Style and Fashion Cents

I go to bed with frost in the morning forecast. After the brutally hot and humid summer we've had, I am delighted to awaken to a chilly morning.

Shivering in my PJs, I look for something to wear.   Scanning the options in my bedroom closet, I accept it is time to pull out the fall and winter clothes.  I go to my spare bedroom and slide open the closet door.  Hanging there is the sum total of my cold weather wardrobe:  four sweaters and two sweatshirts.  As with my shoes, I will have to employ carbon dating to determine the age of these items.  They probably aren’t in style any longer, but then I remind myself neither are old people, social courtesies and democracy.

I used to be a working, socializing gal. Surely this can’t be all the clothing I own.  I dig into old dresser drawers and scour every closet and shelf only to find it is true.  COVID ushered in a style change that defied the seasons and became permanent.  COVID came just in time to save me from the Spanx/shapewear movement—another life threatening cause of shortness of breath.  Sweat pants, blue jeans, and t-shirts are my all-seasons, all-occasion wardrobe.  And speaking of sweat, I am pretty sure sweat is glitter for people.  That’s about all the accessorizing and sparkle I have left in me these days.

While I sometimes long for adventure or at least a special occasion, looking at my wardrobe, I am relieved by the lack of invitations.  My wardrobe is strictly casual, and when I say casual, I mean I could sleep comfortably in anything hanging in my closet.  Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about the prom this year.

A couple of years ago, post-COVID, I did get the idea that I might want to shop, see what’s in style.  I hit the strip mall with all the popular women’s clothiers.  I walked into the first store and discovered that a
t-shirt cost $60.00.  I walked out.  I found the same thing next door.  With no real reason to shop and no small fortune to spend, I abandoned my updating efforts.  If people can refuse to return to the office post-COVID, I can refuse to shop.  I will work the stuff I have at home thank you very much.

And as to “style,” I am not sure what might be in style or if “in style” is even a thing any longer.  When I step out in public I can’t really distinguish social class or occasion from the way people dress save for the wealthiest who I spot out for a morning stroll at 10 AM decked out in high-end gym clothes that actually look like the aforementioned shapewear complemented by some expensive jewelry and an equally expensive breed of dog on a leash. Turns out the new work from home movement is a coming out party for underwear and pure bred canines.

So disconnected am I from the social scene, I have to ponder what a special occasion might be for me, one that would require special clothing, and then I say a prayer of gratitude that I will never again have to wear pantyhose. While they were a great improvement over nylon stockings and garter belts, they came with their own unpleasant side effects.  And really, does anyone even make pantyhose anymore?  I don’t see those cute little plastic eggs on display in any store in which I shop.  Maybe a leg wax and pedicure are now mandatory. Seems like a lot more time and expense for such a temporary purchase.  Yet another reason to stay home and watch other people exercise on YouTube.
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At my age I suspect I have only two special occasions left in me.  I could get arrested, but I’ve seen plenty of mug shots. I am confident I can pull together that look from what I already own.  The second special occasion that still awaits me is a trip to the morgue.  I am pretty sure my wrinkled old birthday suit will get me past the bouncer.