Skeletons in the Closet

What's scarier than a gruesome skeleton in your closet? That article of clothing that is your secret shame; we all have one. It's that piece your friends cringe to see you wearing outside of your bedroom and you swear they just don't understand!

What's mine, you ask? It's worse than you think.

A flannel.

A man's flannel.

It was seven dollars. I think it was from L.L. Bean. It looks eerily similar to this:



(Sidebar: On the L. L. Bean site, it says 'durable buttons' in the description, and I thought it said 'adorable buttons' and I sat here in smug amusement for a good 45 seconds, marveling at how poorly they understood their audience, or thinking maybe the writers for the site have a great sense of humor, before the word actually became 'durable' to me. Yeesh.)

I say "looks" rather than "looked" because while I do see the benefit of lying and saying I've gotten rid of the thing, I believe in truth and honesty and all that. Not only do I wear this $7 flannel, but I wear it around, like, a lot. In public! Because it is soft. So soft, and comfortable! And warm! You know how a sweater can be too warm in air conditioning, and light sleeves can leave you chilly? You know what's always completely perfect? Flannel. Checkered, plaided, collared, Luke-from-Gilmore-Girls, Paul Bunyan, "Tiiiiiiimber!" flannel.

I admit, I have been embarrassed when a simple 4-hour Greyhound bus ride turns into multiple random encounters with people I know, or let's-just-make-a-stop trips to the mall, or somehow, places where I will be photographed. I never mean to actually be caught wearing it and being conscious at the same time! Yet, such is the risk when it leaves my house at all. Like Old Navy flip-flops and plain cotton panties, the flannel is one of those things I say I won't wear, I'll just have it for comfort and sleeping, and then I totally am a big, fat liar! What can I say? I travel a lot (6 buses in the past four weeks), and I have been blessed with the ability to sleep on public transport, given the right flexibility of comfort in my apparel. I cannot resist this flannel, my friends. Shame on me.

What I felt I needed, really, was to confess my sins, get it all out in the open, and face my demons. I hope to find the strength to change. I am looking for support from my fashion support group. "My name is Style Bard: I wear my oversized flannel, like, around. Around people who can see." (And I only try to cuten it up (encuten it?) with heels or girly accessories about 40% of the time. Honestly, it helps. Stilettos and a fuckton of sparkly will glamorize anything.)

At least I know better than to wear it with my Birkenstocks.
Aaah, okay, but I kid, I kid.

(Seriously, I don't own Birkenstocks. There's a line, my friends. A line. And also there's always Old Navy flip-flops.)

Now, you trump my fashion "Don't" in the comments or link me to your blog, and make me feel better about myself. Thanks!