A False Sense of Cuteness
Yesterday was one of those Mondays. It all started quite normally - with an hour-long mashing match with my snooze button set for my phantom 5:45 am exercise session. After that, I combed my closets for clean clothes, inevitably ending up in my To-Go-To-The-Drycleaner-Pile where I found my 5 essential pieces of black clothing that are my true wardrobe. Finally, I exited my apartment in a huff -- needing coffee, craving Krispy Kreme, and feeling generally perturbed with the world, but in a sassy sort of way. Like a very busy career girl who has so many places to be and simply not enough time to meet all the demands on her general chi-chi-ness.

And then a cold reality set in. I saw my reflection in the coffee shop window and realized that I had a false sense of cuteness. In vast contradiction to my mental picture of me, the real me looked blah, boring, and otherwise mainstream. It was a hard truth to take -- like getting your credit card statement after a Fendi-bender when you realize you had a false sense of richness that particular Saturday afternoon. The whole experience was really crushing to my ego, for I always pride myself on standing out in a crowd (even if it means falling down from time to time). And yet there I stood completely void of a look. Bland. Uninteresting. Unexciting. Insipid. And otherwise dull as dishwater.

Well, of course, I had no choice but to go home, change and show up tardy for my 9am meeting. Because a girl cannot perform to her peak effectiveness if she is sans look. (It can be a frilly look, a hungover look, a PJs look (where appropriate) or even an I'm-completely-putting-on-airs look; but it has to be A Look.) Anyhoo, the whole thing really made me think a little more about me. I mean, up 'til now, I've essentially focused on fluff. My primary purpose has been to be chi chi in all things. And yet, I was actually about to go to work without a look! Something was seriously amiss.

Another side effect of AES? Surely not. AES would only feed a fashion frenzy. OR perhaps my stylish backslide was a warning call, a sign that it's time I focused on the development of me instead of my wardrobe. After all, I don't want to get smushed by a flying saucer, die, and laid to rest under an epitaph that reads, "Here lies she she me. Lover of Krispy Kremes. Avid supporter of Hollywood paparrazi. And owner of 5 essential pieces of black clothing and an outstanding selection of designer handbags, shoes, and other size-independent accessories because she never got up to exercise. "

So now what do I do? Dress tacky? Join a political group?