I love clothes, have a wardrobe that has just a few too many things crammed into it, lots of pattern, colour, an increasing amount of animal prints in bright colours. Attempts to organise my wardrobe have sections ranging from black, multi-coloured, grey to silver, peachy tones, greens, not a lot of blue, reds. I have enough shoes to make the box room next to my bedroom look like a shoe shop, complete with shelves. As dancing is one of my hobbies I have some more swishy, dance friendly, often sparkly clothes for dancing in.
I have to admit, however, that there was a raising of eyebrows when I received my email update about the happenings at the www.britmums.com conference. I felt excited as the event really is not that far away now. But seriously, asking what I am going to wear? Were it a Dads blogging conference would they be lining up to tell the world what they will be wearing? I thought about not blogging and instead fashion trolling (is that a thing, if not I stake my claim!) and I would attend the conference in what could only be described as a fashion car crash, and see where it took me.
I’m me whatever I wear. You will not see me in a hospital gown having a scan, dressed all in black at a funeral, naked birthing a baby, in my dressing gown at 3am after a restless night and finally giving up on sleep, in lurid neon gym clothes, but all those versions of me will be there. The girl whose mum always insisted she look ‘just right’, the awkward teen in the nasty Saturday job uniform. I’m bringing quite a little crowd with me.
Of course the ‘what are you wearing’ is a light-hearted bit of fun, but a big part of me wants to be taken seriously about what I write, not to have peoples’ opinions and thoughts about me, or any other women, to stop at ‘ooh she looks pretty/smart/awful’ (delete as applicable). Isn’t that sadly what happens so often to women, we have lived, survived, achieved, created, but so much is still about how we look.