"How to dress for your body shape" ... this headline is splayed upon magazine covers constantly.
I'm a sucker for them I tell you. You put that line on a magazine and I'll buy it.
But only once I've savagely ripped off the plastic film and flipped through the pages, missing the article only to find it on a page you looked at a million times without registering, do I find myself dissapointed once again.
I expect the "fashion editors" to show me something new, to spin a new look for me. But noooo always the same old style advice and guidelines which feel more like restrictions.
As of yet I have somewhat of a wonky hourglass figure, I'm more like a triangle than anything. Smallish on top with wide hips. Its a physical disaster that I am faced with every morning.Getting dressed is a battle. Albeit an enjoyable one at times.
According to ever fashion mag out there, I can not wear skinny jeans, I can not wear mini skirts, I can not wear anything but wide legged trousers which make me look well ... wide. It kills me. I can not wear wide belts, I have to accentuate the smallest part of my body. My wrists?
They all want me to dress like Jackie Burger, Editor of Elle SA. Sure she's got great style (always the fifties cut dreses and the wide leg pants) but the woman is like 50! She has to dress like that otherwise they'll be slating her.
When I first saw skinny jeans hanging on a rack I swear I fell to my knees and made peace with the Lord to shrink my swimmer tank thighs and bless me. For if I did not fit into those cheap Mr Price skinnies every molecule in the world would know about it. I did not.
For Mr Price is cruel and makes the WORST jeans for woman. The WORST. There I said it. If you are anything but a size 32. You are screwed. The waist is too big or too small or the thighs are baggy and the ankles too tight. Those people have their measurements backwards.
You have to have the body of a Barbie to pull those off.
And I sure don't. I'm quite sure it was my first fashion nervous breakdown.
You see I am an avid trend watcher, nay a Fashion whore. (It is the only word which justifies my dedication to fasione`) I watch everything. And I saw skinnies re-emmerging from the sixties stove pipes, out of the flames of hell came the sexiest pants I have ever laid eyes on.
I would never, NEVER wear normal boring old straight leg anything ever again.
And so I waited till the shores of Africa would be graced with style so hot, so happening, so ... ag nevermind. Basically I waited a LOOONG time. Only to not fit into them.
So I fashioned my own pair out of my fave stretch denim jeans. They looked shite. My poor Hilton Weiners. They never survived the ordeal.
Until Hamilton arrived I stared longingly at them in Vogue, she had a stunner pair. I stoled them from her, I paid for them over a summer holiday and they became the only thing I ever wore.
They got so old they had to retire and once again I was left stranded till the geniuses at Woolworths designed a range for me. With stretchy waistbands, that was an added bonus.
Recently I found a pair at good old wool's for R400.00 bucks a bloody bargain. They are perfect! The softest denim in indigo blue and they fit like a glove. No area is baggy or too tight. Heaven!
Now they're all I wear apart from a pair of black wide legs for when I am feeling obedient. But don't tell them that.
I feel like they're a part of me and I don't care if my thighs look like sausage packed into clingfilm. They make me happy and I feel invincible and rock n roll in them.
Wear what you want! Life's too short to be restricted with your style. Isn't that what fashion is all about? Well that's my prerogative.
Take it or leave it.