Why is it we always want what we don’t have? I’ve always wished I had a tall, narrow figure and straight hair, which I’d wear with a shaggy, eye grazing fringe, but I’m the complete opposite: curves and dry, curly hair, not the hair for a fringe, not at all. It’s taken a long, long time, but I’ve finally accepted the way I look (even if I don’t entirely like it) and have learned to dress for my real figure rather than for my dream figure. Though it can be annoying at times (I long to wear tight leather trousers, or studded ankle boots, but in reality my short chubby legs can’t pull either off) it also means I quickly move on to something I know I’ll look (and therefore feel) better in.
However, sometimes, a piece of clothing comes along that I just can’t resist – even if I know it’s not quite right for me. Most recently, it was this embroidered crop top from Zara. I first laid eyes on it towards the end of summer and fell in love upon first sight; the black and cream colour palette would work nicely with my obsession with black jeans, but the flirty cropped length and flouncy flared sleeves were fun and interesting. I tried it on, glanced at my appearance in the mirror, then hot-footed it to the sales desk and skipped home happily with my new purchase, swinging my paper Zara bag as I went.
But it lay in the spare room for four weeks before I wore it. Each time I tried it on I worried about something. I worried about having a monoboob. I worried that my post-pregnancy soft tummy was too exposed, even though my amazing jeans were a high rise. I worried that I wasn’t the type of person who wore tops like it.
And then, one day, I just wore it. I was going out for cocktails with friends and was in a panic about having NOTHING TO WEAR. As I stood there in my faithful black jeans and my black bra (#allblackeverything), I saw the top lying there, cast aside – the same top I fell head over heels for just a few weeks earlier. I scooped her up, cut off the tag (displaying a mere £25), and pulled her on over my head. I didn’t even wash her. I put her on, strapped on some red sandals and left the house.
Despite worrying about how I looked, about how the top looked on me, about what other people might think, I remembered how I loved the top, that I was in charge of my body and my life, and so I wore it. And you know what? I felt GREAT.
Images: Kris Miller.
Location: Broughty Ferry.