What are you wearing?

"What are you wearing?"

I hesitated for just a moment. I don't know what she means. Is she criticizing my clothes? I look down … My shirt didn't have anything silly emblazoned on it … my pants didn't have holes. My sandals didn't show socks… I couldn't even find a smidgeon of mustard anywhere.

What's wrong with what I'm wearing?

“Not what you're wearing now …(doofus). What do you plan to wear to the graduation ceremony.”

“I don't know. I suppose I'll have to wait to find out what the temperature will be.”

The 10-degree swing in the forecast had me questioning all of my options.

But my daughter didn't want to compare climate concerns with respect to our outfits. She didn't want to know if I was planning on wearing sensible shoes ... or a maxi skirt. She wanted to know whether I was planning on wearing something that might embarrass her.

She wouldn't put it past me to throw on some boxy sweatshirt and the shapeless cargo pants that I tend to live in throughout the summer.

She knows I'm unlikely to wear a dress ... even the one she gave me during the pandemic that I promised to wear to the Post Office. Of course, she knew I had already been seen in that flouncy floral delight ... at her brother's middle school graduation ... and out to dinner once. ... and yes, even at the Post Office one Tuesday during the thickest point of isolation. 

But does she think I'm going to wear something that will call attention to the unstylish rube that I am: Maybe a bright orange blouse more befitting a Halloween pirate.

I can't blame her for the concern. It's not like I've NEVER shown up at school dressed in a gorilla outfit topped by a mermaid costume and a magician's hat.

"Don't worry. You will recognize me. ..."

Truth is … I'd already picked it out: Jeans with a long jacket - dressed up on this day with bright colors and a pair of strappy sandals. A mixture of styles I've worn in some fashion or other since my own high school days.

I could see her shudder.

It doesn't matter to her that these items all came from second-hand shops, but it may be of some surprise that they have some of the upscale labels my mother would have worn. The fabrics harken to a similar vintage: nearly antique.

“Hey, I may even use the iron.”

I go into my closet and extract the proof. The hangers click satisfyingly as I stretch out the fabric for her approval.

She nods with astonishment.

“You have come a long way, baby.”

One might think experience and maturity might have sent me down this path of dressing my age ... but no. My daughter, with her keen grasp of mathematics and style, has taught me the important angles of at least "looking" put together.

Turns out I was pretty close to having this key to the style universe all along.

She calls it a Capsule Wardrobe and it means you wear the same fifteen pieces of clothing on a rotating basis ... only the separates cost a fortune otherwise you have to call it Mix and Match.

The trick, of course, is to avoid buying the other 4,328 pieces that never seem to blend in.