Alright, I’ll admit it: I had a hard time deciding exactly what disaster I was going to showcase today. Should I go with something Red, White, and Blue to celebrate the Inauguration? Should I give a nod to the chilly weather up there and show you my extensive, and so very tubular, collection of leg warmers? How about another hand made affair (man, have I got a real piece of ugly)? There’s just so much hideousness in my closet that it’s near impossible to decide.

Today I am not choosing one outfit, but an entire style that I developed while mired in the depths of my eating disorder. (Wait, you didn’t know about that? Just add that to the list of my character defects! Yay!) As a ninety pound waif, I arrived at the conclusion that 1950’s Housewife Wear would be fashionable. On the one hand, this meant plenty of pencil skirts and killer high heels; however, the downside was itchy, stifling, unnatural fabrics and eye-bleeding prints. Not to mention the fact that I’m not particularly keen on wearing dresses and heels all day long. I’m just not that grown-up.

I now present you with a selection of dresses from this period in my life. I’m sorry that the quality of the photo isn’t better and that I didn’t take individual shots, but I didn’t feel like taking the time to upload each one, so here it is:

Clearly, comfort was not a priority. Also? These dresses are a negative size. There’s just not enough fabric to cover my entire left leg. Not that there’s anything wrong with people who are, but I’m just not that girly. What’s more? I can’t believe I tried so hard, for so long. I now wonder what the people I encountered were thinking. I wonder if they too felt visually assaulted by all the swing and polyester.

Here’s another one in which the pattern causes you to blink rapidly to focus your eyes. It’s that kind of migraine inducing. Blech.

The skirt might actually be alright, if paired with the right top. And by the right top, surely I mean something without polka dots. Oh, the polka dots. Good Heavens, wearing this dotted nightmare might cause some innocent, unsuspecting toddler to go crazy with a marker, mistaking me for a Connect-the-Dots. Although, a bit of marker might be an improvement.

I just can’t for the life of me fathom what I was thinking. Sure the style might not have been all that bad if I wanted to look like I stepped off the pages of Women’s Wear Daily in the 1950’s, which I didn’t. But the effort required to look this way! Oh it must have been tireless! As if I didn’t have enough to do! In between all the dress making, cookie baking, and child tending, I needed to apply lipstick and smooth out the wrinkles on my dress too? (Wait! I know I do those things now, but I do it in sticky blue jeans and stained nursing tops. Sweet.) In fact, that’s probably why this style of dress went out the window: I just didn’t have the energy to keep up with myself. Frankly, I just don’t care that much how I look. And, I hope, neither do you. Care how I look, I mean.

Next week, My Crocheted Nightmare! Awesome.