In high school, clothing became armor. Other girls dressed to accentuate whatever they were working with. Since I was working with nothing, I relied on my flared corduroys and a revolving collection of lewd Tshirts. Now, some of you will have to trust me on this, but there was a time before every douche bag had a “Jesus Is My Homeboy” shirt when printed tees were an actual novelty, especially to Mainers. Around fourteen, I discovered a store called Yellow Rat Bastard. (Shut up! That store used to be cool!) Every time I went to New York for an audition, I’d find my way to Prince Street and buy a funny and occasionally obscene T-shirt.
The shirts were always too big for me, so they hid the fact that I had the measurements of a hairless cat, and they were rude, so they gave off a real “I could dress in cute clothes if I wanted but I’m above it” vibe. One had a picture of Pee-wee Herman captioned “Pervert.” Another had the cast of Baywatch and the word “ORGY.” I layered them over long-sleeve waffle tees and took on the world. I can’t feel bad that I’m not one of the pretty girls if I’m actively making myself look weird! Loophole! I wanted to be sent home for my inappropriate clothing. Badly. True to form, though, I was terrified and filled with regret the only time a teacher mentioned it.
When Abercrombie & Fitch came to the Maine Mall and created a scramble among the wealthier kids to prove they could afford it, I shoplifted a shirt and wrote “Am I Popular Yet” across the chest with a marker. Suck it, fashion! I’m not your bitch!
Sometime during junior year my friend Sam told me that when guys walked into a room, they scanned the girls and picked out who they’d have sex with. He explained that it was like a reflex, so I’d love to get some feedback from guys on whether this is true. Just tweet me or leave an Instagram comment, or if you see me in the grocery store definitely just come up and let me know. When I asked if I made his list, he shrugged and said, “Yeah, you’re always on the ‘I would’ side. I think you’re probably on most guys’ ‘I would’ side.”
This. Was. Great. News. Given the choice, with no effort required, guys would rather have sex with me than not have sex with me? This changed everything! I mean, I still didn’t want to have sex, but you’re saying that if I DID I wouldn’t have to promise to wash the guy’s car to get him on board? The revelation that in spite of my boy-chest and braces I wasn’t considered a monstrosity led to about eight months of really sad attempts to highlight my AA cups and gel (gel!) my hair into submission. Turns out that trying to look as pretty as you can and still not being a pretty girl does a real number on you. My waffle tees were more comfortable anyway.
Audition Closet
Reverting back to my homely-by-choice tactic served me well when I moved to Los Angeles. I’d never seen people this good-looking. I know lots of people say that LA is full of tall blondes who make you feel like Quasimodo’s ugly cousin. I know it’s unoriginal and feels like a cry for attention. But when you’re auditioning to say one line on an episode of Entourage, you can’t help but think, Even I would cast this part on looks alone, then scan the room and regret using your last quarter for street parking.
Maybe I had to compete with these girls at auditions, but I was not about to battle the changing tides of style in my spare time. Boho chic is in, you say? Cool, I’m gonna go buy a SpongeBob jacket from the boys’ section of Target.
My closet looked like the by-product of schizophrenia. When you’re searching for an acting job, you never throw anything away because, you know, what if there’s an audition for a futuristic businesswoman who happened to spill ketchup on herself earlier that day? And if something is cheap enough, you’ll buy even the most hideous garments for the same reason. Your personal clothing is less than half of what you own. And no matter how strong you are, you will end up wearing something regrettable like your “spoiled homecoming queen” audition outfit to a party and take a photo with your friend Lacy where you’re both obviously sucking in your stomachs. Maybe your photos will be higher than three megapixels, but it will happen.
For the most part, though, I was happy with my sartorial choices. I thought I looked cool. Maybe I did. Or maybe I looked homeless. Either way, it didn’t occur to me that adults who weren’t auditioning or on a date could wear decent clothes. I once went to dinner with Aubrey Plaza and when she showed up in a skirt and a little white blazer, I thought, Is she going somewhere after this?
Enter the Stylist