4 Things I Totally Couldn’t Wear But Secretly Love
Do you ever look at someone wearing something (On Pinterest, probably. Because Pinterest is responsible for SO MANY poor life decisions, isn’t it?), and think, “Damn, that’s SO not my style… but I kinda wish I could wear it anyway?”
That happens to me ALL the time, people. I know I’m always banging on about having a ‘signature style’, and most of the time I’m pretty happy over here in my comfort zone, but sometimes you just fancy a change, you know? Like all those times I log onto Pinterest and start pinning photos of women in leather leggings, striding along, like, “Yeah, I’m wearing leather leggings: your point?” I mean, I know if I tried to wear leather leggings, people would just fall about laughing, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes think about it. Oh, hell no.
I’m going to stop talking about leather leggings now, though: it’s becoming a bit awkward, isn’t it? Here are some other things I totally couldn’t wear, but wouldn’t mind trying:
So, these ARE leggings, but they’re not leather, they’re sequined. That’s totally different. And also totally not the kind of thing I can imagine myself wearing. Or, at least, not without having to field constant questions about where I’m going dressed like that, anyway. Nevertheless, I came SO CLOSE to ordering a pair of these in gold last year: seriously, GOLD SEQUINED LEGGINGS. What was I thinking? This year, they’ve released this black version, and once again, the struggle not to order them is very real. If I had the cash, I’d totally buy stuff like this, just to see if I could wear them. It’s possibly a good idea that I don’t have the cash, huh?
A few years ago, I bought a leather pencil skirt (well, a faux-leather pencil skirt, anyway…) from Zara. Then I hung that skirt in my closet, and I didn’t ever wear it: partly because every single person I told about my latest purchase (so, Terry and my mum, then) said, “You bought a leather pencil skirt? What did you do that for?”, but mostly because it made me look like an over-stuffed sausage. (And yes, it was the right size: the size up just made me look like I was wearing a bin bag…) They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results, though, so hey, look, here’s a leather pencil skirt from Zara: I wonder if I could wear it? And which colour I would get, if so? Because the black would probably be easier, but the brown would look good with my camel polo neck, and… why am I even thinking about this, seriously?
At this time of year, I’m constantly finding myself tempted by the most amazing bright red dresses… which is a bit of a bummer, really, because red looks horrendous on me if I wear it next to my face. I’ve never really been sure exactly why this is, because when other redheads wear this colour they look almost exactly like Jessica Rabbit, and I want to be them so bad it hurts. When I wear it, though, I just look like I shouldn’t be allowed to dress myself – which ALSO hurts, if I’m honest. Every so often I convince myself that I can totally do it, and I try on a red dress – just in case something has changed since the last time, and it magically looks good on me now. But nah, it never does: so it looks like I WON’T be the girl at the Christmas party who people keep mistaking for a present, because of the huge bow on the back of her dress (Because yes, that’s the back view you’re seeing). GOD, I wish I could be That Girl.
Aaaand we’re back to sequins. I think I’m spotting a theme here. So, this dress is all kinds of awesome, because if you wore this dress, you’d basically look like the Evil Queen from Once Upon a Time, although hopefully without the “evil” part. You would wear bright red lipstick, a bit of a smoky eye, and a pair of killer heels, and you would look OMGAMAZING. YOU would, obviously. I wouldn’t, because a) I’d be wearing it at my desk, which would just look kinda silly, really and b) I can’t wear maxi dresses. Like, at all.
I actually don’t own a single maxi dress, because I have yet to find one that wouldn’t trail along the ground behind me, tripping me up at every step. I know I could have one altered, but then I’d just look like a character in some strange kind of Jane Austen drama featuring the lives of very clumsy women who don’t know how to walk in their dresses. They’re just not me, in other words. And the chances of me ever in a million years going to the kind of event I’d need a floor-length sequin dress are roughly the same as the chances of me looking good in one – so no chance, basically. Still, a girl can dream, can’t she?