What Not to Wear

I had a supremely lazy weekend during which I barely moved from my sofa. I just had no energy. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the one weekend when there was absolutely nothing on TV and not much on OnDemand even for me to watch, but I didn't feel like doing anything else. I ended up rewatching some Coupling episodes on BBCAmerica OnDemand and then found a tape that contained some Doctor Who episodes from last season that I'd recorded while I was out of town and hadn't taped over. There was a marathon of What Not to Wear, but I'd seen the episodes they were showing and didn't watch that, so I'm not sure why I dreamed last night that I was nominated for What Not to Wear. It turned out to be a case of mistaken identity, but at first they thought I was just being argumentative when I insisted that I did know how to dress (all their subjects say that) and that I thought the clothes they'd picked out for me were totally wrong for me (again, all their subjects say that). But then they saw me in the clothes they picked out, which were the wrong size and color, and realized they had the wrong person. The big clue was that they said my co-workers had nominated me, and I said, "What? My plants?" I'm not sure if I should take this dream as a sign that I need to clean out my closets or a sign that I need to go shopping.

But after I woke up, I amused myself by pondering what might happen if I did get nominated for that show. If they spend two weeks secretly filming you, then I could picture them having to lurk in the bushes outside my house for two weeks, waiting for me to leave the house so they could film me (and even then barely getting any footage). And then unless it happened to be two weeks in which I had to play "author" or actually had a social calendar, all they'd see is me going to the mailbox in shorts or a sundress and going to the grocery store in jeans and a t-shirt, so they'd have a totally wrong impression of me. I could picture them having decided I was a total slob, and then once they started digging into my wardrobe they'd see that I do have cute clothes and know how to dress, but I'm just not going to spend an hour getting dressed for a half-hour (including driving time) trip to Kroger.

Oddly, I currently have practically zero interest in shopping or fashion. I've read all the phone-book-sized September issues of the fashion magazines I have subscriptions to (that will probably be allowed to lapse) and haven't been even slightly tempted. There is the no money issue, but also a big, huge dose of not caring. Who gets to decide what's "in" and what's "out," anyway, and who gave them that power? Well, I'm taking it away by continuing to wear what I like, what fits, and what looks good on me, regardless of whether or not it's "in." And since I'm deep in writing mode, I have a feeling what I'll be wearing is mostly shorts and t-shirts from 5K races I did five years ago. If the What Not to Wear people come knocking on my door, I'll fend them off with a red stiletto shoe.

Maybe this is a sign that I've mentally transitioned from being a chick lit writer to being a fantasy writer.