This is something you probably already all knew.
To be fair, it hasn't always been the same clothing problem.
Ever since I realized that what I wore could effectively set me apart from the rest of the unpopular crowd in high school, I've been a bit of a clothes horse. I went from wearing oversized T-shirts and baggy jeans (sorry not sorry, there is very little photographic documentation from this period) to... shall we say, experimenting with fashion. There's very little other way of putting it. My style was eclectic at best, confusing at worst. I wore what was commonly referred to as "Ashley pants," which were basically the most unique jeans I could get my hands on. I had jeans splattered with paint, covered with sequins, inset with wide flares of contrasting patterns. I wore socks with heels.
I had a perm (maybe two).
It was a dark (yet colorful) time.
In college, I refined my style (somewhat). I grew up a little, and you can see the beginnings of my love of the more classic look. Then again, you can also see where I wore legwarmers and heels.
Needless to say, I've been getting attention for what I wear for quite some time.
I started leaning more and more towards the vintage style around 2009. I had gone through a few hair styles by then: chopping my hair off in an attempt at Sarah Jessica Parker's curly short hair, followed quickly by the Katie Holmes bob.
By then, I was bored with the mixture of eclectic/boho-chic I had established. I was looking for a new style, and found it on Project: Runway when one of the contestants had a distinctly pin-up style.
I latched on, and the rest is history.
Well, there were a few hair colors in between.
I've been settled into my style (and my red hair) for a while now, and don't see any signs of change. Quite the contrary: I just seem to be accumulating more and more clothes. And, now that I've actually organized all my accessories and clothes, my outfit options are even more unlimited.
My boyfriend doesn't help. He is, in fact, nothing but an enabler. He combs through resale shops with me. He fixes accessories I break so that I can keep using them instead of throwing them away. He helps me decide what shoes to wear. And, to make maters worse, he says incredibly unhelpful things like, "You have a lot of earrings that would match that shirt," and "You'd rock that, babe."
We were at Goodwill two weeks ago (his idea, not mine). We went in looking for a women's skirt suit he'd seen the last time we were there (to turn into speaker covers, because the man couldn't stop coming up with projects if you put a gun to his head). The suit was gone, but I walked out with two pairs of shoes, a dress, a shirt, and a jumpsuit.
But what am I supposed to do when I try a dress on, open the door, and get two thumbs up from the love of my life? Put it back on the rack? I think not.
Mark is probably my biggest fashion fan, and has been the constant recipient of my selfies for years now. He is my partner in crime and in clothing, and he is one of the reasons I don't just live in leggings through most of winter. I wouldn't be the pretty (vain) vintage girl I am today without him.
And, as if my vanity weren't bad enough, my job just makes matters worse.
There are currently two Fish Eye Fun rigs set up in the office, and, well...