Closet Crisis

Power suit = bleh.

Lately, everytime I go shopping, I have a mini identity crisis. I find myself going to my favorite stores, trying on derivatives of outfits I already have. I look in the mirror and admire, only to realize that the reason I like what I see is that it's reminiscent of what I walked into the store wearing. Take for instance my magnetic obsession with stripes. Will I ever tire of them? I don't see how I possibly could.

I'm afraid that I'm soon going to become fodder for a show like What Not to Wear. Friends are going to have to stage an intervention to shake me out of my habitual wrinkly dress wearing. My family is going to have to step between me and my plaid shirts and, on national television, get me to see that I have a problem. I'm stuck in the clothes of my college years.

I can see how it happens, too. The woman who still sports 80s bangs is just in a rut. She's a creature of habit, and she sticks to what she knows, rather than branching out to keep up with the latest swoop-bang trends. I don't blame her. I feel the same way about my hairstyle.

My most recent crisis arose when I was looking for an outfit to wear to an upcoming party that we're hosting at work. While my job title sounds a lot fancier than it is, there is, nonetheless, incredible pressure to dress the part.

And so I bought a skirt that is totally not me. When I put it on, I almost didn't recognize my image. I was neither crumpled, nor faded. I looked in the mirror to find a young woman who was pressed and poised. I looked like.... an adult.

Call me a Toys R Us, kid, but the heart of the matter is that I don't want to grow up.