Day 5 & 6 and the beginning of photo fatigue

Today I have been thinking in more detail about the task at hand and have come to an unforeseen conclusion . I think I find having my photo taken daily in my chosen outfit considerably more stressful as a concept than not buying clothes for a year. The reality of this has dawned upon me over the course of the last five days as I find myself using complex diversionary tactics to put off the inevitable event.

Of course these diversions do nothing but extend my nervousness for protracted periods at the same time giving the morning's delightfully applied makeup a chance to migrate down, or in fact off my face. So today, as I bounced about asking people to take my photo and then making up ridiculous reasons to 'just do it later', I got to wondering why this may be. The reasons for this I suspect are multiple;

1. By taking a photo of what I am wearing I allow myself to be abstracted from the outfit and see it as I would the 'streetstyle' pages of many a highstreet magazine. As a dedicated critic, sometime cynic and occasional bitch I fear that one day I may have my photo taken only to upload computer and think....'Sweet Jesus did that girl get dressed in the dark?'.  The thought is almost to painful to entertain.
2. I have already spent five days mortally concerned that the above comedic situation is almost certain to become a reality at some point. I am also afeared that if this does happen, I am then obliged to load said heinous fashion crime onto this blog for the delectation of the masses. Would it be cheating to omit an entry? Would I be dishonest to pretend a whole day of Hanger Strike just didn't happen? Its a lot to think about and a conundrum I have yet to solve.
3. Finally, and this is what causes me the most stress. Everyday I have my photo taken in flats I am forced to acknowledge that I have the shortest legs in Christendom. I mean for heavens sakes, this is NOT fair. I have long known I am almost hobbit like in proportion, however I struggle to understand why I would have consigned myself to an entire year of being gently reminded of this sad fact.

I think what this boils down to is the issue of comparison. If we are honest with ourselves (I mean REALLY honest), we like to compare favourably. Women are subconsciously programmed to want to look not just nice but better. Better than we did yesterday, better than the girl beside us. Not, I repeat NOT to showcase legs shorter than the average ant.

By having my photo taken everyday I am forced to face up, not to how I look in my mind but to how I really look, how other people see me day, by day, by day. To judge myself by the standards I set for those on the pages of fashion magazines, short legs and all. I don't really like sitting on the other side of that make believe fence, I don't like the vulnerability that I feel as my own take on fashion is thrown into sharp relief. That sets me thinking on why we have set these standards for ourselves and what they are actually based upon. But I think that is for another day.

As some light relief, here is what I wore on days 5 & 6;

Day 5. A little bit of a funny day weather wise but my favourite T-shirt brightened things up.

Day 6: chilled out and dressed down, short legs and all