One Outfit? Depends Who’s Asking…

Daily Prompt: If you were forced to wear one outfit over and over again, what would it be?

Right, first of all, can we talk about that word forced? Because it’s sitting funny with me. Forced as in commanded by some controlling eejit who thinks they’ve got a say over what I drape over this fine frame? Or forced as in “life’s thrown you a curve ball and it’s either this outfit or birthday suit, so pick one”? Because those are two very different scenarios, darling.

If it’s the first one, is someone trying to order me? Nah. Not happening. I don’t do well with orders, especially when it comes to self-expression. I could be handed the most glorious ensemble, silk, cashmere, diamonds for buttons, and the minute someone tells me I must wear it every day? It’s dead to me. I’d sooner swan around in a bin liner and a crown, just to make a point.

Now, if it’s the second one, life situation, no other option, alright, I’ll play. My pick? A pair of soft, battered jeans that have been loved a little too hard. A loose linen or vintage cotton top that doesn’t care if I spill coffee down it. No bra, because frankly, I believe in personal freedom from the waist up. Feet? Either a pair of worn-in leather boots or barefoot in the grass. Messy hair, don’t care. Maybe a cheeky scarf or a string of beads for when I’m feeling extra.

The thing is, clothes are energy. They carry moods, memories, rebellion, and confidence. The minute you tell me I can’t change it up, you strip away a bit of my sparkle. And if you’re gonna force me into something, you’d best be prepared for me to accessorize with attitude and sarcasm.

So to answer the prompt:
Ordered? I’ll wear whatever makes you most uncomfortable.
No other option? Jeans, linen, bare feet, and a heart full of stubborn.

Yours rebelliously,
A free spirit with a wardrobe that answers to no one.