No longer a slave to the trend
I’ve tried hard to be a slave to fashion . . . and it used to elude me.
From the time I first was aware of how I dressed — probably 6th grade — I tried to be up on everything coming down the pike.
When I was in the 6th grade, I wore a pair of white “Go-Go” boots so much, my sister Inez called me Go-G0, which I hated.
Seventh grade, the competition for being cool was fierce, and something my mother didn’t understand, so I did something ridiculous.
Mama always dressed me nicely, if not too conservatively; to which I did my own “editing” on the bus. Rolled my sleeves up, spot hemmed my skirts and dresses (I got good at this and continued it through high school); and continually wished I was the child of someone else — a “cooler,” more fashionable mother.
And when she crafted a homemade dress, I cringed when I tried it on. Every now and then she would hit the mark and I would wear the dress until it was faded and threadbare; but often the dress had the mile-high puffed sleeves that I hated. It seemed that was the only type of sleeve she knew how to sew. I actually mentioned it to her one time and the putrid puffiness was reduced, but still there.
My poor Mom.
When I became an adult, I appreciated her sewing abilities a lot more and would ask her to put together a costume for my children — which she was able to whip up in a couple of hours. She was talented.
I felt sorry for her (when I became an adult) for having to put up with such an ungrateful teenager.
Then, all through my adult years, I became aware of a big fashion trend only when everyone was already into it (about halfway through it). And it continued that way until I became a senior citizen.
Then, something happened.
I think I became aware of the word, “trends,” and from then on started looking for them. I guess I slowed, and began noticing trends before they actually became popular — I got with the program, or at least think I did.
Which is not a really good thing for a senior citizen to do, according to my children. My very vocal older son often notices something new I’m trying, and has some choice words to say about it; which I usually ignore.
Because, these days, I don’t let words or trends or fashion bother me; but forge ahead with new outfits that might not be trending, but in my mind, should be. I think that falls under the category of “not giving a crapola.”
And that’s as it should be, for I am a senior woman; and although the red hats and purple dresses aren’t for me, I’m thinking I can get away with anything I want concerning fashion; and strong enough to withstand the occasional eyeroll.