Meet Peanut:

Oh my! I’m so sorry, Peanut! This was waaay back, before I had children, and I had the itch. I’m sure you know nothing about the itch, seeing as you’re a dog and all. But, clearly, one should never dress one’s Chihuahua/Yorkie mix in Warm Weather Tourist/Rain Gear.

1. You’re a dog.
2. You’re not a tourist.
3. You rarely spend time in the sun.
4. Also, you rarely spend time in the rain. You HATE the rain and would rather pee on the carpet. By the way I’m so over that, but now I realize you may be getting back at me and I kind of understand.
5. Because, obviously, I need to hear it again: YOU ARE A DOG. (Not to be confused with DAWG, which you are so not.)

Again, I’m sorry and I promise never to dress you in human clothing again. (I now realize human clothing is kind of redundant because HUMANS SHOULD BE THE ONLY ANIMAL TO WEAR CLOTHING.) Also? It only just occurred to me why you might be peeing on the carpet. If I promise never to have such a serious lapse in judgment again, will you please stop? Please? Remember: I can always take you to the shelter! (I kid. Only slightly. Maybe.)

I know. It’s been awhile. Not because I don’t make frightening fashion choices every day of my life, believe me I do, but because my cameras is broken and I have no way of documenting the ugly that is my wardrobe except for the camera in my computer and, hello, the zoom and pixelation (it’s a technical word– I LOOKED IT UP, M’KAY?) aren’t good enough to document that shit. Onward. Case in point (of my daily fashion tragedies):

#1- I (for reasons still unclear to even me) decided to buy 1980’s Electric Pink With a Side Order of Day-Glo nail polish at the store today. I think what drew me to it was the fact that the bottle was labeled Insti-Dri! and not having even five minutes to shower these days, Insti-Dri! appealed to me. Look! Nail polish! Something I can do for myself and be quick about it! What’s not to love, right? Wrong. Not only does Insti-Dri! mean gloppy, sloppy, and gross, it also means my retina(s) are burning from the sheer brightness of the polish color.
#2- I am wearing a robe. Contrary to what this picture is telling you, I am not 97 years old. Although sometimes I am in bed by 7pm.

This should be evidence enough that I make piss poor fashion choices all the time. RIGHT NOW, in fact. It should also be evidence enough to prove that the computer camera wouldn’t be sufficient to document my crappy wardrobe.

But wait! That wasn’t the Wardrobe Malfunction I wanted to show you. What I wanted to show you is how I have made piss poor fashion choices my whole life.

Seeee?

Let’s break it down, shall we? (And because I like lists, let’s do it list style.)

• Those glasses. I have a problem with those. People who may (have the luxury) of knowing me in real life, will know that I indeed am a wearer of the corrective eye wear. However, at the time of this photo I was not. I stole those puppies from my mom. Exactly what for, I am unsure. (Clearly, I do a lot of things and am unsure WHY I do them! Or MAYBE that is just the excuse I use to avoid looking like a piss poor fashion choice maker! Ohhh, psychology! I’m really peeling away the layers now.) Back to the glasses. I remember wearing them and feeling a little bit, erm, off. I don’t know, like, MAYBE I WAS WEARING THE WRONG PRESCRIPTION IN MY EYES??? Regardless, these effers are ugly. Beaten with the ugly stick. Born of an ugly mama, to an ugly papa, birthed by an ugly doctor, and swaddled in an ugly blanket. And they aren’t doing me any favors here. Blech. Also? Does anybody remember Sally Jesse Raphael? Yeeaaah. Now you do. You’re welcome.
• The necklace? Srsly? Is that a jingle bell? Oh for crying out loud! I was (supposedly) a hip 13 year old girl. Not a 57 year old divorcee living in Boca Raton, wearing a Gem Sweater, petting one of my 12 cats. And, yes, fashion does indeed extend to accessories and nail polish. Do we even need to debate this point? I DIDN’T THINK SO.
• My sweater has Christmas trees on it. Frankly, speaking of Gem Sweaters, it would probably be more attractive if I was wearing one of those because OH FOR THE LOVE A CHRISTMAS TREE SWEATER??? I can’t believe my mother let me leave the house looking like this. I look like a virgin (not by choice) 42 year old librarian. Barf.
• Let’s talk about what we can’t see here, but what I know is going on. Attending a private middle school, one that has no uniform but a strict dress code instead, wreaks havoc on personal style. I (but it wasn’t just me okay) would continually find ways to tweak the code so some originality could leak through (and in my case plenty made it). One of those ways was to take the mid-calf length skirt my mom sent me to school in and roll up the waist band; thus, making a mini skirt. The only problem with this was the fact that one’s waist became all lumpy and bumpy and one would end up looking as if she were wearing a potato sack. Attractive, no? Hence, the shapeless sweater.

