If you had told me 10 years ago that I would be wearing anything but jeans and a hoodie (or maybe a zippered cardigan when I was feeling particularly neighborly…), I would have laughed in your silly face. “Dress for anything but comfort? PSSSSHAW!” I would have guffawed like an olde timey, mustachioed villain, “Utter poppycock!”. If you would have told me that I would own more dresses than the ubiquitous, monochromatic hoodies that once defined my wardrobe, I would have checked your forehead for fever (and then assumed you were dying, because hello, icicle hands). If you had told me I would own as many shoes as I do? …Well, I would’ve believed you because fancy footwear has always been my Achilles (high) heel.
But here we are- you, reading this blog post, and me, wearing clothes that actually make me look like a woman and not a prepubescent boy (or an extra from an Avril Lavigne video circa 2002). Ain’t evolution grand? I know it sounds dumb, but I wish I could write Past Me a letter saying “Hey, guess what? We won’t always walk into a room looking like Adam Sandler on any red carpet ever. We’ll actually look- get this- presentable. I know, I know, woah“.