I really enjoyed this piece. I suspect it’s also a stage of life thing, I don’t have an ex husband but am confused about my clothing. Things I used to love no longer feel like me but I’m not sure what does feel like me.
I do like the dress, but I also like your green jeans. And I absolutely relate to the post-separation reassessment of wardrobe. I often dressed the way my ex-husband preferred, but really, my style is much more idiosyncratic. I know I often dress the way my now-husband likes, but he likes my idiosyncracies. The main thing is that we like how we present ourselves ... but of course, it's not that simple. Nice piece, anyway.
I dress for myself. Sometimes that means being dazzling in a short-lived sort of way, dazzling and effervescent like a wonderful outing or view feels. I like to paint with certain colours see them as I look down at my arms and legs, you might call them autumnal tones but for me autumnal tones arebright crimsons oranges lavenders soft browns and dark greys and green lots of evergreens and chartreuse. I feel shy and retiring so my clothes are never smart smart; I like wearing interesting textures, crisp or soft, crinkly or smooth but to be comfortable, outward signs of inward grace, is the most important thing.
I remember an almost militant hatred of smart people during child rearing years...as you suggested...doing any sort of practical work in unsuitable, scratchy stiff clothes, was a kind of irritant to the soul. And shoes were my particular bugbear.
I think I channelled both the long for puffed sleeves in Anne of Green Gables, and the depiction of the "good" Katy in What Katy did Next at Amy Ashe's bedside who had never looked more beautiful with her hair scraped back wearing a plain dress day after day. Creativity and abnegation in clothes live side by side in my consciousness, formed by childhood readings of" dress" and it's importance in our sense of dignity.
I really enjoyed this piece. I suspect it’s also a stage of life thing, I don’t have an ex husband but am confused about my clothing. Things I used to love no longer feel like me but I’m not sure what does feel like me.
I loved that Kowtow print too, but knew it was too loud for me, and it would wear me, not me wear it. Really enjoyed your relatable musings!
I do like the dress, but I also like your green jeans. And I absolutely relate to the post-separation reassessment of wardrobe. I often dressed the way my ex-husband preferred, but really, my style is much more idiosyncratic. I know I often dress the way my now-husband likes, but he likes my idiosyncracies. The main thing is that we like how we present ourselves ... but of course, it's not that simple. Nice piece, anyway.
Gosh Doris, glad I sparked your great comment, especially the chartreuse!!
I dress for myself. Sometimes that means being dazzling in a short-lived sort of way, dazzling and effervescent like a wonderful outing or view feels. I like to paint with certain colours see them as I look down at my arms and legs, you might call them autumnal tones but for me autumnal tones arebright crimsons oranges lavenders soft browns and dark greys and green lots of evergreens and chartreuse. I feel shy and retiring so my clothes are never smart smart; I like wearing interesting textures, crisp or soft, crinkly or smooth but to be comfortable, outward signs of inward grace, is the most important thing.
I remember an almost militant hatred of smart people during child rearing years...as you suggested...doing any sort of practical work in unsuitable, scratchy stiff clothes, was a kind of irritant to the soul. And shoes were my particular bugbear.
I think I channelled both the long for puffed sleeves in Anne of Green Gables, and the depiction of the "good" Katy in What Katy did Next at Amy Ashe's bedside who had never looked more beautiful with her hair scraped back wearing a plain dress day after day. Creativity and abnegation in clothes live side by side in my consciousness, formed by childhood readings of" dress" and it's importance in our sense of dignity.