What I wore: Centrifuchsia by Lime Crime & fuchsia tights by We Love Colors

It occurred to me today that my stockings matched my lipstick. In fact, it was the only part of my ensemble that was color coordinated. I’ve only fairly recently figured out this whole “matching” thing. I’m not color blind in the least, on the contrary, I see and love just about every single color.

My love for colors and inability to match them “properly” was a source of extreme irritation for many girls I went to school with, particularly at the elementary level (no one seriously messed with me from Junior High on; by that time I was just too weird). I would see these girls five days a week, all with adorable little Laura Ashley dresses with matching bows in their hair, dainty socks and shiny, shiny shoes. They looked like little Madame Alexander dolls – except for that ever-persisting look of constipation every time they scowled at me.

Don’t get me wrong; there is nothing wrong with a thrill for frill and looking like a doll. What they wore has never been the issue. What was my issue was how they treated me because I refused to take up residence in their creepy, mind-linked Village of the Damned. For the most part, I presume, their mothers dressed them. How else can you explain my mother being cornered by the matron figures of their vicious spawns, demanding to know why my mother dressed me like Punky Brewster? (I’m flattering myself here, go with it). My mother simply explained to these Mommy Dearests that she didn’t dress me, I dressed myself. I picked out my own clothes, I put them on myself and if I wanted to wear a white/red/purple sweater with pink sweat pants and mismatching pink and yellow socks, then fuck it, who was she to stop me? My ability to feel comfortable in self-expression was more important to her than me fitting in with a bunch of snots who would most likely find something else to pick on even if I did succumb to their crushed velvet and taffeta ways.

my style guru

You can imagine I grew rather irritated with the idea of matching, especially considering I didn’t quite grasp the concept until, as I said previously, well into adulthood. It wasn’t a conscientious process, either. It just sort of…clicked that certain patterns, colors and cut complimented one another. A combination of subconscious friend influence, styles I dabbled in and generally growing up certainly played key roles in it all just suddenly falling together, but regardless of how/when, it happened. I played it safe for a while, refusing to venture into my cast off but dearly missed bright colors, sticking with jeans (which I had never worn before high school) and tops.

My life, my very bring, thrives on nostalgia, however, and I could not ignore the stern looks of my custom crocheted Rainbow Brite doll nor the knowing pirate smile of Soliel Moon Frye smirking up at me from the cover of my Punky Brewster DVD sets. Brights had to come back and I just had to learn to deal with them.

So I wear my bright greens, pinks, blues and purples again ~ sometimes as one, sometimes together. I’m still learning the art of fixating on a single motif that may not necessarily be the actual main article of attire, but it’s definitely been a fun lesson. I’m going to get looked at anyway for wearing a lime green blouse – may as well throw on some fuchsia tights and a fuchsia lipstick to go with it.