The Hamlet Project

Is it in their genes?
Four hundred plus years later
This remains true.
Next to most of my French friends
I feel the least fashionable human in the universe.
I become acutely aware of the little hole in my shirt
That I scarcely knew was there before.
I suddenly notice that this shirt
Doesn’t QUITE fit me,
That this little spot of paint isn’t invisible.
I want to run to an expert
Throw myself on their mercy
Have them dress me
Like a doll
Since I am so seemingly incapable
Of dressing myself with style.
One Frenchwoman I know
Has so much style
And so much grace within that style –
That I find myself almost always
Spilling food
Or dropping cups,
Discovering a stray crumb on a lip
Or ink all over my fingers.
As if her stylishness were a planet
With its own gravitational pull
That pulls all the style out of me
And pours my drink all over my front.