KT Walsh
CREATIVE  PRODUCER | WRITER | MEDIA RESEARCHER 

The constant parade of innovative textiles has got me dizzy. Who exactly are the magical deciders of the acceptability of leopard print? And how much is too much? And should I be wearing it now, or 6 months from now? For the record I just purchased my first leopard print item a couple weeks ago. It’s a thong, and I’m still afraid it might be over the line.

 

I have constant apparel anxiety. Fear of fabrics: chiffon and terry cloth are both big triggers. Fear of accessories: I shouldn’t wear a necklace with a turtleneck, but what about a scarf? Fear of prints, patterns, and mismatching leathers: belt has to match the boots and the handbag. I’m always thinking I either look too fat, or I’m not hip enough. I’m either bland or outdated, which ultimately ends up looking like I’m either trying too hard, or not enough. Fashion walks a fine line on the catwalk.

​

When I step out the door I think, “fuck, am I wearing the right thing? Am I overdressed? Underdressed? Not dressed enough? Too many layers? Should I add a layer? Do I bring a coat just in case? Will it fit in my purse? Am I going too be hot? Too cold? Am I wearing the correct footwear for all possible activities of the next 5-8 hours? Do I have pit-stains already!?”

​

Once I freak out about the functionality of my outfit I go back to the trendiness of my flare. “Too much? Too little? Too casual? Too athletic? Too slutty? Too Amish? Could this pass for maternity wear? Do I look like a doily? Is my cellulite a stand out feature from the rear? Whoa, is that my bra line!?”

 

Even if I was as fashion fearless as Lady Gaga, I’d still just want to wear movement clothes. I can’t be restricted. If I can’t do the splits, or break out into jumping jacks, I’m just not comfortable. Thank God for spandex. I live my life in it. I’m sorry to all the negative Nancies naysaying the legging, but it’s all I want to wear. I don’t care if you can see my camel toe, these are the only pants I don’t have to hike up before I sit down. Preventing the gaping waistband and thong song from being stuck in my head is top priority. I don’t, and will never, do crack. I wish to always bend over unafraid of possible plumber butt.

​

These days, I don’t get a lot of joy out of fashion. I like looking at clothes on the internet, sure, but actual shopping is like popping into best buy for the latest album from Dave Mathews Band. It’s just not done anymore. Even if I have money to spend or an event to parade around at, even if I just lost 10lbs, I don’t have expendable schedule for this type of shopping charade: Take off your clothes, put on the clothes, look at your ass in the clothes, consider the price, consider your ass again…. Do you feel like a sausage? Try the medium. Try the small. Try the large, just in case. Get upset because the large actually looks the best. Is this a skinny mirror? Sit down, stand up. Twirl. Marvel at the parts of your body you can never quite fully examine without a three-sided mirror. Consider your ass again. Cry. Almost strangle yourself getting out of the garment. Leave with nothing.

​

Although I admit to a Pintrest wish-closet, when I go to recreate these looks, I can’t handle the price tag. Always a bargain shopper, I’ll go dumpster diving for the spring’s hottest looks on a budget. However, I’m starting to learn my lesson. Forever 21 is like a fast food dollar menu. You like the price, but most of it is garbage and makes you look a little heavier. I’ll even lump H&M in there too. Most of that shit sits in my closet untouched because it’s either itchy, lopsided, or somehow hikes up to my chin when engaging in basic activities like walking and sitting. But I suppose, I got my money’s worth if I wore it twice. That’s the longevity of these happy meal bargain buys.

​

So what gives? I can’t be trendy because I can’t afford to buy a new wardrobe every 6 months. I can’t be comfortable because Vogue frowns upon it. I can’t give up because I work hard to maintain a certain physique not to wear flattering outfits (or let flattering outfits make up for my lack of a certain physique). I can’t win these battles. I don’t know anyone who can. Maybe the trophy wives of certain athletes?

I’m getting too old and preoccupied with other real life traumas to be worrying about wardrobe. I wonder if people judge me for wearing the same 5 things out in public? But what’s wrong with 5 classy, comfortable outfits on repeat? My closet is like the last Dave Mathews album you bought with the jewel case, skipping in your car's CD player.

​

I’m literally 5 outfits away from being a nudist. Fuck fashion. I’ll be a Nudist if I want to.

​