I'll Take the Classic To Go, Please

This post was not what I intended to publish today. I'd planned a quirky Inspired By post that I thought was quite clever. Then, as it's prone to do, life intervened.

Somehow, while walking Izzy (in freezing temperatures- Seattle is the WORST right now), I sliced my finger open. I have no idea how it happened, and because my hands were so cold I didn't feel it. Eventually, I looked down and saw that my hand was covered in blood, as was my outfit. It was very dramatic.

I bandaged my finger. It's fine. I got the blood out of my overalls. Thank goodness! But my blog post was toast. None of my back up ideas were really singing to me, so I posed this question: what rule do I need more practice with?

I doubt I need to tell you the answer: black is always best.

Perusing my Instagram feed, I saw that ALL of my recent posts had me in black to some degree.

So, I didn't wear black.

Here's how it went:

THE EVENT: A full day of work, voice lessons, a grocery store run, and having a friend over for dinner to plot and plan our next theatrical adventure.

THE BROKEN RULE: Black is always best.

THE OUTFIT: I've read a large amount of fashion magazines in my lifetime. Time and time again, they've told me that a white button-up shirt is classic. Classic is defined by Google as, "judged over a period of time to be of the highest quality and outstanding of its kind." Sounded promising!

I have just one white button up shirt. I threw it on with brand new Madewell jeans that I'm quite in love with, and my green lace up boots. I finished the outfit with a really beautiful turquoise necklace Geneva got me for my birthday, and I was set. Not a bit of black in sight.

THE EXPERIENCE: I felt very adult in this outfit. (I guess classic does come with the implication of age.) I say this as a positive effect- I've been mistaken for being younger than I am for most of my life. I'm getting to the age where I appreciate this, but there were times, especially as an actor, when I just wanted to be seen as an adult. Something about the combination of an I-mean-business top, tucked into jeans that don't hide my hips, made me feel quite mature. And I didn't hate it.

I wasn't the only one who felt different about my look. As I took off my jacket, my voice teacher commented that he liked my outfit, too.

For the rest of the day, however, I was mostly in my big avocado jacket. (It's snowing here as I write this. WHY!?!?!) Because I was so covered, I can't speak to the outfit's adult powers in other situations.

THE CONCLUSION: First, in an effort to be transparent, let me say: I hate this shirt. I like the idea of it, but this particular piece deserves an all-expenses-paid trip to the nearest trash can. It's a linen blend that is somehow both stiff and very easily wrinkled. It's almost cropped so I had to tuck it in, but then it kept mushroom poofing around my mid-section. A few posts ago, I discussed how boring I find shopping for basics and with this top I'm really paying the price for that habit.

Now, let's get philosophical. An article was left in the comments of a recent blog post that really got me thinking. Roughly paraphrasing, it presented the argument that black clothes are armor. We often wear them to hide. I don't disagree. While my outfit wasn't rainbow bright or metallic, in that white button up I felt much more visible. When I walked into a room I felt more seen than I do when I enter in black.

The article also discussed how vulnerable it can feel to give up black eye makeup. Being, as my mom says, "lilly white" I've also recently given up black eyeliner. Even though I'm way too pale to be flattered by it, without it I did feel vulnerable. My face felt more open to the world, and not like I'd sculpted it before I walked out the door. It's fascinating to me how black has the same effect both on my face and on my body.

Have you experienced a similar effect after giving up black? I'd love to hear about it.

Oh, and before you go, care to help me pick a new white shirt? These are the ones I've been eying as a replacement for this linen monstrosity: