|Scarves of the world united against me|
I wore a scarf today. Bad move. I'm not a scarf person.
I praise the genius inventor of the endless scarf, of which I have several. I like the way it frames the face, acting as camouflage for the less-than-youthful neck of not-a-spring-chicken. Plus it stays "tied".
Today's scarf was of the normal, oblong variety. I intended it as the "third piece" to pull together a grey-ish over blouse and teal-ish pants. It was a teal-ish/grey-ish color itself, a silk jacquard weave with fringed ends. It looked harmless enough. I looped and knotted it in a way that worked while standing stock-still in front of the mirror.
This scarf spent the day trying to kill me. The seemingly innocent fringe caught on everything because, of course, the scarf moved when I did. Three hours in I was ready to rip it off but had no necklace to keep me from feeling incomplete.
Mostly, I guess, the scarf just wasn't me. I suddenly felt "old". It was a matronly look, an '80s look, just not a "me" look.
It was only a scarf but emblematic of how we can feel when we try to adopt something that isn't really our style. For me that's a lot of things that are many women's wardrobe staples: a blazer, a white man-tailored shirt, a trench coat, pearls, jeans... It's a pretty long list. At this point I kind of know.