Skirt: In high school, I sang in all kinds of choirs because we had the kind of music teacher who swore we would never have to sing show tunes, pop hits, or accompany anything with sequined glove, jazz hand choreography. I learned a lot about music and myself as a result—renaissance motets, shape note music, that I am not really a soprano, the twelve tone series, Charles Ives, Carl Orff, so that’s what they do in church, and did I mention that I am not really soprano?
The other sopranos also recognized that I was not really a soprano. One in particular seemed to take particular umbrage at my unforgivable alto-ness and spent roughly three years giving me dirty looks over her sheet music. I don’t blame her. It sounded like a goat’s death rattle when I tried to hit the high notes. And she didn’t really have anything else in common (she was a Young Republican; I was writing what was tantamount to socialist revolution fanfic in the margins of my math book) except music and it wasn’t even all music. Just the music we sang together. And briefly, Tori Amos.
I think it’s kind of hard talking about being a weird theatrical teenager in 1992 without Tori popping up on the old autobiographical mixtape. Little Earthquakes was unavoidable sophomore/junior year before we discoverd riot grrrl and Liz Phair. It was a total thing for a minute. Even for the Soprano that didn’t like me. And to this day, whenever I think about leather clothing, or for that matter, pleather clothing of any kind, I see her sashaying around the school stage in between chorus rehearsals, giving me the eye and belting out that Tori Amos song “Leather” as if to say, see, how easy it is to sing so high?
My memory of buying this skirt is hazier even though it happened easily twenty-five years later. Survey says it was sometime pre-pandemic when I saw it on sale and thought “sure, why not.” You never know when you’re going to need a conservative black pleather garment to wear to a hair metal funeral mass, or, like, apply for a loan at goth bank or whatever.
Blouse: In January 2023, I spent about a month recovering from surgery and ordering stuff off the internet. Most of that stuff was resort-related, because I also spent some quality recovery time ordering up a Caribbean vacation at an all-inclusive with my best friend. Some of it was work related. I had a conference in March! I would need to present professionally!
But didn’t wear this blouse in March. I put it on and hated it. Then I put it back on and didn’t hate it as much. Then I thought I should maybe keep it. I tried to imagine, does this shirt bring me joy? And then I felt bad for the shirt. Like, what kind of asshole am I to treat this shirt like a red-headed stepchild. It didn’t do anything to me personally. Of course it could bring me joy. It was on me if I couldn’t figure how how. Then, sensibly, I thought I should maybe return it, but by then I was well outside the window.
Anyway, the blouse. I finally wore it. It got compliments. I might even like it.
Cardigan: This sweater is just about the only beige thing I own, but in my defense it’s alpaca and feels like a fuzzy dream. I would order twelve of these sweaters because I love the sensation of walking around the house wearing a cloud. I am, sadly, not made of money.
Also a fan of this sweater: the almost-not-kittens-anymore kittens, who also sometimes look and feel like the sweetest gray clouds in the world.
Outfit: Does it read kinky headmistress? That was not the intent.
I wore this to visit my doctor on Wednesday because I was raised to believe it’s always a good idea to look put together when someone is about to deliver bad news. And I expected bad news. The news, as it turned out, was not so terrible. On the plus, I am unlikely to be felled by organ failure in the immediate-near future. On the minus (and I know this is going to shock you), I am not longer as young as I once was. The anxiety is real. So are the aches and pains. But I got a referral, a reasonably clean bill of health and greenlight to celebrate my birthday this week. I felt like I could breathe for the first time in six weeks.
Which is, all things said, a pretty fantastic birthday present.
Skirt: Eloquii, 2019?
Blouse: Anthropologie, January 2023
Sweater: Pacas, November 2023
Earrings: Peel, previous.
Shoes: Madewell, previous.
Tiny Commotions 