Oy. Middle School. What a breeding ground for questionable fashion choices! I look like a monster (a fashionless monster) about to jump out the screen and rawr you to death. And I still can’t get over my (mom’s) glasses. Didn’t she even think to ask why I wanted to wear them to school? And WHY DIDN’T SHE STOP ME?

My camera is acting a fool. I know how patiently you wait for these Wardrobe Malfunction Tuesday posts and not wanting to disappoint you, I took a video instead. I hope it will provide ample evidence, on this sweet Tuesday, that it is indeed a malfunction piece (or pair, as it were) in my wardrobe. I chose shoes, by the way. Without more jibber-jabber, I present for your watching enjoyment: My Fugly Shoes.

The No-Good, Very-Bad, Awful, Ugly Shoes from Magic Mom on Vimeo.

Cripes! Are those ever ugly?! Anyway…
I have a mammoth shoe collection. And, you would know by now if you’ve been paying attention, that not all of these shoes are gems in my wardrobe. On no. I keep every sad foot covering that has ever graced my pretty, little peepers. Oh wait! I should actually tell you about my Foot Anorexia! It’s really pathetic sad! You see, I have fairly small feet. Not freakishly so, but just small enough that people often say, “Oh my! I can’t borrow your shoes! Your feet are too tiny!” When people make these exclamations, I feel proud. Yup, proud. For years I walked around in fear of growing big, old, boat feet and in an effort to keep nature from taking its course, I wore shoes that were a size and a half too small. I didn’t want my feet to appear too large. I was hardly in danger of this, however, because my actual shoe size is a six. A six! That’s not large at all! But I’d rather hobble around on too small shoes than risk looking like I’m walking around with cinder blocks attached to my feet. See? This is Foot Anorexia. I’ve only very recently (sort-of) outgrown this ridiculous problem.

And these sad dogs are from the Foot Anorexia Era. Can’t you tell? They sort of look like doll shoes. And those way cool dinosaur laces don’t help much. Granted, I was about 19 when I wore these sneakers and, clearly, I was still straddling the fence of Not a Girl But Not Yet a Woman. With child-like dinosaur laces, I was somehow trying to reconcile my immature nature with the ginormous boobs I sprouted at 19 because I was a late bloomer. Wearing these shoes, was akin to wearing a billboard down Main Street with my mental problems painted on it– a therapist’s wet dream.

I’m not sure I even need to address how broken down these puppies are. I mean, we all see the cracks, rips, tears, and missing pieces, right? What would possess me to keep these shoes well past their Use By date, I really have no clue. Indubitably, they aren’t even fashionable and I’m not sure they ever were. They look like a throwback to a bygone era (like the 70’s), that should stay good and by gone, dammit. I easily have 400 other pairs of sneakers in my closet, but when asked if I was (by chance) throwing them out when I took them out of the closet for their premiere video, I said, “Oh hell no!” Was she suggesting they were garbage? OH NO WAY!

Here’s hoping I never dare to put these sneakers on my feet. Ever, ever again. Unless it’s Halloween and I’m going as a Homeless Person. Then it might be okay.

So, let’s just say, hypothetically and all, that I’m headed to an afternoon high tea get-together. Then I might need something stylish and subdued, flirty yet elegant, colorful but not bright. Classy! That would be what I might want. You know, if I were going. If I were going to such an affair then, I definitely wouldn’t want something handmade, or revealing, or trampy, or too obvious. Most assuredly, I would not want this:

What’s with me and crochet? I don’t have any particular affinity for it, but, man oh geez, do I have a lot of this knitted specialty. Also? Pink? Now, it used to be my favorite color. One might say, I used to be a skosh obsessed with the color, but then I realized it wasn’t at all unique to like pink. Generally, hearts like pink, Valentine’s has laid claim to the color, and most girls are friendly with it as well. So I changed! Now I’m a Big Fan of Turquoise and Red. It’s lovely. I don’t know– it just IS. But, I digress.

Also, notice the slight difference in tone between the top and the bottom. See it? It’s there! I promise it is. It’s just enough to be obvious. And it’s annoying. It’s also fashionless, ugly, holey, and weird, but I’m only addressing the color change between the top and skirt right now.

And what might one wear UNDERNEATH the sweater? Obviously whatever it is had better be pretty to make up for all that pink ugliness. Seriously? This outfit is altogether too busy. It gives me a headache. And really? There aren’t ENOUGH words to talk about how hideous this is. Let’s just forget it, shall we?

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.