Not Black.

   I find that having cancer has affected my wardrobe. I no longer have any desire to drape myself in dark, somber colors, especially black.

   B.C. (before cancer), I thought of wearing black as a cool badge of toughness and strength. This started in college, when I got to be the cool girl because I wore these black pants with zippers down the legs. It was the early 80's in Colorado, so everyone else was wearing polo shirts and Levi's with their Adidas. I wore skinny zipper pants and ankle boots. The frat boys called me "Robin Hood" and not in an especially flattering manner.  That didn't stop me from finding other ways to dress that expressed my disdain for those who failed to appreciate my unique sense of fashion. I went through many phases of dress, from jeans and plain white t-shirts to miniskirts and leggings to jean skirts and clogs. I always came back to black as my basic. I was an exercise in existential angst.  I thought it was hip, edgy and cool. Now it's just drab, sad and passe.

   A.C. (after cancer), I am finding the need to perk it up, wardrobe wise. Especially with a shiny bald head as my most obvious accessory. I "fem it up" these days. I wear bright pretty colors. I wear flower prints. I wear bright pink shiny lip gloss and floral earrings. I feel pretty. I wonder less about  why I exist, I am happy to exist. My go to color these days is pink. Pink, that pretty, life affirming shade of health, pink! Pink, pink, pink! Go figure.