Way back when I was weird. I had days when I didn't want anyone to know and then days when I was unabashed and certainly not ashamed of being different. Until one day Mom and I were shopping in Traverse City and I fell in love with a pair of overalls. They were dark wash, loose fitting, and had a white star embroidered on the front bib. This particular pair was held up with strings that you tied in the back. They were just cool enough to not be too weird. Then, like most everything else, I made them weird. I dipped my hands in white paint and put hand prints all over them. I wore them to school and now I know what it's like to be the girl that maybe but maybe not is pulling that off... Looking back, getting audibly laughed at didn't bother me that day because I was in love with what I was wearing. I defended my outfit and thus defended myself. Those bibs were an expression of who I was and who I wanted to be. I wanted to be different and forge my own path and for whatever reason that morning, I was daring and willing to put myself out there.
I now have a new pair of overalls. These come straight from the closet of my 73 years young father-in-law. They are already broken in where they should be and the fit is loose enough to let the breeze in, if you catch my drift. Trust me, blackberry picking in 100 degree Georgia weather makes you appreciate a well placed breeze. I wear them around the 40 acres like I'm Tom Sawyer's niece on a mission. They're my full access wear. Once again, bibs are taking part as an expression of who I am today.
This outfit says it all. Well, all there is to say really of the past several months. This is how I have looked:
Tank Top: from my punk rock days, circa 2005ish
Bibs: Osh Kosh
Boots: hand me down
Hat: Husband's, from highschool