June 30, 2017
By: Marilyn L. Davis
“I’m pretty sure that eating chocolate keeps wrinkles away because I have never seen a 10-year-old with a Hershey bar and crow’s feet.” ― Amy Neftzger
I passed by a mirror this morning and realized how much I have aged in the past two years.
The wrinkles, the frown lines, the thinning eyebrows, and lips all add up to aging. In addition, not even one of these remotely fits the description of graceful.
I want the Wicked Step Mother’s mirror.
The Little Girl – Wanting to Grow Up
I remember being fascinated with my older cousin’s clothes. Since they were ten to fifteen years older than I was, they were teenagers in the fifties wearing Poodle skirts, ponytails, and those black and white saddle shoes and socks.
I would search my grandmother’s closet and try to find a similar color, as she did not own a pair of saddle shoes, or poodle skirt. I would enhance the too long dresses with my grandmother’s hats, and her jewelry, and long for the days when I would be older and a grown-up, and I could wear fashionable clothes.
Then at their age, I entered the era of the hippie; no more poodles and ponytails, I just moved the fake flowers from my grandmother’s hats to real ones for my hair. The band was off the ponytail and free flowing locks prevailed.
I see my granddaughters in their bohemian attire with hair down to their waists and reflect.
We Should Have Been More Careful
We adopted looks from exotic places, mixing patterns and colors and flowing long dresses. Were these outerwear looks simply a reflection perhaps of the colors swirling in our minds with the aid of artificial stimulus?
We brought back looks from bygone eras, all Renaissance, and Raphael, and Rapunzel. Not all those big sleeve looks needed resurrecting; nevertheless, we extended the concept to our wedding dress sleeves for God’s sake.
What were we thinking, or were the designers just a bunch of misogynists?
Children of My Own
I still cannot fathom why a swollen abdomen is sexy if pregnant, but repugnant if not.
My generation readopted the empire look. Perhaps it worked for queens of a certain era; satins, brocades, and velvets with binding under the breasts to enhance them, maybe, that was a fashion statement, but as far as a pregnant look, it made us all look like a plaid tablecloth, sized to fit that queen’s banquet table.
It did nothing for us.
Power Dressing our Way to the Glass Ceiling
“The problem lay buried, unspoken, for many years in the minds of American women. It was a strange stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction, a yearning [that is, a longing] that women suffered in the middle of the 20th century in the United States.
Each suburban [house] wife struggled with it alone. As she made the beds, shopped for groceries… she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question — ‘Is this all?”
We would not be, or in some cases, could we be, the stay-at-home mother. We entered the workforce and dressed in our suits, only slightly modified from our male counterparts.
It did not matter that we had to make the coffee; we were part of a team. I remember getting a promotion from receiving teller to note teller. I was the first woman to have this title. About three months into this job, the head of human resources came to me and asked if we could have coffee.
She was reviewing files and noticed that each of the women promoted to department heads within the last six months made approximately $2500 per year less than the man who had held the position previously.
Public attention to the inequality came when The Willmar 8, eight female employees of the Citizens National Bank in Willmar, Minnesota, USA, went on strike on December 16, 1977, over charges of sex discrimination. The tellers and bookkeepers were protesting unequal pay and unequal opportunities for advancement
When I went to my boss to tell him what I knew, his response was that the man made more because “He is the head of his family.”
I had to remind him that the two children, who lived with me, minus the dad due to divorce, were humans, not dolls, and I legally constituted a head of a household for IRS purposes.
I got the raise.
We’ll Suit Up; However, it Will Be a Color of Our Choosing
We did not drop the suit look, but we modified the colors. Then an interesting thing happened, men started wearing something other than black, navy blue, or conservative pinstripes.
John Travolta wanna be’s even sprung up in the conservative world of banking.
I had my first post-divorce date with a man in a pink suit.
The 1980s kept the color but added the T-shirt. Miami Vice brought a new trend – facial stubble, no longer the look of a three-day bender, but purposefully cultivated.
We women could choose from the Joan Collins padded football player look, Madonna in her “Street Urchin” look – leggings, lingerie as outerwear, lots of religious iconic jewelry and big hair. There was generally an excessive amount of mousse used in styling an individual’s hair, so we got volume, shine and in some cases, glitter.
I opted to pay attention to my mother, for once, and agreed that it resembled, “the rat’s nest”.
Valley Girls, Preppy, and Track Suits
I never succumbed to these trends, either. I looked ridiculous in a headband as a child and did not think that a woman in her thirties would look any better.
I do not like pink and green together except in plants, so the trend of mixing those colors, or opting for a yacht look, was not my style, either.
Moreover, track suits? I ran track; we had no suits.
I got into recovery that year and was working at a college. Fashion was not a consideration, staying in recovery was. I could go to a recovery support meeting in my business suit or my jeans.
Some days when I reflect I remember thinking:
Why do my grandmother and mother always make clothes that just simply fit?
Why don’t they make something that is fashionable?
They have the ability to sew anything, and they pick the same style every time.
I know why today. Fashion is not a priority or the main concern. Covering is.
Back to Today or is it Yesterday Again?
I find that I wear loose fitting, long dresses – a lot. I wear shoes that cover my feet and are comfortable. Oh sure, I add interesting jewelry as a nod to fashion.
The shoes, well, they are colorful as well, but that is just another nod, not a necessity.
In many ways, I am back to the little girl wearing too big clothes, with a vastly different motive. It is not so much that I want to get older now; I am there, just as she is inside, curious about each new day and the changes that it will bring.
- Maybe I will leave the regular mirrors to the younger generation.
- Maybe I will forgo wanting the Wicked Step Mother’s mirror.
- Maybe I will look within rather than into a mirror and find grace, peace, and comfort at this time.
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