It’s something that happens to you with age, like fallen arches or colonoscopies. You no longer seek anyone else’s approval in what you wear. Fuck Fashion becomes your motto. Maybe it’s getting back in touch with your inner child who is a damn sight more fun than you’ve been for decades.
For me, the big change has been most visible in my socks. It began when things like nylons and garters and high heels went by the wayside. Peeping out from my pant legs now is a menagerie of animals or swirls or stripes, many adorned with metallic threads or puff balls. I actually have three pairs of socks with chili peppers, each in a different hue.
North of my feet, I still manage to be somewhat in control. Even I know a woman who wears Size Big Butt Baby shouldn’t prance around in the yellow spandex capris and explosions of sparkles across my chest. But oh, the socks.That’s just a shitload of adorable happening down there.