Threadbare is the New Black

When I was pregnant with my son I wore some god awful clothes.  I only know this because I have pictures to prove it.  I wasn’t myself.  In fact I don’t know who that blond, pregnant lady in the cantaloupe sized flower print Capri pants is in the photo staring back at me.  I see the resemblance but anyone who knows me understands that I would never be caught dead in such a fashion disaster.  Perhaps that woman in the picture is an imposter?  And yet, as I scan through the box of photos I realize that it is me—and I am wearing the same pair of loud pants in nearly every photo. It’s not that I made the mistake once, that would be forgivable, but I wore those hideous wallpaper print pants nearly everyday in my third trimester—I had two identical pair.  If the photos weren’t “keepsake” images that document my son’s early life in the belly I would gladly run them through the shredder.  My only scrap of redemption is the fact that the week following my son’s birth I wadded up those hideous shower curtain pants and tossed them in the trash.  Trust me—they were not suitable hand-me-downs for anyone.  I wouldn’t let another blisfully blind pregnant woman make the same mistake.

 As I cringe upon reflection I do remember how exhausting it was to find clothes that fit during that time.  Perhaps I had just given up all style sense in lieu of something that was comfortable. In all the pictures of that time I appear to be oblivious to my fashion faux pas.  I look blissfully happy, regardless of the bad outfits.  Imagine that?

Fast forward to today, I sit here typing in a pair of patched up hippie jeans with worn out knees and thighs.  I have patched these holes with brightly colored 60s inspired patches that say “love,” and “peace” and of course I have a  smiley face.  It’s just a matter of time before someone mistakes me for an old hippie.  I have been wearing these jeans consistently at least 4 days a week for over a year now.  They are threadbare.  Surprisingly, it feels good to have worn, and I mean really worn, something to the point that its life as a piece of clothing is nearly over.  May you rest in peace come September 1st.  I am certain that the future for these well loved, well worn and well traveled pants lies at the bottom of a recycling bin.  Like my pregnancy pants they are not hand-me-downable anymore.

Though I am wearing less than desirable clothes these days I am certain that I will look back on my TGAAD year with fond memories—the year I focused on what I was doing and not what I was wearing.   But unfortunately for me we have been digitally documenting our son’s 8th year with rabid enthusiasm, hard evidence of the bad fashion decisions I have been sporting this year.  One day I will look back at these images of my son, sitting on my patched up, well worn lap and wonder…what the hell was I thinking.

Is a Tatoo Ever Just a Tatoo?

Last week I had the honor of being a critic at the Seattle Central Community College photography portfolio review. I came away absolutely overcome and somewhat intimidated by the creativity, energy and unstoppable confidence the students had. It is wonderful to see creative people transcending their mediums and becoming adept in all forms of artwork whether that is photography, film or design. Technology has changed the business for the better and these students are taking full advantage of that fact.

Some of the most astounding creativity, the part I wasn’t there to officially critique but naturally did given my interest in sociology and design, was in the tattoos and piercings I saw on display. All but two of the young women I met with were either pierced or tattooed or both. Not just a little nose ring here or a dainty butterfly there. I’m talkin’ full on graphic novels from shoulder to wrist; chest tattoos covering cleavage and clavicle, elaborate license plates aka: trampstamps peeking out of low cut jeans, eye brow piercings, tongue piercings, nose, lip, cheek, you name it, I saw it and it was tatted and pierced. Let me restate once more, these were lovely young women with gorgeous skin, nice figures and beautiful hair. The same girls, who in my day babysat for extra money, ate Sunday dinner with grandma and wrote thank you notes with smiley faces—regular, girl next door girls with modern day fairy-tales and cheap jewels adorning their nubile bodies.

At first I had a hard time focusing on the work in the portfolios, I was distracted by the colorful narratives decorating forearms, knuckles and neck napes. A woman talked enthusiastically about her work and all I could see was the jewel above her lip moving in sync with her expressions. “That must hurt,” was all I could think. “How does it stay in place I wondered? Is there a back to it, like an earring? What happens if it gets infected?” I worried. “And if she gets bored with the piercing or suddenly finds it inappropriate will it haunt her with an unsightly gaping hole?” These were the things I pondered while this woman—this talented woman was presenting the work she had labored over for two years.I tried to focus. I told myself I was dated, old; a fuddy-duddy but I couldn’t take my eyes off the jewel bobbing above her lip.

Another woman, a Natalie Portman look-a-like had a goolish story sleeve on one arm. It made me wonder if the other arm, the one without the tattoos, got cold sometimes. “What will happen,” I projected, “when her arms get flabby and the stretched out sleeve starts to pill? Clearly there will be a cosmetic remedy for that? Maybe a business idea for me?” Finally I focused. I forced myself look at the work. I was impressed again and again. Eventually I lost sight of the tattoos and the piercings and began to see the work for what it was…fresh, pure, skilled and original, not unlike what I saw on lips, chests, calves and wrists.

