You may have noticed that it was my birthday this weekend. I turned 29. I’m now 362 days from turning 30. It seems like a big deal. It’s the last year I’ll really be a ‘young’ person; so the pressure to get my shit together suddenly really does seem amplified. According to hippies you can’t trust anyone over 30, so this is the last year the youthful will put any stock in what I say. According to a happy birthday voice mail from one of my best friends this is ‘the last great year we’ll live.’
That’s a lot to process in the passing of one day. To top it all off I had a hot date and copious amounts of drinking planned, so I also had to deal with picking an outfit for the occasion. Wouldn’t you know it, on the afternoon of my 29th birthday I hated all my clothes. We’ve all had this moment right? You’ve got somewhere to be but there is no. way. in. hell. you can leave your home in anything you own. To make matters worse I was having dinner at a hip new Italian restaurant in a recently gentrified part of the city, and beers at a somewhat dive bar in a part of town known for baseball hats and pick-up trucks. Yes, I guess it’s my fault for letting the plan work out the way it did, but either way, this scenario made it hard to dress.
Here’s what I came up with.
Many thanks to Laura who mailed me my gift of nine and co.’s Into the Wild Giraffe print hobo bag!