You always hear about "fashion statements." I have one.
My fashion statement is simply that I hate what passes for fashion today. Everything is too short, too tight, and often inappropriate. I hear this opinion is one of the signs of getting old.
Fashion is so big today with reality shows about young designers, but I've noticed that those who do the designing themselves look incredibly disheveled.
On the TV show "Fashion Police" they critique celebrity ensembles at red carpet events. I usually just sit and wonder how many hundreds of dollars those stars paid to have their hair hanging in their face or up like a rooster's feather on top of their head.
While some people watching probably want to emulate those ultra-expensive gowns, all I really want to do is grab a hairbrush and make them look neater.
Neatness seemed to count more back in the 1950's, when I was a child. Mothers cut our bangs so they wouldn't hang in our eyes. I remember having bangs cut so short that it took six months before they made any headway toward my own eyebrows.
Even today, I love watching "I Love Lucy" just to see her wonderful dresses with the full skirts that were fashionable back then. I liked that woman always wore hats and gloves and high heels when they went to church. I liked that men were always wearing suits, even on the least fancy occasion.
People seemed to have more style in the old days. And didn't you like it better when women who were expecting wore roomy maternity tops that made them look bloomingly feminine compared to the skin-tight, in-your-face outfits that are popular today?
Of course, in the 1960's, all that conventional fashion changed for those of us under 30. As a college student in the late 1960's, I rebelled.
For the first time in my life, I owned a pair of jeans. Prior to this, only farmers wore jeans.
We would go to the Goodwill Store and buy tons of blue work shirts. Jeans and a work shirt completed our daily wardrobe.
Looking back on it now, this working man's uniform was kind of ironic, since this was somewhat of an elite and expensive women's college where many of my classmates' parents bordered on being millionaires.
To complete my college wardrobe, I bought an old, ratty (today it would be termed vintage) blond lamb's wool coat. It weighed about 25 pounds and came down to my obligatory leather boots.
It was the best coat I've ever had and all my truly hippie friends envied it.
Alas, after college I grew out of my hippy stage and lived to see my own parents own many pairs of jeans. But I still love some of those items from my youth.
I was delighted recently when I unearthed my favorite gypsy blouse from the attic. My husband immediately recognized it. My daughter, Holly, is now wearing it, a blouse 14 years older than she.
And if my poor lamb's wool coat had not rotted away, I would have gladly bestowed that on her, too.