I was shaking my head as I skimmed the article. Unfashionable undies? Really? It’s bad enough that I feel un-chic on the outside… Must I worry about whether my panties are on trend?
Look, my lust for lovely lingerie is alive and well and ardent as ever. My wallet may be unable to afford La Perla, but I certainly know what I like, I know what fits, and I don’t want to be shamed into feeling that this, too, leaves me “less than.”
So here I sit with my coffee, still staring at silly suggestions for what is and isn’t “fashionable” when it comes to briefs, bikinis, and bras. My favorite unmentionables?
Currently considered outré. No bueno. OUT.
Fact: They’re beautiful. Fact: They’re affordable. Fact (and irony): Only this morning, earlier, I took advantage of a great sale to purchase my (uncool?) undies at a deep discount. They’re pretty. And pretty basic. And pretty damn comfortable! So what if they’re ostensibly out-of-date! I. Don’t. Care.
Lessons in the “Body” or the Body Politic?
As a “woman of a certain age,” it’s challenging enough to feel not-quite-invisible. It’s challenging enough to find what goes beyond functional, what fits, and what feels good against the body. And speaking of the body, why is anything as lacy and luscious as a sexy, sultry, supportive “body” subject to the latest wardrobe whim of high-cut this or cheek-exposed that? Who wants a cut that elicits fidgeting, frowning, and adjusting?
Yes, I’m miffed. Yes, I just visited my lingerie drawer. Yes, I gazed at items I’ve had for years, still in impeccable condition, “bodies” and corsets among them.
Yes, I adore properly proportioned (and slightly scandalous) wisps of silky fabric here, wondrous wire there — helpful in all the right places, covering the more motherly spaces…
And yes, I’m conflicted. Even as I type these words, I’m appreciative of the life I’ve led and the stories my voluptuous, imperfect flesh could tell.
The years I have lived. The children I have borne. The battles I have fought and won. If only contemporary culture weren’t contemptuous of real women and our real size! If only the body politic were more about how we use our physicality rather than how we look! If only we could admit to the very real dramas we go through trying to conform to a norm that isn’t natural! No, this isn’t the case for all women, but it is for millions of us.
Yes, we are beginning to see more beautiful lingerie for a wider range of sizes and modeled by women whose forms resemble our own. But not enough.
My Passion for Fashion Is Taking Some Trashin’
Now, about those cups that runneth over… Giggle if you like, but don’t our double-D’s deserve the best we can manage? Don’t women look at designer handbags as “investments?” Doesn’t a bodacious balcony warrant an expenditure that represents a fraction of the price of a Coach, a Marc Jacobs, an Hermès? And must I really accept the dictates of the fashion industry when it comes to luxurious lace, captivating cotton, or satiny spandex? Non, non, et non !
As I pause my petty (pouty) pondering over what was (perhaps?) an effective sales ploy — less for me because I’m devoted to my longtime brand of “investment” unmentionables — I’m wondering what else is unfashionable about me. My immediate response: Plenty, dammit. I’m “stuck.” Style-stuck. Stuck like a stereotypical “woman of a certain age.”
Stuck because I work from home. Stuck because I’m not romantically involved. Stuck because I’m feeling indifferent to everything that doesn’t strike me as concerning work, kids, or health. Then again, doesn’t fashion help us feel good about ourselves? Isn’t it about mental health?
I’ve already fessed up to a style slump, partially due to putting on pounds (sigh), and equally due to a quiet lifestyle. But I refuse to accept that I’m trapped in a time tunnel. I’m hopeful that I’m (eventually?) helpable. I’m rejecting remaining fashion-flummoxed… and unintentionally aging myself in the process.
My personal prescription to renew interest: fashion magazines! The hefty, tactile, glossy-page kind. I especially love French, British, and Australian Vogue, and likewise, Bazaar. (Oh! The ideas begin to flow! The editorial is exquisite!)
And while I cannot envision myself in most of the clothes (even if I had the bucks), I nonetheless find inspiration in the colors and patterns, and a renewed desire to kick myself in the derrière and try something new.
Classic Works. But… What If the Groove Is Gone?
Here’s the thing. In the “real world,” life is tough. We live with constraints.
Budget. Time. Energy. Focus.
Even so, don’t we need to lighten the load and brighten the outlook? Can’t fashion help?
