I had lunch with two of my favorite women. On the Upper East Side. There was duck rillette, great bread, and tiny chocolate tarts.
I’ve always regarded these gals as two of the most stylish babes I know. I used to rack my brain, and clothing racks before we’d go out on the occasions we were all in NYC, worried that my clothes would be boring in comparison. (They are adventurous, and beautiful.)
Today at lunch they both basically berated about not blogging about fashion, impressed with my outfit. They both actually raised their voices when I put my big, red, vintage coat on today. I was flattered.
I don’t write about clothes for a lot of reasons. I guess it makes me feel vapid. More complexly, as much as I hate it, as a woman of size, getting dressed is a political act.
Finding clothes that fit. Fitting into clothes that weren’t meant for me. Gender identity. There is matter of visibility to be dealt with (I am difficult to miss at a size 24 in sequin pants and a huge red wool swing coat.) Let’s not even begin on the topic of “flattering” clothing, except to say, “Fuck flattering.”
Some kind of switch has been flipped in me this fall, and I’ve been really putting a lot more effort into how I dress. I think it helps me feel more in control of a life that feels unwieldy with balancing grad school, and full time work, and relationships. My look is pretty witchy this season. (You may remember last year’s look: soft dyke.)
Anyway, here’s what I wore today. This #outfit is for you, Nora!