Every time I hear a knock at the door, I presume it’s the fashion police coming to arrest me for my sartorial sins. For most of my life, I’ve looked as though I got dressed in a blackout. Much of what I’ve worn is as regrettable as it is unforgettable. My outfits were just as tragic: a mix of cheesecloth smocks, clogs, denim overalls, platform shoes and ponchos. I would also like to point out that the people who designed the crocheted string bikini have never studied anatomy.