This is a thing.

Today, I finished my makeup (I wear makeup now; I deserve praise for this, even though it's only powder/blusher), put my eyes back on, looked in the mirror, and said, "Oh, God, I'm dressed like an Etsy seller today."

Not sure why this occurs.  Dark jeans, black sweater, brightly colored necklace, thrift-store Mary Janes, and my hair styled in its usual manner (i.e., run a brush through it, drag in a stretchy headband, pretend the Hermione-esque waviness and body were deliberate).  Admittedly, the headband today is a cheap mass-produced one that I bought for four dollars at Ross, because ethical all-handmade consumption is not actually all that affordable, but people ask me all the time if I made it.  So there's that. 

And yet somehow, all it needs to be the perfect "artsy-artist commie weirdo look," as I described it to M, is a beret.  I do have a beret.  It's wool and from the 50s and slightly mothnibbled on one side, and it fits my big head, and I love it, and I am still slightly ashamed because my grandfather picked it up at a yard sale about six or seven years ago, and I plucked it off his head and stole it from him.

Is an interest at costuming prerequisite for this?: I always feel most confident when dressed to a theme.  I rarely think of a theme when I am actually dressing.  But if I glance in the mirror and go "Dude -- I just walked out of a Degas painting," or "Wow -- poor bohemian at a job interview much?", I feel better about my clothing choices.  This is part of the reason steampunk appeals to me so much; it gives me a clear self-presentation that doesn't preclude any of the clothes I love, like "gypsy" skirts (yes, I know that's racist) or shirtwaists or military jackets or hell, even blue jeans.

I was going to wear my new fedora, a gorgeous creation in heather-grey tone-on-tone polka dots with trim and feathers, but M said "Artsy hipster is artsy!" so I took it off.  Maybe Monday.


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