And this is why my keeping a sewing blog is a complete and total fraud. I’ve been reading sewing blogs for about a year now, and they are all written by stylish, talented, opinionated women who have been passionate about fashion from a very early age. From them I’ve learned about fabric choice and fitting, about how to choose shapes that flatter different body types, about what is chic and what is not. Or anyway I’ve tried.
I, on the other hand used to loathe dressing up for piano recitals, refused to try on a single dress when my summer camp took a field trip to a local formalwear boutique, and my favorite outfit as a child was a pair of pink ribbed stirrup pants with matching oversized pink sweatshirt. (To my credit, at least I realized that this was not a flattering look on anyone.)
And despite much reading about how style can be a form of self-expression and build confidence and self-esteem, my favorite outfit today remains this one:
Let’s see:
- Cargo pants: back of a truck in Italy, circa 2000
- Black fleece: Land’s End Outlet, 1996
- Flannel button-down (bought when flannel shirts were cool!): Kohl’s Department Store, 199..2?
And the reason this is my favorite outfit is because if I’m wearing it it means (1) it’s Saturday, and (2) I have the whole day ahead of me to do art, and (3) the absolute last thing on my mind is how I look to anyone else.
Hope you had a great weekend. I sure did!
Hatty | 08-Feb-10 at 8:33 am | Permalink
You look well cute in it. And that’s because you look happy and relaxed and like you would be good company in it. And whose self-esteem is dependent on what’s in their wardrobe, anyway? I sew, but not for my self-esteem (I don’t think).
Steph | 10-Feb-10 at 5:33 pm | Permalink
I came over here from reading your comment on body image/sewing. I love this outfit. Like Hatty said, “you look well cute in it.” You look kind, sweet, friendly. You look like someone I’d love to know. Probably if you ran around in sky-high heels, girdles, full skirts and the rest you would be betraying a little of who you are. As an artist and a sewist, you can’t do that. (I like your paintings, too. )