Earlier this week, I went to an informal get-together with some other gals from church. Knowing Italy’s take on casual is America’s version of dress-up, I took care to look nice—my good jeans, suede boots, dangly earrings, a pretty scarf. I would have felt pretentious in the States, but here… I was just proud of myself for managing to pull off the fashionable look I knew all the other ladies would have.
Except that wasn’t the case. At all. The others were wearing designer denim, designer shoes, cashmere sweater dresses, skinny belts, chunky necklaces, crystal hair clips, perfectly color-coordinated outfits with purses to match, and makeup that put my mascara-and-Lip-Smackers philosophy to shame. I felt like a complete slob.
Sitting in that circle of fashion models with my stomach sucked in, I quickly forgot all about the Year Without Clothes efforts I’d been applauding. I pushed away the commitment I’d made to spend as little as possible this year so we can finally get out of debt. That sense of satisfaction I’d felt when resolving to forego a new pair of heels this winter? Vanished without a trace. Because not only did I suddenly need new heels, I needed new boots and a new dress and a new coat and new sweaters and new scarves and new jewelry and new eye shadow and probably a new haircut too.
There in my chair, with no provocation other than my own self-imposed notion of inferiority, I turned into a miner. You know the kind—discontented, jealous, ready to uproot their lives for the shoddy promise of gold dust somewhere in a California stream. I needed to fit in, no matter how much cashmere sweater dresses cost.
Two and a half hours later, I pulled up in front of our gorgeous house. I tip-toed up the stairs and into the warm pool of light spilling from our bedroom door, where I was kissed like a movie star by my husband. We peeked into the next room where our girls slept with arms and legs flung on top of their covers, eyelashes resting serenely on cheeks. I put away my not-designer jeans and snuggled into bed with the love of my life as far-away lights danced like pixies on the wall. Peace tucked itself in around us; the knot in my stomach subsided. Through the soft night colors, I could see clearly again that happiness has nothing to do with new shoes or new hair or new anything. And just like that, my fashion crisis was solved.
