A Painful Realization

A couple of days ago I did what I am notorious for: I went to Target to get some dresses and walked out with a coat and a scarf. But, to my defense, I absolutely fell for the coat. It's a faux silk fabric that can stand up to the harsh Rochester elements, a fantastic jewel-toned purple that compliments my new auburn haircolor, and it's a trench so it will be in style for a couple years.

I seem to have forgotten to mention that this particular Mossimo masterpiece was half-off.

I built an outfit around this dress for an upcoming vacation, and even texted some of my friends, bragging about the find. When I went to bed that night, I was still dreaming up different looks that my coat could be the focal point of. Boots, stilettos, flats; skinny jeans, leggings, tights; blue, green, gray...

This morning I was excited to premiere my coat, call it a dress-rehearsal for my vacation (in five days!). Underneath it I wore a bright blue dress, the scarf with cool-pallette colors to tie the two pieces together, brown suede pumps to offset the shiny purple fabric, and my oversize red bag. I looked in the mirror and approved initially, but as I was leaving the house, I caught a quick glimpse in the door window and saw Willy Wonka's wife.

I got in my car and started the engine, dismissing that thought immediately. When I got to my destination, I began to second-guess my attire again. (Triple-guess?) It hit me that this is October in Western New York - colors are no longer permitted under penalty of judgmental stares. I walked in the building and, just as I had surmised, everyone was wearing neutral colors, so perfect to match the seasonal foliage.

I began to feel like an outcast and suddenly all of these people I knew well were strangers. Thankful for my new haircolor, I hoped no one would recognize me and kept my head down. So I sat, quiet and miserable, wondering what kinds of things they were all thinking about their friend, Mrs. Wonka and her outrageous wardrobe. I was preparing myself for the steady stream of jokes about the new hairdo and "I know we told you that you never wear any color, but that doesn't mean you have to wear them all at once!" -type remarks, when I recalled what a real stranger told me two years ago.

If you read my personal information in my profile, you will find an excerpt that mentions a man I met on a 27-minute plane ride who gave me the most precious and personal advice. To summarize, I had revealed a couple things to him that suggested I never 'live on the edge' or 'grab life by the horns' or anything else beer commercials tell us to do. If I was told not to do something, I didn't question it, I just said 'ok' and sat down, zipped my lips and forgot the whole thing.

What happened that changed my life was this: the man got up from his seat and began saying his goodbyes, but before getting off at his stop never to be seen again, he leaned over and said,

"Do me a favor, honey: stop being such a chicken shit."

He threw his coat over his shoulder and walked out of my life. Real James Dean-like.

And so I sat, the modern-day Scarlett O'Hara, having reality dumped upon me and being too stunned to react. If I had known he'd had such a knack for good advice I wouldn't have spent the preceeding 27 minutes talking about Canada or the New Orlean's Saints post-Katrina or what's that guy's name from that show that got canceled in the 90s? I would have had so many things to to ask him! Countless little worries or doubts I had that needed the opinion of someone so sure of himself that he just gave impeccable gems of wisdom to complete strangers as if they were Tic-Tacs.

But then I realized the only reason I would need someone like that is if I didn't take his advice, and as I continued my flight after he'd gotten off I mentally ran through my entire life, wishing I'd had those words echoing in my head years before they were actually spoken.

To pair this advice with another droplet of insight given me by a friend only a couple of days ago, who texted me, "Stay confident, that's what men like," you could say I've had a pretty eventful morning of rude awakenings.

So I challenge myself, and anyone reading this, to put on the 'purple coat' of confidence and dare someone to call you Mrs. Wonka ever again! The next time I wear that coat, it will be because I wanted to buy it because I fell in love with it and if heads turn, they turn. If people talk, let them be jealous of my guilty pleasure. If they want to criticize, be glad you stirred up the dust that they let settle by being passive and inactive.

And if no one even notices, well, that's great too, because we did something for ourselves and no one else.