Outfit Post: Am I old?

The other night I cuddled up on the couch with a glass of wine and watched in the circus that is the Grammy Awards. I took in performances by Justin Bieber and Katy Perry and Cee-Lo, along with throngs of teenage girls (and boys) who screamed their little tousled heads off in appreciation. There was glitter, and Rhianna in a dress that looked like a collapsed wedding cake, and Nikki Minaj as Elvira Queen of the jungle.  

As I watched the awards, it dawned on me that not only had I never heard of some songs being performed, most of the artists looked pre-adolescent, undernourished and in desperate need of showering. I became more and more confused. Have Kim Kardashian and J. Lo morphed into one glamazon super-creature? Was that my perfect perfect Gwynnie writhing and moaning on Cee-Lo's piano? (and has Cee-Lo taken a second job substituting for a Mardi Gras float?) AND what in God's great name am I supposed to make of Gaga's egg arrival and shirtless gogo dancer minions? Was it some kind of pro-poultry STATEMENT? Will I be expected to carry signs and protest in front of a federal building this weekend??? Because I have plans, you know.

As the show continued, a fear struck deep into my heart: I am officially getting old.

Getting old terrifies me. It means I'm crotchety and old-fashioned. Old people watch PBS and clip coupons and drive under the speed limit and read the newspaper in the library and rail about the demise of society. They reminisce about a time when a hamburger cost a quarter and people waited until marriage to have sex. They sit across from each other in really depressing restaurants like Denny's and don't talk. Old women wear polyester underwear pulled to their chins and perfume from Estee Lauder and spend hours in the beauty parlor setting their hair. The music is always too loud and the lines are too long and it's too hot or too cold and OH DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME, I'LL JUST WAIT BY THE PHONE FOR YOU TO CALL, IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO. TOMORROW I MIGHT BE DEAD YOU KNOW.

There are lots of other signs which point to my almost elderly status:

My bedtime is creeping dangerously close to ten o'clock.
I aim for high fiber content.
I start sentences with "When I was your age..."
A movie and homemade dinner makes for a happening night.
I use the word "happening".

I sat awake most of the night, convinced I was going to suffer a stroke or heart attack or some other malady that strikes the elderly. But things looked different in the morning. I realized that there are lots of ways I remain youthful. For one, Fruit Loops are my most favorite meal ever. My tattoos certainly channel a young, risk-taking spirit. I love taking my kids to the playground and going down the slide. Ear-damaging loud concerts still make for the perfect night out. Experimenting with cosmetics at the MAC counter fills me with glee. I giggle over Spongebob and Pixar movies and can make a meal out of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And I know how to rock my skinny jeans.

I suppose this outfit is a combination of my young and old parts. The cardigan is a senior citizen meatloaf-and-green-bean early bird special, but the jeans are a twenty-something grad student on her way to meet friends for late-night cocktails.

Do you ever feel "old"? How do you deal with the aging process? Does your age affect your personal style?

Gap cardigan; thrifted J Crew long-sleeved tee; Paige Skyline skinny jeans; Via Spiga bag; Cole Haan loafers; Gap Outlet belt; Nordstrom necklace

 

Someone had a case of the Mondays

I am not a morning person. When my alarm clock goes off it induces a state of pouting, whining and depression akin to a five year-old's failed attempts to get candy. I snuggle deeper into my blankets, attempting in vain to pretend I have hours available for blissful slumber. I engage in luxuriant fantasies of having the kind of life where a staff of nannies is on hand to wake my kids, get them dressed and fed, and drive them to school. Like I am certain my arch nemesis, Gywneth Paltrow employs (read my rant against her here.)

Monday mornings are especially difficult. On Monday mornings, accomplishing my usual tasks feels like swimming through cement. And something always, always goes wrong. Monday mornings are when I discover we're out of coffee and that my daughter neglected to do her homework over the weekend. Mondays are learning it's 21 degrees out and forgetting to warm up the truck (leading my youngest son to declare that his bottom has turned into a butt-sicle.) Mondays are misplaced car keys and leaving the house without mascara and lipstick and sitting in an hour of traffic and not being able to find even one decent song on the radio. Mondays also involve stifling urges to bitch-slap that annoyingly chipper barista at Starbucks. I don't care if it's her job to be friendly towards customers, or that she's ingested enough caffeine to fuel the Space Shuttle. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE THAT HAPPY FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, IT GOES AGAINST NATURE. Mondays are going to the supermarket and forgetting to buy the most important thing on my list, like toilet paper. And coffee. And, worst of all, Mondays are always the days I bump into someone I haven't seen in three years and, of course, I look like crap.

So, on this Monday, I decided to dress simply. This vibrant red sweater dress is uncomplicated, comfortable and cheery. I love the quilting at the neckline, and it coordinates nicely with my freshly-colored red hair. (I also have the same sweater dress in cream - see it here.) Wearing this red dress makes me feel good, even without lipstick, coffee, and a warm butt.

Free People sweater dress; Michael Stars long-sleeves tee; Joe's Jeans jeggings; Frye boots; Via Spiga bag; Lucky Brand earrings

Compare, contrast, despair: Defining my voice in a blogger's world

I feel like I am wearing a very blogger-approved outfit here:

J Crew denim jacket; Old Navy check shirt; Urban Outfitters stripped tee; Gap Outlet cargos; Forever 21 belt; Via Spiga bag; thrifted booties.

I am wearing the ubiquitous blue check shirt. I am layering. I have belted my shirt quite assertively around my waist. There are thrifted brown booties on my feet. I dressed in a version of the Houlihan cargo, a pant that you couldn't avoid running into this past summer and fall. And, in addition, I am performing the classic head-down pose, employed by style bloggers the world over to seem mysterious, quirky and deliberately nonchalant.

I am an avid reader of style and fashion blogs. From Syd of The Daybook, to Kendi of Kendi Everyday, to Erin of Work With What You've Got, these bloggers have not only taught me how to remix and style my wardrobe, but they've also inspired me to start my own personal style blog. Lately, though, I've been noticing how deeply their style has been bleeding into my own. Sometimes, when I get dressed in the morning, I question how my outfit compares to that of these infinitely more popular bloggers. I wonder, what would Kendi think? Would Erin approve of the way I artfully mixed stripes with plaid? Would Syd have paired these booties with those pants? And my photos...surely they'd all get a get a hearty chuckle over how unpolished and unedited they are.

All this comparing adds up. Before I know it, I've fallen down into a dark tunnel of self-consciousness, self-doubt, and despair. I begin to wonder if I would even know how to make myself presentable without the assistance of my favorite blogs.

For many women, it is an constantly evolving process to define one's own style. I know how much I've changed just in the last few years, trading in my preppy department-store clothes for vintage and thrifted pieces. I am in the process of learning how to dress both appropriately and stylishly, while expressing my own unique perspective on fashion. It's not always easy, especially when I'm struggling to avoid comparing myself to other bloggers.

I believe that the fact that I'm aware of the problem will encourage me to dress for myself. There is room for compromise here - I can still wear what I want, when I want, yet permit myself to continue learning from other bloggers.  I will try to distinguish myself through my unique writing style. Furthermore, I will never, ever quit smiling in my photos. Why do so many fashion bloggers avoid smiling? Clothes make me happy, writing makes me happy, gaining followers makes me unbelievably happy (hint, hint.) What's not to smile about?

I'm curious...do you struggle with comparing yourself with other bloggers, or even just other women in general? If so, how do you manage it?