she's wondering what clothes to wear.

Yesterday, I had a bad clothes day.

Have you ever had one of those?  They're like bad hair days except worse because you can't cover them up with a hat because you can't pull off a hat to save your life.  You look bad in every single hat.

And every shirt.  And every dress.  And every pair of pants.

Some days, I put on the first few things I see in my closet, and the outfit works.  I give myself a mental high-five like, "Good instincts, self! This is great!" and feel self-important and cool.  Other days, like yesterday, I start getting dressed and end up with all  of my clothes strewn across the floor and a serious desire to become a nudist.

You've seen what I wear.  I'm not a nut job fashionista, I don't wear outlandish things (all of the time), so to pick a shirt and a skirt from my wardrobe that can be worn simultaneously and not offend anyone should not be a difficult task.  I struggled for an amount of time that I will not disclose to you because it is too embarrasing.  ...It was an hour an a half.  And at the end of that grueling 90 minute period I threw up my hands in defeat and said, "FORGET IT.  I'm wearing the shirt."

Soprano shirt

This is the shirt I wear on bad clothes days.  I also wear it on good clothes days.  I also wear it on in-between clothes days.  I wear this shirt OUT.  It is missing a button and I don't care.  I love this shirt.  It is floaty, sweet and doesn't require anything from me.  It can be dressed up or, as was the care yesterday, super casual with jean shorts and flats.  Uninspired but functional.  Basic as basic gets.  Comfortable and easy and a last resort without looking like one.  You probably have a shirt like this.

Last night I attended the Brave New Voices International Youth Poetry Slam Festival Finals, and just as you might expect, the San Francisco Opera house was full of 3,200 incredibly dressed individuals.  These were teenage poetry artists from around the world, and they looked SICK.  Awesome haircuts (and colors, one girl was Ramona Flowers in the flesh), kick-ass shoes, traffic-stopping patterns.  I should have felt like a plain Jane in my favorite shirt amidst the creative dressing that was on display in that theatre, but there was no space in the Opera House for self-consciousness because it was all love.  I sobbed and cheered and screamed and leapt to my feet with thousands of people to celebrate the voices of the world's youth, showcased through spoken word and slam.  Afterward, I held my hands to my favorite-shirt-covered heart, grinning, while my mind raced with possibility.

Moral: Sometimes its ok to freak out about what to wear.  Your first day at a new job.  Or for an audition.  Or a date.  But your life could change while you're standing in your underwear, so ultimately? Get all your crap back in your closet and wear the shirt.