To get kind of into the swing of things, I decided to literally be Madonna for a day. No, not in the Single, White, Female way and as it turned out not for a whole day, but to just channel her fashion-wise. Of course, it being winter and Boston kind of impeded this. I could very well go with the all-lace, ripped up tights and corset-top look but I'd freeze so I adapted the typical '80s Madonna for winter and for Leyla. My hair is already short and wavy with bleached parts so I just fluffed it out to it's maximum white girl Afro-ness and tied a ribbon around it. I also wore patterned tights with leg warmers and booties, an incredibly loud sequined sweater, and short grey leather jacket. I darkened my brows and pretty much slapped on the make-up. Darker eyes than I normally care to wear during the day and lipstick. Yes, lipstick. I never wear lipstick. Whenever I wear it, I end up wiping it off two minutes later because it feels too much like I have something stuck to my lips. And red-pink lipstick? The only reason I had any was because it was leftover from some long past Halloween.
I looked like a clown. No, seriously.
At least my bottom half looked pretty damn cool.
Yes, that is an extremely short lace skirt. Not the best move on the rainiest, windiest day of 2010 so far. Let me walk you through how this went.
Rain. Rain, rain, rain. Not the sweet romantic rain of the Madonna song (fitting, it came up on my iPod on random but by that point I was so past the irony, I just cursed), but hard, lashing, drenching, rain. The kind that slices down sideways and soaks you no matter how you try to hold your umbrella. Which, by the way, the wind took and had it's sweet way with. I had to throw it out within five minutes of walking out as it was bent beyond saving.
I had some errands to run so I decided to head out for the test-drive. Teetering on high heels in howling rain and wind was not one of my proudest moments. I don't wear heels unless it's some big fancy event and these shoes, though gorgeous, cut straight into my ankles. I still have the wounds and they hurt to touch. I have sensitive skin.
Anyway, walking took twice as long as it would have had I been wearing my trusty Iron Maiden vans (IRON MAIDEN RULEZ!) so by the time I got to Walgreens, which is a block away, I was quite literally a mess. I'm sure my face looked more like Alice Cooper than Madonna and my hair was plastered. I looked like a sad clown hooker. But a nice homeless man called me angel. But I also got raised eyebrows from a bunch of women. Man, sometimes I hate my gender. Must we be so bitchy and judgemental? At least have the grace to be subtle about it, jerkass.
I toddled back home, trying desperately to keep my hair from flying everywhere, holding on to several plastic bags, and crying in silent agony with every step. Which is when the violent wind decided to have me give a free show to Newbury Street and whipped my skirt completely up. I finally, finally got home and realized... I forgot my keys. So I had to wheedle my poor, unsuspecting doorman to come up with me and open my door. He probably now thinks he's figured out what I do for a living, looking the way I did.
See, this is the stuff that happens in movies. Time for a quest! A journey of self-discovery! Oh what adventures shall ensue! Except this is my life and I really do get myself into these situations. That being said, well it wasn't a complete waste. It was fun getting all dressed up for the day. Okay, for an hour. And now I can safely say how much I do like my own style. I will never be the kind of girl that looks like she's off to a fashion shoot everyday. But I like that. I do like my lace and sequins but I wear them with jeans or casual dresses and flat shoes. My style is me and it suits me and it looks good. And the boyfriend appreciates that he does not actually have a sad clown hooker for a girlfriend.
I am back home now, in Istanbul, but still working on the tasks as we speak/type.