We Have a WINNER, and Greatest Hits vol. 1

And the winner of the hardcover copy of Ally Condie’s CROSSED is…

CHARETTE! I’ve sent her an email to tell her about it, and then I’ll send the copy, and then there’s about to be much rejoicing at the Charette household.

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And now, for your reading pleasure, I’d like to give you one of Becca’s Greatest Hits [1]

From April 15, 2010, for your edification or for to fill my page with words:

So I’m going to go ahead and blog about clothes.

Stop laughing.

I mean it. Stop.

I like clothes. I do. They certainly beat the alternative. (I know, right?) But fashion? I don’t get it. Even little-kid fashion. In fact, I was in Macy’s yesterday with all four Kids, and I had gag-reflex issues with the little girl shirts. Not all of them, just the ones in neon colors with what looked like paint splattered over a silk-screened animal head.* Hellllllooooooo, 1984. The fashion flashbacks were appalling. Skin-crawlingly so. (And not only because I wore that shirt, but because I probably had the whole themed set.)

Kid 3 was entranced. “Look at all these cute clothes,” she crooned. She really did. Maybe it’s because we don’t live within normal daily driving distance of a mall, and she’s very seldom been inside one. Maybe because she’s the poster child for hand-me-downs. Maybe because her new clothes all get picked for her (by me) in an effort at the beauty of “cheap and reusable.” Maybe she’s showing (heaven forbid) an innate sense of style. But she was in heaven and not at all amused when we went to the old lady section to look at dresses. (Which was a bust, by the way. No such luck.)

So here’s what I’ve discovered about me, you know, fashionwise. I need time to get on a bandwagon. Years, maybe. Part of that is my cheapness – I don’t want to invest in a trend that won’t last past this season (and how do I know this? I don’t. Also, I’m learning not to care, too much). But a bigger part is just not knowing how I feel about _____ until I’ve had some time to digest it a little. I read books several times, to be sure which parts I love best. I re-make (and edit) recipes over and over and over to find the just-perfect blend. Also with books, the really popular series ones, I often wait for several volumes before I’ll go ahead and read, not just so I don’t have to wait for the next installment, but so I can hear the buzz and decide if the second, fourth, sixth books stand up to the hype. So it is with clothes: I need to see if I’m going to still like it in a month or next spring.

Next, I know my limitations, figurewise. Fashion is about waiflike tall women without hips. I am not those women. I think I hit thirty about the same time I realized that no matter how cute the fashion, if it doesn’t work on my body, it’s a large waste of dollars. I am not a girl who can wear a drop-waist shirt or dress. Ever. The end. And anything made to highlight cleavage? Not for me. Pleats? Of the devil. And don’t even get me started on skinny jeans.

Color may be my friend, but I’m shy around it. Do you have friends that make you feel like this? My closet is strangely imbalanced in the direction of brown, black and gray. But I’m trying. I am.

Patterns? Shudder. Love them on other people. I do. Bright, patterny clothes are excellent. On you. My face isn’t interesting enough to compete. The patterny clothes in my closet get worn most often by Kid 1.

But do you know what I do well? Accessorize. I love me some earrings. And long, dangly necklaces. And scarves. And jackets. And shoes. Oh, shoes. Not that I give in to that particular love very often – because I don’t. But the love is there.

Are we done here? Because what I’m saying, really, is that I don’t know anything about Fashion, but I’m finding my Style. It’s a work in progress (one that’s a little jeans-and-T-shirts heavy most days), but it’s coming. And I’m not in a hurry.

*A horse’s head, covered in splatters of neon paint? “The Godfather,” anyone? Seriously? Go to the mattresses. (Disclaimer: I read the book. A long time ago. I do not recommend it. Also, I’ve seen this scene, and a few others, not the whole film. Again, do not recommend it. “I knew it was you.” Okay, maybe I recommend it, if you can get an edited version, one they’d show on an airplane. Ooooh. Another blog post is brewing…)

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[1] We’ll do this periodically throughout the month, because I am lazy. And revising. And occasionally funny, at least in the past.