I like to play with my clothes. Keeps me happy. It’s my mental health break and I’m not going to call it a guilty pleasure, because we’re all third-wave feminists around here and there is no reason to feel guilt around any of our pleasures.
I call my style “reformed cult member out for a contemporary surrealistic art vernissage followed by portentous private séance”.
Definitely not “mother of two on a grocery and school run followed by early dinner and bed”.