How am I combating the winds that are intent on crumbling my tenuous house of cards? By intricately planning every outfit. There are two main rules that I have for myself. Firstly, I never leave the house in lounge wear. When my gym membership was active, I would put on actual clothes and carry my yoga pants/shorts/t-shirts with me in a bag. Of course, there are exceptions. Killer hangovers lend themselves to old jeans and collegiate sweatshirts, but those times are few and far between. One, because I usually stay inside eating eggs and guzzling water when hungover. Two, working from home means any forays into weekday drinking can be combated in private the next morning as opposed to laying on the floor of your office hoping that your boss doesn't walk in unexpectedly.
Secondly, I try not to spend more than 15 minutes deciding what to wear. I've never been one of those girls who had to change 12 times before going out. Sometimes I change one piece. Put on jeans instead of cropped pants. Switch skirts. Throw on a dress instead. But that's it. This habit is born out of the fact that I hate being late and have been held up far too many times by people who can't make up their minds. Also, I like sleeping in. I spent my entire childhood and adolescence begging my mother for five more minutes. I don't see the point in wasting that time being indecisive.
The past week I've been doing a lot of number one and almost none of number two. In the face of uncertainty, I've made a point to try and look as put together as possible. I scour my closet and my dresser for several minutes. I try on clothes and throw them onto my futon in frustration. I must look perfect. I must construct a wall of defense to keep away the questions. How are you? What are you going to do?
Right now, I'm wearing a black tank with a dangly necklace and a blue and white miniskirt that I've barely worn since I bought it on sale at Banana Republic last summer.
And where am I going? Blockbuster.
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