanging out with my friends Lacey & Erica (while reading Star and OK! magazines--we had to get the latest scoop on Britney, you know), I threw on a grey cotton skirt, a blue t-shirt from Target and my ever-present, always-on-my-feet Reefs. Not exactly frumpy, but certainly not style worthy. In fact, I'd likely end up in the back of Glamour, with a big, black bar across my eyes. That's their polite manner of assessing, "Oh no, honey...don't!" But my clothes were easy and simple, and I was only going out to bring supper to my grandmother-in-law. There was no need for catwalk status. Writing this "out loud" makes me feel better.
So I sit here, listening to Depeche Mode (how "emo" can you get?), thinking that I need a wardrobe makeover. I'd love a closet full of designer threads (BCBG or Calvin Klein, anyone?), or at least a bunch of stuff from Ann Taylor, True Religion, or Anthropologie. But that would require a lot of thought, a ton of new shoes and accessories, and more weight loss. Oh yeah, and a ton of cash. Too much work!
I think I wanna become Winona Ryder, cicra 1989. A new pixie cut for my hair, lots of dark eyeliner in the daytime, and Chuck Taylors in every color imaginable. And maybe Johnny Depp on my arm. I'm just sayin'. Because then I could wear retro t-shirts the likes of these:
I'd dare not sport this around my town...it would just put me one step closer to someone's conviction that one day I'll wind up in Playboy. Ahem.
Admit it. You're now singing the song, and longing to roll in a 5.0, with the ragtop down so your hair can blow.
I love mullets. They are a part of everyday life in these parts, on both women and men. Kid you not! I would rock this shirt with jeans and a black Member's Only jacket. With my pixie haircut.
Alas, I dare not alter my fashion stance too radically. My children wouldn't recognize me without my faithful standards (Reefs and capris in the summer, fleece and boots in the winter), and my husband would complain that my new Winona-look is too boyish. He's all about tight-fittin' shirts and high heels. And let's not even delve into the impression I'd leave on the PTA...or the fine ladies at my bank...or that guy who fills my gas tank while questioning my musical preferences. "That there what they call 'alternative'?" Um no, buddy...it's Linkin Park...and they're fabulous. See my mullet t-shirt? Word.
I suppose Winona will have to wait. There will be no mommy make-over for this girl. It was fun to imagine, though. But next time I'm going to vary the scenario...add about 5 inches to my height, subtract more pounds from my person, and take my shopping spree on over to Frederick's of Hollywood. Yeah, I could do the whole blonde bombshell look.