Okay, the shirt from which I cut the sleeves (nice use of correct grammar, right?) both works and doesn’t work, in my opinion.
Lizzie is still mad at me for the whole sleeve situation. She just walked in, saw me posting the first picture, rolled her eyes and made a sound between “ugh” and “kah,” and walked away in a teenage huff.
I had to stand on the stool in order to get my feet in the picture. This is the very professional setup I used to take today’s full-body pictures.
I love my turquoise kicks. But again, I’m caught in that place between wanting to look fun and funky, and wanting to look classy and classic.
The problem is, friends, that if I decided I wanted to dress in a classic, classy manner, I wouldn’t know where to start. Would I have to buy clothes with names like “blouse” and “trousers?” And in which department would I find them (precise grammar again…)? I’ve tried to buy classy clothes before, and I come home with what I think is stylish and classic, and I put it on, and I look frumpy and wrong. Is it that, intrinsically, I am just not a classy person? (Don’t lecture me, please: I know that “class” doesn’t have to do with clothes, necessarily.)
Do you ever feel like you’re just not a grown-up yet? I have always felt like an imposter at any new stage of my life. When my first child was born, I felt like I was pretending to be a mother. I would make up rules that seemed arbitrary, and then be forced to stick with them, just because. When I became an editor for an online publication about media buying/planning, I thought, “WTF? I don’t even know what media buying is.” When I started singing in the church choir (last month), I thought, “I’m not even sure I believe in God.” And now that I have been middleaged for quite awhile (when does middle age start, anyway, and when does it end?), I still feel like I’m 35, but with just a tiny bit of stiffness in my back.
What am I trying to say here? It’s not that I’m not comfortable with myself, because I am. I mostly like who I am. I like the fact that I’m completely goofy, and come up with stupid puns, and constantly sing even when it’s not totally appropriate, and play with my family, and laugh a lot. Obviously (or obvy, as my kids say), there are a lot of things about myself that I’m not super happy with, either, but I’m not going into all that now. So why do I feel like an imposter sometimes?
Okay, full disclosure: I started to want to be “classy” when my mother-in-law died. We’ve been looking through so many pictures of her, and when people see her, they always say some variation of, “That woman had class.” Her home was so beautiful and she knew exactly how to make things lovely — not in a Martha Stewart way, but in a way that just exuded, well, class. Her gifts were wrapped beautifully. Her clothes were always of the best quality and perfectly pressed. She had a sense of fashion so she wasn’t a fuddy duddy, nor was she so crisp that she seemed unreal. Even in her obituary and during her funeral I kept hearing, “Nobody had class like Mary.”
So do I really want to be classy, or do I just want to be described as classy? And, a bigger question: how DO I want to be described? How do I want to be remembered? Maybe what I’m wondering is, do my outsides match my insides? Do my clothes reflect who I am? Do I even feel like (or want to be) a classy person?
Well! Sheesh. Enough of that. My mom just texted me and asked about the Clarisonic that I wrote about a few days ago. She wanted to know: am I still crazy about it? Yes. My skin still feels super soft. How much was it? I bought the cheapest one. It was $99. Get it here.
Also, she wanted to know about a sugar scrub that Lizzie makes. It feels great in the shower to slough off rough skin and leave your legs feeling soft. You make it with vegetable oil, sugar and vanilla. Don’t ask me the proportions ’cause I have no idea. Play around with it until it seems right. It should be soft and sludgy, close to a paste but not exactly. More like a… glop. That’s it, gloppy, not pastey. (or pasty?)
Finally, and listen closely, because if you’re married this may be the VERY BEST FASHION TIP OF ALL: Did you know that there’s a Sephora inside JC Penneys? And did you know that when you buy something there, it shows up on credit card statements as JC Penney and not Sephora? So, if your husband is inclined to think you don’t need to spend quite so much on makeup, then you won’t be giving yourself away when the bills come in. Now I’m not saying lie or hide things or sneak those Sephora bags into the house and hide them in the back of the closet (no, honey, I don’t do that). But do I really need to announce every time I buy a new lip-liner?
Would love to hear your thoughts about class. And other random stuff.