What Not to Wear is on its last season. What a huge relief! I am thanking my lucky stars that I never had the pleasure of being nominated for the show. I know that I have worn things over the years that have evidenced that I am deserving of a nomination. I have had some regretful fashion moments.
But I am repentant. I know now where I went wrong. Of course I know this thanks to watching dozens of episodes of What Not to Wear. There are things that the show’s hosts – Stacy and Clinton – object strenuously to that I know I have worn. Indeed, occasionally some of their objections are about items I still own. I can see myself in a number of the fashion mistakes Stacy and Clinton have deconstructed.
Thankfully Stacy and Clinton’s voices have taken up residence in my head and deliver snarky comments when I see any of the classic errors replicated in my mirror. That doesn’t always completely save me from offending the fashion gods, but it certainly helps to dial down the extent of the damage any given day. I harbor no delusions that I am perfect. But there is one thing I do know for sure – I dodged being hijacked as a fashion misfit by Stacy and Clinton. At least there is that.
Day one thousand five hundred and twenty-seven of the new forty – obla di obla da