Why I Will Never be a Fashionista

There are two things that I will never be:
a. Thin
b. A Fashionista

This is not entirely by choice. Believe me, if I could, I would love to be a size 2 and have closets full of designer bags and quirky vintage Chanel and Vivienne Westwood outfits found in thrift shops all over the world. I would love to be forever featured in fashion magazine as a trendsetter, a pioneer, a visionary.

But alas, this is not meant to be.

And I have no one to blame but me.

I will never be a size 2 (the size of the Agnes B mini stashed in my closet just in case) because I am too lazy. Too lazy to exercise, too lazy to diet, too lazy, too lazy, too lazy. I would rather stay the way I am now, 20 pounds overweight and happily eating my way though life, than put myself through the misery of going to the gym, cutting down on food, etc. etc. I sometimes envy people, like my sister, who have made the gym their second home. The gym never did anything for me, except make me feel miserable. I never got the endorphin rush gym rats keep talking about. Either it’s a complete myth or I have reverse endorphins that make me feel depressed instead of euphoric when I exercise. Either way, I don’t see myself going to the gym anytime soon unless I have some sort of enlightenment.

I will never be a fashionista because, while I do wear something trendy once in a while, I tend to stick to classic pieces that will look the same ten years from now. But that’s not the main reason. The real reason is because I have an anti-fashionista streak in me, one that demands I wear the least fashionable (but oh, so comfy!) clothes in the least fashionable way possible. For example: I got out of bed today wanting to wear what my sister fondly calls my “Ernie (from Sesame Street) Sweater,” a snug knitted sweater with big red and grey horizontal stripes that I got from Terranova. Unfortunately, it’s also what any guy (ie. Ian N. and Luis) or horror buff will say (with glee, I might add) is actually my “Freddie Kreuger Sweater.” That, paired with two ginormous pimples (that I’m too lazy to cover with concealer), a bad hair day (I’m a total ignoramus at hair styling – I blame muscular dystrophy) and black plastic glasses (Too lazy to put on contacts) that Luis says makes me look like a member of Fall Out Boy equals Pudgy Pimpled Serial Killer Nerd Girl From Hell. It’s. Just. Not. Fashionable. But it’s comfy and I like it and there’s a certain sense of pride and defiance in wearing something that is guaranteed to make me look like a nerd but is oh so comfortable. Thankfully, I restrained myself and wore something more suited for the office instead.

So it will be my burden to know that I will never be thin and I will never be a fashion trendsetter, but it’s okay because in the end, both will have been my choice after all.