My Instagram algorithm knows a truth about me, and it is not a flattering one. I am shallow! I am vain! I am obsessed with clothes! In the last few weeks, as I prepare for a family wedding on the mainland, I’ve been looking for a fancy dress, and now nearly half my Instagram feed is dresses, dresses, dresses, mostly dresses I can’t afford. I follow links, I swipe, I heart, I Continue Shopping, I trade screenshots with my daughters and niece.
This clothing fixation would surprise anyone studying my wardrobe. Here in Hawaii, I decide what to wear based on an island-specific flow chart. Am I going to the beach? Am I working in the garden? Am I hot? Am I cold? Is my t-shirt too shrunken? Is it inside out? Is it clean? Does it matter?
Still, I love clothes, I love fabric and good tailoring and imagining myself properly accessorized. As a little girl, I would sneak into the closets of my older sisters when they were gone. Among the dresses and suits I tried on in secret were Ceci’s full-length zebra-print coat in a very fine corduroy; Susie’s top and skirt in cornflower blue wool crepe that she wore with a rope of long pearls and a beret, a la Bonnie and Clyde; and Annie’s hot-pink polka-dot low-cut jumpsuit which tied under the bust and had flared legs, probably the first sexy piece of clothing ever to grace our household. I remember these and so many of my big sisters’ clothes just as I remember their friends and boyfriends who came by the house—glamorous to me, a vision of the life I might have as a grown-up.
My dreams never waned even as the reality of my sartorial presentation disappoints. And now, as I continue to search for my Platonic ideal of a dress—shirtwaist or Cheongsam, dressy enough for a black-tie wedding, one that hides the sagging bits and holds in the wobbly ones—I’ll share two stories about clothes that are close to my heart.
(Don’t we all have stories about clothes? Send me yours in the comments below.)
Be sure to read to the bottom, Readers Write Delights, which puts a nice wrap (pun intended) on this clothing-themed issue of Restless Egg.
*
A Tale of Two Dresses
I didn’t own a store-bought dress until I was 23 years old. Up to that point, my mother sewed all my dresses, for Easter and Christmas and summer and for dances and graduations. She sewed for all her seven daughters, and I never heard anyone complain about it. I loved almost everything she made—my seventh-grade Confirmation outfit, a lavender pinafore worn over a floral blouse whose collar and cuffs she edged in lace; my high school prom gown, a cotton navy blue “sundress,” as we used to call them, with a white Hawaiian print, that tied in the back; and a two-piece number I wore to my college graduation, a filmy dress with fluttery sleeves and a matching wraparound dancer’s skirt worn over it; and many more I could still describe in perfect detail.
During those years it never occurred to me to buy a dress from a store. We just didn’t do that. Going to Minnesota Fabrics and picking out a Butterick, McCalls, Simplicity or Vogue pattern from the deep filing cabinets and strolling the aisles in search of the just-right bolt of material provided an infinity of choices at a fraction of the cost.
So when the sister of my boyfriend (and eventual husband) got engaged, I asked my mom to sew me a dress for the wedding. She was accommodating, as always. I picked out a pale-pink silk-like fabric for the blouson-style dress. The neckline, short sleeves and hem were trimmed with a black band. In retrospect, the Good-n-Plenty color story was not an elegant choice. But the really bad part was the big honking shoulder pads. My mother, at my request, tried smaller pads and kept altering their position, but they never looked right. At a certain point—I’m sure I was being a pain in the ass—she threw up her hands and declared the dress was as good as it was going to get. I was happy enough with it—a lack of awareness or misplaced confidence allowed me to ignore the NFL-sized undergirdings and enjoy myself at the wedding—but looking back at pictures, I can see it’s a miss and an embarrassment.
A few months later, my boyfriend’s mother presented me with a gift—a store-bought silk dress, emerald green with navy blue flowers, my favorite color combination. This dress also had a blouson top, but it wasn’t quite so blowsy. The skirt fitted at the hips with a few inches of beautiful pleating that ended in a small swing. The three-quarter length sleeves were slightly full and cuffed at the forearm. It was a beautiful dress. I wore it again and again over many years.
At the time I didn’t connect getting the green dress with wearing the pink one. If I had, I would have felt shame—shame that my boyfriend’s mother felt sorry for me. But that wasn’t the spirit of the gift. I would have felt it. She just saw a need, and in her kindly way, wanted me to have a pretty dress.
It would be years before I properly appreciated both dresses and what gifts they were: my mother’s time and talent and patience, and my mother-in-law’s taste and astute observation. May I also be the giver of such gifts in my life.
