I mean, after all of this time together, I've learned to trust you and even shared some pretty harrowing embarrassing moments and awkward instances with all of you. But until today, dear friends, I have yet to admit something I can barely even say out loud. I have been a fashion victim.
No, wait. That doesn't even do it justice, because being a victim implies that it wasn't my fault. And it was.
I have been a fashion murderer. But not just once. Many, many times over.
And so, today I am coming clean. I am admitting to my infractions and requesting that you take pity on me when deciding if I'm allowed to dress myself in the future.
Yesterday Hubs and I attacked our walk-in with a vengeance. Out came 23 pairs of worn out shoes, at least 6 pairs of jeans, and approximately 30 awful, ill fitting, polyester nightmares that I used to wear on a nightly basis.
(Nah, they couldn't be that bad, right? Um...yes. They could. Allow me to show you.)
Bear in mind that all of these offending articles were worn during my early 20's. (Read: bar hopping years) Many of them were purchased at high class stores like Gordman's and the 1/2 Price Store, and rang up for less than $13.00.
(I was in college and living on ramen noodles, okay? Cut me some slack.)
I think the worst part about the whole thing is that I had a relatively steady boyfriend the entire time. Generally we count on boyfriends to be our worst critic, right? They won't let us take one step outside the door looking like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman." They're supposed to tell us which outfits look good, and which make our legs look like sausages.
Unfortunately, the guy I was with during this time in my life not only approved 90% of these apparel choices, but insisted I looked "so hot, babe" in all of them.
(Kind of like Brooke Shields looked amazing with Amazon eyebrows.)
Now, bloggies. Let's be adults here. I'm showing you these pieces of clothing today because I believe, deep in my heart, that you won't judge me too harshly.
(And for those of you who are mentally counting the skankies in your own wardrobe, I want you to know...it's okay to throw them out.)
Are you ready? Let the madness begin.
This little polyester number is brought to you from the good folks at Kohl's department store. (Before Vera Wang got her hands on it.) As you can see, once you reach the bosom area, the lovely blouse opens completely up, revealing my kick ass belly button ring dangling oh-so-sweetly into my crotch region.
Despite it's horridness, I did wear this shirt to an "Our Lady Peace" concert and actually hugged Raine Maida in it. Too bad I looked like a hooker wrapped in a handkerchief.
It's hard to see from the picture, but this halter top is (again) polyester. In addition, it is a very thin article of clothing, and if memory serves, I usually chose to go without a bra while wearing it. Nice. The worst thing about this shirt is that I actually thought it looked so good that I wore it to...are you ready?
I fear I was responsible for making a lot of elderly men change the batteries in their Pacemaker's on that fateful Sunday.
Classy = FAIL.
Yes, people. That is a Zebra top,. But with a stylish twist...it's a leopard print???!!
(Seriously, can't you see Paula Abdul wearing this to a judging of AI?)
Again with the polyester, and this time, for good measure, the designer threw in some weird zebra tampon strings to draw attention to...my muscular zebra thighs? I don't really know. What I do know is that I wore this frock to my first real job after college, and I distinctly remember thinking, "No one is really talking to me today."
Perhaps because they were afraid it was hunting season and wished to dodge the bullets that might be finding me.
Item #4: Marsha Brady's Missing Pants FOUND!
There are no words for these pants. Or should I call pousers? (Ya know, polyester trousers.) As you can see, I purchased them for convenience because the belt is SEWN ONTO THE PANTS.
The greatest feature of these pants is the lack of pockets on the rear, giving anyone who happened to be behind me a front row seat to my pantie line. Hotness. Paired with the Zebra top, I was unstoppable.
I wore these pants often to my summer interior design internship in Kansas City. It's beginning to make sense that I wasn't offered a full time job at the end of the summer.
Hubs was relatively quiet while I cleaned out my part of the closet...until he saw this. The first words from his mouth were something like, "Did you have a good time filming the Puff Daddy video?"
WHAT was I thinking?
For starters, it's impossible to wear a bra with thing on. So not only was I probably a hot saggy mess, but I'm sure whatever bar I was visiting was given a free show of my hot saggy mess.
My parents must be so proud.
I remember thinking I looked SO hot in this. On the good side, I did get a lot of free drinks because of this top. Of course, while I was drinking, the guy who bought me my beer was probably texting to his friends, "DUDE, I snagged a dominatrix!!"
This concludes the 2000-2003 showing of my wardrobe disasters. I hope we have all learned something from this experience, but let's recap.
1. Polyester blends are a NO.
2. If there are metal holes in your shirt, and you are not a rock star, quickly walk away.
3. Bras are your friend.
4. Built-in belts usually mean built-in humiliation.
5. Friends don't let friends buy this clothing.
So what about you, bloggies? Got any outfits you were too scared to share before now? If I can do it, you can do it. Remember, admitting you had a problem is the first step.