People are weird.
Whenever they see me wearing something that does not fit my usual color scheme of black, blacker, dark and darker, they say “Wow, you look nice! That shirt/pants/dress is totally in style now!”
I’ve had white hairs since I was 16, and people always regarded me with a look that said “Why isn’t she dying her hair? She must have zero fashion sense”. Yet, just recently, a friend of mine saw my white hairs which tend to grow mostly in the front and said “Wow! I wish I had that streak of white hairs! It’s totally in style now!”
And anytime I walk into a clothing store (which happens VERY rarely since they never have what I’m looking for and I end up buying my clothes online), the employees always suggest things that are in style even if I asked for something completely different. So a conversation might go something like this:
Me: “I’m looking for a pair of jeans that are not skinny and are low rise.”
Store employee: [pulls out a pair of skinny high-rise jeans] “Try these, they’re totally in style now.”
Me: [audible sigh] “Never mind. Do you have a hemp purse with a long strap with no shiny decorations on it?”
Employee: [pulls out a faux leather purse, with a short strap, embroidered with fake diamonds and beads] “Why not this purse? It’s way more fashionable than the one you want.”
This is yet another reason why I don’t waste my time going to clothing stores that sell stuff that is “in style”. The employees just never listen to me.
People don’t seem to understand that I don’t buy, wear or look for stuff that is “in style”. I’m looking for stuff that is MY style. Because, God forbid, if I ever wear something that just isn’t me, I hate every minute of it and I feel like a fraud. This one time I went to a party I didn’t want to go to, but I was forced into going by my cousin who was visiting from Canada. My cousin also forced me to wear fashionable clothes and shoes because she said they wouldn’t let me in the club if I was wearing my regular metalhead attire.
“Good!” I said. “I don’t want them to let me in. I don’t even want to go!”
But my cousin was unrelenting. I wore the fucking ugly clothes and wanted to kill myself the entire fucking night.
This is the curse of fashion. People will force it on you, and at times, they will force it on you so hard that you will eventually give in if only to make them shut the fuck up.
You have no idea how awful I look with stylish clothes, and you have no idea how awkward I feel. And it seems to me like my husband is the only one who understands me because whenever I wear something that isn’t me, he doesn’t say what everybody says (“Wow! You look great, you’re in style!”). Instead, he says it like it is: “Meh, it will take some getting used to.”
Peace, love and conformists