I didn't expect it to be a challenge. There have been many months that I've only worn jeans once or twice, and haven't even thought about it. I like skirts: how they fit, how they feel, how they look. I have many more skirts than jeans, and none of the skirts are really languishing in my closet neglected and unworn. When I step into a thrift store, the skirt rack is always my primary destination. How could it be any harder to consciously wear skirts for a month than to have it happen that way naturally, like it often does?
Well, I found out that it could be a whole lot harder. It got cold, blustery and snowy, and skirts became both inconvenient and chilly. Little Bear got sick, and showers long enough to shave became a whole lot less frequent because he wanted Mama, only Mama, right now all of the time. He learned that tugging on long skirts would get my full attention right away--because the darn things don't stay up anymore after I wore them through pregnancy--and took to whining and skirt-pulling every night while I made supper. Just a couple of weeks in, I was staring wistfully at the dresser drawer holding my jeans and humming Green Day's "Wake Me Up When September Ends" each morning.
I don't think that Skirtember was a bad idea, exactly, but it wasn't a good idea for me. I already liked wearing skirts and wore them frequently. Now, I can still say those things about myself, but there's a hesitation; I like wearing skirts--sometimes. I wear them frequently--but definitely not today. Moderation in all things, right? Forcing yourself to do something that goes against the grain every day for a month, when there isn't even a good reason for it, is likely to end in frustration and burn-out, and that's definitely where I am right now. I'm glad it's over, and probably won't be wearing too many skirts for a while.