What Hannah Does Not Have: Fashion Sense

My mother and my older sister, Beth, have decided that I have no fashion sense. This is true. Therefore, they have decided that they need to save me from myself. This might also be true. So, recently, added to by that fact that Beth is downsizing her wardrobe to move to Provo, they have been stopping me in my beloved, everyday activities to have me try on skirts, shirts, sweaters, shoes and other articles of fashion. I have no fashion sense, 'tis true, nor any eye for fashion. But it probably doesn't help that I also hate clothing, hate trying on clothes, hate picking clothes, hate looking at clothes, and hate clothing stores. I loathe them.

Currently, my wardrobe consists of different things that I don't even know where I got them. My skirts are mostly all tweed or plaid, gray and kilt-pleated. Apparently this is a fashion sense known as schoolmarm. I do my hair in braids, buns and ponytails. Apparently the buns are especially schoolmarm.

Today, I am wearing church clothing that is "fashionable." This means a white blouse that has ties in lots of places, and a bright blue floral skirt. Apparently, you don't have to button up your blouse all the way, especially when there is a shirt underneath. I didn't know that. I am also wearing black high-heels that are product of the former campaign of Carol and my mom's of getting Hannah to wear fashionable shoes. Because of Hannah's thick body-type (for a Hatch-Russell), Hannah's legs are apparently more attractive in high-heels, and don't look as bulky as they do in flats.

As you can see, they're getting almost no where. I get the rules. Like black is slimming. Vertical stripes make you taller. Horizontal stripes make you shorter. I just don't have the eye for combinations, or the desire of caring enough to apply it to my wardrobe. I've tried to please them by going through my closet and looking for things that are not appealling and throwing them out. But I still don't have the stamina, desire, or eye to dress myself beautifully. Sorry, guys. I don't know if I'll ever gain a fashion sense. Or an eye for matching. Or any of that.

So now, when you see me appearing to have no fashion sense. You know why: I don't have one.

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