There is a part of me that feels desperately guilty that I didn’t take advantage of living in Dublin 1 and trot down to O’Connell St to enjoy the 1916 commemoration festivities – but there’s another, larger part of me, that was very glad I didn’t get caught up in the melée. Anyway, I went the opposite direction – towards the southern ‘burbs, for brunch with friends in The Greenery, and shot my OOTD while I was at it. (Because I’m experiencing a three-day loss of control, I had French toast followed by blueberry and white chocolate crême brûlée, both of which were delicious.)
Something specific happens when you lose weight, and cut your hair incredibly short: you lose the ability to dress yourself. At a certain size, with a certain hairdo (curvy, and lion-like, respectively), I knew exactly what suited me. Namely, printed wrap dresses; oversized tops from Cos paired with boyfriend jeans and Nike Air Maxes; and the odd pair of skinny jeans, worn with a flowing shirt and my fave ankle boots by SixtySeven (dupes for Acne’s Pistols, though it hurts me to wear knock-offs).
Now, size 12 and with short hair, less reminiscent of a large cat and more of a 1980s groupie, I’m all at sea, sartorially speaking. Of course, it doesn’t help that, as I’ve lost weight, my wardrobe has diminished significantly. Because I didn’t ever believe I would succeed in this weightloss mission (I never had before), it would never have occurred to me to put some money aside for the day I’d need to buy myself some new duds – so I’ve spent the past couple of months recycling the same two pairs of trousers, three dresses and two jumpers.
A long-awaited payday last week resulted in my splashing out a little – although an enormous ASOS haul was only 30% successful, and some rushed H&M purchases are going back ASAP – and attempting to redefine my style. How am I doing? The jury’s still out, but I have learned some important lessons:
The seam on my skinny jeans isn’t twisted
That just happens because I have, or, rather, had, curvy calves. Devastated.
Changing rooms aren’t all that hellish after all
I used to hate – hate, hate, hate – trying things on. I’d honestly have preferred to walk down my street naked (okay, it’s really teeny, but still) than spend an hour trying on clothes in Dundrum Town Centre. The changing rooms are really warm, the mirrors are unflattering and nothing ever fits. Well, it’s odd how much the first two stop mattering once you get rid of the last one. A trip to Zara yesterday – where I’d usually pretty much buy whatever fit – left me with loads of choice. (Which is nice, but I still didn’t think anything really suited me.)
Taking #OOTD photographs is really hard
This, clearly, learned on Lennox St yesterday afternoon, as I grappled with my new camera, the rain, forgot to open my eyes and didn’t think to remove my scarf. Oh well, onwards and upwards, right?
The deets: jacket (buy it here, in sizes XS to XL; I’m a size 12 and wearing M), jeans (here, for a bargaintastic €19.95) and tee (barely seen but, y’know, a similar basic plain grey tee here), all Zara; scarf, Pamela Scott*; bag, Pauric Sweeney from Siopaella; shoes, ASOS (buy ’em here right now – I’m a 6.5-7 and bought a 6 and they’re perfect).