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This post originally appeared in my old blog, www.the-alice.co.uk
My journey to work in the morning isn’t very exciting. My train goes directly into Moorgate (I get off for my office at Old Street) and carts hundreds of Lawyers, Accountants and Bankers in to their day jobs. What strikes me every morning is how miserable they all look. Black suits, black faces. I just want to shake them and tell them to CHEER UP!
I wonder what they think of me; I like to dress to express myself and would consider myself pretty feminine. I like dresses, colours, heels. I like trends, fashion magazines and style blogs. What I wear can make (or break) my confidence as it’s such an integral part of who I am – working for a magazine myself means we are all fairly style-concious and there is an non-spoken but implied work dress code (I can’t describe it, but if I had to I would probably just say ‘trendy’. It’s weird).
I notice people that stand out on the train in their appearance – as I imagine I do against the sea of corporate black and grey. Yesterday there was a woman opposite me, I would guess in her 40s, with a big bouffant hairdo and a full-length sequin trenchcoat. My first reaction was to pick my jaw up off the floor, but then I got to thinking about personal style, and how it reflects who we are and makes an impression on others. This woman had tight shiny leggings on that I initially thought were perhaps not quite right for a woman of her age, and her sequinned coat was definitely ‘out there’ – but then I realised that I am no-one to judge.
The woman looked confident. She looked happy. And isn’t that the most important thing? I’ve already said how what I wear really reflects my attitude and state of mind – as I’m sure is the case with millions of other women out there. If I think I look good, I feel a million dollars, and this woman looked like she felt a million dollars. In that instant of realisation my mindset switched from disliking what the woman was wearing – judging her, even – to having a massive respect for her.
Coincidentally, one of my favourite fashion bloggers Mademoiselle Robot wrote a post yesterday (“What is age appropriate?”) after receiving some comments about the way she dresses in relation to her age, and I was pleased to see the consensus is: as long as you’re happy, fuck em. I’ve been having some struggles with this lately as I want to keep my own style during pregnancy and into motherhood, but I don’t want people to look at me and my style differently now I’m pregnant. I like my miniskirts, I like my tight clothes; as long as I can hang on to my size 10 labels why can’t I wear them? Pleasingly Laetitia agrees. As a mum of a 2 year old herself she wore her miniskirts right to the bitter end, and as I said to her, by then I will be used to people looking at my crotch.
(Nothing like a bit of crotch smut on a Monday Morning, huh?)
Fashion week is coming up, and although I won’t be at as many shows as I can fit into one day this time – it’s amazing the stamina a champagne and cupcake breakfast can give you – I have some meetings to attend and will sneak along to the press area for the free Toni & Guy haircut and MAC goody bag. And you know what I will be wearing? My heels, miniskirt and million dollar confidence.
(Top photo snapped by me at last season’s Fashion Week. Man in skirt, heels and beard? Why not. Bottom photo is me and 2 crazy Canadian models/dancers at a party from the same Fashion Week.)