I love my short hair. But since it grows at a mind-blowing rate and is thick like a hedge, I get a haircut every four weeks and a touchup every two weeks. I am VERY CLOSE with my stylist.
The time it takes from me to register a new trend, decide it’s awful, become accustomed to it, and consider trying it myself has shrunk. Considerably.
I have 14 gorgeous brimmed and blocked hats hanging in my office. Many were gifts from dear friends and I love them all. They are covered in dust and not a single one has been worn for over a year.
If I order something online and it doesn’t fit or work, I must get it into the mail back to the vendor that same day.
I have a large and carefully curated wardrobe, but whenever I have a TV or public appearance, I fly into a blind panic thinking about all the color, lighting, and angle-related factors stacked against me. And even though I spend ages figuring out what to wear that will work best, I usually hate how I look on camera.
I rail against the notion of thrifting clothing just for the label, but I still couldn’t resist a pair of black patent Manolo Blahniks for $1. They fit, but man, they’ve seen better days, and I’m not sure they’re actually wearable.
I prefer driving to flying. Mostly because airports are a pain, but also because when I drive I can pack EVERYTHING.
I am yet to figure out how to wear giant, thick oversized scarves without looking like I’m being strangled by a massive boa constrictor. I also cannot figure out how to do booties and skinny jeans. For the LIFE of me.
My laptop case is heavy and unwieldy, but I get so many compliments on it that I refuse to get a different one.
I use men’s shaving cream and men’s deodorant.
Most days, I forget to check how my back and butt look. This often ends comically.
I think I might like pants after all.
Care to confess anything?