I’ve always been a great lover of fashion. I own a range of ball gowns and multicolor high tops, which can be pressed into duty as day or evening wear. I have at least four pairs of jeans, a few from recognized labels. (Well, someone would probably recognize them.) I even went to Bloomingdale’s last year after watching that Oprah episode and found out my bra size. It turned out I was wearing 36B when I was actually…larger than that. Double-letter larger.
I don’t even own a mirror; that’s how confident I am of my look.
Admittedly, my sense of style is somewhat singular. I’m creative, funky. I pair pieces that the “fashion world,” as it’s called, would label a “Don’t”—but then I’ll wear them for weeks at a time. Who says a $200 black cocktail dress can’t be worn with a lumpy blue grandma sweater, some purple Uggs, and a cape? Who says that maroon doesn’t go with red? People with mirrors, I bet.