I had an abundant shopping day today in which I spent far too much money on a dress that was intended for a fifteen-year-old girl trying to turn on her older brother's best friend at her younger brother's Bar Mitzvah (and I'm not even Jewish!). It seems the older I get, the younger my taste in clothes becomes. While at 25, I dressed like a 49-year-old secretary, now I troll through Forever 21 like a junior high school kid who just got her allowance.

While I like my silly dress, I still hold fast to the notion that the majority of Americans designers inject an "I'm Intentionally Looking Stupid" vibe into their designs for young women (and I'm not talking about the prices...although, it does seem like the more whore-ish and inane the outfit is, the more expensive...). There's a fine line between carefree sexuality and moronic desperation, and, up till now, I have stood on the other side of street from that line. However, now that I've hit the New Age Box and have internalized the fact that I can call the shots in all areas in my life (especially the bedroom), casual slutty doesn't bother me the way it used to. I think, perhaps, women over 30 are really the ones who can pull off the "I'm Just A Girl In the World...And Sexy, too? Gee, I Didn't Know That" look more than the teens and early twenty-somethings they are intended for. Sure, the Victoria Secret models look smokin' and powerful, but do they say yes when they mean no?

Or maybe because I'm still single and childless (is that a song, too?) the whole Ann Taylor "I'm Too Sophisticated and Fulfilled To Bother With Sexy" doesn't quite feel right. So, I'm stuck in fashion no-woman's land, somewhere between Talbot's and Forever 21, a Betsy Johnson/Nine West/corner boutique with crazy Pat Fields-like owner island where all I can do is scavenge for something resembling the spirit of something I feel (I wish there were more independent designers in America like there are in Australia).

Just for today, I can find my own style.