Jackie Wells-Fauth
I have to confess that I am not a real fashion plate when it comes to the clothing scene. In fact, I would say that most people would check my closet to determine what they don’t want to wear.
My approach to fashion is simple: I get up in the morning, shove my hand in the closet and as long as the item which comes out is clean, whole and not made of recyclable plastic (even I have my limits) I am going to put it on. If it covers everything essential, we are ready to go!
I saw an online ad the other day with a headline that announced “What to Wear” or something like that. It featured a woman wearing a jacket and trousers that looked as though they had been fashioned out of my old family rec-room curtains paired with a classic leopard print pair of heels. The trousers ended mid-calf and I’ll tell you right now, nobody wants me to wear my old rec-room curtains sporting a design that reveals my less-than-model like ankles.
I wonder when these fashions come out, if this is just some mind-control experiment. Like, are they doing their worst just to see if we will wear without question, the hat that’s four feet wide and the dress which won’t allow us to put our arms down properly?
Picture it: a group of people sitting around in a room, discussing this year’s fashions.
“I know,” exclaims the girl wearing a sweatshirt with the neckline cut so it falls off one shoulder, “let’s make this year’s dresses look like gunny sacks and tell everyone if Marilyn Monroe could wear them, so can they.”
“Marilyn who?” scoffs the young man in leather pants so tight his ankles are actually bleeding. “You want to make sure that everyone wears the latest thing, like something Lady Gaga wore.”
“No one will wear that kind of clothes,” protests the woman with the leopard print shorts and hoodie. “We need something that people can wear more than one season.”
“Are you crazy? They will wear what we tell them to wear and change it as often as we tell them to. Just put the cut-out jeans on a snazzy model and tell the public that everyone who is anyone is wearing this outfit,” the owner of the store in the million-dollar suit declares. “We’ll make a fortune.”
I know that I would never make a fashion designer. For one thing, I am wearing t-shirts that still advertise the political campaign run by the Bushes—father and son and the shoes I most often pick for comfort have formula stains on them from my first child, who is now 40. To mis-quote an old line from a great movie, “I am not one to give up on a garment because it has a little age on it.”
Someone needs to tell those high-rise fashion planners that I have one motivation for buying new clothes: weight gain. When I can no longer fit in my favorite pants, then I will reluctantly go out and buy new ones and I don’t generally base my decision on whether it was designed for Marilyn Monroe, or Lady Gaga.
I don’t like loud colors or prints so wild they give me nightmares. I want the garments to fit me without revealing my heavy ankles, my flabby arm fat or, most horrifying of all, some portion of my upper thighs or off-the-tracks caboose.
Shopping for clothes is painful as well. I can’t possibly figure out on-line shopping because I can’t try on the clothes, and I don’t look anything like the models displaying them on the computer. I also don’t much enjoy standing in a claustrophobic dressing room, squirming into clothes that looked much better on the rack then they do on me!
I know that it’s fall and in some fashion fantasy world out there they think that I should be working on my brand-new seasonal wardrobe. In keeping with that thought, I went to my closet and inspected the clothes I have there. I tossed out the West Wing shirt with the holes worn in it and the jeans from some years back with the metal studs half gone. Beyond that, the line-up of shirts in subdued colors and pants which have the courage to cover me completely are going to have to do for another season.
But I tell you what, if Lady Gaga or Marilyn Monroe would like to borrow any of my things, I will be glad to share!
dropsinthewell 