What do the clothes you are wearing say about you?

Iris Apfel

“Shhhhh! Let’s just hide out here behind the sweat pants and hoodies and maybe no one will even notice us, “ 

I overheard my body tell my brain this.  “Great idea,” my brain said back.  I remember when that conversation took place about 5-10 years ago.  I am just surprised that I agreed to go along with it. 

 I was (am) a clothes horse.  Actually, I was (am) into the entire horse farm -  a stable full of shoes, scarves, jewelry and accessories has brought me great joy for most of my adult years.  Not the kind of joy my grand-girls bring, or an exotic vacation to a new place I haven’t visited before, but fashion always put a pep in my step and filled me with self-confidence, even when the real deal hadn’t quite arrived.  There is something behind a snappy outfit, like superwoman’s cape, to give the illusion of control and power even when your insides are shaking like a bowl full of jelly. 

I’m pretty sure I showed up on the planet wearing a paisley mini-dress and white go-go boots.  Although, I was reintroduced to the doctor who delivered me in my journey to find my roots and lineage when I was a teen.  He didn’t remember the go-go boots, but, he did recall I was a pretty little show-off from the moment I inhaled my first lung full of earthly air.  I loved clothes.  And jewelry and make-up and shoes and accessories.  It didn’t matter if I was strapped financially, I derived just as much pleasure from scouring garage sales, and second-hand (aka vintage - a fancy word for someone else’s old stuff) stores.  I loved clothes!   My picture was next to the definition of girly-girl in the urban dictionary.  

I’ve never  really followed trends - current or regional fashion, and could have cared less what anyone else thought about my window dressing. I liked what I liked and wore what I wanted rather than trying to blend in.   When I moved from Arizona to a small-town in the Midwest, I recall being mocked for my hot-pants and boots,  leather fringed vests and maxi-dresses.   I didn’t care.  A year later any young Ohio girl worthy of fashion respect  was wearing the same things. 

My closet, like my life, was filled with color and diversity.  

So, what happened in this last decade? 

I have two closets now.  One I choose my daily attire from; the other has turned into a shrine of days gone by.  I occasionally ( briefly) worship at the second one, but making a selection from it  is off limits.  Those are the sacred clothes of one who wants to be noticed; an openhearted, confident, thinner soul ready to take risks and live out loud.  My primary closet is filled with darker colors, excess fabric and forgiving stretch. Oh, there are a few masterpiece designs that haven’t been hung on this body in years with the hopes I will be reminded how very beautiful they looked.   When I suck it in, and put my “big girl panties” on to give it a trial run, I am always disappointed to discover,  the walls of this house are simply overstuffed with excess and it’s too crowded for them to look beautiful or flattering. I’ve built my fortress of protection way too well.  

I scan the rack in search of any old thing to hang on this body to divert attention: blacks, browns, stretchy things, sans jewelry or accessories, except for maybe a blanket sized flannel scarf to burrow myself deeper into.  Hoodies, stretchy pants and stretch jeans, oversized cardigans and generous tops comprise the majority of the closet.  Majority rules. There are no fashion police breaking down the door  to spiff me up. 

I’m safe here, hidden beneath bounteous folds of material and extra flesh protecting me from attention, heartbreak, and rejection. A closet full of Harry Potter’s invisibility cloaks. 

We can keep life at bay in a variety of ways, one way is to minimize our presence in the world, sometimes shriveling  and hiding behind many things; addiction, overeating, dishonesty, anger, rationalizing, and yes, perhaps even clothes. But, our soul weeps and cries out for a divine hand to help us uncover our authenticity and be who we were really created to be.  I had forgotten, me, of all people, what doesn't kill us makes us so much stronger and building walls, out of whatever your chosen materials, maybe an option but it doesn't make for a rich life.  

There is a  second coming for me and I feel the stirring of my inner Iris Apfel, healthy, bold, beautiful, authentic once again, ready and willing to take risks, to hell with the fear of rejection or a broken heart.  At least I’ll look awesome while I’m licking my wounds and healing.