We'll try this post again.
Last week, a female co-worker asked where I got my pants.
First reply "no idea."
This happens to me quite a lot, actually, the not knowing where my clothes come from. I shop so rarely, you'd think I'd be able to name each piece and the date, but no. I inherit clothes the same way I inherit furniture.
After thinking a moment, I said, "They might have been grandma's."
At which point, I heard a snicker from another office.
He's allowed a snicker or two. It's a ridiculous thing to say. How many near 40 year olds would admit to wearing the clothes of a woman over twice her age?
Well, you have to understand a few things.
One, Grandma Byrd and I were almost exactly the same shape. In her younger days, she was one inch taller than me, but otherwise, we were identical. I have pictures of her at my age wearing dresses I now have and have worn and we could be the same person. It's a bit scary. Although osteoporosis twisted her up near the end, she never gained a great deal of weight. Her clothing sizes remained the same.
Two, Grandma Byrd wore separates, like me. She preferred slacks and a shirt to a dress. She also wore funny socks. I suspect I'll pick that up eventually.
Three, Grandma Byrd was far more stylish than I will ever be. To wear her clothes is a serious step up for my wardrobe. I tend toward bohemian - lots of crochet, loose shirts and long, baggy skirts with Sketchers. I generally prefer comfort to anything else. It's not like I have to look at me.
TT: Mom continually threatens to turn me in to What Not To Wear, but it would be useless because a) I know how to dress better, I just don't, and b) you'd have to drug me unconscious to get me on a plane and I'd spend the next week throwing up during shoots anyway, so what's the point?
Therefore, my co-worker can snicker all he likes, but I'll go on wearing grandma's clothes and look better for the change. You can ask mom.