Style, or Lack Thereof

So I've been reading style books lately. (My friend Desiree is passing out at the thought at this very moment.) What I've realized is that my style and my closet aren't on close speaking terms.

My friend Colleen once told me that the best thing about turning 40 was the ability to say "to hell with it" and mean it. To hell with tasks you don't want. To hell with living up to someone else's expectations. To hell with "should" and Hello to "want."

Colleen has a point, and that point's being affirmed in the strangest places. One of the books I bought on my B-day was a copy of Brenda Kinsel's 40 Over 40. Much of this book is self-affirming rather than prescriptive. Figure out who you are and what you love, embrace it, and make your style your own. Okay, I can dig that. The problems crop up when your style veers more toward silly T-shirts and Marvin the Martian watches than it does chic. Desiree would shudder at the stuff I find cute (she's way more stylish than I am). I like the tacky shirts the Sunshine State Parkway workers wear in the tollbooths. I love Converse Chuck Taylors. I like Celtic knot earrings and my charm bracelet. I love bright colors. And pajamas--if I could wear pajamas to work, I would. But I also have a soft spot for twin sets, my grandmother's Huguenot cross, and pearls. Finding a personal style encompassing all that will be a trick. But it'll be a step toward becoming someone who doesn't hate getting dressed in the morning quite so much.

As I get older, I don't imagine I'll become a Red Hat lady. I won't need to be, if I can embrace my hot pink Chucks self for who she is and be happy.