Sistervention: Fashion Edition

17 Jul

Two nights ago, I was the subject of a “sistervention” – a kind of intervention so necessary and personal that only sisters are capable of running it.

Yes, that’s right. My glue stealing habit has gotten really out of hand.

No, not glue sniffing (that would be too VH1). Glue stealing.

At one point, it got so bad that I invested in a Staple’s vest and pretended to be an employee every Wednesday, simply so I could get closer to the glue. 

That’s why my purse is so big. It’s full of glue.

Elmer’s, Crayola, Gorilla Glue…

Basically everything except Crazy Glue. That shit will mess you UP.

……

Wow that free flow of ideas really got out of hand. I don’t even own a purse at the moment.

The actual reason for the sistervention was much, much worse than a tiny glue stealing habit. (I apologize to any glue stealers who might argue otherwise.)

The topic of my sistervention was…fashion.

Apparently, my fashion is currently at the intersection of homeless hippie and soccer mom.

 hippie 
 
PLUS
 
soccer_mom
MINUS
 
 house 

EQUALS…the current state of my fashion.

It’s a complicated equation, and I’m not really sure why or how it came to be.

But I do know that fashion has always been difficult for me to master.

There are some times when I really excel at dressing myself (like at night, when I pick out my pajamas). And then there are times when I look at my closet and decide that yes, Sophie, heels would go well with lycra running gear and a sunhat! 

I think these *inconsistencies* are due to the fact that my mother dressed me for basically the first fifteen (plus) years of my life. 

It was strictly stretch pants, sensible sweaters, cotton undershirts, and cutesy headbands until I finally, finally got hold of the reigns. 

Enter Sophie’s Fashion Stage Two: Confused Historical Figure Meets Athletic Californian Teen.

bonnet

WHO WOULD EVER GIVE THAT NYMPH-LIKE HISTORY BUFF THE REIGNS OF A FASION HORSE?? STOP HER BEFORE SHE STEALS YET ANOTHER ONE OF THE MILK MAID’S BONNETS AND DECIDES TO PAIR IT WITH YET ANOTHER SOUVENIR T-SHIRT FROM THE SET OF BLUE CRUSH!!! AND COULD WE PLEASE, PLEASE GET A BRA ON THE SCENE??! IT’S SCARING THE CHILDREN.

Once I finally got the hint that early 1900s servant apparel was no longer hip for the fourth grade set, and once I finally took my classmate’s advice to “maybe wear a bra because you’re growing boobs,” I entered the next phase of my fashion history…

Sweat pants.

High school was full of sweat pants. I think that it was my dream to be accidentally mistaken for a jock.

sig pose jock

Which I really was not. Don’t let the too cool for school hiking socks/boots combo and the hand-sewn felt hat fool you.

Although, I did once hear one of my cross-country teammates describe me as a “fair weather athlete,” so I guess that kind of counts…

(This just in: “fair weather” does not mean, “would fair well in weather.” Damn you, words!)

Senior year of high school, I decided that wearing sweatpants and slippers to school was not bolstering my athletic reputation (nor was it helping my general reputation).

I decided this after observing that my freshman sister wore tight black skirts and backless (and frontless) tank tops to school, and was consequently considered “cool” and “fashionable.” 

Enter FASHION REVOLUTION #1 – “Real Person Clothes” 

Thanks to Fash Rev #1, I learned that shirts don’t have to make reference to sweat-inducing activities in big block letters, and that pants should not be able to transition from “bed to school” with minimal to no effort (other than commuting from my bed to my school).

After this first revolution, I managed to keep one leg on the fashion train for a few solid years. My clothes still weren’t amazing (flashback to the purple, bejeweled flower headband that I thought was a cute accessory, but that actually had a chastity belt effect), but they managed to avoid bonnets and unnecessary athletic apparel.

And then, this summer happened.

Evidently, I decided to use this summer to test out a new style: Homeless Hippie Soccer Mom.

The look of a Homeless Hippie Soccer Mom is surprisingly difficult to master. It requires a hatred of your own closet, access to hippie esque fashion (my sisters), access to boldly patterned dresses (my mom), and the completely sincere belief that the two worlds can (and should) be reconciled. 

Here’s a tip: THEY SHOULD NOT BE RECONCILED. EVER.

I don’t care if Talbots and Urban Outfitters come out with a “Led Zeppelin Fan Who Drives a Minivan” line of stretchy turtlenecks and high-waited bellbottoms – this look can never be a thing. 

That is what I learned during the intervention that led to…

FASHION REVOLUTION #2 

My fifteen-year-old sister, Lydia, came into my room and told me we were going to “cut all of my stretchy dresses into shreds and throw the shreds out for the birds.”

Okay, woah, not eco-friendly.

Lydia then proceeded to develop my “fashion brand” – who is Sophie? What does her current style say about her? What should her style say about her? 

Using her questions as guides, we decided that we needed to turn “mismatched, dazed and confused twelve-year-old” into “bold, still slightly confused 21-year-old” (with “less boobs in the workplace.”) 

Lydia set aside several outfits for me, and mocked up a Powerpoint detailing my “fashion future.”

Which, apparently, looks like this:

 my fashion

For the low, low price of $1,500, that look could be all mine…

…prices like that might make the whole, “I live in a home, I promise” reality pretty hard to maintain.

But I guess as long as there’s no lycra involved, I’m good to go. 

Worst case, I take back my minivan, empty out the soccer balls, and squat in that puppy until my Talbots Meets Urban Outfitters clothing line enters a K-Mart near you…

Let’s hope Fash Rev #2 leads me to a Mercedes, instead.

Stay tuned.

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