A few months ago, I emerged from my bedroom on a Saturday morning wearing a pair of yoga pants and a sweater that was, shall we say, less than inspiring. I wasn't feeling it. Not the outfit, not the day. I was planning to wash my face, wrap my hair into a bun and tune out. Until my 6-year-old stopped dead in his snack-requesting tracks and said,
"What are you wearing?"
What was I wearing?
My son was very young when I forged my personal style, and he's used to seeing me a certain way: polished, confident, and usually sporting a dress and lipstick. Very little stands to differentiate between an outfit I'd wear to meet with a styling client, an outfit I'd wear to the grocery store, and an outfit I'd wear on a date. My wardrobe is compact, consistent, and comfortable.
My kids see me in pajamas, of course. They see me when I'm sick. They know that I am not always skillfully dressed. But my son picked up the vibe I was putting down that day: I flat out didn't care, and I was advertising my malaise with my outfit.
So I made breakfast. I took a shower. I scrunched gel into my curls. I did my makeup and I changed into a pair of patterned tights and a cotton dress. Ultimately, I was just as physically comfortable as I'd been in the yoga pants and ratty sweater, but I looked like a person who cared about her day. And for me, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.
If you're struggling to dress to your highest potential on the good days, the bad days, and all the in-between days, I can help! I'd love to chat with you.