Crimes of Fashon

Every year I spend the third Thursday in November, my birthday, with the first person I ever met. Last Thanksgiving my mother handed me a stack of old photos that exposed decades of my fashion crimes.

Although my bunny slippers, hobby horse, and cute little puffy sleeve dress are gone, they symbolize my life-long pursuit of a unique fashion style like Twiggy’s, That Girl’s, Mary Richards’, Carrie Bradshaw’s or Lady Gaga’s.

Discouraged that I couldn't afford my taste (for things that cost more than the trade-in value of my car), I gave up and became a lazy dresser; a closet frump; a lost sole (sp). I convinced myself that comfort and thrift were more important than style.

The bunny slippers photo led me to begin reading fashion blogs. Through twitter I found a community that I wanted to be a part of. But where did I fit? Do other women want to feel pretty in spite of being visually imperfect or over 30?

I read magazines; I saved photos; and I bought clothes from hip websites; I wanted to be one of the cool fashion kids -- the ones who felt good because they looked good.

If we express who we are through what we wear, doesn't everyone have a unique style?

Designers don't create fashions for red-headed, freckle-faced women-girls who are as tall as runway models' legs are long. And what does one do with freckled legs? Should I showcase my one beautiful feature: long, narrow, well-formed, non-freckled feet? What if I walk on my hands and put a hat on my soles? Does anyone make shoes for hands?.

My fashion adventure begins today.I’ll search the web, magazines, fashion blogs, and clothing shops and share my findings while developing my own casual, fun, slightly edgy, quirky, natural style. Watch out fashion posse, I stand fearless.