Folding Laundry Makes Me Sad

 

It only takes a few minutes to fold and put away a load of laundry.  It shouldn't be tiring.  It isn't.  Physically. Emotionally, it's another story.  Folding laundry makes me sad.  

It's not the act of folding that saddens me. It's my clothing.  For years, I've bought whatever fits me at the second hand store.  For years I've wanted Clinton Kelly and Stacy London to show up at my door and show me What Not To Wear.  These days I have issues with a lot of those makeover shows that erase the style of the featured individual.  Me? I don't know that I have a style to erase.  

I admit, I live in jeans or stretch pants and a t-shirt. At 63, I don't know that it's a good look for me.  I don't feel pretty, sophisticated, or mature.  However, I do feel ready to go into the woods and wetlands and photograph birds or climb over rocks in the tidepool.  

My daughter has "cute" t-shirts.  She loves them, and loves the way they look on her.  She has a plethora of fun graphic designs.  I don't think I'd feel cute or fun in a shirt with an all over cartoon corgi print.  Maybe a floral.  Like any other senior in my senior community.  Or maybe not.

Solid colors always seem safe to me. I have drawers of safe solid colors, and one floral print for when I want to look like everyone else.  I own one dress.  I've never worn it.  My daughter tells me it looks "cute" on me.  It's orange.  Well, coral.  I do not think I look good in coral (or orange).  And while the cut fits, it does not flatter.  I need a little flattering.  But even if I did have an opportunity (or will) to wear it, I'd have to wear it with hiking boots or sneakers.  I have no "dress" shoes.  I always imagined wearing it with white shoes and a white slightly open weave sun hat with a medium brim.  It would have a bit of a vintage vibe that way.  I own nothing to go with it.

Back when I was younger, I was a clothes horse.  I wore all the trendy and cutting edge fashions.  Dressed like Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan, when I wasn't going for a more pop-punk look with my spacy looking dresses and the purple streaks at the temples of my spiked bleach blond hair. My makeup was always carefully applied.  I own makeup.  My daughter invested a small fortune in makeup for me for a recent job interview... recent being about 6 months ago.  I haven't worn makeup since. I don't feel motivated to spend time carefully painting my face on laundry day.

There is something that I miss about being young, about feeling that any time I stepped out the door I should look my best, because life is an adventure, it's full of possibilities, and it just feels so good looking good.  There's a sense of confidence and joy in that that I don't get from my solid aqua t-shirts and my stretchy jeans that are a little too baggy in unflattering places.  

Sometimes I think it's freedom, not to need to impress anybody. Other times I just want to be Cinderella at my own ball, or my own fairy godmother.  That's a luxury I literally cannot afford.

This week I splurged.  I ordered three bras online.  They're perfect, because they don't have any hooks and clips and can wear them when I have a CT scan or an MRI without changing into a hospital gown.  That's my idea of "good clothing" these days.  Other than "can wear it for imaging studies" or "not to warm when I go for a walk"  I don't have a lot of idea what to wear, and what not to wear.  The only criteria for clothing right now isn't informed by style or cut or print or fabric.  The only criteria I have is informed by the fact that I don't like coral. 

That isn't enough to develop a wardrobe that makes me happy, and that I enjoy wearing. Yeah, I'd like to go out not looking like a reject from People of Walmart, but I'm just not sure how to get there right now.