Technically we just wrapped up Week 3 of #AllDressApril, but I wasn’t here for it. I was up in a cabin without data or phone service finishing my book manuscript. It was monsoon-raining for about 79% of the time I was there, which meant that yes, I did finish all of my edits and the book’s been shuttled back to the publisher (this is where the YAYs come in).
I did not wear a dress at the cabin. I wore sweatshirts and jeans and hats to cover my greasy hair and its inch of grow-out, and I pecked at a nasty patch of dry skin that developed on my chin and worried that if I drove into town I would be handed a hobo kit like Cheryl Strayed in Wild.
The reason I took the majority of the week off and went out there was because I needed to be productive, but it came with the fringe benefit of needing a break.
“Dressing up” every damn day doesn’t mean throwing on a dress every day and running out the door. That’s why maxi dresses are so perfect for the summer when you can hide a lazy morning under a sun hat and big ass sunglasses you never have to take off. Dressing up every day in Oregon April means doing your hair and avoiding going outside because the 20 minutes you spent wielding hot tools around your head while your eyes are barely open will go to waste. It’s waiting for feet to thaw all day after your heels get in a losing brawl with a puddle. It’s Spanx.
And it would be a different story if this dumb hashtag-based commitment to making one month ceaselessly dapper was spent doing all the things that are a blast to do when you put in all that effort to look put together and coordinated and stylish, like wandering in and out of casinos on the Las Vegas Strip, or posing in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, or brunching, or having drinks on top of skyscrapers, or going to the theater, or seeing your favorite author read at Powell’s, or all those other beautiful activities where your efforts will be appreciated and you’re poised to have a fabulous time.
But this is not #AllEndlessWeekendAndVacationHappyTimeApril, and all of the mundane drudgery of normal days does not take a hiatus. There is still work, and bad weather, and fatigue, and deadlines you’re not meeting and emails you haven’t answered, and what you thought was your favorite thing turns out only to be your favorite when it’s one of a few options, which includes hiding in leggings or even the less fussy skirt. It’s nice to have a day or two where I’m not afraid to quit fighting your hair and forget lipstick because I’m not going to be posting any Instagrams. There’s a reason most people are walking around Portland looking like they just hit snooze 20 times: because no one cares.
Usually I care. It’s just been too much caring. There may be a week of dresses to go, but I am fresh out of fucks.