How do you spell Monolo?

I've learned much from my years of following "What Not To Wear" and catching plenty of makeover stories. I love it. Most women love makeover shows. Who doesn't want to look 10 years younger or to have your kitchen completely redone with someone else's money? Sign me up! Thanks to these helpful programs, overalls and holiday sweaters have been banished from my closet and all of my picture frames are grouped appropriately. But secretly, I'm really hoping that one day Stacy London is going to walk around the corner and offer me a $5,000 credit card for a new wardrobe. The truth of the matter is that I think looking nice is an excellent idea, I'm simply not willing to shell out the cash to get there...or apparently any effort.

I have this blue polo shirt. It's great. I love it. In fact, I wear it all the time. It's dark navy and has a small Nike swish. The other interesting part about this shirt is that I wore it on the first day of 6th grade. That was in 1993. I paired the top with large silver heart earrings, red/white/and blue plaid shorts, and red/white/and blue plaid tennis shoes. Also, placed carefully over my pony tail was a lacy white scrunchy. Mind you, now 14 years later, the only part of that outfit that I still wear is the blue polo...but I wear it. I don't know why I hold onto it so tightly. Believe me, it's not because of it's "perfect" condition. There has been a small one inch hole in the left armpit for about the past 4 years. 3 years ago I closed a safety pin around some of the remaining fabric to try and hold it together. I know how to sew, I just can't ever bring myself to actually do it. So now when I teach and have on the blue polo I can only lift my right arm.

Speaking of arms, I hate ironing. I hate lugging out the ironing board. It sits to the side of my washing machine holding the clothes that need to make it to the dry cleaners at some point. In college I faithfully pulled out the wrinkle-releaser spray, but I don't even do that now. Since moving into my new apartment (9 months ago) I have pulled out the ironing board less than 10 times. When I iron, I also don't put forth the effort for more than one garment at a time. I have shirts that haven't been worn since the first time I bought them because alas, they became wrinkled in the wash. The words "wrinkle resistant" elicit the same euphoria in me that "cashmere" might for others. I'm wondering if my aversion to the iron is genetic.

You know what definitely isn't genetic? My shoe upkeep and care. I have a slightly different way of storing my shoes than you would never see in my mother or grandmother's closet. They keep their shoes in the original boxes...for years and years. (And yes, my grandmother is 10X's the fashionista that I will ever be. She showed up to my college graduation in pink stiletto heels. Excuse me while I kick off my flip flops.) I keep my shoes in a box. One box to be exact. It's an large box and it currently holds about 30 pairs of my shoes. It's an HP box, as in Hewlett Packard. It once held a computer monitor. I dumped my shoes in for the move, and other than the flip flops and an occasional tennis shoe, they haven't had the chance to make an appearance in Arizona. Don't worry, the 4 best pair are sitting out on the only shelf in my closet getting some air. And by best I mean the newest ones from Target.

Oh the things I do in the name of fashion.

80s in the 90s

Echoing the unfortunate post below, I would like to back my sister's statements and verify that the 11 years at private school really does have such a detrimental effect. On my first day of 7th grade, I wore high top tennis shoes, denim shorts, and a black shirt underneath a sleeveless pink button up shirt. Left open, because I am sassy like that. In addition, I wore my hair in a side ponytail. No, I think you need to read that again. My hair. Side ponytail. Also, please bear in mind that we are not talking about the 80's here. I started the 7th grade in 1996. Please allow that to sink in.

Let it also be known that Ginger was my stylist. It's true. Often she helped me pick out a "cute" outfit, and the first day of school was certainly no exception. Read that again. The girl with the socks and sandals. Picked out. My clothes.

I don't know what kind of time warp existed in that school to allow an otherwise perfectly sane person to not only dress like that, but to actually fit in. If I ever get to the bottom of this mystery, I'll be sure to let you know.

What am I, German?

On the first day of 8th grade I wore white socks and sandals. I confess. I wish I had the picture and could scan it in. Black granola sandals, white socks (not ankle, but maybe calf length), black short-overalls, and a pink polo shirt. Please add to that equation braces, a home perm, and glasses. The picture is amazing.

The most alarming part is not the black denim jort overalls, but the socks and the sandals. I would like to plead the 11th. The 11th is the 11 straight years that I spent in the parochial school system with the same 20 people in my class. As part of our dress code we could not wear t-shirts, holes in our jeans, sweat pants, or shoes without socks. Who can blame a girl for wanting to wear sandals on her first day of 8th grade?