The Dad Special
My first memory of critiquing my dad's fashion choices was, at the age of 5, when I informed him that black and navy didn't match, and he couldn't leave the house, and he certainly shouldn't leave the house in sweatpants. Cute, right?
I'd like to think that I toned down my ever-flowing stream of style advice as I aged, but that might be wishful thinking. However long it lasted, my dad was (shockingly) patient and continuously tolerated all of my opinions. When I reached my teens, he, again, was patient when I'd need to put on a full face of makeup and a cute outfit before we could pick up breakfast on Saturday mornings. Did I mention that I'm an only child?
Awhile ago, I related how I phone-a-friended my mom for blog post inspiration. While on that phone call, she passed me off to my dad. I asked him, "Dad, what rule do you think I should break for my blog outfit tonight?" and he replied, "I don't know, Rebecca, wear sweatpants." I gasped dramatically, and immediately rejected his idea.
Today is my dad's birthday (Happy Birthday Dad!) and in honor of his years of patience and understanding, I wore sweatpants. Outside the house. All day.
Here's how it went:
THE EVENT: It was a Sunday.
THE BROKEN RULE: Sweatpants never leave the house.
THE OUTFIT: The outfit began with the sweats. For the longest time, I had ridiculous sweatpants. (I wore a hand-me-down pair from my mom until they were so covered in holes that I'd get stuck to all our cabinet drawer handles.) They never left the house, so it didn't matter if they were crazy looking. I finally invested $15 or so in a pair of black joggers from Uniqlo. No holes in sight! I pulled these on on Sunday, and added a grey long sleeved T, that Prairie Underground sweatshirt with the fun hood, my camo jacket and a green scarf. I topped it off with a black Kate Spade bag, just to keep the whole ensemble classy, and we headed out the door.
THE EXPERIENCE: As we were about to leave, Christian looked at my outfit and said, "I really don't get why this is a big deal." I informed him that I didn't even wear sweats to class in college, and he seemed to grasp the magnitude of the situation.
We began with brunch. We went to Tallulah's. Now, Tallulah's is cute. Really super cute. (Check out their Instagram if you don't believe me.) We went there for our anniversary dinner a few years ago, and I wore heels (pre-experiment!). We rolled up, late for our reservation, with me in sweatpants, and I was sure I was going to get the evil eye from the hostess. Nothing. Totally normal eye movement.
We were seated at a corner table next to the windows and I surveyed the other brunch-eaters. There were plenty of cute brunch outfits around us. I thought, 'thank goodness I'm in the corner.' Brunch happened. We had coffee and eggs, and a whole family showed up wearing identical Patagonia jackets, and I felt better about the sweatpants. We finished our meal, and as we got up to leave I heard no audible gasps of shock about my outfit.
We went for a walk to work off some of our breakfast, and though it was a bit grey, it wasn't raining! We meandered through a park and then back to our car. Next stop, groceries.
I'll Cliff Notes the next part. We went to an all-natural, co-op style grocery store, and as you can imagine, no one reacted to my sweats. It's a very live and let live sort of place. We picked up some staples for the week (and a pomegranate!), and headed home to let Izzy out, and prep for the week ahead. That turned into watching multiple episodes of Parks and Recreation, and sharing a can of sparkling wine (classy!), but that's what Sundays are for, right?
THE CONCLUSION: This is hard for me to admit, but I was really comfy all day in those sweats. Way comfier than I would have been in jeans, and certainly comfier than tights. From what I could see, no one cared that I'd left the confines of my house wearing lounge wear. And if they did, I don't know them anyway, so big deal. I don't know if I'll continue going to brunch in joggers, but if I do, now I know the ground won't split open and swallow me whole.
As it turns out, my dad's idea of a broken rule was a great one. And, hopefully, my public sweats were a bit of retribution for the years I tortured him with fashion critiques and endless episodes of What Not to Wear. Happy Birthday Dad!! I hope you can wear your sweats all day!