Kimberlee K.

I was recently trying to pick out an important outfit.

An outfit that I wanted to look cute in, an outfit I wanted to *work*, an outfit that, in a direct quote to my sister, I wanted to be “stylish and easy going and comfortable and warm but not too warm in case we’re in a well heated building.”

AND WHAT SHOES? I asked.

“Do I bring boots and try to be stylish or just wear tennis shoes and be normal?”

I often have trouble picking outfits—especially outfits I have to pack and travel with—unless my laundry basket is completely empty, and everything is hung up in my closet or put away in my chest of drawers. I need to feel as if everything I own is available to me, so I can be sure that “the perfect item”—the thing that, when I’m putting on “the outfit” in a spiteful panic, I will convince myself would have been a gamechanger—is not hidden, dirty, or lost.  

If only I had that grey sock that is at the bottom of my hamper.

If only I had my lucky bra, my favorite jeans, that shirt I bought three years ago but never wore because it’s itchy, the gloves that have been in the center console of my car since 2007, the sneakers that test the limits of lasting craftsmanship every time I put them on.

If only I had ______ then this outfit would have been perfect. If only I had _____ I’d feel as confident and comfortable and honest and myself as I was hoping to feel.

A good outfit can do a lot for a person.

Clothes can be a conversation starter, a way to express yourself, a way to bond with another person, a source of inspiration, a statement, a reason for someone to interrupt you mid conversation just to say, “sorry, can I touch your sleeve? It just looks so soft.”

Clothes, as torturous and mean as they can sometimes be, are also just funny little accessories we put on our bodies.

What should I cover my arms with? My legs? My torso?

What armor should I give my feet to carry me around all day?

How many layers of fabric do I need to apply so I don’t shiver?

What can I do to make the me that lives underneath all of it, the me in my heart, in my brain, in my soul, feel capable of focusing on anything else besides this outfit? How can I make her feel comfortable enough to share who she is? To see the blessings in front of and around her? How can I give her the freedom to enjoy this day for all it’s worth? Because when it all comes down to it, I’m dressing for her.

Needless to say, there’s a lot of pressure when picking an important outfit, so I do so with care.