No Passion for Fashion

Many years ago I found myself driving alone on a snow-covered highway. I was scheduled to interview candidates for an executive level position and even though the county had closed the road, it was strongly suggested that I find a way to get there. The journey was agonizing, I inched along white-knuckled in four-wheel drive watching the odometer show progress toward my destination 32 miles away. I was about halfway there when I realized that bundled in winter gear I had failed to bring a pair of dress shoes. Fortunately, there was a 24-hour big box superstore on my way so I pulled in, quickly found a $25 pair of black pumps and was out the door in minutes. Emergency solved.

Five years later I was still wearing those “emergency” shoes nearly every day.

Growing up I realized that I was supposed to enjoy the feminine arts of fashion and make-up. Movies and tv shows focused on girls on mall pilgrimages or in a pink bedroom oohing and aahing over a new outfit or eye shadow pallet. I understood it was supposed to be fun, but for me clothes shopping was a horrible excruciating event and the idea of spending any of my hard-earned money on fashion was crazy. I had books to buy.

But because I knew I was supposed to like it, I had hope that my switch would flip sometime later in life — maybe during college. I did have a brief stint when nail polish was fun, but it was quickly abandoned for other more useful pursuits. My wardrobe was a combination of jeans, sweats, t-shirts and a gray ‘interview appropriate’ pant suit from Petite Sophisticate. It changed a bit as I moved into the working world, but clothing was only a daily necessity and make-up was something for rare special events (like your wedding day). And that was how it went, day after day, week after week until a couple of years ago.

My company was in the midst of merger negotiations and the new leadership team was being vetted. I tried to consider myself from the outside, assessing years of feedback and taking a long, hard look at my candidacy. What characteristics did I need to work on? What might lead someone to evaluate me and then say, “Nah, not Mel. She’s not right for that.” I thought as critically as I could and the only thing I came up with was a sinking feeling that someone might say that I didn’t look like a leader. Unfortunately, I had made it to my forties without any magical fashion switch being flipped.

The idea of being passed over for an opportunity for which I was well-suited because I wasn’t well, well-suited, spurred me to action. I did some research and found a style consultant nearby. We talked for nearly an hour and scheduled a follow-up at my home. She assessed my best colors and over a three-hour period, looked at every piece of clothing I owned and rejected most of it because it was the wrong fit, wrong color or just too darn old and worn to be appropriate. She made me promise that if I was serious about this that I would give it to charity within the week. I took five large bags to goodwill and ended up with barely enough to cover my nakedness until our upcoming shopping session.

The eleven hour marathon that followed was everything that I dreaded it would be. Rack after rack of clothes, fitting rooms and awkwardness. But at least this time I wasn’t alone — I was with someone who knew her job, who pushed from store to store filling up a checklist of things I needed to have to hit the objectives I had given her. She knew I was hating every minute of it and yet she reminded me why we were here, she kept me focused on the goal. 

I survived and got stronger for it.

Since then, I’ve made incremental improvements. I’ve added pieces along the way, using the fundamentals I’ve gained to invest in the places I need to invest. I know I need to do another purge — there are things that I got that never fit right and I know I won’t take the time to get altered, shoes that I love that are now worn out. I understand it and I will take care of it. Last weekend I even went to the salon and had a real, honest conversation with the stylist about how incompetent I am about hair. She gave me a cut that has led to compliments all week, including from an executive that did a double take and called it ‘sassy’.

No, I will never love the idea of buying a new blazer, slipping on a designer pair of shoes or finding the perfect bronzer. That’s ok. I understand it now and I’ve built up enough capability, competence and support to do what has to be done. I can walk into a store and assess what is right for me — and for the harder asks I can make a phone call or send an email and get someone who really does love it to do it for me. But, switch or no switch, my lack of passion for fashion isn’t an obstacle anymore.

And that feels almost as good as finishing a new book. Almost.

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