A friend asked me what I was going to wear to the Bonnie Raitt concert that is the talk of our little town. “Something that fits” I thought. The truth is I don’t think much about clothes, I don’t think I ever did. I am sure this was a disappointment to my mum who tried to give me a sense of style, she certainly had one.
It’s funny how a simple question can lead you down a rabbit hole. I found myself thinking about my history with clothes and style (or lack of it.)
The queen mum as I liked to call her loved to be stylish and died without ever wearing a pair of sweatpants. I think that says it all. I can remember when I was young how she dressed me in classic tailored clothes, no frills or stiff petticoats for her daughter. When I was eight we had a big fight over the camels hair coat she insisted I wear with a beret. Why did I fight her choices? I guess rebellion, my desire from the start to make my own choices.
I was relieved that the Catholic school I went to insisted on uniforms. Pleated skirt (below the knee) white blouse, sweater, with socks and saddle shoes. Sometimes I slept in my uniform so I could sleep later.
In California I discovered blue jeans and they became my uniform. The closest I came to being concerned about fashion was when the “French jean” came out and I HAD to have a pair even though they were twice as expensive as regular jeans.
After high school I decided I was tired of jeans and for the next few years I did play with style leaning mostly towards second hand antique clothes. Leather, velvet, silk, fringe, tye dye. In my early 20’s I moved to Hawaii and gained a tan and lost any sense of dress. I lived in a bikini, sarong and flip flops. Still my favorite mode of clothing.
I never wore high heels, I never wore stockings or a girdle. I never wore makeup. I’m sure all of these “never” confused the queen mum who got up every day and “put on her face’ before slipping into something stylish.
I am back in the jeans now wearing flannel and comfortable shoes. It’s always been about comfort for me.