*
Hello Yellow
I always liked being flat-chested. I liked the way clothes fit me. So when I had a bilateral mastectomy at age 42, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go from an A cup to a B. (B cups were the smallest implant size available.) I decided to put off reconstruction and see how I liked living without breasts.
Turns out having a flat chest and having no chest at all makes a very big difference indeed. I constantly wondered if people noticed. I wore loose tops or tops with distracting elements. One such top was a fuzzy cardigan with oversized buttons down the front. In early October before I lost my hair, I was in the grocery store, dressed up in the cardigan and a silk skirt after some event or other, and in the produce section an elegant woman in a tailored pantsuit stopped directly in front of me. She looked me up and down. This seemed to last for minutes, although it was probably mere seconds. What was going on? Was she staring at my bosom-less chest, was she going to ask what terrible thing happened to me? I was trembling, I blushed, I was mortified. Finally she spoke. “That is a GREAT skirt,” she said, not smiling. She pushed her shopping cart past me. I was shaking but couldn’t help laughing.
Then came my birthday in November. I was bald. My skin had the ashy coloring of all chemo patients. My husband, kind and considerate man that he is, wanted to make me feel good about how I looked, so he went to Banana Republic (an aspirational store for me at the time) and told the clerk he wanted coordinating outfits. She must have directed him to one section of all yellow, from which he selected a whole slew of yellow clothes: two yellow pencil skirts, one tweed, one a shiny brocade; a mustardy-gold silk blouse with ruffles down the front (he was aware of my requirements for a top); a lemony turtleneck sweater, very soft, with an elongated and flattering ribbing at the waist; a yellow trench coat with big figure-disguising flaps; and an ivory wool coat with a yellow floral silk lining.
I had never received so many clothes at once. I tried on each piece for the family. The skirts, coats and blouse looked great, but the sweater, which coordinated with both skirts, didn’t measure up. I knew instantly how much better the outfit would look if I had breasts.
I went up to my room to put away my new clothes. I studied my strange torso. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking so much about how I dressed. I decided then and there to get implants, and a few months later I had the surgery. I’ve never regretted it.
I wore the yellow clothes for many occasions in many combinations over many years. Eventually I passed on the skirts to my daughters who got blood on the tweed one and ripped the other, the tight brocade, on the dance floor. I still have the ivory coat which is too beautiful to part with. The yellow lining alone is a treasure—a hidden surprise, like the wonderful gift that helped me decide my future.
*
A Sexy Mess
April is National Poetry Month, and here’s a poem to suit today’s clothing theme.
Delight in Disorder by Robert Herrick A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribands to flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.
Some days when I catch a glimpse in the mirror of a Mad Woman in the Attic and realize it’s me, the first line of this poem plays in my head. A sweet disorder in the dress puts a better spin on my appearance than Maybe I should brush my hair.
*
Readers Write Delights
Chicago writer and artist Bridget Gamble (who I happen to know is a stylish and lovely dresser) reflects on the value of wearing the right clothes. You can find some of Bridget’s past work on Instagram at be.whelmed.
She’s getting ready to launch a new project. Stay tuned, I’ll send links when she’s ready.
I’ve always been particular about clothes. One summer as a small child, I decided on a uniform: a one-piece swimsuit underneath a pair of lime-green bike shorts with a bandana tied around my waist. My parents, to their credit, did not pathologize this. Even after the trees shook off their leaves, and my bare legs shivered in the late-fall air, I persisted in wearing this exact outfit under a puffer coat. I liked the way the pieces hugged me, sure. But I also liked where I was when I wore them: lip-syncing to the B52’s at a campground, mustering up high-dive courage at the pool, or digging for worms in my backyard. Maybe most importantly, I liked who I was in those places: a free girl.
The delight we can find in the right combination of clothes is powerful. I still believe in that. This delight has the power to transcend, transform and transport us. I believe we should take that seriously. We’re right to be particular.
*
If you enjoyed this issue of Restless Egg, subscribe if you haven’t already, and pass it on to someone else who might enjoy it too! Thanks! I appreciate your support.
Some outfits have stories attached to them, some don't. So much to love about this issue! The family picture, the idea of your mom making so many dresses, your mother-in-law buying you the dress, and the wonderful gift from Banana Republic. Your inner light shines through no matter what you wear!
Wow. Thanks for sharing this one. Cant imagine sewing dresses like your Mom. What s gift! By the way I think you always look stylish and chic and your clothes look great on you!!😘