There are days when I have no style whatsoever. I’m being honest. I am having the fattest day of my life and am ready to perform satanic acts on anyone who dares to lay eyes on me. I didn’t even go to 7-11 for coffee on the way to work because I didn’t want the guy at the counter to see me looking like crap. For this, I thank my stars that tunic shirts are in style because it is the only thing saving me from being a fashion mess (I hope).

But as I sit here in the office in the deepest of all funks, I have been contemplating all day how mood and style go hand in hand. Today, and many days, I am literally wearing my mood on my sleeve. Today is Thursday and I am at work in jeans. Are we allowed to wear jeans to work on a Thursday? No, only on Friday. Jeans and a green tunic and a HUGE gray sweater coat. In no way does this fit into the confines of my company’s “business casual” dress code but evidently my state of mind takes precedence over the rules by which we are expected to abide. I am trying hard to cover up how gross I feel – I am basically trying to be invisible to my co-workers.

At 6:00 this morning, after having a temper tantrum in my apartment, I very nearly called in to work. But I don’t really like lying on my boss’ voicemail because I am always afraid it will sound phony. So what was I supposed to do? Call in fat? Call in bitchy?

“Hi John, it’s Cara. I’m not going to be in today. I’m really not feeling thin enough to have other human eyes looking at me and it’s really affecting my mood in a negative way. I just don’t think I’ll be able to focus on my work so I think I’m going back to bed to sleep it off. I’ll see you Monday.”

I figured he’d probably be afraid of me if I did something like that so I decided to suck it up (and in) and just throw on whatever garment I could find that would cover my exceedingly corpulent body and bumble my way in to work. Of course, this does not make me feel any better because I KNOW I look like crap in this mix of denim and wool that I have tossed on myself. Oh I should mention that I at least tried to add an element of style to the ensemble by throwing on a pair of heels but evidently my feet are fat today too because they are squeezing out of them and these shoes never pinch.

So I have been sitting on the floor of my cube like a jumbly waterbeast all day filing six months worth of paperwork. The physical labor is making me sweat and I want to take the coat off but hell will freeze before I do that. And then the forehead smacker of all thoughts hits me:

‘Why in the name of all that is holy and good did I not just wear my fat dress today?’

Stupid stupid stupid! I have a dress. The Fat Dress. Every woman should have one: comfortable, forgiving, seasonless, casual, well-constructed, versatile and (in most cases) black. If I had only worn the stupid Fat Dress, I would not be thinking of ways for Keira Knightley to die right now.

I suppose my point is that everyone feels shitty now and then. But showing the entire world precisely HOW shitty you feel is not going to improve the situation. Whereas, making an effort to say “Hey! I feel freakin great today!” even if you feel like a bag of ass might actually do something for your own self-image. And I’m willing to bet that even Keira Knightley has fat days, too.