Today, I'm going to talk about clothes.

When I was younger, I was always concerned about what I wore.  I defined myself by my clothing and made sure I always looked nice.  Sometimes, that backfired.  I'm pretty sure that "Polo Boy" was NOT a compliment in middle school.  In fact, most things you hear from your peers in middle school are not compliments.

In high school, I decided to experiment a bit.  You know that outfit in the Fine Young Cannibals video for She Drives Me Crazy?  The guy in the suit with the shorts, knee socks, thick soled loafers and porkpie hat?  Um, I OWNED one of those outfits.  I was really proud of it, too.  In my defense, it WAS 1988.  I also wore bolo ties with suits, and the legs on all my pants were so pegged I could not have pulled them up over my calves to save my life.  And I'm not going to even DISCUSS the acid-washed denim.  I'm just glad I won't have to wear that shit again when it comes back into fashion.

So I spent the first half of my life caring what I put on my body.  Or rather, I spent a lot of time making sure that OTHER PEOPLE cared what I put on my body.  I bought outrageously expensive clothing and I'll have to admit: I did look fashionable and well dressed all the time (well, except for that colored denim phase in the early 90s... why, oh WHY did I buy a pair of baby-shit denim Girbaud jeans?!)

Then, I found Donna Karan.  My love of all things Donna began about the time my alarming weight gain took hold, and I found out that her proclivity towards solid black and expensive, sleek materials looked good on, ahem, portly gentlemen.  I had a "look," and don't think I didn't take it to the extreme.  At one time, I owned so much of that look that if I ever came up missing, my friends and family could just tell the police, "He was wearing a black knit top, grey flat-front slacks and square-toed Kenneth Cole shoes!  Find him, hurry!"

I dressed that way for about three years.  My sister told me that she knew my mental health was getting better because I stopped wearing black all the time.  It was shocking to me, because that hadn't been a conscious decision.  But she's right, I don't dress that way anymore.

So what do I wear now?  (Would it be too glib if I answered, "Whatever's clean?")  Actually, I have all sorts of clothes.  Some expensive, some not-so-expensive, and some downright tacky.  I don't put nearly as much thought into what I wear anymore.  I by no means dress like a bum, but I don't feel like I have to put on a pair of 130 dollar slacks to go to Target, either.  I think it's because I have a healthy self-esteem, my own personality, and frankly, I don't give a rat's ass what people think about how I look (within reason).  Yeah, that's it... I now dress for myself, not for anyone else.

And you know what?  I still look fabulous!