My style is "comfortable." *gag*

"Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months." -- Oscar Wilde

I love clothes. I spend more of my life than I'm willing to admit learning the ins and outs of fashion through the humorous commentary of flamboyant men and thirty-something(-not really-more-like-forty-five-but-shut-up) women on real-life style shows like How Do I Look? and What Not to Wear.

I fancy myself a budding fashionista: Yes, you can mix brown and black -- they're both neutrals, sweetie; a straight-legged jean slims, unless you're a man, in which case you go with a boot-cut or wide-led -- never flair for either party; cinch the waistline and wear coats with tailoring under the bust line as well as the sides to create the illusion of an hourglass shape and narrower waist.

See? I have the theory down pat. Which is all I really have, because any sense of discernible style is as far from me as Keith Richards is from rational thought. I would say I'm a t-shirts and jeans kinda girl, but it's really whatever I arbitrarily decide is cute for under ten bucks at T.J. Maxx.

Sometimes I'll go to the mall with a reasonable chunk of change in my pocket and the intention to start outfitting my new wardrobe. Then I'm hit with the pricing and tiny sizing. That kills, but I'll wince and suffer through it, determined to pick up at least a few pieces for the all-new me. It'll be around lunchtime as I'm sitting in the food court, staring at my turkey sub (healthy, yeah? All right . . . ignore the fries.), that I realize all the work that will go into managing accessories, coordinating outfits, and staying on top of designer lines so that I can re-create the looks within my budget that. I'm man enough to know when I'm beat (I lie.) -- it's better to quit before I'm too far behind. (I should actually take this advice sometime.)

That afternoon will see me snuggled up on the couch in my too-small Ziggy Stardust t-shirt and Hilfiger jeans that sag around the tush watching What Not to Wear. Masochism is a sweet thing.