lost: the uniform of a midlife crisis

"I would go out tonight, but I haven't got a stitch to wear." - This Charming Man, The Smiths

"You have to hang on in periods when your style isn't popular, because if it's good, it'll come back, and you'll be a recognized beauty one again." - Andy Warhol

"Whoever brought the eighties back is not doing anyone any favors!"

- overheard in an Urban Outfitters dressing room

I have reason to believe that I am currently undergoing a midlife crisis. No, I'm not dating the 19 year old intern, and no convertible sports car (yet). The proof is, as they say, in the pudding. And, the pudding has been slathered all over my current wardrobe.

Exhibit A: The denim.

That's right... not jeans. Denim. And when it comes to my trouser selection, I speak a completely different language. Japanese denim, 2% spandex, super slims with button-fly closure and slight boot cut, in Elephant skin. That is exactly how I like my jeans... uh, I mean my denim.

Translation = tight.

I have to turn down servings of dessert and spend extra hours at the gym to squeeze these puppies on. Okay, I might be exaggerating a little. But the jeans are snug.

Exhibit B: The exhibition of my boobs. Or, as I like to call the look, "The Hoff".

In which my shirts display ample amounts of bosom. Button-ups stop at least three from the top. Even my t-shirt, it's not a v-neck, it's a deep-v. The style says, "Why yes, I have been working out." (Even if you don't ask me verbally, I can see it in your eyes.)

You might not get it... but I hear "The Hoff" is huge in Germany.

The Coup de grâce: White leather Italian Loafers.

Oh yes, the kicks. Perfect for dressing down a three piece suit or dressing up a Saturday afternoon golf ensemble. And man, are they comfy. It's like walking on a cloud, or on the crushed dreams of the broken backed proletariat. If you could eat shoes, this would be my equivalent of a dark chocolate soufflé, and I would weigh at least 350 pounds.

Lately, more and more often, I've been wearing clothes that I swore I would never wear. In other words, I think I've somehow, somewhere lost myself, and it is reflected in my clothing choice.

Or maybe not.

The "I partied my ass off and just woke up," dusty cardigan, wrinkled T, and faded Vans look, will probably come back the next time I party my ass off and just wake up.

Till then, I'll keep you posted on the intern and convertible.