Feeling Critical Today? Me too.

I caught a glimpse of myself on the way in to work today.  Actually, it wasn’t so much of a glimpse as it was a full scale assessment.  The entrance to my work is floor-to-ceiling reflective mirror, so it’s hard not to see yourself as you approach the office.  And sadly, the results of today’s assessment were not good.  

Where to begin?

I don’t know what it is with me and clothes.  I mean, I know what is flattering on me, and I know what is not.  Yet, repeatedly, I choose to wear the unflattering stuff, despite the closet of better choices waiting for me at home.

Today feels especially bad.  I haven’t had a hair cut since March, and the morning air was drizzly, so the window reflected a hair silhouette that could only be described as witchy. 

My pants are “comfy” sized, which we all know is code for “fat pants”.  I had a picture to show of these pants from behind, but they were so saggy in the rear that I immediately hit delete.  Apparently, I have no problem sharing my need for a public restroom app, but saggy butt pictures are where I draw the line.

Style Rule #193:  Just because they're almost the same color...

The shoes…well, the shoes were cast offs that my shopaholic cousin had second thoughts on, so they became mine, for $4.  They’re Cole Haan, and being the always predictable female that I am, I cannot resist a $4 pair of Cole Haan’s, no matter how unattractive they are.  Not that these shoes are unattractive.  It’s the pairing with fat pants and ugly sweater that makes them so completely out of place. 

The sweater.  I’m strangely compelled to keep wearing this sweater, even though it is too short and has shrunk to the point of needing to constantly pull it down, to hide my belt.  

The belt does bear commenting on.  I luuuv this belt, and the fact that I found it at a thrift store just adds to my devotion.  It’s plastic, it’s kitschy, and it keeps my pants up.  I’ll be sad one day, when the plastic gives out and my belt cracks in two.

Mount Rushmore?  Check.  Niagara Falls?  Check.

Normally, I couldn’t care less what others may think of my appearance (not surprisingly, those who know me will attest to that).  But today, I don’t know.  I’m hormonal, I guess.  And feeling ugly.  And frumpy.

It didn’t help that, as I was walking towards the wall of embarrassment, a jaguar drove right past me.  Feeling critical, I imagined the impression (or lack thereof) I probably made on that driver.  I know I’m being critical of myself, and I can think of others in this building who have made questionable style decisions to rival mine.  But when I saw my reflection today, it sealed it for me.  I’m not leaving my desk until quitting time.

So why do I do this?  Why do I wear the ugliest things in my closet, when I own better than this? 

3 reasons:

1. I’m lazy.
2. I’m cheap.
3. I’m nuts.

I’m lazy.  Hair, makeup, pretty clothes…all that stuff all takes time, and truthfully, I’d rather sleep in.  The outfits I rely on are comfortable, don’t require ironing or dry cleaning, and are usually clean.  The nice stuff gets worn once (maybe twice) and then sits in the dry cleaning bag for months.  Which leads to reason #2.

I’m cheap.  Do you know how much dry cleaning costs?  It kills me to spend that much money just to get my clothes clean.  $8 to dry clean a sweater?  That makes my blood boil just thinking about it.

I’m nuts.  I feel like I need to save the good stuff for special occasions, like meetings and vendor lunches.  Except that all my meetings are over the phone, and I stopped having vendor lunches two jobs ago. 

I suppose that if I had any shred of dignity left in me…or maybe some pride in ownership, I’d decorate myself up more, spend some time beautifying myself each day.  But truthfully, those feelings were squashed in me years ago.  And except for the occasional pity party (like this one here), I exist fine with this unique and personal brand I’ve developed for myself.   It’s not like I’m hideous to look at, I just don’t maximize to my full potential.  I’m lucky if I get to half potential, most days.

Sigh.

Alright, so here’s the real source of my mood.  P pointed out a weird line on my face this weekend.  Big surprise, it’s a new wrinkle, running horizontal, under my left eye.  And when I smile, it turns into a crevice.  So essentially, there’s nothing I can do about it.  And it is Bumming.  Me.  Out.

Because I know the end is near.  The demise of my face.

I may have mentioned before, I am a carbon copy of my dad.  And his face is a train wreck of lines and cracks and saggy eyelids. And whereas I used to see my dad reflected in the mirror, now I'm beginning to see the kids' grandpa.

So I’m feeling like I need to work with what’s left of me before it’s all gone.

I’m going home tonight and throwing this outfit away.

Except maybe the belt.