Yes, something has happened to my neck- and my knees, upper arms and cheeks both north and south. I am getting used to these things and I can accept it. I am still relatively fit and am the same size eight I was in college.
But knowing about what to wear and what my style is has always eluded me. At the ranch I am happy with a clean pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and Arizona Birkenstock sandals. I have never had a professional manicure or pedicure. For the years I was teaching everyday, I wore the same thing mostly. I never had to think about style or fashion. The most I have ever done in the way of personal style was to adopt the habit of wearing earrings and necklace with everything. My only fashion statement is CLEAN.
Almost all my female friends and kin have distinctive fashion styles. There is tiny Nancy whose closet contains at least twenty denim skirts and a dozen of those long slim knit dresses. I'd know her without her head, always tailored, casual just so, some color in the tops, always right for the occasion. There's my sister-in law Nancy, taller but slim, who wears well fitting dark pants and those drapey silk shirts in bold true colors and tiny flat expensive sandals. There's the other tall Nancy who shops the sales for the perfect thing. She put me on to pure white nightgowns in exquisite light cottons that get softer as the years go by. There's my sister, the artist, who has developed the most unusual style of dress of anyone I know. She is tiny and athletic, a masters swimmer, and she wears clothes she makes herself. She starts with polartec leggings in four different colors, a self-knit striped sweater, striped sox and different colored shoes on each foot. She wears a knit beanie on top of her blue-dyed pixie hair, and then a flamboyantly colored apron.
My own daughter can throw together an outfit for work or any occasion that always looks just right. She chooses pieces I would never even think of, and somehow, the result is pulled together and becoming. Where have I gone wrong?
Over the years, married to a man on the way up, I have been required to attend many formal and ceremonial functions. It isn't the social aspects of these events that bother me. I love meeting people and I am thrilled to hob-nob with the rich and famous. I feel comfortable in every kind of physical circumstance and I love new experiences.
If only it weren't for the wardrobe problem. O.K., I'll start with the worst I can remember. We were invited to a state dinner at the Clinton Whitehouse. Naturally, I was beyond thrilled! But then the huge cloud of fashion challenge settled upon me. My husband could just wear his tuxedo, all pressed and clean and ready for action. What about me? Urged by my daughter I went to one of the most la-de-dah dress stores in town. Just going shopping in such a place brings on a paroxism of anxiety about the clothes I am currently wearing. (Is my underwear clean? Is my bra dingy?) The nice genteel ladies who wait on you were there, eager to help. I finally settled reluctantly on a strapless yellow long formal dress with a jacket. Leaving the shop I realized that I also needed shoes to go with it, maybe an evening bag (not the usual LL Bean). The dress cost so much I couldn't bring myself to spend a lot on shoes, so I bought some relatively short high heeled gold sandals.
In the hotel before the gala event, I dressed in my splendiferous togs, slipped on the gold shoes, smiled at my handsome husband in black tie. I felt like a beautiful imposter. The dinner was wonderful, and I loved every minute of it. I was glad of the jacket because I felt that the gown was slowly retreating to nether regions. My dinner companion spoke little English but seemed interested as more and more of my bust revealed itself. After the dinner and the dancing outside in a tent we left. We decided to walk back to our hotel some six blocks away. The night was balmy, we were in love, and the gold shoes hurt like hell. I took them off and pitched them into a trash can and walked barefoot up Pennsylvania Avenue. The dress was never used again and I put it into the school garage sale where it was bought by a country and western singer.
For every single one of these events I have fashion anxiety. The other women there always seem to have an inside track on what to wear. In the many hotels we have inhabited for meetings, conferences, whoop-de-dos of whatever kind, I am always trying on clothes, discarding things, trying on more clothes, and trying to figure out what is wanted in this instance. Mind you, I never bring very many clothes. I travel light. But one must decide between the black pants and red silk shirt, or the black skirt, and what in the name of god will go with that? Which shoes?
For years I have tried to puzzle out what they mean by 'business casual', or 'casual', or 'dressy casual'. Everyone else seems to know and I don't. I sat up and took notice of a parent at the school I directed who wore only black clothing. Aha! I can do this. It could work for me. So I went to Chico's and bought a number of casual black traveler pieces. This has been a freeing thing for me. In any occasion I can wear these black limp things and no one will notice.
I need to confess that I am severely daunted by what seem to be prosperous women. They know what to wear when they shop for clothes. They are well groomed and probably go to day spas, and they damn well know what goes with what. I am hobbled by having other agendas. While on the way to Ann Taylor today to get a decent pair of pants for our next ceremonial adventure, I saw a particularly exquisite lizard on a palm tree. After spending five minutes looking at it, wondering about it's parentage, I could barely drag myself into the store. I knew I could not remember what other clothes I already have or what could go with what.
As we leave tomorrow for another ceremonial event ("casual"), I am sure that I will be found wanting again. But, hey, I got those bright bubble gum pink capris on sale!
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