Clothes Mourning

There it was, reluctantly posted by the director.  Henceforth, pantsuits would be allowed as work attire.  Not a blouse and coordinating pants combination.  Too casual.  The note was explicit.  It even mentioned the word 'unisex.'  Pantsuits prevailed.  Men wore nice shirts and dress pants.  No suit edict constrained them.  Still, this clothing change represented a first victory.

Freed from dresses or blouses and skirts, I indulged in my first work pantsuit.  If it still resided in my closet, perhaps it'd be labeled a '60's classic.  Some actress on 'Mad Men' might pine for its authenticity.  My daughter greatly admires that decade and surely she'd appropriate the outfit for a theme party.  Swathed in Pepto-Bismal pink, maybe I was making a loud statement.  The long tunic was bordered at the neckline with a white band.  The pants, in perky polyester, flowed gently into an exaggerated bell shape.  Completing the ensemble was a long scarf, also in white, which offered a quasi-Isadora Duncan effect.  With no convertible in my life at the time, I averted a tragic accident such as befell the famous dancer.

Quickly, pantsuits evolved and an almost seamless transition to less rigid dress requirements occurred.  Skirts grew shorter, colors more bold and combinations reflected a major societal change.

Clothes cover decades but remain in one's life only briefly, though their impact can be long lasting in one's memory.  I often reminisce about particular outfits and accessories that have accompanied me through this worldly journey.

As a child, I eagerly anticipated the annual ritual of a new Easter wardrobe.  Nearly every year, mother/daughter dresses were purchased.  A special favorite featured an almost brocaded cotton material, pale yellow with faint white flowers strewn across the fabric.  A self-belt cinched what was becoming an identifiable waist.  Scissor pleats shaped the skirt.  My mother's grown-up version duplicated my own.  We completed the ensemble with white straw hats, gloves, heels and hose.

Chemises, with their shapeless angles, charmed me momentarily.  A silky white quilted skirt with multiple petticoats underneath, paired with a black mohair sweater, took me to the 8th grade dance.  It didn't help.  I stood forlornly on the sidelines in my splendid apparel.

For my 16th birthday, two aunts feted me with a party.  Big hair, artfully arranged by my favorite beautician and doused in a can of AquaNet, crowned a pale pink rabbit fur sweater and straight skirt.  I was cute?  Well, maybe.  No boys at this party so I guess being adorable wasn't required.

A short scarlet chiffon evening gown couldn't secure even third place in the Miss Forestry Queen contest.  I loved that dress anyway and together we were really winners despite the judges' decision.

My freshman year in college, I arrived on campus with a dropped waist black linen sheath tucked in my trunk.  For a pop of color, a daisy pin was perched on the upper left shoulder of the dress.  I completed the look with equally bright yellow pumps.  Yes, yellow.  There were less startling colors in my dorm closet.  A navy suit with sleeveless sweater and a crisp white jacket piped in navy looked very chic with its kick-pleated skirt.  The most spectacular white mohair double-breasted coat with fake fur collar took me through college and several years after.  It is probably the vintage item I mourn the most.  I also favored hats and collected an array ranging from nearly boring beige to aubergine and a wide-brimmed teal number adorned with a fabric bow.  Really stunning.

Shoes spoke my name and I spent nearly all the money I made from part-time jobs on either clothes or footwear.  The most comfortable heels I've ever owned were faux alligator pumps with low wooden heels.  Divine.  Equally loved were a pair of dark blue sandals with cork soles and heels.  Jaunty laces completed this perfect package which I must have worn for 5 or six years.  Only when the cork began to disintegrate did I relinquish these treasures.

My penchant for clothes and other accessories, especially shoes, has not abated.  These days I can't say that there is anything in my closet that is memorable or that I will truly mourn with its departure.  I've become too matchy/matchy as my clothes diva daughter reminds me.  I choose classic lines that are, well, bordering on boring.  The 'classic' in this instance doesn't mean timeless, but rather, unobtrusive.

The most compliments I've received lately have been for a black eyelet sundress.  It belonged to my daughter and thus owes its cachet to her, not me.  I do treasure my beige (!!) wedding dress from 1977 and the multi-colored frock I wore to Caitlin's wedding two years ago today.  Both represent extraordinary days in my life and that's what clothes are really meant to evoke.  And yes, I still have the pale pink dress depicted in the toddler photo above.  It connects me to my heritage.