I know it's not morning, proper, but I'm enjoying that brilliant everything-is-wonderful-because-I-only-require-fun-things-today feeling. So... I'm continuing to think of it as morning.
That... also allows to me have breakfast for dinner, should I so choose, even though I've done brunch.
Anyway, I've dealing with a very serious need to create a style blog again. I say "again" because I've had one. My style wasn't great in 2009, but I tried to maintain a wardrobe blog nonetheless. There is a reason I'm not linking it for you now. But… my previous style blog failures won’t keep me from dabbling now.
Braided leather belt: Maurices (on clearance for $3!)
Purple bow flats: $8 at DSW more than five years ago (holla at a serious bargain)
Combat boot pendant: Cato
Now, you should know that this was my first time in public in a romper since, possibly, my 11th birthday when my dad took me to the skating rink. That romper was straight, had a blue kangaroo pocket and hood, and boasted vertical rainbow stripes. It. Was. Brilliant. And I loved it.
But I didn't seek out this second romper. No, no. It found me.
Last fall, while touring Goodwill, I found what I believed to be the most gorgeous little v-necked, button down, summer dress. I carried it around Goodwill while I collected other possible gems. (Secret: There may have been a plaid school uniform skirt that really insisted upon itself in the pile.) Once inside the dressing room, I eagerly grabbed the dress to try on first.
Was something wrong.
Maybe the skirt was caught up... Maybe the thrift store tag had snagged the front AND back of the thing. What... is...
Ooooh... It was a romper.
I'd heard all the romper horror stories. I'm sure you have too. Things like "those ONLY look good on girls who are a size 0" and "no grown adult should be caught dead in a romper."
But... by this point you know that popular opinion holds only so much weight in my court. And where fashion and style is concerned, it holds even less. Most people are too uptight. (Or maybe I'm just extra loose... either way.) So I decided to throw caution to the wind. I've already got it in the dressing room... No one has to know that I'm trying on a romper... It will be my secret, shared only with the individual Goodwill *claims* is watching the dressing room security video.
I felt a little silly stepping into the pleated legs and sliding the sleeveless number up over my shoulders, but I did it. As I pushed the big flat 80's style buttons through their respective holes, I let out a little chuckle before I remembered I was on a mission of utmost sensitivity. I buttoned the last button and looked up.
Surprisingly, the back tie and pleated waist created a nice shape. Nipped in at the waist, falling nicely over hip and thigh, and a nice, short length for a Liliputian like myself. This was getting interesting.
I spun around, made Ellen’s that’s-my-ass face, and decided I didn’t hate how the romper looked from the back.
I mean… shouldn’t I have a wedgie? Shouldn’t it pull at my crotch? I mean… let’s just get real with ourselves. We’re all thinking it?
You guys. It didn’t. It laid nicely.
So after some soul-searching, I decided to gamble on this romper. It was $4. If I didn’t wear it, I’d just give it back to Goodwill, no harm done. I brought it home, tried it on again, questioned all my life choices, and put it in the closet.
I brought it on a couple of times only to put it right back in, but as we all know, outing is complicated. Timing is important.
This morning, when I decided to take myself to brunch, the pieces just fell together. The weather was beautiful. Sunny and 75. My brunch date, Rita Mae Brown's Rubyfruit Jungle, was colorful and slightly floral and just an excellent uhzzezzory. Done and done.
I took myself and my romper my favorite in town brunch spot. It’s a little divey place that has relocated to an out-of-business coffee shop. The food stayed divey and I appreciate that a lot.
Anyway, I established myself and my book at a little table on the far wall. Tucked into a corner with a sunny glass wall and an inviting (though unlit) fireplace, I was able to calm down and reflect on my morning, my book, and my romper.
And here’s what I came up with.
First, I need to remember to do my mom’s “What happens when you sit down?” test before I leave the house in a new garment. Failure to do this test yesterday landed me at a work conference in a short dress sans stockings or the ability to cross my legs. Luckily one is good at the royal ankle cross. Today though, I didn’t realize until I sat down at my table that the romper gets quite short in the rear and quite long in the front when I sit.
How can this be? I’m not altogether sure, but I think this can be best illustrated through footies. Those of you who’ve worn them recently will understand this best, but the rest of you can refer to your high school babysitting jobs. Or your own babies, I guess. I forget that some of you have/had them. Oops. #childlessbychoice
Ah, right… the short in back, long in front principle. These onefers are all the same. When you sit and create a “C” if you will, the same amount of fabric allowed the outside of the “C” is allowed the inside. The inside bunches and gets roomy. The outside gets tight and either pulls around the neck shoulders, or as in the case of the romper, rides up high on the leg. It’s not terribly revealing, because like I said, the front grants extra coverage. But… I wouldn’t wear a fitted romper for this reason. There are those who want to see that much of my leg/thigh/butt, but I’ll not share it with the general public. Unless it’s swimsuit season.
Second, each time I stood up, I worried that I had a wedgie. I didn’t. But… the fear was still there. It caused me to do a cursory tug on the back of the romper, just in cases. Wedgephobia. This is new, even for me.
And, third and finally, I faced a serious question once I returned home from my romper outing. Exactly what should I do with my belt and sweater when it comes time to pee?! Think about it. I was just thanking all that was good that I didn’t make this discovery in a bathroom other than my own.