I walk down the stairs placing one foot in front of the other. Left, right. Left, right. With each step my four inch peep toe heels shine even more and I see an array of glimmering ruby gold tones as my pace is cautious, yet firm. I reach the bottom of the steps and tug at my black leather trim shift dress. My hands run throught my waist length ebony hair, separating the strands from the gold and crystal accented feather earrings that hang to frame my face. My right hand is slightly weighed down by the gold and crystal cocktail ring binding my middle finger.
“What do you think? Do you like it?” I ask as the edge of my mouth begins to inch toward a smile, but curls into a frown.
This was the scene about a week before my New Years Eve party. I was showing my brother and his girlfriend a sneak peek preview of what I saw as my utterly chic and fashionable outfit I had picked out for the upcoming festivities. They replied with a simple yes. They were inherently positive answers, but to me the fact that they were simple ruled out any good feedback. At the time, I disregarded the words yes, looks good, and I like it to only see what I considered a lack of enthusiasm and excitement.
As doubt and disappointment began to cloud my mind, I changed out of my now lack luster attire and turned straight to my laptop. The always distracting Facebook and Twitter were now being used to keep me dry-eyed and as an excuse for my padlocked mouth, but eventually my mind began to focus as the warm hazy droplets flowed down my cheeks.
I swear it was as if my thoughts were being drained of my melodramatic sensitivity because a few tears later my desire for an entirely different outfit was no longer present. I thought about my entire wardrobe and the possible shopping options I had, but no. The black dress with dazzling gold accents was the outfit. There was no other possible ensemble that I could whip up within a week to challenge the black dress.
New Year’s Eve came and I stared in the mirror with the same black dress and gold accessories adorning my figure. Some light make up completed the look and it was the best I had felt in a long time. In a week, I went from loving my pick to completely misreading simplicity and losing faith in what I thought was the right choice. By the time my party came around, I was back to trusting my styling instinct. In the end, my initial selection was the best option for me to wear on that night. My brother and his girlfriend approved of my styling, my friends loved my taste, and, most of all, I was happy!