MonkeyPants

Boots…or maybe Style

So I’ve been thinking a lot about style lately, and how I don’t seem to have one. Or, rather, how my ‘style’ is jeans and a t-shirt. I was on Robson with Gen today, and although many of the dresses, shirts, skirts and such we saw were fabulous, I saw nothing that caused my heart to cry out that that garment there was the core of my essence.

This was not always the case. I used to be a style freak. If the current Boho rage had happened, say, 15 years ago, I would have been right in the style zone. I had a very definite style. I was a worldbeat hippie. I could tell at 100 paces if that little cotton top was perfect, or only looked that way. I remember going to a job interview in jeans (tight to the ankle back then), red blouse and black-with-silver-stars bolero jacket. I was a masterpiece. Jingly bracelets? I wore them and still have them from last time, thanks.

So what happened? Did I stop caring about personal style, and eventually it got away from me? Or did I just get older, where the 1880’s-style puffed-sleeve riding jacket looked silly on someone over the age of 20? No idea.

Gen says she sees my style as “English”. Tweeds and floaty prints, you know. I think that’s kind of funny, because I can see it, but always thought if I dressed ‘English’, I’d look like one of those bulldog-faced headmistresses shouting in stentorian tones at a bunch of schoolgirls. It seems there might be room for something else. I really loke those floaty prinits. Also, big sweaters. Hmm.

I also wonder at the whole ‘English’ style thing because the only fashion purchase that really matters to me right now is that I get my Daytons rebuilt. Daytons are not English. Daytons are shitkicker boots. They are beyond tough. They are boots for the New World. I’ve had mine almost a decade and they finally need renewing. Daytons are the perfect boots. They can be dressed up with a bit of polish or down with a bit of dust. They don’t really go with skirts, but I don’t have many skirts, so we’re good there.

So I wonder who I am, fashionistically. Am I wearing Gypsy scarves? Do I love bangles? (OK, I do, I know this) Am I in tweed? (I probably am not)

Am I the bag lady next to you? I might be. Yikes!