Every time the new Anthropologie catalogue comes my momma gives me the side eye. You know that look where she cant quite understand why I like their clothing. I personally love their stuff, but you would never know it to look at me. I am an office girl, so I dress like an office girl. Slack, sweater, heels and sometimes I will throw a dress on, but its not often. I don’t do fashionista at the office. Frankly it’s just too difficult.
I used to work downtown and everyone dressed alike. Slacks, button down, heels or Skirt, sweater, heels. There was no deviation from the program. This is the nation’s capital for god sakes! The only place where men’s standard summer dress is a blue button down and khakis. There are a sea of them down there right now probably milling about the corner of 17th and Penn with the faux homeless guy aka Secret Service Agent and the Pervy Persian in the hot dog cart. I say this to emphasize that when it comes to work fashion, I usually go with standard. Now, I really like unconventional style but basically I can’t justify it. I can’t by trendy pricy items to run up and down the stairs like a mad woman all day. No one cares if my new cute belt matches my shoes if all they see is a curly headed blur. That said I still want those clothes.
So the new catalog came last night, and in normal fashion I start flipping through it, entranced by $380 shoes and dresses made of knit, and chiffon. I usually pick out the things I love, go back through and weed out the impossibilities and then show the rest to mom who regards them all in the same way. Blank stare, looks at me in disbelief, looks closer, face looks like eating a lemon, asks “You like THIS”, points to page in horror, rolls eyes, hands back catalogue.
So you say Avin, why show her if you know she is going to hate it? Ahh who knows really, I mean I could say it’s because I know someday she will think that their clothing is as amazing as I think it is, but that would be a big fat lie. I could say it’s because I think she just isn’t seeing the possibilities within the designs, but that would just be crazy. No folks that not why I do it. I do it because I actually enjoy the exchange. Part of me breathes a sigh of relief when I realize that though I am turning into her, I am not her yet and thank god for that! I like that she turns her nose up at the 4 inch leopard print pumps I so dearly covet from Bebe. I enjoy that her idea of sophistication does not involve red Mary Jane’s and a wide red leather belt. I enjoy that while we are so clearly alike, we are still so very different.
I think we will always be similar in mannerism and attitude. We are virtually impossible to tell apart over the phone, and even though people who don’t know us that well think I am my aunts child, it only takes one conversation to know who I belong to. I didn’t inherit her skin tone, her body style, her nose or her eyes. She isn’t the reason I love being barefoot, procrastinate or love makeup and writing. She is the reason my hair looks like a damn Chia Pet, I will worry myself into a grave and why I’ll never back down from a fight. She is the source of so many good things about me, and so are her sisters but I like that at the end of the day, I am still just Avin. Writing short stories, eating sushi, singing about Crunk Juice, slathered in MAC and contemplating a new outfit from Anthropologie.