I am in one of those viscous wardrobe-cum-identity-crisis cycles again where I look into my closet, "look" into myself, and proclaim I have nothing to wear. That, of course, isn't true because I find myself in need of hangers regularly due to the growing contents of my 'drobe. The "nothing to wear" thing falls more along the lines of my having a mental rut than the actual contents of my wardrobe vanishing.
In these cycles, it is incredibly important to seek inspiration elsewhere. Running circles inside the head while looking at the same closet never elicited an Ah-Hah Moment. Now, whether this is a direct correlation to the intensity of my lack of inspiration (I think it is) or not, I turned to Pinterest.
I've always had an uneasy relationship with Pinterest. When I think of the site I think of middle-aged women who are in an endless search for scrapbook inspiration. These women also like nice candlesticks, fashion diffusions of saddle boots, and vacations to warm places. They've tried green juice diets and stringing café lights up in their dining room in the name of fun, spunk, or funk. And, in that sense, Pinterest is phenomenal. The inspo-site is Tumblr's metaphorical older sister (or its mother). She's the one who's put together, set to marry a guy in finance, doesn't get lipstick on her teeth, was valedictorian in high school and wrote an award-winning poem on her dog when it died. She's smart, yes, but not entirely quirky. Tumblr, on the other hand, is the little sister who's had as many hair colors as possible when including hybrid pigments, too. She's perhaps mistaken her general angst for a sign that she might have been adopted because no else in my family feels like me. But why the metaphor? Because it is an exact reflection of why I turned to Pinterest for style inspiration. Pinterest, do to its Boards feature, is easily sortable, alleviating search time spent sifting through pictures of Supreme hats, pizza slices, and John Green quotes. I can get "Alexa Chung gingham" upon first entry, and even be directed toward pages that house exclusively that.
I was surprised to find that post-Pinterest search, my closet suddenly became a mélange of really useful things. For one I learned shin-length childhood socks with lips, stars, pumpkins, look alright with ballerina flats. I also learned that maybe I am not as sick of denim cutoffs as I had claimed mere days before. I also confirmed that if I don't find the perfect pair of high-waisted mom jeans (sounds paradoxical, I know), I might go insane.
What this long testament is about, though, is finding love in a hopeless place, not unlike Rihanna did. I had always derided Pinterest for the very triteness that I am perhaps now partaking in. Nevertheless, I've found that I love pictures of low-caloric zucchini bread just as much as my middle-aged Pinner counterparts.
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