Last week I scraped together the last of my money for the month and did something very selfish and frivolous. I hired a stylist for a closet redesign.
I’m sure your first thought is that this person came in to organize my closet for me, but no. My closet doesn’t need that – it’s pretty organized already. Sometimes I do that for fun. What I really needed was for someone to come in and tell me in no uncertain terms to get rid of the dowdy and stupid clothes I have bought over the past three years. I respond well to certainty. And authority.
Especially when it comes from a very crazy and fun and confident girl in her twenties.
Her name is Camilla Combs, and she is just fantastic.
I’ve admired several pictures of her wacky style over the past few weeks, and I thought, “Why not have some of that for me?” Cause momma needs to get her wack on. For real.
These past few years I feel like I’ve just lost myself to my ugly red sweats, boring jeans, yoga pants and dime-a-dozen t-shirts. I leave my house more and more boldly in my pajamas. You know, the mom costume. It’s totally lame.
So I sat on my bed and watched Camilla steadily dig through my closet and throw a heaping pile on my bed. I was right in silently assuming that these were items we would burn. She then pulled out things she liked and made me try on some outfits and different combinations of things I already had. She also told me that if she could get over the fact that she has huge knockers that hardly fit into anything, then I could just get over it that I have a big ass that seems hard to dress. She told me what I needed to wear more often, what looked current, and what suited my personality and body. She basically gave me permission to have fun when I get dressed.
Which I really needed somebody to do. Funny how it seems so simple, but it’s really NOT.
It was worth every penny, because dressing has not been fun for a few years now. I’m not afraid of wacky things, and I will wear some freaky shit as long as it feels GOOD and looks DAMN COOL.
According to Camilla these are a YES:
colorful heels and wedges (Yes, even if I’m chasing around an insane 18-month old, and no, she has no sympathy that I will end up in the podiatrist’s office in five years. They will make me look HOT and it will be worth every bunion and fallen arch.)
colorful silky clothing – especially tops
second-hand apparel (she calls this “vintage”)
dirty hair (“just ROCK it”, she says)
…and Camilla taught me to spit on these things:
any dumb boho item I might feel myself reaching for at Old Navy
my low-rise MEK jeans
skirts or dresses that look like a bathing suit cover-up
too much makeup
boring brown and gray tank tops
flat shoes that are way too prissy (“YES, you can get rid of those”, she answered me.)
Although I am still considering the fact that she was wearing some MC Hammer-like pants that looked fabulous on her, and when I tried on a similar pair at Urban Blues I looked like a crazy librarian with a fat ass, I am taking to heart all her advice. I even wore heels to my hair appointment on Saturday at 9am as well as to the grocery store on Monday morning with my infant in tow. I am very inspired, see?
I found this for $9.99 at Urban Blues. I think Camilla would approve.
Even better, I found this for ninety-nine cents in a basket at Urban Blues. But Camilla, I promise I will never, ever wear it with that pink tank above. Because that is too matchy and a BIG NO-NO. See what a fast learner I am?
Camilla did promise to accompany me on an excursion to the D.I. for my next appointment (for all of you not in Utah, it’s the Mormon Salvation Army) so I won’t be too overwhelmed by all the “treasures”. I am going to save $100 and go hog-wild and knock some bargain hunters on their asses in my enthusiasm to grab something first.
However, the fact that Camilla really wants me to buy a mumu makes me a little nervous. I’m afraid I will end up looking more like this…
…and less like the hip mumu wearer she promises I will be with it belted at the waist and some really awesome heels. I would then just be the crazy drunk lady that looks like Mrs. Roper as I try to walk a straight line or say the alphabet backwards in my floral maxi-dress. And that would be sad, like this –
Poor Joyce DeWitt. She should have had something colorful on for her mug shot.
But I will trust in Camilla, and if she finds me a mumu at the D.I., I will totally ROCK THAT SHIT the next time I come to your house. Save me all your perm rods.