Party at the Middle Aged Home!

I have always thought that everyone comes to a place when basically your fashion sense stops evolving. My friends and I used to mock the idea. We knew it happened, we just knew it would never happen to us. We studied the latest fashion magazines before we went shopping. We refitted our wardrobe every season with new items to keep up to date. I loved clothes too much to think it could ever happen to me. But, without the slightest struggle, it did happen.

Looking back it all seems so obvious. I can see now the exact moment in time when I threw the towel in. I had just gotten my new issues of Lucky, W and Jane all at once. I went through each magazine as I normally did and folded down the corners of pages with outfits I liked. After I had gotten through all of the mags, I realized that I had only folded down 2 or 3 pages. So, I went back again and added pages with things I sort of liked. Finally I widened my search to include pages with items that I liked instead of outfits. Still I found virtually nothing.

All of a sudden I felt tired and strangely bored. I was confused. I didn't understand what was going on. I actually told someone, "I am going to sit this season out. There isn't one redeeming article of clothing to even bother with." It all happened so fast, I didn't see what I was doing. How could I have been so blind to the fact that I had started calling it in? Fashion pitched me four curve balls after that; I only managed to hit a piece of one.

It all started with the skinny jean. I just could not believe that anyone would wear those. They only looked good on a body that could be confused for a 12-year-old boy. Any woman with hips would never be able to wear them respectfully. I labeled them as a fad that would soon be gone. Strike one.

Right on the tail of the skinny jeans debut, came the ballet flat. Now those were cute. I just couldn't wear them because of knee issues. Really? Knee issues? Strike two.

The babydoll soon followed and I was at a loss. I embraced that look in high school. But now that I had an admirable set of ta tas, there was no way to wear one without looking pregnant. Even though I didn't have a belly, my girls pushed the top out past the point of no return. The flared bottom that should have fallen in folds over my figure, just tented out, leaving me enough room to shoplift an entire pumpkin if necessary. So, instead I found a few empire wasted tops that did me justice. Foul Ball.

Leggings. I struck out looking.

That was a few years ago. I didn't recognized that my glory days had passed me by. I still went shopping, but I bought less and less. I rarely purchased items that weren't duplicates of something I already owned. When I did find something new I bought multiple colors of the same thing. Forever 21 became false advertisement. I got a credit card from The Limited so I could by things that I could wear both in and out of the office.

A few weeks ago I got a catalog from Delia's. As I was silently mocking the grunge plaids and hippie wear that was being recycled for the second time, it hit me like a ton of bricks that I didn't care anymore what was trendy. I suppose if Twenties me met Thirties me, I would slap myself for the betrayal. But Thirties me would block and say, "Here's a flash from the future. You will never wear that $70 sweater because you will grow boobs. Those $100 pink pants will only be worn as a part of a Halloween costume. And, the $250 pair of boots won't fit when you find out you have to wear arch supports to avoid knee surgery." And then Thirties me will drop kick Twenties me back to the past for wasting that money. Because I totally need a new dishwasher.