Over the last two months, I’ve declined from having no fashion sense to an all-time low: renovation style. This means I’ve rotated between three different pairs of paint-stained leggings with coordinating paint-smeared camisoles and one of two gray sweatshirts, which look almost identical. There have been about five various social functions of different degrees of formalness, from large family dinners to children’s birthday parties to a festive 40th birthday party at a bar/restaurant, not to mention at least three versions of a back-to-school night, and I have worn the same black sweater, black leggings, black boots combination, only alternating the shade of lipstick, from fuchsia to bright red.

At school pick up, I can see the fashion-forward, meticulously dressed, stylish moms smiling at me empathetically and whispering in a foreign language. I’m convinced they’re taking a collection to buy me a pair of jeans or any article of clothing without stains to spare their eyes. Two months ago we saw Hamilton and I bought a souvenir sweatshirt for $70 and I felt guilty spending so much on something which really wasn’t progressing my wardrobe. As it turns out, it was a great financial purchase considering I’ve worn it almost every day and successfully lowered the per-wear cost to less than a dollar.

Additionally, I’m confidently coasting on the recent pajama trend and allowing myself to wear pajama bottoms as real pants. Note: my pants are Costco-purchased bottoms, rather than silky ones by Alexander Wang. Turns out this mode was in full effect this past spring, but I’ve excused myself with the “late bloomer as always,” alibi. I’m milking my fashion excuses even further by coordinating my wide t-shirt material pants with ugly black Uggs, which were never flattering on anyone (other than a sheep maybe).

Just in time, the 1990s are making a revolutionary comeback, when the last thing I need is an excuse to don plaid flannel shirts, a denim jacket, and tousled (pink) hair in the name of fashion validation. 

I’ve promised myself when we place that last tile, install the final under-cabinet light, and connect the last of the 50-foot water line to my fridge, I’ll treat myself to a manicure and pedicure as well as three new pairs of black leggings to replace the ones I “decorated” with paint. Despite my attempt at creating a fashion trend of paint-splattered leggings accompanied by a fringed, concert T-shirt, with a hooded heather gray fleece-lined Hamilton sweatshirt look, I think it is a style which suits only those whose office is a work from home venture. I’m all good with that.