It’s happened.

I look back now to my youth and I remember clearly the day I tsked tsked at my mother, wondering how she could possibly, possibly be seen downtown wearing those peddle pushers, those sneakers, and that incredible haircut.

The year was 1966 and I was tying a black ribbon around my shoulder-length, very straight blonde hair. Fishnet white stockings, Alice in Wonderland dresses, the Mary (of Peter, Paul and Mary) look was ‘in’ and so was I.

But my mom! Eee gawd!

It’s happened.

I’ve passed over that magical, imaginary, invisible line in the fashion industry where never again will I have ‘style.’ And why?

It may be because I’ve been there, but the clothes on today’s young adults just seem... well... unfit, somehow. I mean, how about that gap? Not the one in the mall, the one between the bottom of the sweater and the top of the pants? And the navel jewellery? And how about the pants? Plaid? Brown and yellow plaid? And those peasant blouses? And everything in size 2?

And shoes! Have you looked at shoes?

I mean, I always thought I had a bit of a flair with shoes, but I look at what’s on my feet today... loafers, mostly, and even I shake my head.

Actually, last week I put on a pair of shoes that I’ve had for years (probably close to seven or eight years) and they’ve got pointy toes and pointy little heels. As I slipped into their familiar comfort (blue patent leather, I’ll have you know) a little voice whispered out of nowhere... “the skirt’s not bad, but I think the shoes are likely out of style!”

“No kidding!” I whispered back. “You really think so? These are so comfortable...”

Now somewhere between age 18 and age 54 is an emerging self esteem or foolhardiness, I’m not sure which. I wore the shoes. And I had a look at what was on the feet of other women my age. Know what? The shoes are out of style.

Hmmm. So is polyester.

It’s a scary thing to look at one’s wardrobe, but even more scary when you consider what you’re actually attracted to in the clothing department. I’m now comfortably inserting myself into the very same clothes my mother used to wear. You know, the ones I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Only now they’re called capri pants

Time has a funny way of catching up, or leaving you in the dust. I’m not sure which in this case.

The other day I was on my way out the door to a day of presentations, meetings, and evening training sessions and I’d selected an outfit I thought would take me through all three experiences. I heard an audible sigh from Kid Two (who’s about the same age as I was in 1965). I turned around.

She looked at me, sadly. “Mom, I love you, but you’re so eighties,” she said.

“Hmmm,” I thought. “Eighties. Not bad. Not bad at all.”

And then I looked back at her. Straight hair. Plaid pants. Clogs. Peasant blouse. And I smiled. “And you, my dear, are so sixties!”

Puts a whole new spin on the phrase, “everything old is new again.”

Pardon me, but I’m going to look for my saddle shoes. Who knows?

Comments (0)

There are no comments posted here yet

Leave your comments

  1. Posting comment as a guest. Sign up or login to your account.
Attachments (0 / 3)
Share Your Location