This past weekend a fellow 4girl wisely stated that if given the chance, every girl should live at least one year in New York City. I agree.
It left me thinking about must dos or must haves for every woman. It occurred to me that the brightest color I have in my closet is camel: an easy and comforting neutral shade of beige. This morning, upon seeing me dressed, my lovely Sophie said, “You are wearing your teacher shirt today.” Yikes! Teacher clothes? Sigh, I am wearing an argyle sweater.
And then the unthinkable happened: My mother, during lunch, complimented me on my outfit. That rarely happens. For the record, my mother, rarely agrees with my sense of style. I have lost my edge. When did I become so predictable, so neutral?
Recently, same said 4girl and former Manhattanite, scandalously strutted her stuff in killer animal print, peep toed pumps at a baby shower — at midday, on a Sunday. By all accounts, she certainly wore them well as the rest of us drowned in soft pastels. How I envy those shoes. They are an escape from the mundane, the expected.
This is why I support the red hooker pumps idea. I’ve never owned a pair and it’s high time I do. I shall splurge on red pumps and red lipstick. Even if I wear them just once, it’s worth the investment. I might be deeply immersed in a sea of Banana Republic cream, gray and black — but sizzling red, that’s power. Real power.
Even if I wield it sparingly, it’ll put my self-confidence (and hubby) on notice.
What about you? What do you do to boost your confidence?
May 18, 2010
As a Gen Ex member, I can’t say much about fashion comes as a surprise. I survived platform shoes, leggings, grunge, Goth, and daisy dukes unscathed. Thankfully I didn’t wear all of it at the same time, but, I more or less dabbled in some form or another in each trend.
So, the other night, in an unforeseen stroke of good luck, we were able to get a night out, sans famille. As mentioned in a prior post, we were in a fancy pants hotel in South Beach observing party goers make their way to and from the bar area.
I saw, while my husband respectfully gaped, 20-somethings and cougars strut their stuff in dresses with non-existent hemlines. Really? Where are the hemlines? It’s not a mini skirt or an ultra mini skirt – I think it is closer to a bandeau for the butt.
These women barely covered their bottoms (I use this term in lieu of another because someday my daughters will read these posts) and their private parts. One false move in their 6” stilettos could easily reveal everything.
We were amused as the women unconciously tugged and pulled their non-compliant hems. They all stood, knowing that if they sat, their dress would roll up like a paper scroll.
For my benefit (and her own, I think) my friend matter-of-factly whispered most of those girls were liposuctioned and augmented. Surely they haven’t had kids yet, right? I quickly agreed and sipped my drink.
Clearly we had over-dressed for the occasion.
March 23, 2010
During my 20s I preferred to die a slow and tortured fashion death than wear bikini underwear or anything like it. It was akin to a guy wearing socks with sandals to the beach. There are things you must simply never, ever do.
Today I sing a different tune. I prefer to die of natural causes than to die for fashion. To hell with bikini lines – unless I am wearing a form-fitting outfit, even I realize that is a major faux pas. I’m not that old yet. Suffice to say that over the years my underwear drawer has experienced some changes. I admit it.
It’s not that I care less about my appearance; I’d actually say these things matter more today than back then. I find the allure of comfort more inviting than how my derrière appears in a pair of jeans. There is a certain satisfaction with being able to bend down and not worry that my low-waisted jeans (because I don’t wear mommy jeans just yet, thank you very much!) expose a thong or a g-string. Maneuvering those tight situations was always annoying and I never managed it gracefully.
So here we are, years later, wondering what I was thinking back in the day, when I swore I’d never wear anything but a thong. Well, it took less than 10 years to break that promise. Today I wear regular bikini underwear and they’ve worked out just fine. As a matter of fact, my daughter considers these too small and regularly points out my underwear don’t fit quite right. Perhaps that’s a polite reference to my enlarged bottom; or, she believes adult underwear to be too small, period. Either way, she’s also seen my thongs and correctly commented those underwear looked uncomfortable and “broken.”
She’s right. Who in their right mind wears these on a daily basis – except younger women who’ve yet discovered the comfort found in a good pair of Hanes (some of you know what I am talking about), or regular bottoms from the likes of Calvin Klein or Victoria’s Secret.
I recently conducted an informal survey and discovered most women who have children and are over 35 prefer to wear full bottoms over thongs. I’m not alone. I’m part of an underground, undeclared super majority. There are some notable exceptions, of course – and we consider you hussies, no offense.
Of this I am certain: Soon enough you will come around to the granny side. It is inevitable.
March 16, 2010