What Not to Wear

I was recently inspired by What Not to Wear. Inspired by Carmindy, who had transformed a total hag into a stunner - and the only thing she used that I don't have is a burgundy brown shadow to bring out her baby blues. Taxi! Take me to Sephora! And step on it!

Despite it being quasi-Reality TV, I have always been a fan. Of it, and of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Clinton and Stacy and the Fab 5 have been ridding the world of the stylistically inept for years and have been a riot while doing it.

To me it is not just about the show. Not just about being entertained by the subjects' inability to dress like a grown up or decorate beyond fraternity house chic. I don't mindlessly tune in to see which sweatpants-to-the-office-wouldn't-know-a-loafer-from-a-Louboutin-oh-my-God-are-those-pajamas fashion flunky is going to be brainwashed into fashion-consciousness in 60 minutes or less.

I bought the books.

Actually, I bought one book. One was given to me. As a misguided gift.

My ex-husband, before he was my Wasband, returned home from a shopping trip with it. He wasn't Christmas shopping, or Valentine shopping, or birthday shopping or anything like that. He was grocery shopping. At a big warehouse store known as BJs - where you buy everything in bulk, and unless you have a family of 10 (Kate Gosselin, are you listening on the set of your latest show?) or give half of it away, the food will go bad or your kids will grow to hate it long before you've used it all. (I remember my first trip to BJs - I was pregnant. The 5 gallon tub of pork chitlins made me convulse with nausea - especially so close to the tire display where the smell of rubber wafted inconveniently near.)

But BJs has a great book display. Huge selection of titles and rock bottom prices. This is where the famed book of quippy fashion advice came from. It was "What Not to Wear" - the BBC version, with Trinny and Susannah.

Lars came home from BJs and after we had hefted the 10 gallon vat of detergent down to the laundry room, and found a home for the 100 rolls of toilet paper, and managed to wedge the 12 pound bag of frozen meatballs into the freezer, and manipulated the contents of the cabinet to accommodate a 6 pound box of Bisquick, he placed the book on the dining room table.

Not yet familiar with the show, I was immediately offended.

"Who is this for, your mother?" I snarked. No fashion maven, she. Don't get me started.

"No, it's for you," he said, and actually, seemed sincere.

I was skeptical. And wanted to beat him senseless with the enormous bag of flash frozen salmon steaks. This is a man who for some time, when I presented on the stair in a perfectly turned out ensemble, often looked up and inquired, "What are you dressed up as?" or "What are you supposed to be?" or "Are you going out like that?"

All this from a man who only owned blue shirts when we'd met. Hardly in a position to judge.

But as luck would have it, I was in a pitifully bleak reading material situation and decided to give it a look. Good call.

Hilarious. Irreverent. And brimming with good advice. Name your figure flaw and Trinny and Susannah will not only tell you the best and worst blouse, pants, skirt, coat, and neckline for you, they will model it for you too! And tell you where you can splurge or bargain hunt for styles that suit you. Flat chest? Big hips? Stumpy legs? They will have you camouflaged and fabulous in no time.

I liked it so much that I not only tuned in to their show - I tuned into similar shows as well, and upon discovering the genius of Carson Kressley, I bought his book too. Every copy - from the $2 bin at my grocery store after the ladies in Disney jumpers and stirrup pants in my Superfresh obviously failed to see its infinite value.