The next night, three of my closest girlfriends burst into my apartment like a fashion SWAT team – high heels clicking on the wood floor, bangles clanging against each other, chic bags slung tightly over shoulders. I looked down at my chosen outfit for the night: a faded, too tight pink Motley Crue t-shirt, black jeans that accentuated my muffin-top and black knock-off Uggs.
This was why I needed their help.
After I finished up my profile, I’d immediately sent out an emergency distress signal to my friends. They’d kindly canceled whatever plans they’d had and showed up toting bottles of wine and enough food to feed us for a week-long sequestering. They knew this was an extreme situation that warranted extreme measures.
An extreme closet makeover was in order.
I hate to shop. I always end up simultaneously dehydrated and also having to pee and never able to find a bathroom. I easily get overwhelmed and so I find myself sweating and breathless, feeling claustrophobic as people shove by me, scratching my arms with their hangers. I just don’t care about clothes and therefore don’t give them a lot of attention and time. As a result, I go shopping about twice a year and try to buy a whole season’s worth of wardrobe in one morning. I’ll find a few things (usually dresses because I am too lazy to try on separates) and then, already aggravated with the whole thing, I’ll just purchase each item in three different colors. Inevitably, I’ll not buy enough so I end up wearing the same outfits for many, many years. Long after they’ve gone out of style. That is, if they ever were in style to begin with. This was not suitable for dating in NYC.
Continue reading Wait. So you mean crushed-velvet blazers are not the look for Fall? →