I've never been very fashionable. My body has never particularly fit the fashions, and my mind has never particularly liked them. Except for grunge, and I was grunge when grunge wasn't cool. By the time it came into fashion, I'd long perfected the style.
I have these beautiful black velvet pants that I got in the eleventh grade. They're size 12. I was not a small girl in the eleventh grade. Size 12 isn't huge by any means, but I was 5'1". So a 12 was a bit large. They were fashionable enough--tight at the waist, a bit tapered in the legs, and roomy in the thighs.
Now I'm a size 4. I've been a size 4 for some time now. I haven't worn these black velvet pants since college.
I have to go to a dreaded social function tonight. I had "nothing to wear." Really.
So I dug out these black velvet pants and put them on. They hang on my hips. They're two inches too long because they hang on my hips so badly.
I have two-inch clunky heels, something I bought when I was feeling somewhat fashionable at PayLess.
So I'm fashionable after all. I have these baggy pants that hang on my hips, clunky ugly heels, and a nice little sweater to go with it.
Fashionable. And without even trying!
And I've already had an extraversion pill in the form of a nice glass of merlot. The dreaded social function should be a pluperfect hoot.