Later that evening when I got home I dug the business cards out of my purse that I had collected from the group of hungry budding photographers. I wrote notes on each card to remind me about who did what and what I liked about each of their portfolios. I chicken scratched details of what each person looked like so I could put a face to the work. Naturally I noted who had what tattoo and who had what piercing—clear markers to help me identify each one.

This got me thinking….what are tattoos and piercings all about anyway? Is it a generation’s attempt to create their individual identity? Is it a form of promoting a storyline like people do on Facebook and twitter? Has this culture of ours become so generic in our Gap and Old Navy fashion that we can no longer make a statement with our clothes and instead we are moved to stand out on the canvas of the skin? Or are tattoos just modern day war paint signifying the battle of a homogenous conformity? Or simply this generation’s attempt at anti conformists conforming? I asked my fifteen year old stepson what he thought tattooing and body piercing was all about. I ran a couple of my sociological theories up the flag pole with him. He shrugged and said “you’re over thinking it, sometimes a tattoo is just a tattoo. It’s like art, you buy a painting you like and you hang it on a wall. It’s no more complicated than that.”

But I don’t agree. Like shopping, when shopping is never really about shopping, piercing and tatooing are never as simple as just hanging a piece of art on the surface of your skin; it’s so much more than that. If there is one thing I have learned from The Great American Apparel Diet it is that presenting oneself in the sea of people is vastly more complicated than getting dressed in the morning or buying a new ensemble in a store. Self expression, regardless of your medium, is an attempt to prove you matter in a larger world. Tatooing and piercing, I am conviced, is just one other form of doing that. These artists are once again trancending their medium and expressing themselves in anyway they know how–there is real beauty in that.

Sex in The City, A Real Review from a Fashion Hungry Girl

A few weeks ago I saw Sex in the City2 with a group of girlfriends.  We LOVED it.  Heeee-larious!  And the clothing—frickin’ wow-A!  Loved it. Now, that said, I have read so many reviews that pan this movie as “politically incorrect,” “offensive,” “raunchy,” “blah, blah, blah.”  Many of these reviewers are men and are the same people who heralded movies and television like The Hangover, The Wedding Crashers, The Office and Arrested Development.  Talk about Politically Incorrect, Offensive and HILARIOUS!  Is this a double standard for female comedy?  Men can get away with scatological, sexist, stupid humor yet women have to play it safe?  Another reviewer said it was strange to take the foursome to the Middle East to unfold the story.  Can you say “willing suspension of disbelief”?  Well, all I can say is it was much more believable than many other movies that require you to forget all about reality, e.g. Avatar, Ocean’s 11, Thelma and Louise.  Sex and the City 2 reminded me of a feel good movie that entertains, along the lines of Jack Lemmon, Tony Cutis and Marilyn Monroe in Some Like it Hot, or Shirley McClain and Bob Hope in The Apartment.  These movies are meant to make you laugh out loud.   

I loved my girls on the big screen; I loved their fashion, their raunchy talk and their touching conversations (sometimes motherhood just sucks).  I say “back off boys” and suspend disbelief because this movie rocks, especially for those girls jonesin’ for a fashion pick-me-up!

To shoe or not to shoe while on the diet?

I have had mixed responses on my attempt to enroll friends and family into The Great American Apparel Diet.   I think I have signed up at least ten women so far, (no men yet, perhaps their egos aren’t tied to the clothes they buy?). 

Anyway, some participants think the shoe and accessories exception is a loophole,  “the accessories thing?” they ask, “ that’s like saying I’m going on the wagon but I can still drink champagne.”

Here’s my thinking around shoes and accessory exception.  Many people buy for many different reasons.  I want to see if the shoe and or accessory angle becomes a new focus for some people (think Amelda Marcos or Isadora Duncan).  Others may find that when they say “no buying for a year,” it means simply no buying. 

Those of you who have scoffed at the “shoe and accesory loophole,” will thank me when you need a fix. 

You officially have 14 days to stock up on anything you might need for the winter.   By the way, the over the knee boot is in…if you really need a pant fix you can always go with that.

Me, a size 2? Who Knew?

O.K. what’s this vanity sizing thing all about—I am sure some marketing director out there is claiming it does something for a girl’s ego, “Women feel thinner when they wear a size smaller.”  All it does for me is make me feel manipulated.  I recently bought a pair of size six cropped pants at Banana Republic.  First of all I am not a size six nor have I ever been, who do they think they’re kidding?   Anyway, I bought the size six because they were the ones that fit. Later, following an ice cream cone and a coffee, (because that’s what people who are a size 6 can do), I went home and put my new pants on.  Two hours later my size 6 pants had transformed into a BR size 12.  The waist and derriere stretched so much I looked like a rapper with the waistband at my crotch. 

The next day I tossed the incredible growing crop pants into our high tech, save the earth, washing machine, put the setting on extra hot and prayed for a shrinking miracle.  Sure enough when I got them out of the dryer they were back to their natural state–a BR size 6 (aka, real world size 8 or 10).  Relieved, I put them on.  Two hours later, however, I was dropping trow—again.   

