Rick Owens (lilies, DRKSDW, I don’t know…) tunic from My Habit (I wish I had a dozen of these…)
Dieppa Restrepo Loafers (mine are nubuck and a year or so old)
Vince cardigan (old)
Jas M.B. bag (mine has different hardware and is quilted, but is the same style/size as the one in the link)
Lizzie Fortunato jewels necklace (old)
You know how there’s a button to get rid of red-eye in picture editing software? I wish there was also a button that opens your eyes when you have them closed. Oh well…sorry my eyes are closed, but you’ve seen them before – and this was the best outfit picture I got.
Anyway, I don’t care. I just spent the last 30 minutes writing a LONG post on my feelings about my legs, insecurities, etc., but then I said “f— it” and deleted it all. I’m too old for that shit. (I can say that now, since I’m 40 ). Seriously. I have thick legs. Duh. They’ll always be thick, even if I lose 50 pounds. Big deal. That has exactly zero impact on anyone else’s life, and it should have even less impact on MY life.
This is what’s supposed to happen as you get older, right? you stop living your life for others and start living it for yourself. Not that I haven’t done that, generally, but I have spent a disproportionate amount of time worrying about my legs/hips/thighs/butt and how others might judge my sartorial choices. I’d like to be finished with that now. I don’t care what you think.
Consider yourself warned. I’m going to start wearing my Dansko clogs with abandon…