Project Funway

Sometimes I just can't stand it. The esp thing between my daughter and me is downright weird.
I used to pick her up for church and discovered we had chosen almost identical outfits: if I wore shirt and skirt, so did she; if I wore a frock, so did she and so on. It's been years now since that happened, but it happened again today.
I had a yearning to give a final outing of the season to my favorite little jersey number, a Costco bargain, which doubles as either a loose summer dress or fall tunic with tights and a sweater underneath. The fabric's a little thin for the insulation I need on my bony old bod and the color scheme of black and white is completely wrong for my color type according to a Dress For Your Color Palette advice I was given years ago. (I'm supposed to be all springy, pastels in shades of violet and yellow - Easter eggs theme will give you the gist of it). But not being one for following advice to begin with, I just wear whatever I fancy and today it was zebra. Knock at my door this morning, and daughter standing there, ALSO IN ZEBRA !! Ta da ! We just love it when that happens !! .
So, big question: what does it all mean? Either we're shopping too close to one another, or that we're wired to respond the same way to the subtleties of mood and light, like gerbera daisies and chameleons. Possibly a bit of each or non of the above. And what does it really matter? Why is fashion such a big deal anyway? I've no real clue why there are times when I want to be seen and other times when I'd rather not and other times when I just don't give a shit. Today I think I just took pity on the poor little jersey number who wasn't too thrilled about impending hibernation.

Same daughter just showed up for our weekly mother-daughter dinner and she'd retired her zebra outfit for the day, now sporting snazzy new jeans FINALLY after two days, three stores and trying on at least 50 different pairs. Seriously. Almost as complicated as finding the correct pantyhose or bra, but worse because you have to undergo the tug and pull routine which always makes me hot and cranky and feel I have to fall into See's for a comforting sample, and if you're dealing with the dressing room limited garment policy of only 6 things at a time in your cubicle, you either have to have a shopping buddy to act as runner and hand things over the dressing room door, or get all dressed again to swap out the next 6 garments. And if you're wearing laceup tennies, add that to the list of complications. And I usually am, of course.
Today I was "being seen" so dressed accordingly. But tonight I'll be blending into the shadowy flicker of a candle lit setting and could wear a sack and still be ok. Even when I'm having one of those days when I don't want to be seen or don't give a shit what you think of me, it's the old baseball cap and sunglasses routine, me pretending to be Diane Keaton incognito, just picking up milk at the store, I've come to realize I'm still actually costuming. When I was in theatre and flouncing around as Hamlet's mum or Miss Prism, my favorite costumer's motto was Life's Too Short Not To Dress Up. I write today in loving memory of Denise, who left us her lace hanky collection.