In case you didn’t know yet because you live in a cave with no cable or 3g service, or you are just stumbling upon my blog while thawing out after being cryogenically frozen for 15 years (in which case, welcome!), there was a big sale at Target last week.
No, like, a BIG selling event. Not a sale. Most definitely not anything priced on sale… at least, not for Target.
Okay, you most likely have heard of this hoopla about Missoni (fact: I had to Google that shit to make sure I spelled it right, that’s how non-relevant it is to me), so I’m not here to discuss the actual product lines (which many claim were “ugly,” but not me, I NEVER SAID THAT YOU PSYCHO TROLL COMMENTER WHO WANTED THROW MY BABIES IN BLENDERS).
I’m not even discussing the price points of this stuff that was selling AT TARGET. (Except, seriously, $25 for a baby romper? $40 for a skirt? Again, from Target.)
What I’m left with after learning of this tizzy over Missoni for Target is that I am officially that mom, that lady on her way to middle-age, who just doesn’t give a shit about fashion anymore.
Like, I was SO ridiculously out of the loop on this one.
Perhaps it’s because I was too busy on Pinterest trying to figure out how to make my own long drapey cardigans for fall that would go over a plain colored top; that I would then wear with a nice (but not take-out-a-2nd-mortgage-expensive) pair or jeans, some neutral boots and a scarf or a statement necklace. BECAUSE THAT IS THE EXTENT OF MY “FASHIONABLE” CHOICES.
As I talked with a couple younger, childless gals over the weekend, and watched them exclaim over the awesomeness of this Missoni line, I found myself chiding, like a feeble and bitter old woman from her wheel chair on the steps of the nursing home:
“You paid how much for that?” “You do realize you bought that from Target, right?” And my favorite, “Who the what the hell is a MISSONI?” which was a question I really didn’t even care to get an answer back to.
I wish I could take solace in feeling like I’m not alone in not knowing what Missoni is if it slapped me on the face and left a chevron on my forehead, but clearly there are very, very large sections of the population that know far more than me, as evidenced by the mass hysterics and mob scenes at Targets across the country the morning it launched the collection, and it’s paralyzed website.
So I just need to come to terms with not even being in the race for fashion now. I’m striving to not appear homeless when I drop my son off at school at this point. It’s okay. I’m okay with that. Now that I know what my limits are, and that I’ve accepted never actually making real fashionable choices, I can give myself permission to buy all the drapey cardigans and scarves I want.
I’ve been a mom for 3 years 4.5 months, and I continue to be baffled by “mom” fashion.