What is personal style? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately. A seemingly simple concept, yet I’ve found myself wrestling with the answer. Is it what you would wear if money were of no concern? Or is it how you dress when no one is looking? One of my New Year’s resolutions is to answer this question for myself, but I seem to have lost what was once a firm grasp on my personal style.
After graduation from high school, I went through this odd phase. All through high school I had a very distinct personal style: trendy. I was a bit of a fashion addict. But without that daily dose of social interaction I found myself getting, well, lazy. Very lazy. I went from planning my outfits every day to wearing oversized t-shirts and sneakers. I quit wearing makeup and barely did my hair.
In college I attempted to revive what was left of my personal style, which was flat lining fast. For the next several years I yo-yo’d back and forth. On one extreme I would vow to start buying more bold and trendy pieces. Then I’d purchase and wear said pieces and feel like a woman wearing a pink prom dress to a funeral: over dressed and completely inappropriate. So I would resign to wearing a more casual wardrobe, attempting to convince myself that I would be happier if I fit in better with the jeans-and-hoodies college crowd. But I was still left wanting, feeling that I was truly missing something important in my life. Melodramatic, no?
So I started to think about what had changed. I mean, fashion used to be fun for me. I used to look through the magazines for ideas and inspiration, and then I’d adapt what I liked to work for me. And that’s when it hit me. I should just wear what I like. If I feel good, that’s really all that matters. So what if today I feel like wearing a black v-neck tee, jeans and flats. Tomorrow I may feel like wearing a boyfriend blazer, leggings and knee-high boots. Or maybe a retro floral dress with textured tights and kitten heels. Who says I have to limit myself to one style. If I like trying new things, and letting my mood dictate my style, who’s to say that’s wrong? Maybe that’s the key to true personal style: a sense of honesty to self. And being unapologetic about it.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Hopeless Newlywed By Allison Yeager
I’m that girl. Yep, the one who got married and gave up on fashion. Before I met my husband, I was thin from hours of Pilates due to my lack of dating. I was tan from hours of lying by the pool due to my lack of dating. I had adorable outfits, every perfect accessory, and loads of money to spend on them due to my lack of dating and the cash flow of working full-time.
Then I met my husband. He was tall and thin and adorable, so naturally I snagged him because I was thin, adorable, and perfectly accessorized. It’s two years later, and now I spend nearly every day in “comfies” (sometimes jeans, but usually pajama pants and tees with my hair in a pony tail), we keep way too much chocolate around the house, and my husband is afraid to step on our Wii Fit for fear that it will label him “obese”. We don’t have kids yet, and I’m no longer working full-time, but somehow the baseboard-dusting and kitchen-cleaning sucks up half my day, and I rationalize being too exhausted to work out, let alone curl my hair and accessorize.
Besides the fact that it just seems too far to doll up when we spend most of our nights on the couch with Domino’s and American Idol, we also find a lack of money to be a barrier to our more fashionable sides. Mortgage payments don’t forgive a new dress or new shoes. And what do I need a new dress for anyway? It would just make me cry because I have to go two sizes up and it would be too hard to wear while cleaning my baseboards. My mom tells me that everyone’s wardrobe drops in quantity and quality directly after marriage…don’t know yet if that’s due to the “newlywed 15…or 20” or the “newlywed budget cuts,” but it’s certainly true in my case. I’m doomed when we have kids.
Since money is an issue and the thought of buying pants two sizes bigger makes me want to crawl under a blanket with hot chocolate and never leave the house again, I think I’ll have to settle for a fantastic purse. Most Utah women are young and poor students, older and poor newlyweds, or a bit older and poor mother-of-5’s, so we can at least settle for a gorgeous bag hanging off our arms (it will distract from the bulging book bag or screaming 2-year-old). I manage to talk my husband into one or two purse splurges a year, and I guess we both figure it is worth it. I don’t have a book bag or a 2-year-old on my hip, but I do have a few extra pounds there I’d rather hide. He probably figures that it’s worth it just so that he doesn’t have to see me crying over our baseboards in a new dress.
Then I met my husband. He was tall and thin and adorable, so naturally I snagged him because I was thin, adorable, and perfectly accessorized. It’s two years later, and now I spend nearly every day in “comfies” (sometimes jeans, but usually pajama pants and tees with my hair in a pony tail), we keep way too much chocolate around the house, and my husband is afraid to step on our Wii Fit for fear that it will label him “obese”. We don’t have kids yet, and I’m no longer working full-time, but somehow the baseboard-dusting and kitchen-cleaning sucks up half my day, and I rationalize being too exhausted to work out, let alone curl my hair and accessorize.
Besides the fact that it just seems too far to doll up when we spend most of our nights on the couch with Domino’s and American Idol, we also find a lack of money to be a barrier to our more fashionable sides. Mortgage payments don’t forgive a new dress or new shoes. And what do I need a new dress for anyway? It would just make me cry because I have to go two sizes up and it would be too hard to wear while cleaning my baseboards. My mom tells me that everyone’s wardrobe drops in quantity and quality directly after marriage…don’t know yet if that’s due to the “newlywed 15…or 20” or the “newlywed budget cuts,” but it’s certainly true in my case. I’m doomed when we have kids.
Since money is an issue and the thought of buying pants two sizes bigger makes me want to crawl under a blanket with hot chocolate and never leave the house again, I think I’ll have to settle for a fantastic purse. Most Utah women are young and poor students, older and poor newlyweds, or a bit older and poor mother-of-5’s, so we can at least settle for a gorgeous bag hanging off our arms (it will distract from the bulging book bag or screaming 2-year-old). I manage to talk my husband into one or two purse splurges a year, and I guess we both figure it is worth it. I don’t have a book bag or a 2-year-old on my hip, but I do have a few extra pounds there I’d rather hide. He probably figures that it’s worth it just so that he doesn’t have to see me crying over our baseboards in a new dress.
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