Clothes Masquerading as What They Are Not

I have a list of things to blog aobut that actually matter. I want to write more about my thoughts and learnings about racism. I want to tell you about our family travels. I want to plumb truths about self-care. 

But tonight I find myself at home and alone (note: not actually home alone, that never happens, but the others who are home are doing other things) and sitting by a backbard patio fire in the chill autumn air and I want to rant about a pet peeve of zero consequence (as they all are) that I simply cannot let go of. 

I like to think of myself as an easygoing person. Certainly choosing the husband I have (a very easygoing guy) and surviving a household of children has taught me some excellent lessons in flexibility. My years and the lessons they have contained have loosened my own moral rigidity in some very healthy, Godly ways. But I can't stoop so far as to allow clothing into my life that is pretending to be a thing it is not. 

We can start this diatribe with pants with faux pockets. No, let's not even admit that these atrocities could be something worthy of french - they are fake pockets. These are the dumbest things on earth, I think we can all agree to that. I occasionally get Stitch Fix shipments (God bless you, Stitch Fix) that contain pants with fake pockets and I immediately send them back. There's no point in even trying them on. Fake pockets are evil. Sure, the front of the pants are rendered smooth, but my own front is lumpy enough to counteract any benefit provided by the pants. No fake pockets. Not ever. I know my phone will only fit into the pockets of 10% of the pants I own because their pockets are still ridiculously small, but at least they are pockets. 

But my rules about clothing go far, far deeper than this. I also can't handle prints of patterns that are meant to be woven in. Perhaps this is a thing you've never thought about, and that is good for you because it means your psyche is healthier than my own, but I can't handle things like: 

• Printed stripes. This is wrong; stripes are supposed to be woven into the fabric
• Printed plaid patterns (plaids, ginghams, checks, houndstooth, all of them). For all the same reasons as the above only double because the stripes go both ways.
• Prints on sweaters. I once got a lovely sweater with flowers printed on it, but I returned it even though I thought it was really pretty because I knew I would never wear it. Sweaters are supposed to have the patterns knitted in, not printed on. 

Now, I’m sure we could come up with many exceptions to my rules above that I gladly admit into my closet. For example, I am OK with printed t-shirts, which are basically just sweaters with tiny knits, right? But now you’re just getting pedantic (ha ha, yes, I get the irony since this is possibly the most pedantic diatribe ever written).

I have one exception to this rule: novelty printed bike jerseys. Because, come on, these things are just so gosh darn cool.

The other thing I just can’t handle in my wardrobe are animal prints. I know the popularity of these prints comes and goes and that’s fine, it’s just not a trend I ever participate in. I don’t think it’s because I’m particularly against wearing animal skins or a depiction of animal skins... I think it goes back to my dislike for clothing masquerading as what it is not. I guess that deep down I just think that if you’re going to wear a tiger-print top, you should just wear a pelt. I don’t know... I’m not trying to justify my aversion... I just know that I can’t own animal prints. 

There is also one exception in my wardrobe to this rule: the RBG leopard print shirt that my husband purchased for me a few years ago. I don’t even have to justify this, it’s obvious that this should be in every woman’s closet regardless of her internal rules on animal prints.

I’ve experienced these aversions to clothes masquerading as what they are not for a long time and I’ve reflected a bit on what it means about my own character and personality. I do think that to some extent this is all a reflection of some of my own black-and-white thinking that I just can’t let go of. I do think it’s a (misguided) reflection of my deep passion for integrity and being wholly who one is.  

I don’t think these rules need to or should apply to anybody else, much like most of the other norms that rule my daily patterns (I am such a creature of habit). That is, don’t feel weird wearing printed stripes around me. 

Strange as they are, I stand by my rules. At least I know what I like and what I don’t. And if you ever see me wearing a printed sweater and pants with faux pockets, congratulate me for finally transcending my own rigidity.

But, let’s be real, it’s never going to happen.