Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Effortlessly Chic

Two Gals Who Know How to Rock Their Accessories!

Do you know how some people manage to look like a million bucks every single day and it seems completely natural, like they’ve put no effort into it at all?  It’s the Kate Moss Phenomenon, though most effortlessly chic people don’t (and wouldn’t want) to look as windswept or smudgy-eyed or as rail-thin as she does. (Personally, I wouldn't mind, but that's just me.)

I’m in awe of people who can pull off a polished look day after day, whose nails are clean and manicured, who display no visible panty lines and who somehow manage to blow dry their own hair.  (I have no idea how people can wield a huge gun-like apparatus in one hand and a big roller brush in the other.  It seems like it should be an Olympic sport.)    

There are many phenomena we women may need to deal with: muffin top, boob-popping, and underarm flappage to mention a few.  Why can men just throw on a pair of Levis and an untucked flannel shirt and be considered instantly sexy while we need to wear the right undergarments, overgarments, make up and hair to make it all come together?  And do you know any men investing half their income in anti aging serums and creams and slathering on sunscreen every single morning?  Their wrinkles and age spots and grizzly skin is somehow perceived as sexy by society; women spackle and paint and pluck and tuck to avoid this at all costs.  You've heard it all before, of course, but women have a raw deal in comparison to men.  I have to admit, though: I buy into it.  (I'm not saying I'm proud of this.  I'm just saying.)

No question about it: I am vain to the core and NOT effortlessly chic.

I am the kind of gal who spends an interminably long time contemplating the many clothes in her closet and drawers and when I finally choose the garments, they ALMOST work together, but there is always something slightly askew. Maybe my blouse is too blousy and I look like a cauliflower or my pants are just slightly too long for the heels; maybe I should be wearing a foundation garment for the clothes to fall just right or I AM wearing a foundation garment and I look like a cabbage roll.  

I am the gal who dresses to cover her flaws rather than accentuate her assets, not being sure of what they are.  According to Oprah and Allure and In Style you should wear “body conscious” but not “body hugging” accoutrement that draws the eye up, but not across, and your garb should always focus on flattering your clavicles.  (Apparently clavicles are the most universally flattering body part on females.  Big whoop.)

I am the gal who has must-have makeup, but puts it on in the dim light of dawn in a small mirror.  It’s not until I have the time to get to the bathroom sometime around midday that I realize I'm more smudged and smeared than a toddler in her high chair with her first piece of birthday cake. Do my polite students or colleagues chose to point this out?  No.  They silently mock me instead.  (Or worse yet, don't even notice.)

I am the gal who has a closet full of shoes and NOT ONE SINGLE PAIR is comfortable.

I am the gal whose tights bag around her ankles like elephant skin as soon as I put them on, and no matter how many times I hitch them up, they are still puddling at my knees.

I am the gal who has never learned to tighten a bra strap so they continually slide off my shoulders.  I also often find errant straps snaking out of my sweater necks.

I am the gal who loves dressing up, but who feels at her best in her pajamas and robe and a pair of thermal socks.

Frankly, I’m a mess and it doesn’t make sense.  I trawl fashion magazines for the latest fads and the classic looks, I watch Will and Grace, inspired by both Grace’s zany fashion sense and her crazy secretary’s wanton wardrobe; I have access to inexpensive and talented tailors across the border in China to get copies made of designer clothing that I have ripped out of Vogue.  Somehow, though, I always end up looking like Miss Frizzle or a circus performer rather than the sophisticated, classy lady I so desire to be.

So I sit here on my bed after an evening shower eying the hot rollers I bought years ago when I was growing my hair out.  Glossy, smooth, hot-rollered long hair…what could be sexier?  I am thinking, "Could I be the gal with hair-to-die-for even if the rest of me is a hot mess?"  

The last time I tried the rollers, my hair came out in tight ringlets like Little Orphan Annie.  But a gal can always hope...

My Beauty Goals:
  • To keep flossing.  (Let's face it, dental hygiene comes even before beauty.)
  • To sign up for a blow drying course.  (Seriously, a person could make a lot of money teaching the beauty-challenged how to do this!)
  • To not put my makeup on in the dark.
  • To find that one elusive company that makes sexy shoes that are actually comfortable.
  • To find a bra that requires no maintenance yet lifts and separates.
  • To wear basic black and work on building my accessories wardrobe.
  • To develop a rotating wardrobe of fashionable pajamas that I can slip into the moment I skid in the door each evening so I can be effortlessly chic even in the comfort of my own home.

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