Fashion

“Maybe it’s the effect of the depressed economy, maybe it’s the influence of elegant Michelle Obama–but restrained, ladylike fashion is fully in style. So don your gloves, pull on a polished skirt suit, or slip into a sophisticated ball gown.” –Fall Fashion Week 2009 trend, www.omiru.com

In preparation for the day when, alas, I will no longer be able to wear scrubs every day, and in celebration of my potentially feeling up to wearing more than pajamas all weekend, I am enjoying imaginary clothes shopping. This is where I look avidly at various fashion sites, aesthetically admiring things I wouldn’t dream of wearing, and dreaming about things I would instantly buy if I wasn’t saving up for diapers (and child care).

A few things I was admiring: a yellow patterned blouse under a green belted peacoat. A chunky necklace paired with a flared skirt. A sheer-sleeved teal blouse with a tweed pencil skirt. Muted green handbags, sparkly cocktail rings. Anything flowy and chiffony. Anything sold by Anthropologie. Anything Jennifer Connelly was wearing in He’s Just Not That Into You. (A few trends I completely do not understand, no offense: ankle boots, head-to-toe animal prints, capelets. Then again, I remember seeing capris for the first time in college and thinking they were ridiculous. I now own more capris than shorts.)

I find looking at maternity wear fairly depressing. Maybe I just haven’t found the right stores, but all I can see is the huge must-be-fake, thirty-pound belly strapped onto all the models that is completely ruining what would otherwise be a mediocre outfit. My sister took me to a maternity store for fun last weekend and I left vowing to wear normal clothes as long as humanly possible.

Well, it’s fun to think about all this. It’s enjoyable the same way it is looking at a good painting, a striking photograph, a well-decorated room, hearing great music. Inspiring though at the moment existing more in fantasy than anything else. I was just as glad come Monday morning to pull on the usual green scrubs and my serviceable, scruffy clogs.

Week Sixteen (no more back-posts; all are now written real-time)