On Real People Clothes

I don’t love pants.

I would rather wear shorts, especially running shorts, any day. Maxi skirts and dresses are another top contender because of the lack of restriction on my legs.

Adulthood, however, requires pants. And tops that are not Mizzou Dance Marathon t-shirts. And shoes that are not Chacos. And probably a blazer.

Oy.

Me, styling some typical "Alaska camp counselor" attire while drinking glacier water.
Me, styling some typical “Alaska camp counselor” attire while drinking glacier water.

Since starting as a reporter for the Missourian this semester, I’ve had to revamp my wardrobe. As someone who spent the entire summer in running tights, fleece layers and Keens with wool socks, this was not a simple transition. There was an added level of difficulty because I didn’t actually own Missourian-appropriate clothing.

How was this possible, you ask? How have I gone 20 years without culminating some semblance of a business-casual-bordering-on-professional wardrobe? Of the five “nice” shirts I owned, three were black and two were navy. I had a pair of dress pants, a dark grey linen blazer and my brown leather loafers. That was pretty much it.

I knew, despite my severe aversion to spending money on clothes, that I was going to need to go shopping.

Good newsroom wear as constructed (by me) on Polyvore.
Good newsroom wear as constructed (by me) on Polyvore.
Another Polyvore creation (also, I want a latte)
Another Polyvore creation (also, I want a latte)

I feel like I am not painting the best picture of myself. I do love nice clothes. That weird, striped, colored-chino crawlspace between East Coast-prep and hipster business casual is where I love to love to live. It’s just that I’m forever more concerned with comfort over style or a statement. It’s simply easier to wear oversized frocket t-shirts, shorts and Chacos. I don’t brush my hair. I don’t bother with eyeliner. I let my nail polish chip away into oblivion. Yes, I enjoy getting dressed up occasionally, but the (unwanted) attention and compliments make me want to retreat back into my dress-for-comfort cave.

That’s not how the Missourian rolls. That’s not how life rolls, really. So I bought pants. And shirts. And I pay attention to my hair. And I took off my bracelets from camp (sobs).

But you better believe I am wearing my Goodwill loafers every day that I am a reporter. You may take the freedom of my thighs and knees, but I will use an Oxford comma before I wear uncomfortable shoes.

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