There are two versions of me that exist. There is one version that dresses as she needs to every day and then there is another version that is supposed to be wearing all of these clothes that are hanging in my closet. Of course these clothes never get worn. They are meant to be worn by some much more glamorous version of me that appears in a magazine or that is invited to parties where people like Lindsay or Paris are present.
For instance, in my closet there is a white crochet mini dress hanging there. This thing has more holes in it than a spider web yet somehow when I bought it I thought it was the ideal thing to wear to my next party out. There are just a few things wrong with it. First of all you need to wear a slip of some sort under it and the slip that would fit under this thing just isn’t made anymore. Second of all it is white which means that if I did go out and wear it that I would most likely spill something on it right away. Thirdly it is wool and it is too hot here in summer to wear wool.
So what was I thinking when I bought this crochet monstrosity with the wooden beads hanging on a cord that suffice for a zipper on it? I was thinking somehow that I was not really me, but that I was really Sienna Miller in Alfie or Factory Girl. This was a huge mistake that cost me a lot of money.
Yet another mistake a recently made was to try and dress like Anne Hathaway in the Devil Wears Prada. I responded to watching that movie by going right out and buying a pseudo Chanel suit knock off. I also bought a Grecian style dress and silver shoes and a pair of very high waisted trousers with suspenders. Trying this stuff on in the store I thought I looked like Anna Wintour, a Greek Goddess or Diane Keaton. Once I got home I realized I looked like an asylum escapee, underdressed or an unemployed clown.
Don’t get me wrong I do have some very nice clothes in my closet that I have bought that look great on me. The problem is that I am not meeting the kind of men who will take me somewhere nice in these clothes. It is like the clothes exist to attract some man that doesn’t exist in an alternative reality.
I have some gorgeous high heels but I can’t walk on the boardwalk or along the beach in them. I can’t even dance in them if I ever did get asked to go dancing. I have some wonderful chiffon and silk dresses as well but they are just not the thing to wear when my dates want to go drinking at the nearest University pub.
So just why did I buy all these fancy clothes when it is all an illusion? I guess it is the type of illusion that gives me hope – that makes me believe I will never grow old or become divorced one day and that my own Prince Charming is coming along any minute.