Living in Majamas? Lost your style mojo?
There is a solution, says
Orla Breeze
.
advice
(rated PG)
A
s soon as it realised how
distracted I was, it left. No
goodbye, no see ya later,
not even a petit au revoir. It
simply saw a chance to bolt and took
it. And to be fair, it was years before
I even noticed. Three pregnancies in
four and a half years had left me with
a dependency on
Majamas
that was
proving difficult to move on from. Hey!
Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m
talking about. That pyjamas/maternity
clothes/yoga pants combo you wore
for the first six months after your baby
was born?
Majamas
. For most people,
a passing phase. For me, a long-term
addiction. So the fact that my Sense
of Style chose to leave just as it signed
for my latest leisure suit delivery wasn’t
that surprising. Although it was a bit of
a shame. Because up until that point,
we had everything a good relationship
needed. The understanding that in the
right circumstances I would be willing
to try something new, the openness to
accept that some things would just never
suit me no matter how much I wanted
them to, and the wisdom to never go
too far. Which for me meant anywhere in
heels. It was a beautiful friendship.
But when an innocent set of photos
frommy daughter’s birthday party finally
showed me what I hadn’t wanted to
see, I could deny it no more. My descent
into
Majamas
Hell had turned me from
Woman With Unique Aquarian Sense Of
Style into Woman Who Now Looks Exactly
Like The Middle-Aged Woman She Never
Wanted To Be. It wasn’t pretty. And it
wasn’t just my clothes. It was everything.
My hair had managed to turn itself back
into the pageboy style I had despised for
all of my childhood years. My make-up
had somehow morphed back into an
early 80s disaster and my shoes were
Crocs. All of them.
But why? Why had I allowed myself
to take the road to No Style City? Was it
a reflection of how I was feeling inside
or was it just another example of me
putting myself on the bottom of my list?
Or maybe it was just me at my practical
best? In the midst of all those dirty
nappies, baby feedings and purée-
stained laundry, maybe I had simply
taken the decision to stick with the kind
of wardrobe that was easy to maintain.
Denim, t-shirts and lots of black clothes.
But regardless of the why, it was clear
that things had to change. Pronto. A
makeover was the only option. Not
the kind that you see on TV where a
woman turns up at the beginning of a
show looking like she’s just been pulled
through a bush backwards before
transforming into a beauty queen.
Although I’d have LOVED that! But
the kind that was more of a process,
the reality being I still had three small
children and not a whole lot of me-
time, and as that wasn’t going to
change any time soon, my old favourite
colours and patterns were just going to
have to be patient in their return. And
I was going to have to be patient with
my hair, which took a looong time to
grow into a version that didn’t make me
look at least 15 years older.
But the upshot was that having a
Sense of Style back in my life helped
me to feel more like myself again. And
although I wouldn’t refer to myself
as stylish in almost any sense of the
word, I’d still rather have some kind of
style than none at all. Even if it does
sometimes involve denim, t-shirts and
lots of black clothes!
Style? What style?
18
Playtimes
