I enjoy clothes. I always have and I probably always will. Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved creating vignettes with my wardrobe. I was ecstatic to have a daughter to dress when she was young.
She got her revenge by wearing black from the time she was fifteen until she was twenty-five.
I am not the tallest, thinnest or prettiest woman in any room. Certainly not the youngest. But seldom do I appear in public without having considered the details of costume.
I love reading The Vivienne Files and consider Polyvore like dress up dolls. I have worked with a personal stylist and know what looks good. But do I need to buy everything that I find that suits me?
It's almost like a starving person who is afraid that she will never eat again. My closets bulge with attractive clothing in the brown, orange and teal shades. My drawers are jammed with good foundation garments and hosiery. Wicker baskets reveal a plethora of accessories. And I love it all!
But....I am retired. I walk, go to fitness, visit my mother, dine and go to movies, theatre and opera. Probably the same as many other retired women. Is my fascination with clothing an artistic expression of myself? Is it insecurity that prevents me from emptying the garbage without a thought of what I look like? Why does M. Là-bas never think of this? Could it just be like playing dress up? Does anyone else ask these questions or is it just January and time on my hands? Have you ever tried a shopping diet?