Becoming a Woman and Walking like a Fawn: A Lesson in Fashion.

Sometimes, in spite of the glitter and my intense love for romantic comedies, I fail at being a woman. But not in the Sheryl Sandberg-esque, “I can’t have it all and I make seventy cents to your dollar” kind of way. I kill it when it comes to that. Obviously.

No, I mean in the everyday, blatant ways, leading me to deduce that I may have missed a day or two in school when All Girls learned how to do girl things, like own more than one dress or walk in heels without looking like a day old fawn.

However, as with any A list rom-com, I sort of turn things around right before it gets way too campy and unbelievable, emerging down the spiral staircase looking like that super pretty actress that they had to ugly-down for the role in order to pretty-up halfway through so that Freddie Prinze Jr. would fall in love with her and take her to the prom.

It was so much easier
when you could just
rock a bitchin' barrette
and call it a day.

Case in point: within the course of a seven week period, CB and I have three weddings to attend. And while I didn’t know for quite some time that you couldn’t just own one black dress that’s kind of shapeless and wear it to everything requiring heels, I found this out recently when I started looking at pictures from the last two years and couldn’t distinguish between the events because my outfit, hair, and date were the exact same.

Also, in my defense, I actually think having the same date isn’t a faux pas, and if anything, is the mark of a healthy relationship. But if I’d been a bit less discretionary in my life choices, I may have been able to look at that wedding from 2011 and say “Well, that was obviously Susan’s wedding, because my date was that guy who drank too much and then groped the bride’s mother during the cocktail hour while I was busy convincing the DJ to do a killer Beyonce mash-up.”

But since CB insists on going to all of these functions with me, I’ve had to step up my game. And by “step up my game” I mean that some friends have decided to take pity and charity-dress me so that they can post these pictures on Facebook without having to explain to others that I was some style-less party crasher who’d never heard of Rent the Runway.

Cut to: Me standing near-naked in Jen’s bedroom with six or seven elegant dresses sprawled out on the bed while she and Danielle gave me explicit orders from the other side of the door.

Jen: “You have to come out, even if it doesn’t look good.”
Danielle: “Hurry up and get out here. And put on the shoes, we want to see the whole package.”

Oh, something you should know about me. I have the type of body that linebackers and Sherpa’s covet, complete with broad shoulders and a strapping back that’s perfect for muling large packages across borders and stopping quarterbacks in their tracks.  And while these features have been known to cause one or two massive and tearful breakdowns in various Macy’s dressing rooms over the years, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to embrace these characteristics and have convinced myself that it somehow means that I won’t, like, get back cancer or something because I’m way too strong and sturdy.

But sometimes this makes for a challenging excursion with fashion, since these features are deceptive. I look all normal and regular-backed until you get about an inch from the top of the zipper, just when you think maybe your arm will snap off because you’ve contorted it in such an unnatural way just to get the zipper nearly all the way up your back. And then you realize that, inexplicably, it won’t quite make it.

So I was fully prepared for such an event, having to explain to my friends that the gorgeous Vera Wang was super killer, but only if it came in size Football Player. However, I was pleasantly surprised that, aside from a few moments of Group Zip*, this didn’t go half badly. 

But while I’ve fully committed to gowns and glamour, what I’ve yet to embrace is how on earth anyone can walk in heels.

First of all, it was like a Natural Geographic special where Jen and Danielle were the scientists/explorers and I was the rare species of Not Quite Girl walking down the hallway with wobbly ankles and a pained look of disgust (in my inabilities, as well as the cruelty of the design of All Heels) and anxiety on my face. Let's get real, I’m semi-surprised they didn’t have cameras out while pointing and whispering.

Danielle: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in heels. Or a dress. But you’re kind of walking like a baby giraffe.”
Jen: “Are you ok? Do you want us to come to you? You’re walking really slowly.”

But hang on. Oh my God, you guys. Have we actually just gone ahead and gotten on board with heels? 

Also, have we all watched “Pretty Woman” one too many times? Because while I remember wearing heels at prom and not ending up in a body cast, I do not remember the heels being eight inches tall.

However, if this is what it's come to, I will fully need CB to carry me around every wedding reception from hereon out, stopping periodically so I can grab a vodka and a pig in a blanket or two. 

Wait, hold on. Come to think of it, ladies, this is genius! Well done and I take it all back. 

So regardless of whether I'm able to physically walk or bend over, I now have both a dress and heels, and I'm sort of smokin', if I do say so myself. And really, if I've learned anything during this Fashion Evolution, it's that breathing, walking, and sitting down are highly overrated activities while Looking Hot. 

Challenge Accepted.  

*You know what Group Zip is. It’s when you bring in everyone within the vicinity of your dressing room to pull that damned dress together and get it to zip. It usually entails moments of shouting “Don’t breathe!” and saying a silent prayer to your God that it won’t split in two, met with audible sighs of relief when it finally clasps and you haven’t passed out.