“Where are your cardigans?” Annabel asks, leafing through the large pile of clothing on my bed.
“I don’t have any.” I reply, rustling through some crop tops.
“Do you have a collared shirt?” she tries again.
Over the next few hours, it would surface that besides cardigans and collared shirts, I also have no belts, lipstick, or eye shadow.
If I had to describe my style to a stranger, I’d settle somewhere between hippie dippie Indiana Jones and Peter Pan chic. My wardrobe varies from leopard print high heels to brown combat boots. Patterned rompers and colorful skirts.
Once, I unintentionally dressed like Lara Croft.
A few days ago, Annabel and I were talking about my clothing choices. I love talking to Annabel about anything, especially fashion. Her style, while different from mine, is sophisticated, elegant and magical.
She’s the kind of girl who knows how to perfectly apply lipstick. Her wonderfully styled outfits seem to have been plucked from the closets of international “it” girls. Enough variety to make them special, but enough tradition to make them classic.
On this particular day, I was wearing brown flats, a white and black striped shirt….and overalls.
“I love them,” she said, sitting at her desk. “But I would wear them with heels, maybe those white sandals you have.”
“Overalls are for adventures,” I informed her. “How can I go have an adventure in heels?”
She shook her head, slightly amused, and said: “I should dress you for a week.”
I thought about it for about two seconds, before I replied: “Why don’t you?”
So a few days later, after a yoga date, I brought her back to my house to evaluate my wardrobe.
It was her first time in my bedroom. She mused over my one mustard colored wall and neon hangers. I showed her my collage and shuttered DIY headboard.
I could literally see her thinking it all through. That’s the thing about Annabel: she doesn’t miss a thing. After she laughed at my Oliver Twist-like grey hat (everyone does), we started.
“When I see you, I always see you in this,” she said, hanging my navy blue dress with matching slip on the chandelier.
“Do you ever hang things on this?” she asked.
“Uh, I do now…” I said, hanging another dress from it.
She paired a blue and white pencil skirt and white and gold bedazzled long sleeved shirt.
“Too boring,” she said, casting them aside.
“I can do boring,” I offered.
“Nothing about you is boring,” she replied, resulting in me turning the color of the peony-colored lipstick I’d eventually buy that afternoon.
I was pleasantly surprised by her choices. She didn’t try to change me. Most of the pieces she selected were things I love, just mixed in with items I never correctly matched, or recently purchased.
Even more surprising: none of them were dresses.
So for the next week, I wore everything she picked out. From hair to heel, I was expertly styled by Annabel Jones. A big edgier than Peter Pan, a little more polished than Indy.
(But no overalls).
