It wasn’t the fuchsia hair in the 80s. That, fortunately, was entirely temporary.
It wasn’t the orange hair in the 90s. (That, unfortunately, I thought was temporary.)
It wasn’t the feather boas – sought and found. (Still have them. Still wear them.)
Might my finest fashion faux-pas consist of the platform sneakers back in college – not intended for track but when goaded to jog a mile all the same – I took the dare and “ran” with it?
Heartbreak Hill? Try Heartbreak Heels!
At least they weren’t my strappy stilettos…
Wearable Wonder
Compared to the Monster Shoes we’ve seen in recent years, my Not-So-Nikes hardly merit a minor mention. Nor did they match my midis or minis, anymore than they did those horrid hot pants, a tawdry trend the “tail end” of which I caught – and thankfully in which I rarely indulged.
Our fashion fails? Our wearable wonders that are anything but? Don’t they pave the way for a more secure style even as they leave a trail of missteps – some still tagged and bagged and hanging in the closet?
Naturally, we also log the I Hate It Already Haircuts, and makeover moves that convey Geek when we’re going for Chic.
And on that note, all Erica Kane veils and plumage aside, wide-brimmed hats do nothing for WORDS – also known as Women Of Really Diminutive Stature!
The Search for Self Through Fashion Pelf
When setting out to identify my (hopefully) fleeting fashion follies – as teachable moments I will add – I approached the task as a lighthearted exercise. Stumbling through style would make me smile, recalling the days with few cares and yes, dares!
Anticipating the sublime to the ridiculous, especially as my wardrobe benefited from the Spoils of a Once Corporate Life, I rummaged through snapshots that make me grin at the “stuff” I was in. Yet also in store – an emerging self – and more consistent threads than imagined.
What do I observe in revisiting this past?
I see a sense of humor.
A hankering for adventure.
A love of hats and gloves as well as my persistent penchant for patent pumps.
I see a female chameleon as I change careers and countries, and to a lesser degree, as I refashion myself for roles in relationships, offering their lessons and exacting their tolls.
I see a flair for the dramatic especially in college – oh, those long cold nights of study, and the bold lengths to which I would go to make friends laugh!
Surely I wasn’t the only one channeling Elvira…
I see a symphony of black on black as my prevailing color scheme, and classic styles – because we think we look thinner.
I note a winner in preference for the fitted skirt and oversize jacket to tame the curves – once again bearing witness to the common compulsion of avoiding anything that makes us “look fat.”
And that is where I stop to take it all in – less a tale of taste than waste – a sorrowful, lifelong struggle with weight – unnecessarily painful – reflected in decades of fashion dos and fashion don’ts, not to mention the “won’ts” when it comes to years of No Photographs At All, because I stubbornly refused to allow them to be taken.
Women and Body Image
I see the roller coaster ride from a healthy, normal weight as a child to thirty years of dramatic fluctuations – the fat fake-out in our heads keeping us far from lovers’ beds. And while landing at a comfortable size 10 only to balloon after giving birth, I know the grueling fight back through girth to a self I could admire.
I am dismayed to acknowledge the wayward path of desire; I see a younger self who was utterly unaware of being womanly and beautiful, albeit never the “thin” ideal at any age.
The exception to those years were periods during which I lived in France. Then, not only did my wardrobe streamline (and thus improve), but food was no longer the Mortal Enemy. Instead I ate and savored. I dressed and savored. I “lived my life” – flavored with the usual ups and downs – and for the most part, yes, I savored.
Among the Polaroids I uncovered were some of me at 92 pounds, courtesy of the ravages of the Divorce Diet. Surprise, Surprise. At the time I was convinced that I looked terrific, placed at last in a position to compete – confident, competent, and an attractive woman.
Now? I see a gaunt face, sadness in the eyes, and a body that appears in its skin and bones to have been hit by illness rather than embraced by opportunity.
