If you would’ve met me four years ago, you would’ve called me a name-dropping fashion whore who really knew nothing about fashion. I spoke the language of “name brand” when it came to clothes and thought it was acceptable to appear anywhere in Juicy track pants just because they were Juicy.

Today, if you were to see me on the street, you’d probably question whether or not I was homeless and perhaps I was living in the car that I was getting into. If you caught a glance inside my car and saw the crusted bowl of eggs and salsa that was my breakfast 10 hours ago, you’d probably try to throw some spare change at me. I live in Vegas and summer lasts through November, so you know the smell of eggs and spicy (not spicy salsa…just spicy) has now infiltrated the car and is stuck in the seats for the next few days.

My first two years out of college were spent at a job that would humble even Anna Wintour and paid an equally humbling “salary”. And by salary, I mean the only way someone could live off of that pay decently was if they had the you’re-an-at-home-chef-for-your-mom-and-you-barter-rent-for-food situation that I had, and currently still have. Naturally, the luxurious life I lived in college-trashing loan statements, telling Citibank I was working as an underpaid nanny, shopping at Whole Foods without checking prices and living an organic lifestyle, and racking up a bad credit at J.Crew in the name of ballet flats- came to a halt. I’m not saying I didn’t fight this change- I fought it. I continued to shop at Whole Foods, however my organic lifestyle became a little more flexible. I would walk into a J.Crew and cry that I couldn’t buy the long Jackie Kennedy-type coat I’d been wanting and would never need, so to console myself, I’d buy some sale priced ballet flats.

A year in I was reduced to reluctantly poking my head into a Forever 21, a store I’d sniffed at for being knockoff kingdom. And for that reason it was CHEAP. So cheap, it would be sinful for me to consider going anywhere else to buy party dresses that were in for a life time of having drinks spilled on them and being slept in after a night that made Animal House look like a sweet sixteen party.

I worked at a place where uniforms were mandatory (however the need to replace them when they became filled with holes was not), so the need to buy clothes wasn’t urgent. My low income coupled with a waning interest in how I looked helped me nosedive into what I call my fashion dark age. It wasn’t just a fashion dark age, it was just a flat out dark age. In my two years there, I’d worn make up to work maybe seven times and even on days that we were allowed to “dress down” I didn’t want to even subject the few good pieces of clothing I had left to the dump where I lived eight hours a day. I just didn’t care how I looked, but I knew what I looked like: a fierce, hot mess.

You know those clothes that you only wear to the gym or around your house? I’d taken to wearing those out in public- to the grocery store, gas station, Target. You’d be hard pressed to find someone not dressed worse than you at any of those places, but it doesn’t mean you challenge them by wearing the Hanes tapered leg sweatpants you’ve had since freshman year of high school with a faded concert t-shirt. Like I said, I knew what I looked like, but there are some people out there who don’t know what they look like, which is also a goddamn hot mess too. The only difference between me and that person, is that someone lied to them and told them it was totally cool to hit Whole Foods wearing a halter dress that cannot contain your FFF implants which would pop if I threw the pineapple in my cart at them. Again, I know what I look like, do YOU know what you look like?

I frequently bring shame to my alma mater by wearing one of my college shirts with an unfortunate bottom half and sandals showcasing my pedicure, rather lack thereof. It’s one of my most comfortable t-shirts and besides wearing it to bed, I wear it to work out in, with jeans and when my mom’s not home I wear it sans pants. There is only one instance when I can truly say I embarrassed myself and my college.

At the beginning of this summer, I found an excellent pair of running shorts that could double as lounge and pajama shorts at Target. For 10 bucks. This was an exciting find because it wasn’t even a clearance item and they came in several colors. I went with my staple color, black, and ran away from the juniors section before I picked up the red, purple and heinous shade of neon yellow. Oh, that was the second best part, I fit into a juniors size medium. However, I went with the large because I am a fat girl trapped in a moderately sized girl’s body and one day those weeks of eating straight take out is going to take it’s toll and I’m going to be glad I bought the large.

Now imagine my excitement when I went back to Target a month later and discovered those shorts on sale for $2.99. It was like hitting the lottery of gym shorts, because only one color and size was left: Large, neon yellow. I secretly wanted that color just because they were so ugly. I got my money’s worth out of them within the first two days seeing that as soon as I got home from work, I slipped these on, sat down with a string cheese and an apple and enjoyed an episode of King of Queens or Judge Judy. I usually have to flip a coin to decide which one I’m going to watch because the pickles that Doug gets himself into vs. the potential of Judge Judy verbally abusing someone (BALONEY! She only says that when she’s real mad) is too hard of a decision to make. So I let a quarter choose.

A few weeks into my relationship with these shorts, I decided to run down to Roberto’s to get a burrito and then wash my car windows at the gas station next door because I was pretty sure that the blurred vision I was experiencing when I drove had little to do with the fact that I refused to wear my glasses and more with my car windows not having been washed in three months. Let me explain something to you. I use my car to get me from Point A to Point B. How it looks is of no concern to me. So the paint peeling off the hood and the fact that I have to roll down the window to open the driver’s side door is only an issue when I have to valet park. I always tell the valet that this is my “loaner” car while my Prius is being fixed. And then I never go back to that establishment. So me maneuvering myself out of this car with my bright yellow clearance shorts, my college shirt, the smell of burrito wafting from my car, really made a statement. That statement was: here is a girl who is not concerned with her looks and likes to eat food from questionable establishments.

I started washing my windows quickly because I wanted to go home and destroy this burrito like it was the last one Roberto’s was ever going to make. Half-way through squeegeeing my windshield, a Lexus  SUV pulls up to the gas pump opposite of me and one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen stepped out. This man was either lost or was just passing through the neighborhood because the men in my neighborhood are characterized by bumpers missing off their car or teeth missing from their head. This man had all his teeth and a car that I would be happy to live in. I’m guessing he was Middle Eastern- I’m guessing because I have a thing for those types. There I said it. Iranians and Lebanese men in particular. Don’t ask, that’s just my preference.

I stopped to stare and when he caught me, I tried to pretend like I was still washing my windows, but I was facing the wrong direction away from my car. And when someone wearing shorts the color of a construction vest makes quick movements, your eye is drawn to them.  I didn’t even finish cleaning my windows- I pretended to inspect them and tossed the squeegee back in the filthy water and sped away, hopefully never to see him again, unless I had the ability to erase that incident from his mind with one of those Men in Black wands.

Lesson learned. But not really. Because the chances of me running into a man that gorgeous again are slim to none. So. I didn’t think twice before I wore those shorts to Target the other day. I just did it.