I adhere to the sloppily-put-together fashion aesthetic so brilliantly described by designer Stella McCartney as "getting dressed up for a party, then having sex in the bushes." It goes without saying that my mom isn't impressed. She cringes at my shaggy hairdo and baggy dresses. "Oh, honey. You would look so much better with lipstick." is one of my mom's signature suggestions. Phrases like this are inextricably linked to: "You should invest in a nice suit."
If my mom, Nevenka, had her way, I would dress like Ivanka Trump. And of course my mom doesn't appreciate my criticism of her style, either. What I wouldn't give for her to stop matching every skirt to every bag and shoe; I keep telling her that fashion is more fun when it's a little off-kilter. Always the poised European, my mom wears pencil skirts and pastel blouses. And despite having had 40 years to do so, she has yet to master heels.
Put simply, my mother has an idea of how she thinks I should dress, and I have one for her. Given our frustrations, we decided to do a makeover to re-imagine ourselves the way we would like to see each other. So with the help of a team of hair, makeup and wardrobe stylists, we gave each other – gasp! – carte blanche to cut each other's hair, colour it, and dress each other. No interference allowed.
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