Though I was frustrated that I had spent over $70 on pants that only fit well for about an hour, I continued to wear them a few more times.  I told myself that no one would notice that my pants were falling down. Finally, the last time I wore the pants my husband, who hardly notices anything about my wardrobe unless I am wearing a low cut something or other, said, “Those pants are awful, they’re practically falling down.”  At that point I vowed never to wear them again. 

A week later, annoyed about my new cropped pants that were supposed to take me through the summer in style, I decided that the most responsible thing to do was to return them, kindly report the product defect and get my money back.  When I went into the store to discuss the matter the cute little sales guy behind the counter informed me that “Banana doesn’t take returns once a product had been washed,” and… “Our pants stretch.  In the future you should buy your pants a few sizes smaller.”  Does that mean I am really a 5’5, 140 pound size 2?  I asked?   “Maybe, you never know,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

Baggy Pants are Back!!! Yipee

The Baggy Boyfriend Jean is Back

Trendcentral is one of those must have web sites for the curious mind, http://www.trendcentral.com. TC is a trend tracking site that sends daily broadcasts updating the curious reader on what’s happening in the world of everything. After hooking the reader with a compelling, whacky or just plan interesting trend (like pillows that fight wrinkles), they point you to websites that can further explain or sell you that particular trend. In the case of the amazing wrinkle removing pillow TC points to: http://http://www.copalife.com.

Yesterday I got a news flash from TC highlighting fashion trends for Spring 2009.  And guess what? baggy pants are back. Whew! I am a thick thighed girl and when cigarette leg jeans resurfaced last year I was mildly distressed. Beside the fact that I had invested heavily in the bell bottom look  of 2007-2008, I was not about to change course for a style that doesn’t look good on anyone over fourteen years-old and limits one’s ability to breathe. As the saying goes: to every ying there is a yang.  So whether you wear em’ baggy and belted, soft and slouchy, pleated or cuffed, baggy pants are back and giving the skinny jean a run for her money.

Is The Great American Diet Part of the Slow Clothing Movement?

Last night as I was rummaging around in my closet looking for something to wear it occurred to me that I have given, thrown or recycled a lot of clothes over the past ten years. Darn, I’d love to have some of those items back, and if not the items themselves the time it took for me to shop, clean, futz and manage them into my wardrobe. Especially now since I am no longer able to purchase any new apparel. I remember vividly, an amazing and probably overpriced DKNY sweater coat. A sort of retro 20s style with velvet accents. I wonder who’s wearing that gorgeous garment now. I wish I were.

This morning, right on the heels of my closet rummaging, I read an article in the NYTimes magazine about storage and consumerism.  By 2005, according to the Boston College sociologist Juliet B. Schol, the average consumer purchased one new piece of clothing every five and a half days.  

This eye-opening statistic got me thinking about a “slow clothing” movement. There are official slow food, slow money, slow travel and slow sex movements these days. Why not a slow clothing movement? I wondered.  And is The Great Amearican Apparel Diet the beginning of it? 

 I googled “slow clothing” and “slow fashion,” and guess what…we’re slow to the movement. People have been blogging about this for a long time. “Wear local,” they say—is that like a sweater made with Fido the family dog’s hair? Or does it mean belting your neighbor’s old drapes and wearing them as a topper, a la Maria Van Trapp? Maybe we could learn from the Hispanics who wear huarache sandals made from repurposed flat tires? Buy from a thrift store and then remake your own, the experts suggest. Sew the arms of one sweater to the bodice of another, cut off pants and make them into a patchwork skirt, turn a tube top into a Rasta hair band. I am envisioning a renaissance fair.

In one article I read in the Christian Science Monitor, the author challenged US households “to create a single outfit for every man, woman, and child that is homemade.” Going back to a bygone era, she also suggested that people mend and darn their clothes.

Good idea for those people who:

a.) Know the meaning of darn in this context.

b). Know how to darn or sew http://www.ehow.com/how_648_darn-sock.html

c). Have a sewing machine. ( Investment Tip: Buy Singer, Ticker Symbol: SEW, you heard it here).

Darn (as in Darn-it), I wish I had that DKNY sweater coat  and that brown Liz Claiborne maxi, corduroy coat from 1987, and let’s not forget the blinding Neon Obermeyer ski jacket I bought in 1992 to match the bottom of my K2s. Looking back, I admit, it was a wasteful, hedonistic and consumer-centric few decades—but we looked good.

Now, with my apparel budget cut to the quick and my participation in The Great American Apparel Diet, I am left fantasizing about my old wardrobe. I imagine a lovely waif of a “slow clothing movement” girl prancing down the runway of life in my old clothes and my Guess booties. I trust that she appreciates where her wardrobe began. I really hope, upon further reflection, that the “slow girl” hasn’t sewn the arms of my Obermeyer ski jacket onto the bodice of my brown Liz Claiborne Courdory Maxi coat. But if she has, all I can say is “you go–slow girl!”