Note: I’m in the process of working on this piece. It’s very rough and I’m not sure exactly where it’s going. I’d love to hear what others think about what I have so far…
I’ve wanted to do some serious clothes shopping, but I seem to find either time-warp acid rock ’70s anti-establishment styles or granny’s ready for the nursing home outfits. Since I turned fifty-two years young in November last year, I don’t want to wear something I might have paraded around in when I was eighteen. I’m not trying to look like a teenager, but I don’t want to look like I’m ready for the morgue and mummification next week either. Geez!
What happened to classic lines for mature women who are not anorexic? Do we all need to look like we just hit puberty a year ago, with youthful curves and a trainer bra physique? Am I doomed to the more disgusting than vomit motifs of dresses and tunics. I suppose jeans and t-shirts are an acceptable alternative. I do get tired of wearing them over and over again, though. Casual comfort versus professional working woman. If I want to be taken seriously as a professional woman, I need classy styles evocative of Lauren Bacall. The nineteen-forty’s black and white film-noir femme-fatale image or Jennifer Aniston’s perky sultriness wrapped up in red-carpet satin and paparazzi glitter-drop earrings.
What morons design these horribly ugly clothes I see jam-packed on racks in every store? And how many women my age are a size four, or six even? I wonder if the designers wear this crap. Are they all in a glue-sniffing fog, or have they just become lazy and chosen to recycle the fashion trends of the past because that is easier than being truly creative? Just wondering and ranting and tired of not finding anything I want to wear on the racks at the local mall or overpriced trendy strip-mall vendors.
I’d design my own clothing, but alas, my grandmother died before she could teach me how to sew. My aunts died before they could show me how to crochet or knit. I have rough basic skills. I can mend hems, attach buttons, create button-holes. Reality check: I don’t have time to add ‘seamstress’ to my curriculum vitae, let alone time for a clothing project of the magnitude I imagine. I’m overdue for a completely new wardrobe. Overdue for a trip to the salon. I think I might benefit from a make-over. I’m just not quite sure about the kind of overhaul I envision. An overhaul that might allow me to appear less outdated. The fashionistas seem intent on crippling me with a look that reads: nearing expiration date.
I don’t feel my age. When I look in the mirror I see the wrinkles, the gray hair, the whiskers, the beginnings of age spots. All right. I can’t process this visual information. Sometimes I have trouble processing the limits my aging body places on me, too. All right. The inner me is still a young woman. No, I haven’s recently returned from Never-never-land, and Peter Pan does not visit my bedroom to whisk me off to take care of lost boys.
But–even if Peter and the lost boys surrounded me, wouldn’t they appreciate a classic, timeless, effortlessly elegant look?