Today is one of those ‘I hate my face days’. I just look like crap. Not only does my face look like crap but my hair looks like crap. Crap crap crap. It’s depressing. As I get ready to take my baby girl for a walk, I contemplate the crapness of my appearance. Not even concealer can remove the blemishes that mark my face like a twentieth century Frankenstein. My best bet is to try and hide under a massive pair of sunglasses and a hat.
As I make my way down the road, I note the ridiculousness of my appearance. Firstly, there is no sun… and I am wearing sunglasses. Lame. But not even my heart shaped glasses can bring any romance to my face on this day. My hair is hidden under a beanie and at least it is a relatively cold autumn day in London, so I qualify to wear one. As I glance down at the rest of my attire I actually burst out laughing, which merely adds to the insanity of my appearance. I am wearing a black, long-sleeved Coal Chamber top over a pink strappy top. My purple and black striped cardy accentuates the orange checked mini-skirt, which sits on top of my black and white checked trousers. The outfit is completed by the glitter-red ‘Dorothy’ shoes that adorn my feet. Someone once asked me, in all earnestness, what I think when I get dressed in the morning. Today I ask myself the same question. The only answer I have is that it 
all makes sense at the time. By Camden standards I look normal, so nobody bats an eyelid as I make my way around town.
The look on my daughter’s face is surely a sign of things to come. Maybe Camden thinks that I look normal, but my baby girl… well, her expression says otherwise. As a new mom, I promised myself that I would never cut my hair short and don the powdery smelling pastels of mommyness. And I am pleased to say that I have stayed true to my word but there is a but. I look like a grunge peasant. I tell myself that the principles of high fashion dictate the combination of clashing, conflicting items… and I am convinced for all of five seconds. The truth is that I have avoided powder-pastel mom and replaced her with peasant-patchwork mom. I would have been perfectly at home living in some rural shack in fourteenth century England.
Luckily, tomorrow is a new day.
Hahahahahaha. This piece is amazing. Andrea, don’t ever change. You’re exactly what a mom should be like. True to herself. So rad. Cracking up only because I know you would be cracking up at yourself. x
Thanks for being the raddest friend and not being (too) embarrassed by my random wardrobe. X
HA HA HA! Dude, U and Me bpth hey! I was actually told to stop dressing the way I did because it hurt peoples eyes :(