Sure, the selection of clothes was great, lighter and brighter colors more evident though still the signature style choices I always preferred. And heels – pardon the expression – more than ever, at the ready. But the painted smile and Zero-Size Style barely cover a most unfashionable reality: loss, fear, and disorientation.
Heels Hurt, Hearts Heal
The years that follow reveal vulnerability in the faces of my little boys, innocence in their approach to the world, and tenderness in my own countenance. The sparkle they possessed was stripped away for awhile, but returned with play, care, and time. Loving our children may never erase our hurts, but they surely ease them in significant ways.
I will mention that I still adore hats as do my kids; we’ve availed ourselves of the joys of an ample arsenal of helmets, fedoras, berets, and sombreros. And no, I don’t display my millinery madness in all its glory. And my addiction to shoes?
That’s another story and clearly not news. With more than enough to attest to my best foot forward, must I confess to this beloved affliction?
What other treasure is found at my photo-viewing leisure?
I know myself to be more grounded – here and now. No longer do I chase the elusive promise of a body I could never possess; I do not obsess, and I try not to covet.
Instead I am comfortable in my maturing albeit loosening skin, and at a healthier, more stable, and sustainable size. Might I add that all in all it’s a peaceful arrival?
Through the numerous images I browsed, some outfits could surely hold their own and others (thankfully) were quickly retired. Yet I’m pleased to see a consistent commitment to quality: better one well-made, properly tailored item than ten that are shabbily constructed and fit poorly.
I also concede a distinct love affair with style that reflects a need for creative expression, shifting priorities, and a gradual self-discovery process that continues to unfold in the passion of living fully.
As for the rest, I know there is healing in giving to those I love. There is always healing in giving – and might I suggest – it’s always in fashion.
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This is part of a coordinated writing exercise on our fashion faux-pas as part of Generation Fabulous.
I love the line: “I am dismayed to see a younger self who was utterly unaware of being womanly and beautiful…” profound and too true for me. At least I eventually wised up! – LLC
It took to me well into my 40s to wise up! But you’re right, LLC – wising up is what matters.
I love how the French prefer few and well made and then “switched” or upgraded with scarves/t-shirts, blouses, sweaters etc. I love the last photo it makes you look like a you are a great deal of fun to be with on vacation 🙂
Ah, La Bergère. Always lovely to hear from you. Yes, what I learned in France at as a teenager – a few classic pieces of quality, then use accessories to change things up. (I’m certainly more fun in France, j’en suis certaine.) 😉
You have so much style, whatever you’re wearing, and are beautiful inside and out. Great piece.
Lois, You’re most kind. Thank you!
I’m a WORD too and I love hats and really want to wear big brim hats, and I am met with a discouraging look whenever I don one in a store and ask for a thumbs up or down from a girlfriend or Husband. Beautiful piece.
I hear you on the hats, Julie. Glad you enjoyed…
Yes. Fashion faux pas as teachable moment. And as a way of documenting our paths through life–sometimes adopting styles without question, other times creating our own and running the risk of looking foolish…but always using it to search for our real, authentic selves.
Lovely post, as usual!
Karen
Excellent post…enjoyed it so much!
What a lovely introspective post. Isn’t is nice to grow into our own self and accept our own style.
Let’s hear it for savoring!! I often wonder what kind of messages we’ll be sending young girls when Peanut gets older. I hope her Mama and Nana can keep her grounded in a positive self image and high self-esteem. And you look absolutely adorable in that last photo!
My guess is you’ve always had panache and flair. Love reading your posts.
A lovely post! It is fun to look at just the fashion we are wearing rather than the critical eye we all have on ourselves.
I have a shoe addiction too. Never went into a shoe store I didn’t like. And, rarely, regardless of my weight, does my shoe size change.
Thoughtful post. Thank you for sharing!
You said it, Bonnie. One of the reasons for falling in love with shoes all those years ago is that they always fit!
