I’ve never been accused of being stylish. And, if for some
reason I got close, it didn’t last long.
I credit my rather utilitarian approach to dressing up—or
down, as the case may be—to many things, including being a fat kid; wearing
uniforms in high school; and growing up female and Catholic in the ‘50s.
Translation: no drawing attention to one’s looks, one’s body, else you become
an occasion of sin for a young man.
Despite all that, once I graduated and started to make my
way in the world, I made reasonably successful attempts to look attractive,
especially after losing a ton of weight in my early 20s. These included wearing
skirts, nylons, and high heels, and using make-up, if sparingly.
Then came the ‘60s, when hippie wear ruled and the women’s
movement urged us to minimize body and maximize brain. Sounded good to me. I
could read and write way better than I could coordinate an outfit or
tie a scarf.
Besides, except for books, I hated to shop. And the more
choices available—the racks and racks of shoes and dresses and accessories—the
dizzier I got.
As I’ve aged, it’s gotten worse (or better?). I clothes
shop only when I absolutely must, and whatever I buy and end up wearing (not
always the same thing) must be washable, durable and affordable.
And if also fashionable, well, great.
All of which is context for why I so much enjoyed a recent
essay on aging and fashion in the Washington
Post, “Why I gave up on ‘flattering’ clothing,” by Alison Gary, the editor of the
style blog Wardrobe Oxygen.
Now her style story is not the same as mine, but I think many of
my readers will appreciate her journey. Here are some excerpts:
When I turned 40, I
started to slowly question my choices, easing up on some of those hard-and-fast
rules. I worked so hard and for so long to fit my shape into the ideal of my
Barbies in their Scotch tape-cinched Kleenex dresses. I was exhausted.
Some rules I broke
out of necessity. After I gave birth to my daughter, I developed plantar
fasciitis and couldn’t wear heels. I tried. Lord, I tried. It went away, and I
went back to heels — and then developed a fallen arch. I have now embraced my
collection of Birkenstocks, brogues, flats and funky sneakers.
[W]e are square pegs
and a lot of fashion is round holes. We try to shove ourselves into those round
holes with compression garments, uncomfortable shoes, and over-shopping
thinking there’s that perfect something that will make us suddenly chic. Style
comes from within you, not within your closet. You are fabulous just the way
you are. You deserve clothing that doesn’t require so much effort and so little
payback.
And finally:
The older I get, the
better a relationship I have with my body. I no longer want to punish it for
not fitting an ideal, but pamper it for how well it’s supported me all these
years.
To read the entire piece:
No comments:
Post a Comment