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Monday, April 22, 2013


I bet you thought by the title I was blogging some smut about Batman, perv. 

Here’s the facts, Jack: I never cared much for fashion. I suck at shopping and putting things together on me is not my strength. I can decorate a vintage trailer, but it’s a true fiasco trying to decorate myself. I prefer jeans, t-shirts, cowboy boots or flip-flops. I’m the person who buys the clothes on the mannequins because someone else matched it.

I just dread shopping. I don’t grasp the fascination with brand name clothing. Who cares what designer made it as long as it fits right, and you feel good in it. I literally require mini breaks in between shopping at the mall in order to simmer my stress levels, and I can never go with someone. It takes me hours to try on clothes. It’s a big ordeal.

Fashion is a huge business. It’s a big deal to a lot of people. It’s just not a big deal to me. Then the other day I saw something that made me feel powerful in my slouchy clothes.

I was driving down Burbank Avenue and saw a kid wearing a Batman superhero costume in the middle of April. His bat ears were alert, a superhero mask covered happy eyes, sky blue tights hugged his running legs, and shiny black boots pumped the air. That kid was charging down the street with his dad literally chasing after him. 

It’s not even Halloween! Why would he be wearing that on a non-holiday? I think he wore it because he liked the way he felt in it. He looked like he was ready to save the world and carried himself like he was about to.

Watching this kid in his glory put a smile on my face. For the longest time, I thought I needed to fit in by dressing like the Romans, acting like the Romans. I tried really hard. Oh, boy did I. I stuffed my feet into black patent leather high heels that hurt, and I froze my butt off in order to wear a cute dress out with the girls.

Then one day I realized I didn’t have to fit in and who made the rules anyway? I should be dressing the way I want. I’m not going to be that woman that wears high heels all the time and wearing uncomfortable underwear sucks. I hate that kind of underwear. I want my socks and happy underwear.

And you know what? I feel more empowered wearing what works for me. Even if the outfit doesn’t match all the time, or my “look” doesn’t fit the environment I’m in. Who cares? If what you’re wearing feels comfortable and leaves you feeling like a superhero, do you really care what other people might say? You shouldn’t. Who are they anyway? I say if they’re not in your tight circle of friends they can cannonball off a cliff.

I say walk into a room full of beauties who are wearing strapless gowns and high heels knowing you look good in your comfy t-shirt and jeans. Wear men’s style underwear, a flimsy white t-shirt, and rock it with your boyfriend while at the same time being c-o-m-f-y. I happen to feel very powerful and sexy in my t-shirts, thank you.

T-shirts. All I need is a mask to make it official. Bring on the superhero.