It’s quite rare, these days, that an outfit will make me feel truly great. Great with no caveats. Great “but also I don’t have to worry about my dress flying up in the wind” or great but “also I don’t have to worry about my middle button popping off where my gut has stretched the fabric so much.” Great, but without the associated fashion stresses.
Because it stresses me (in a very minor way) even putting together an outfit – that’s nothing to do with having had kids, I’ve always been crap at dressing myself – and so by the time I’m actually wearing something decent, and I’ve found shoes to match that won’t kill me and a coat that’s not covered in mud, I’m truly indifferent.
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