I'm not uniform

In general, I am anti-uniform. I truly believe that uniforms stamp out individuality and that is a crime. Expressing yourself through your clothing is pretty much what I am all about. I think being dressed like everyone else makes you feel helpless and defeated.
Ok, I'm not going to lie, the real reason I hate uniforms is because uniforms hate me.
They started it.

I personally do not have a figure for uniforms (none of them). Every uniform known to man makes my thighs look bigger, my legs look shorter, my ass gigantic, it just plain brings out all of my worst qualities and to make matters worse there is always that stupid bitch who looks amazing in whatever potato sack she's given. PS and by the way, that stupid bitch is usually my friend and is therefore constantly standing next to me like a giant neon "I'm with fatty" sign.
My greatest fear is being in one of those "Who Wore it Best" features. Ugh.

That being said, I'm not thrilled with the burden of freedom that I have at my new job. I know, I'm very hard to please, but hear me out. As a waitress you have some interesting obstacles when it comes to choosing clothing. You need something that represents who you are and yet can withstand the constant threat of destruction. Can you love your clothes and yet be willing to let them go when they are attacked by red wine, sweat and bleach? I'm not that evolved. That kind of thinking really goes against my hoarding instincts. Shoe options are restricted to comfortable which creates an interesting obstacle. Everything has to look good with or without an apron. On the plus side, I think aprons are flattering and I'm considering incorporating them into my non-work fashion.

I was a huge fan of the "all black" dress code at my last restaurant because
a) black is flattering
b) black hides a mess
c) I had specific work clothes which eliminated difficult decisions and piles of discarded outfits
d) All black looked like a uniform but with none of the drawbacks of an actual uniform (see above)

There isn't anything saying I can't wear all black at my new job.
But somehow that feels like cheating. I mean, I am a style therapist. I have a reputation to consider.
And what would I do with all the things I just bought "ya know, for work."

In a land far far away but really very close and not far at all

I just had one of those moments where you catch a glimpse of yourself in an alternate universe or played the "what could have been" game.

I just watched that show, Hoarders, and I'm pretty sure somewhere in another dimension, behind the seventh veil or in dejavuville, I am on that show. People are watching me in horror and my family is giving sad and frustrated testimonials. Actually, probably only my mom would do it. Everyone else would decline to be on camera.

I must admit I feel a little itchy after watching the show. I'm pretty sure I can't watch it again because my COMPLETE understanding of the hoarders attachment to their things and their anthropomorphizing of their stuff made Newshead nervous. I could relate to the rationalization for keeping each item: "Oh that's a gift. That's a journal. That goes over here with the other 250 blank journals. Those are crosswords that I'm going to do."

Seriously, all the plans and good intentions for each item was eerily familiar. I was not the least bit surprised by their ability to recognize every little thing that was held before them, that in all that stuff (piles and piles of it) they never once said "I don't know what that is or where it came from." There is a story and a thought about everything, so of course it is hard to get rid of anything. I totally get it.

I usually am an advocate of the "who cares what people think" school of thought. This is one time where I think it helps. But I guess in fairness you have to not be crazy to know that it is kind of crazy.

I'm constantly looking around my apartment and picturing the person who has to go through my stuff if Newshead & I suddenly die. Why I would care, I don't know, but I do.
My goal is to keep the WTF moments to a minimum.

Right now I've organized all the unorganizable stuff into a "craft" section. I know they are a million little jars of madness but to the unknowing eye, I'm a crafter. That's nicer for my sister and/or brother to have to clean up. You are welcome.

Here's the thing. Hoarders wouldn't have to give up their stuff if it were better displayed. Stores have tons of shit and people love going there. Dare I say that once again it comes down to style?

And mental illness.
But also style.