I'm wearing Sloppy Joe's, my trusty wrangler jeans, a white T-shirt and cardy; it's bliss. I've been at Blogcamp in London all day looking like an advert for the perfect 1950s housewife(apart from the hair and make-up) and to say I felt like a flounder in a pod of dolphins would be an understatement. It was a salutatory lesson in how NOT to dress for the occasion!
Everyone at BlogCamp looked so comfortable and stylish in their clothes and then there was me in a Phase Eight newlook skirt, fashionable green twinset, ill fitting shoes, all terribly smart and ever so slightly earnest, trying desperately to keep smiling when I was howling inside: Why didn't I just wear my jeans and my new fab tunic from FatFace and have done with it?
I know you shouldn't judge people by what they wear but it's a bit like watching an actor on stage just by the look of their clothes you know what to think about them. You have assumptions as to how their character will be. And as the actor wearing the clothes you move and sound different to your everyday self.
My everyday self is a jeans and T-shirt kinda gal not a smart skirt and twinset Girl with Pearls. So why, oh why did I do it?!
Nerves made me do it! Damn those pesky nerves.
I suppose I wanted to show that I was a mature woman who knows what she's on about and in my mind that goes with wearing clothes I think a woman should i.e. a skirt.
But it changes me as I so very rarely wear skirts for everyday. I feel ever so slightly self conscious and then act like a ditz. I take on the persona of my clothes. Bugger.
Especially when I started chatting to a great writer who just happens to specialise in politics and feminism. Subjects that I am very interested in and want to know a lot more about.
I asked a her how long she'd been blogging, what she blogged about; then instead of thinking straight and going something like: "God that's brill! What are you writing about at the moment and letting her lead the conversation, I say something crass about SlutWalk. She replies politely about having reservations about the name, I quickly agree and say I don't think it's a terribly helpful name and how I am turning into my mother and sounding even to myself like a patronising prude. I then go on to talk about the places I've worked being very male dominated and land up apologising for my clothes - it's no wonder she high-tailed it to the other side of the room. From then on in I was highly self conscious. I blame it on the clothes.
However I have learnt my lesson on how NOT to dress for the occasion so when I next go to CyberMummy/Blogcamp I will dress not as I think I ought but in clothes that I feel comfortable in, that are practical, and more me. Perhaps then I won't frighten the natives - but don't count on it!