A frank friend with no filter: someone who’ll tell you the unvarnished truth, no matter what.
I’m facing the mirror with my jeans around my ankles–too tired to pull them up. Instead, I shuffle towards the bed to retrieve my phone and call my sister. I need help. Nothing in my wardrobe fits. Nothing. I lost some weight - a lot, in fact, thanks to Parkinson’s and matters adjacent. What should be a simple matter of buying new clothes is more like doing advanced trigonometry on a hangover–in an escape room. Although the tag now says size 8, my head still says 12-14. Then come the interminable mental calculations that lead to chronic decision fatigue:
How many pieces should I buy?
What ratio of bottoms to tops?
Should I size up in case I gain weight?
Wait, why are veins suddenly popping out of my hands and arms?
I work in fashion. This is my wheelhouse. What is wrong? I wrote a bestseller for God’s sake: The Happy Closet–dressing the person you are today. Is it my dopamine levels? Why am I drawing a blank? Maybe this is what a mid-life crisis feels like. Some people buy a Porsche or have an affair. Others set off on an Eat, Pray, Love excursion around the world. Not me. I sit on the edge of the bed, legs mired in a denim doughnut, wondering who I am.
“Hey, can you talk?” I text. “I could use some advice.”
Three dots later…
“Of course!”
Enter my sister, who is known (and loved) to start a sentence with, “I'm no expert, but …” followed by her opinion. She is my Frank Friend with No Filter*: someone who tells me the unvarnished truth, no matter what. Her straight-up-no-chaser honesty and absence of a poker face can fast-track a person from acute brain fog to much-needed clarity in a hot minute. What’s more, she’s got my best interests at heart. This is what my wardrobe, bank balance and my arse, most need at this moment. A few mirror selfies and some real talk later…minor crisis averted.
Mild histrionics aside, dressing a body that once felt like home can be an isolating experience. Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own skin, in search of absent contours and curves. Strong headlands of muscle - now barren. Nothing is familiar.
In times like these, we need third-party intervention. Mirrors mislead us, crowds blind us, and our internal GPS can leave us stranded somewhere between our intended target and our best intentions. The Frank Friend with No Filter takes us to a more honest place, helping us to really see ourselves.
Remember: choose your truth givers wisely. Everything else is just opinion.
*A lifetime ago, I wrote a book called The Happy Closet which features the Frank Friend with No Filter. You can read about it here if you like.
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