In Theory

September 15th, 2009

My friend Kathy and I used to have what we called our Luge Theory which basically assumed that everyone has some area of brilliance (or at least extreme aptitude), and people lucky enough to have discovered that area of brilliance early in life (obviously) have a better chance than others at building a career (which I am using very loosely as one’s area of brilliance could be parenting or cultivating roses or painting or any number of Things which do not necessarily provide a livelihood) around said Thing, while others may struggle trying to identify where their talents lie, and in some cases individuals may not ever be put in a situation which allows that talent to reveal itself. I might be a world class luger, the theory goes, but how on earth would I ever know it?

Finding one’s niche is not easy (for most of us); it’s a process of elimination for those of us who didn’t wake up one morning with the itch to play violin or the desire to become a teacher or the uncanny ability to run really far and really fast.

(Well, duh, right? I mean, who doesn’t want to discover their most amazing selves and cultivate their most extraordinary talents?)

I don’t know what my Luge is (and I may never discover it) but I am not without abilities and talents of my own. I can cook meat to the perfect level of doneness, almost without fail. I am good with a wine list. I can string words together in ways that work. I can stop the DVR at the exact moment when Commercial switches to Show, every time. I’m good with babies.

My area of brilliance, however, is not in fashion. Fashion is not my Luge. I like clothes. I like clothes A LOT. I work in an industry devoted to clothes. I work with people who are good at clothes. I am not one of them. This morning I had a twenty-minute delay getting out the door because the first outfit I put on was a beige sweater worn over a cream colored bra but the bra was too light and the sweater too fine a gauge and the bra showed through the sweater but my beige bra was in the laundry and the other appropriate colored bras have lace which makes them too bumpy to wear under fine gauge knits and OH MY GOD it took me forever and ever to put clothes on my body and it’s not like my shirts were hidden and my pants were locked in a combination safe and I forgot the code or anything like that: I just suck at clothes. When Plan A fails, my brain goes blank. I am terrible at putting together outfits. I am great at identifying Fashion! and can spot trends and fall in love with ridiculous items and pour over magazines and all that but when it comes to my own damn self and my own damn body, I am hopeless and no amount of shopping and/or closet-purging seems to help. (I am fine when going Out; this particular affliction is specific to the everyday.)

I am good at shopping. I like to think that I have good taste (although, doesn’t everyone?). But I watch Rachel Zoe on television and I flop over on my bed in despair because while she clearly has found her Luge (and oh dear, how I love Rachel Zoe), the very idea of having to style people – to say nothing of styling oneself – exhausts me and gives me anxiety, similar to watching certain scenes in The Devil Wears Prada.

Which is why, if I ever win the lottery or rub the magic genie bottle, one of my purchases/wishes is totally gonna be a personal stylist. Done and done. And then I’m flying myself to somewhere icy and taking luge lessons.

Entry Filed under: General