Mainly today I am terrified at the outfit I wore on Day 20. Despite thinking I looked nice, it would appear that I looked a genuine mess. The day started as any other.....
6.50am alarm clock goes off….press snooze (twice). 7.10am panic and run to the bathroom, clean teeth, shower and wash face (soap in eyes). 7.20am (late) kettle on, stub toe on kitchen door, (knock over ironing board thus waking flatmate). 7.25am makeup on, get dressed after scrabbling in wardrobe for clothes (curse innate hatred of ironing). 7.35am examine hair and attempt salvage of style (panic again as Chris Moyles announces the time and curses his morning guest for being late). 7.45am locate belongings and run down stairs (run back up stairs and collect glasses). 7.50am (late late late) drive to work (same route as always) laugh at Chris Moyles and guest, arrive at work……
I suppose it is clear now that given the scale of the wardrobe task I have set myself, the potential viewing figures of blog (if it is as successful as one hopes) and given my entrenched inability to get up upon first tinkle of my alarm, I MUST consider my outfits the night before.
I have of course tried to console myself over this picture in addition to fervently plotting a safeguard against any possible recurrence. I have considered the very real possibility that this photo is not a valid representation of the clothes I wore on the 20th of this month. I purport that in fact this photo is most unfair, and here dear reader is my evidence. Firstly, my shoes look low heeled at this angle and I can vouch that they are in fact 4 1/2 inch stiletto platforms and completely impractical for the office. One can only surmise therefore that we are suffering from some form of hideously distorted perspective. Secondly, three people told me I looked nice. Thats far more than normal. I can only assume that something funny is going on here, either that or the people I work with lack style. Although, horror of horrors, they might have said I looked nice when I didn't. You know what I mean, in the same sense as when someone demure dyes their hair flourescent red and one finds oneself forced to comment positively in order to provide explanation as to wht you have just reimplanted eyeballs into sockets and retrieved jaw from floor.
This hideous revelation, in the form of an ill thought through outfit set me thinking about the difference between personal image and reality. That time old conundrum that forces us to seek solace in friends when constructing our 'look'. Our mind tells us that we look an unutterable delight, yet until we step out into the broad light of day, to be scrutinised by friends, colleagues and foe, we never really know it is true. Celebrities the world over know only too well of the horror of public scrutiny. Surely not one of them has ever planned to end up in the dunce section of the style pages, yet each and every one of them with no notable exception will have found themselves unceremoniously plastered over it at some point in their illustrious career.
We can all run but none of us will ever be safe from the grasp of the wardrobe mishap from time to time. The tentacles of the heathen beast that is the closet gremlin will at some point clasp us all around the ankle, taking great pleasure as we fall flat on our face in a pile of ill thought through garments. Celebrity or not, every last one of us will fall foul to this evil little monster. In a way I suppose the wardrobe gremlin is in fact a wonderful leveller. No matter how much money you have, no matter how much care you take, one day he will get you. So maybe, no matter how tempting it may be to point and laugh at the celebrities on those pages, perhaps we should in fact rejoice that they are in fact human, we should comiserate with them on their valiant, yet fruitless attempts to push fashion boundaries and we should remember that in a sense we have all been on that page at least once.
Day 20: the day I was terrified of. I look like a great big mess......I was sure it looked fine!
Day 21: Client meetings necessitate smartness. A great way to break free from the disastrous grasps of Day 20's malfunction and burst forth in a delightfully happy celebration of cinched in plaid...or something like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment