Clinton Kelly Critiques...(and not for the first time.)

Well.

It all started with an "event" I had to go to. It was a 5pm "event"...a fundraiser-slash-dinner. Only I wasn't staying for the dinner. I was just there to network. To schmooze...if you will. I'd planned on hitting Macy's early in the day to pick up a much-needed ensemble (said with a French accent, please...one pinkie delicately raised).

But you know what they say about the best laid plans.

I was on deadline for a piece on an "Eleanor Roosevelt Knit-In" (you can't make this stuff up) and for those of you that know me, the challenge was as much about getting my facts straight as it was about staying awake. I'd put a call into a lady (we'll call her "Ethel") to hear all about her meeting with Mrs. Roosevelt. Only, she's never actually met Mrs. Roosevelt...and it was her mother who did this "supposed" knitting (not her)...and she'd never met Roosevelt, either....but her mom had a "Roosevelt-INSPIRED" moment. Oy.

So. Thirty minutes later, I've got nothing I can use and Macy's is starting to look like a yearly membership to the gym: it's great in theory, but somehow ya just know it's not gonna happen.I resort to the next best thing: I raid my closet.



Which brings me to Clinton Kelly (or, "the C-man" as he's affectionately known in my head). Now, we all have our "little voices"...(C'mon. Admit it...you know you have one...it's okay, as long as you don't have several and they're not all talking at the same time.)...mine just happens to be 6' 4", with cornflower blue eyes and an eye for fashion. I know they're cornflower, because we've actually met. Had a conversation yet. Those eyes I'll not soon forget.




Okay, I'm done.

Anyway, I've read quite a bit of Clinton's writing (he's a journalist, amongst other things) including some stuff going back to 2001, way before his stint on "What Not To Wear". This guy is funny...quick wit, etc. So, it seems only logical that he'd surface subconsciously whilst I attempted to pull a rabbit out of...well...my closet. As it were.

What follows is the actual transcript of the "conversation" we had. In my head, of course. I'd like to say it was the first...or the last...but those of you that know me, know better.

Set scene: Kathryn. Exasperated, yet optimistic. Standing in front of open closet. "Surely there's something in here that will suffice for a business casual event. I'll just whip something together...how hard can this be? People do this all the time...I'll just grab things like I know what I'm doing...confidence! That's the ticket..."

Kathryn: Hmmmm. Okay. Let's start with this brown print skirt....
Clinton: I don't remember this skirt. Is it cotton, or poly-blend?
K: I have no idea. It's a BROWN PRINT (said in a LOUD VOICE, as if this will answer his question)
C: (Chuckles) Veto. Next?
K: Crap. Okay...I have this pink printed number. Kinda looks Chinese...hmmm...Taylor would like this...
C: Okay. Who's wearing this...you or Taylor? (laughs at his own joke) What top goes with it?
K: ....................
C: Hello? Oh, I get it. Veto. Next?
K: I could wear this tweed-looking kinda pencil-skirt...skirt......(a little desperation sniggling into her voice)
C: It's too big. And NO, you may not safety-pin it. I would be mortified for you. Next.
K: Crap.
C: You said that already. Don't tell me that's it? C'mon...time's a-wasting....tick-tock.
(I can almost picture him....leaning back in his chair...feet propped on a desk...eyeing a fingernail...can't you just see it?)
K: Fine. I have this other brown & pink print skirt...
C: What's with you and all the printed skirts? What have you got against solids? It's a lot harder to match a print than a solid, ya know. So, with what top?
K: Uh...this....brown one?
C: Nope. Too tight for a function like this. No woman will speak to you and the men won't leave you alone. Next?
K: OKAY. THE BLACK ONE WITH THE BURGUNDY THROUGH IT.
C: Why are you yelling? Are you yelling at me? 'Cause I'll stop this right now and you'll be left wearing nothing but a printed skirt.
K: ...................................................
C: I thought so. What top?
K: (Defeated) The burgundy one.
C: Is it wrinkled?
K: (eyes get wide) How did you know? Are you WATCHING me???
C: (chuckles) Everything in your closet is wrinkled, Kathy. It's called an iron.
K: Okay...forget every nice thing I've ever said about you. You're MEAN.
C: I'll let that go. What shoes.
K: (Sighs dramatically) Shoes? Oh, c'mon......the black ones. 4" cork heel.
C: Sexy....
K: Well?
C: You'll iron the top?
K: Can't I just wear it around for a while and see if......
C: WILL YOU JUST IRON THE FREAKIN' TOP?
K: FINE.
C: Promise?
K: What am I? Four?? Fine.

Yes, I ironed the top. Not right away, of course...but after a sufficient amount of time had passed so that it seemed more like MY idea than his.

Just so you don't think I'm crazy.

Till the 'morrow-