Why I’ll Never Be a Fashion Blogger

My love of fashion died in my twenties when I realized I hated being uncomfortable. If you want to be stylish, you need to care about form over function and aesthetic over comfort, and I will never be someone who can do that. I’m the person who chooses to stay at her current job because I’m allowed to show up daily in jeans and a hoodie.

My number one focus in picking out clothes and putting together an outfit is comfort. If an item is even a little uncomfortable I will not put it on my body. Add to that an almost hyper sensitivity when it comes to seams, fabrics and fit and… yeah. Bye fashion career! See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!

If a piece of clothing itches, restricts my movement even a little, is too tight or is stiff and uninviting, it has no place in my closet. I had patience for that shit in my twenties, when looking hot seemed like the be all and end all, but those days are over.

Here is a short list of things I will no longer wear:

Thongs. Why? Because I’m a feminist, dammit. And you can’t convince me that thongs aren’t the patriarchy trying to keep us down. Think about it. “Hey, could you spend the day with a piece of string up your ass? It’s sexy.” Um, no. No, I will not do that. I will wear my exceptionally cute, uber comfortable undies, thanks. If, heaven forbid, an outfit is unwearable without one because it’s so mother-flipping tight you could see my (gasp!) pantyline, I’d rather skip the outfit entirely.

High Heels. Yep. Spent my twenties parading around in those. Do you know what it got me? Bunions. My entire shoe wardrobe now is sneakers, sensible walking shoes (are they ugly? Yes, very. But guess what? I walk for literal miles and it feels like I’m stepping on clouds, so who’s the idiot now?) and ballet flats for dresses and such.

Spandex. I know a lot of people out there love spandex leggings and yoga pants and I will never understand you. Having spandex on my legs makes me want to crawl out of my skin. It’s so tight and it doesn’t breathe! Same with skinny jeans. What are y’all punishing yourselves for?

Anything that requires me to hold my breath or contort in any way to get into. Again, why are y’all punishing yourselves? You are worthy of love! And if you start your explanation with ‘once you get used to it’ I am going to grab you by the shoulders and shake you. Who hurt you, honey? Who hurt you?

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