style-schmyle

Define style? (And I don’t mean in writing, but in your person.) Go ahead, I’ll wait . . .

If I can’t, does that mean I don’t have one? I am not hip, hep or otherwise known as cool. I have {gulp}30+ cardigans in my closet. Jeans out the wazoo—ew that could hurt. And 80, yes I counted, pairs of casual shoes and only 4 dressy heels—I know Mik is all aghast, but WHEN would I wear them? At the grocery store, naw, a slip and fall waiting to happen. At the doc’s office? Uh, the guy can hardly pay attention as is, like he needs another distraction–did I mention the one time he was seeing Spare and his zipper was undone the ENTIRE time??? We laughed so hard afterwards.

Anyhoo . . . I look around at other people my age—the other moms, mostly up at the grades K thru 7 schools because that’s where 75% of my adult interaction is. Even there, some of the moms primp and prep—and for what??? The Principal? PTA pres? He’s nice guy, friend of the Dh but yeah, no. These women keep the big-haired Texas woman alive and well! Me, well hmm, more often than not—my hair is up in a clip or in a pony tail—I can’t stand for it to touch my face; it’s a thing I have—not an issue, just a thing. I rarely wear makeup. A little mascara and lipstick—when I remember to put it on. Maybe having all boys has contributed to some of this. I don’t have to set an example. I don’t need to know how to do makeup correctly. (and frankly I don’t feel I need makeup, I only wear the mascara because my eyelashes are so pale you can’t see them otherwise—I think I look just as cute—ugh—killer word—with or without it).

Don’t get me wrong, BK—before Kiddoes—I was all the glam I could handle. Then I had over 100 pairs of shoes and dresses and skirts out the ying-yang—again, could be painful. I watched trends and trolled them for what I liked.  But not any more.Can a lack of style then become your style? That I-just-threw-this-together look? I work from home, if you call being a full-time mommy and author working—and Oh I do. I have no reason to wear anything that is not uber-comfortable. I’m not a slob—at least, I hope not. But I have steadily slid down to mommy frumpdom and haven’t had the motivation/ambition to claw my way up the stacks of microfiber pants and silky shirts.

My one wild attempt at fashion diva is my vibrant choice of hair colors—and even then I hold back from what I really want to do—though I did check out some highlights that you don’t find in normal hair color under the age of 90. That’s progressive right?