We spent the day at the pool again today.
Good fun, good sun, and good lord, some awful swimsuits. Believe me when I say that I've seen my share.
Years ago, I had the unbelievable fortune to answer an ad in the paper for a model. It was for a major corporation that required a part-time secretary and a part-time model for their design department. I interviewed on a Friday and arrived on the job by Monday.
I was more than thrilled. I was a bona fide Jantzen diving girl.
Working in the rag business was bittersweet for me in many aspects. Fashion ruled as a fickle mistress, determining deadlines, necklines, and tan lines. Designers came and went. Fashion fluctuated from season to season. In one creative misstep a designer's baby could easily become yesterday's brat.
If anything you have to have a thick skin to work in the fashion industry. I did not have thick skin.
As a fledgling teen, I was thrust into an environment that was driven by what was hawt and what was not. I read so many Italian and UK Vogue Magazines that year. Let's just say I didn't wear a sack to work, but it should have helped.
My boss would laugh at me after one of my protests over the dishrag size of my suit. "You got it you flaunt it, don't you think?"
Being my dad's tomboy, I never thought much about fashion. I was more of an imitator. I'd see it and wear it.
Cyndi Lauper had lots of bracelets? So did I.
My neighbor bought acid washed jeans? I was at the Gap using my savings to buy the cool jeans.
Molly Ringwold had a fedora hat. So did my friend, Dani. Now I wanted one.
(Am I dating myself here?)
Fast forward to 2009 and I'm still not a natural fashionista. When it comes to something beyond my chucks, t-shirt, and a good pair of jeans, I'm a lost cause. Sure, give me a little black dress and some heels. Almost anyone can pull that off. Some guys can pull it off better than I can.
To my surprise, my artsy fartsy, left-handed, 6 year old has started to scrutinize my choices. She'll stand in her little boots, jeans, denim jacket and tiny purse, hair perfectly coiffed while giving me an expert critique, "MOM. Those shoes do NOT match. Go change, pleeeeease?"
Yeah, my stylist--who still eats glue and dons a Hello Kitty comforter on her bed. The one covered in stuffed animals. But I have it on good authority that's hawt.
~Bee loves her Chucks