Vertically challenged me
In all my 60 inch splendour
Here’s the thing.
I never thought of myself as being short until I came to live in the States. Up until then, I considered myself average. That came to a screeching halt in 2007. All of a sudden, 5 feet nothing seemed like, well, nothing.
It was quite funny, actually.
If I was walking down the hallways of Eve’s middle school, I’d very often be mistaken for a student. From the back, of course. I mean, no matter the power of (youthful, seemingly age-defying) Asian genes, one can only look that much younger when viewed from the front (it’s like gazing into a mirror with 5x amplification, very humbling).
Victorian White Lace Blouse & Distressed Denim Shorts (both H&M in Kuching) | Sunnies (Poshmark) | Spiked Blush Booties (Shoe Ocean) | Lipstick (22 @ Kylie Cosmetics)
was is always required when grocery shopping because, you know, the good stuff would invariably be placed on top shelves.
And public seats would always require some form of a foot step, you know.
Or a wee hop, skip, jump.
When it came to clothes, however, I was perfectly pleased to shop in the little miss department of Target and, yes, even Walmart because that was where the Olsen Twins first started selling their line of clothing. Because let’s face it, even back then, they had stellar style.
Faux fur coats. Sequinned patches on jeans. Embellished knee high boots. The most jaunty of animal print accessories. Heavenly trims and bling and everything including the kitchen sink, done up tastefully, stylishly, and, above all, with a pinch of humour.
S W E E T
And since we’re being honest, there wasn’t anything too appealing hanging on racks in the women’s department at the time anyway. Not for me.
Everything was either too frumpy.
Clothes for grown-ass women veered towards being cute instead of empowering. And that was something I could neither comprehend nor embrace. But that’s a story for an entirely different setting. Today, I’m playing on the word, “short“, and why wearing shorts has never been my thing. Until lately.
Summer, to be precise. When Eve cajoled (that’s putting it mildly, to be honest, essentially, she nagged and nagged and nagged, love you, boo!!!) me into purchasing my first ever pair of shorts from H&M while we were vacationing in Kuching.
Denim. Cutoffs. With distressed bits to boot. And although it took four trips (and three returns/exchanges but hey, who’s counting?), I found my dream pair, which you now see before you, in its mid wash, low rise glory. Paired with the prettiest white lace blouse ever.
I do apologise that this post lacks my usual from-the-heart-sharing theme but as I’ve just gone through rotator cuff surgery of the right shoulder (a week ago), finger typing is my MO for the time being, and it’s tiring to finger type a super long story.
And being right hand dominant for the most part, my greatest challenges have been to (1) draw my brows decently; and (2) apply mascara without poking my eyes (too often).
Do bear with me? I have another three weeks of
jail sling time to go.
p/s my photos are by Sofia Touassa
I link up here.