Maybe it’s a lipstick. Maybe it’s lingerie. Maybe it’s shoes! Maybe it’s knowing that your crisp, classic button-down shirt is the quickest way to a cool, confident you.
While shoes still do the trick for me — I’m jonesing for leopard slides or leopard kitten heels before summer is out — I’m more circumspect than I used to be. (Really!) And I’m feeling like Stella who needs to get her groove back and likely should be nudged out of my comfort zone of skinny black jeans, fitted black tops, and muted (charcoal, silver, black) pencil skirts.
But I also know what I like. I know my body. I know my body 10 pounds thinner and I know my body 10 pounds heavier. This isn’t about “dressing my age” — a concept I generally reject — but it is about understanding what feels appropriate for me.
Still, looking at my dusty duds? (Yes, there are some with color.) Gazing at my neglected rack? (The other rack, thank you very much.) Stymied by the style stagnation creeping in? (Let’s hear it for Vogue! Let’s hear it for Bazaar! I’m going to get my groove back!)
For me, it really can — and does — begin with an editorial spread and snazzy shoes. As I slog through a renewed regimen of healthy eating (story of my life?) and ramped-up walking (doing what I can!), the enjoyment of British Bazaar has lent a hand along with a recent (wearable! adorable!) delight from DSW. (Yes, there were those Calvin Kleins a while back for wearing with jeans. But oh! These Sole Society striped sweethearts are just what the doctor ordered!)
Yes, yes, I know. I need a 12-step program targeted at my easily-tempted tootsies. What I need more these days is to pump up the volume on caring about style; I need to find the flirty in my “foundations,” the fabulous in my footwear, and the feisty in myself.
That last is the toughest task of the three. I worry about losing interest as the years rack up and “maintenance” becomes too time-consuming. I worry about being stuck when tweaks (and inspiration) could offer some serious fashion fun. And I resent that age is nudging me into No Man’s Land, especially as a single woman.
Yo, Fashionistas! Don’t Push Me Around!
Whether it is Who, What, Wear or a big-time brassy blog, I don’t want fashion to push me around, I want it to lift me up.
Encourage dreaming? Absolutely.
Feature style variations from models of color, age, and shape diversity? Definitely.
But please, don’t bully me over briefs, bras, or any other wardrobe essential that I love.
Do remind me that disappearing into dreariness isn’t inevitable, that first impressions matter, but that a smile and warmth and quick wit still count for something.
Listen, I know that self-assurance is born, at least in part, in feeling good about how we look. I need to stay open to what is new (in undies? not so much), confident in what I know is me (my style identity, such as it is), and most important, who we are on the inside — who I am — ready to be brave, to be out there, to be sharing with the larger world.
Who else worries about being stuck in a style from earlier days? How open are you to change — style or otherwise? If you love fashion, do you look to other countries’ influence to inspire an idea or two? Does anyone else prefer to dress from the feet up?
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It is hilarious that you have bronze shoe sculptures. When I was little, my grandma gave me a china shoe, with delicate lace frills. Do you remember those tchotchkes? I dreamed of wearing such elegant shoes one day.
Re undies, the whole thing is a grand ruse to pressure you to consume. Buy, buy, buy. Talking with one of my French friends, I learned that the practice here at least used to be (because buy, buy, buy has also infected the Continent) two new bras a year. You’d have last year’s pair, and maybe the ones from the year before, but maybe not. Anyway, four can get you through a week. Two wearings per wash, to be gentle on the the elastic, with airing out in between. This is perhaps why French women go for beautiful bras, because each one counts.
Absolutely LOVE those striped pumps. Even the heels! Works of art.
You are quite right, it is a ruse. It annoyed me. (Could you tell?)
Your comment about french bra wisdom had me smiling. When I used to go back-and-forth to Paris on business, I made sure to stop in a little boutique I knew to buy one beautiful (supportive) bra each time. Expensive, but they last and last. They were always far more beautiful than what I could find on this side of the Atlantic given that I am a woman of ample assets… I still have a little section in a drawer with very pretty bras from France. In fact, even bras from monoprix are prettier than what I could find here!
Belgium makes beautiful lingerie actually. I bought lingerie in Brussels on business trips as well. A number of my finest items are Belgian.
Little shoe tchatchkes! Too cute! I do remember those. I only wish I could recall the name of the artist who made the bronze mules. I just love them. They are so heavy. But aren’t they fun?
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