In regard to writing about brain farts, in regard to an upcoming Halloween, in regard to Syracuse Fashion Week’s Syracuse Snarl event, and in regard to a New York Times writer’s (Steven Kurutz) opinion that writing content for personal style blog is “as simple as getting dressed in the morning” (Kurutz) … let’s talk about getting dressed in the morning.
Outfit, Pout Fit
Let’s face it: We’re all ugly when we wake up.
We humans wake up with some or several issues:
- Drool marks
- Crusted eyes
- Lines from the sheets on our face
- Indentations from sleeping on our hands
- Charlie horses
- Black eyes or palm marks, because our partners are not tolerant of snoring
- Rocks and stones in our back
- Ferrets! Everywhere!
- Raging headaches, migraines, hangovers
- Snot
- Makeup from the night before, which is not pretty, but it’s reminiscent of the late Heath Ledger’s portrayal of The Joker
- Mickey Rourke
What do we do? We hit our coffee, tea, or soda craving hard. This is detrimental enough to set the timers on the machines the night before. Sure we have those instant-one-cup machines, but that’s simply out of convenience. And sometimes convenience tastes like crap.
So we try to look our best, and sometimes morning begins with a workout, which makes us look even more worn and exhausted. After shaving, showering, and whatever the morning routine entails …
We. Get. Dressed.
(Nudists have it so easy.)
We tell ourselves that we should pick out our outfits the night before, and those who do: kudos. However, there is a percentage of those people who change their minds at the next morning. Some plan possibilities while getting ready and showering, but there is a percentage of people who immediately forget what they decided to wear.
And then there are people like myself: plagued by a gauntlet of thoughts and changes and last-minute last minute decisions.
The pressure and frustration of picking out article-by-article, making sure there is some sense in the process and outfit can be overwhelming. Don’t stand there and cry, because that’s a time waster and you’re going to be late for work if you don’t get moving. You’ll undoubtedly go through the stages of grief outfit decision making:
1. Denial
- “There is no use.”
- “My closet. I hate this place.”
- “Why? Why do I have to get dressed today?”
- “This seemed like a good idea, but now it doesn’t. Perhaps I should have trusted my gut to begin with.”
- “Work has so many rules. This is stupid. I’m eating ice cream for breakfast.”
2. Anger
- “How did I get pen on these pants?!”
- “Stained … Stained … Everything is stained!”
- “These boxers have a hole in the crotch! Damn you, chafing!”
- “I don’t want to wait for casual Friday to wear this pair of socks with cats standing on bacon.”
- “Why did I put my wallet in these pants? They aren’t ready to be worn, and they aren’t now!”
3. Bargaining
- “No one will know this is from the hamper. It doesn’t smell … terrible.”
- “If I wear jeans, I can’t wear this shirt or tie. But I want to wear this tie. I can’t wear jeans. This pair of pants goes better with the shirt. But if I wear those pants, I can wear my new shirt that goes well with my lucky tie. But these jeans … These jeans … My butt looks amazing.”
- “Perhaps I’ll call in sick today.”
- “If I wear this Frank and Beans shirt under this button-down, you can’t tell it’s a graphic T.”
- “Cardigan. That will cover up my sleeve with the jam stain on it. No one can tell … But the cardigan will make me look like a bum. All writers can look like bums.”
4. Depression
- “I need my mommy.”
- “These crotch-less boxers match perfectly with my good luck tie. I can’t wear something if it doesn’t match. Why did I get out of bed today?”
- “I’m going to have to burn all this shit and start over.”
- “Clothes are everywhere. Another mess to clean …”
- [Stuffs bacon socks into mouth. Sits on floor. Cries.]
5. Acceptance
- “I blow things out of proportion.”
- “The store still sells my holey boxers. I can buy another pair or order them online.”
- “I’m going to blog about this.”
- “I look good. I think.”
- “Now, where the hell is my phone?”
***
Fin.