Tuesday, August 22, 2006

DAY 106

It's Back-to-School time! Okay, I've been out of school for a while *cough* more like a decade *cough* and I don't have kids or anything but I love fall ever so. Each year 'round this time I imagine myself looking like a Ralph Lauren model donning a chunky earthy knit and amazing buttery leather boots and carrying amazing buttery leather bags. But every year, no matter how hard I try, I end up looking like The Softer Side of Sears.


So this year I'm totally inspired to acquire the perfect fall wardrobe on a budget just like they show you in the fashion magazines. You know what I'm talking about: those photo montages where they take like 5 pieces and make 500 different outfits? Somehow, I usually end up buying closer to 500 pieces and getting only 5 good outfits. It's just hard because, you know, I'm highly suggestable and all. I mean, I see photos of these beautiful women and think: "If I got that sweater I would totally look like her." It's insane. I mean, rationally, I know that if I get The Sweater I will look exactly like me, just me in The Sweater. But it doesn't matter! I still buy The Sweater. See another photo. Repeat. And voila! Five-hundred pieces but only five outfits. Sure, once in a while, I actually feel like the beautiful stylish Ralph Lauren model while I'm wearing The Sweater so it's kind of worth it to have that feeling/delusion even if it's ephemeral.

You know what else I think throws me off track when fall shopping? I sort of believe that the right fall wardrobe will transform my day dreams into real life. The day dreams where I'm sipping hot apple cider - stirred with real cinammon sticks - whilst sitting on the leather club chairs in front of the roaring fire at my parents' equestrian-friendly estate in New England? (Shuddup. I lead a rich fantasy life.) Like how is a sweater going to transport my parents' house from Lake Balboa to Connecticut? Seriously. But it doesn't matter. I get sucked into it.

Of course, E moves through the seasons with ease. I swear to you that if I took a picture of him in each season (rain, shine, sleet or snow) you would not be able to tell by his outfit which season it is. The man wears comic-book graphic t-shirts and jeans year round. And it's not so easy to picture myself lounging in a leather club chair, sipping apple cider, and gazing out at the acres of trees turning beautiful reds and yellows when he plops down next to me on the couch in his Green Lantern t-shirt and puts his ratty tennis shoes on the coffee table and clicks on The Simpsons. And just as I'm sitting there wondering where I went wrong and thinking to myself: "Why aren't I living with a blue-blooded, suede-elbow-patch wearing, polo-playing, hunk of a man?" he looks over at my new boots (during a commercial break, naturally) and says: "Wow. Sexy boots." And then I don't just feel like that beautiful stylish girl -- I am that beautiful stylish girl. Which, quite obviously, makes him the one and only indispensible piece.

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