I love your writing, no matter what fashion you might be sporting. It is a pleasure to read your blogs – and nobody could write with that style and not have it. 🙂
What a lovely thing to say, Donna. (But I think I scared everyone with my Elvira look from college!) Love your post on Elephant Journal, by the way!
Yes, it is all about being comfortable in your own skin. I enjoyed your post and love that you wear hats and you look quite stylish in your photo!
I’ve seen my pictures from years ago and even I can’t explain my choices then. How interesting that our style would change so radically, our choices so different. And I’m not even talking about trends as I don’t really follow it all that much. I have to say though that I’m now in the best shape of my life (and I don’t equate this with thinness) and feel utterly comfortable in my own skin, which makes me feel so sure of myself. That, I think, makes me feel stylish and confident, above any outfit I can put together.
But who knows? Years from now, when I look at the pictures of my now-self, I may cringe too 🙂
Lovely of you to stop by, Justine. It’s been too long. (How are your fabulous girls?) Every picture I’ve seen of you is beautiful. I’m so glad you feel comfortable in your skin NOW, and don’t have to come to this after decades of self-flagellation. Raise those daughters in full celebration of their bodies!
Beautiful post. I’m loving all the ways I’m seeing that fashion can be about creative expression and self discovery.
That Elvira look is so intriguing! What a trip you were/are! Stylish through it all…and you have beautiful legs!!
Oh Mindy… We used to pull such silly stuff in the wee hours… in part to counteract the highly competitive academic environment. Plenty of other makeshift costumery-tomfoolery where this came from! (A combination of tights and tops and fabric and nightgowns… Lots ‘O Makeup for that “je ne sais quoi!”)
Move over Morticia. Gomez would’ve been gonzo for me… 😉
If only I could have spent any time in France growing up. How different my life might be.
I agree 100000% that I was so hateful to my body when I was young, and I had no reason. Instead of curves of delight, all I saw was fat, fat, fat.
I will tell you a story though. When I went from my womanly size 8 to a size 0 on my cocaine diet I was so happy. I had finally arrived at a reasonable size! But my FRENCH lover was not impressed. He said, in his beautiful accent, that making love to me was like going from a Cadillac to a VW bug. I’ll never forget that.
Ah Chloe. Then let’s hear it for the French lovers who adore a woman who feels like a woman, and remind us that we ought to enjoy the same in ourselves.
This is beautiful. Such profundity and pain. I’m happy for you that you found comfort and peace with your body, your appearance. And that you still love hats and shoes!
Great post. Love it all the way through.
When I turned 50 I pulled together photographs of me – one for each year of my life. It was amazing to see how an infant turned into a milddle aged woman. Along that journey I certainly saw some bad choices in hair (the Peggy Lipton look doesn’t work on someone with a forehead the size of Texas) and clothes (too tight, too short, too baggy). I looked at photos that had always made me shudder and thought ‘I looked pretty good, actually’. Youth can get away with a lot, but all those years I felt fat? Ridiculously thin, I was. Not anorexic in any way, but just completely blind about how I looked. We women are very strange.
Salut!
Channeling elvira 😉
Ah. Yes.
Mad hair dyes.
Check.
A sense of self today?
Mais oui.
Waving from Manhattan!
_tg xx
I loved those platform sneakers! I never owned a pair, but I wanted them. You look tres chic now!
Ah, Elvira, I knew her well. And could draw those same eyebrows practically with my eyes closed–regardless of whether or not it suited a curly red-head (the one promise that my Mom made me keep was to not dye my hair as it would be difficult to get the same shade back). And I wore a veil, yes, sometimes over my head not just wrapped around. Heehee. But I still have my combat boots and still love my black.
As for the French, well you can certainly take that idea too far. There is one rather romantic figure here in Arles that wears the same outfit in summer another in winter and that is it. It is not a question of money either. Just pin-pointing a moment of pelf like pinning a butterfly’s wings.