Dressing on the side, please.

It's 1975.  I'm in 7th grade and boy-girls parties are where it's at.  Looking back, they were dopey, awkward, pseudo-teenage affairs:  black light posters in someones basement, dancing to AM radio hits somebodies older brother (owner of said black light posters) put on a cassette tape.  At first no one dances; the girls cluster on one side of the room and the boys on the other.  Eventually, the most popular boy asks the most popular girl to dance and then everyone is dancing (yes, even me).  Every 30 minutes the dancing stops briefly so the cassette can be turned over but that's the basic gist of it.
Looking back, I don't remember wanting to go to these parties, I don't remember NOT wanting to go, I just went.  You got invited (everyone in the grade did) and you went.

It is Saturday nite and my mother and I are in Whoops - THE fashion mecca of the day - looking for an outfit for that nites party.  My really cute next door neighbors really cute girlfriend happens to work there:  tall, long blond hair parted in the middle, 18 years young, Brooklyn's very own Marsha Brady. Introvert that I was (Am. From the womb, I tell you. Thank gd it wasn't a multiple birth....), I was so out of the loop I didn't know there was a loop.  My mother is thrilled at our good fortune to be so well connected (sorry Rachel Zoe) and they hit the racks.

My mom comes back with an armful of hangers: Mainly Huc-a-poo shirts and Rags Jeans (if you are not familiar these, please DO NOT google them, fashion trauma will ensue).  I begrudgingly look through them and frown.  Having no choice I come out of the dressing room with the Rags on and face the mirror; I feel awful in them because even I can see they are not flattering on me.  That zig-zag stitching that looks so cool on my peers backsides makes me self conscious of my newly developing hips.  Behind my reflection I see my mothers', clearly trying but getting frustrated.  She sees I'm unhappy and wants me to be happy, but also wants to "accomplish" (see glossary).  "Well" she asks with forced patience, "what are 'they' wearing?"  They.  It's the way she says "They".   Articulated out loud, what has forever been the silent arbiter of her by proxy fashion decisions,  becomes what I must rally against.  I don't know if its the way she said it, the fact that SHE said it or my innate need to not conform, something shifts in me.  I become aware:  I want to look on the outside how I feel on the inside; different.  I don't feel like "They", I feel like Me.

My eyes scan the racks, actually discerning detail I had formerly been oblivious to.  A denim jumpsuit catches my eye.  It is a very dark indigo, heavy denim with darts at the waistline, long sleeves and a brushed nickel zipper that runs from the crotch to the neck.  That's it; no embellishment, no zig-zag stitching, no faded glory.  I've never seen anything like it and something about it sings to me.  I try it on.  It fits like a glove and I intuitively know (despite not yet knowing or understanding my body type and what does and doesn't work on it)  that it is flattering on me.  I love it and I am happy, so my mother is happy; we pay for it and leave.

I wear that outfit to the party that night.  I am not any prettier or more popular than I was the week before, but I have changed;  I am cognizant of how I look.  AND I feel good about how I look.  And while I am well aware that it is in part because I know that jumpsuit looks good one me, it is mainly because no one else is wearing anything like it and I LIKE that.  I never look back.

Fast forward to any decade in between then and now and the song remains the same.  In my late teens I  learn what works best on my body (anything tight that highlights my small waist and throw my full hips and thighs into flattering balance, nothing flouncy, clean lines, etc).  For a brief while I live in SKINTIGHT Levi 501s (complete with pliers to pull up the zipper while laying down on the bed to zip) and RED COWBOY BOOTS.  I have no recollection where I got those boots and am frankly flummoxed that anybody even made or sold them, but they did and I wore them.  To death.  Proudly.

In my twenties the uniform got an up/downgrade to my brothers 501 hand me downs, worn thin in all the right places (think the current wildly popular "boyfriend jean") .  I wore them cinched at the waist with a vintage leather belt that had a retro cowboy buckle, anything black on top and oxblood colored cowboy boots - year round.

In my thirties, married and with a bigger budget, I wore the more upscale version of the same: Big Star (et al) Jeans with tight fitting t-shirts and a wardrobe of cool, funky boots.  And while still immune to trends, I became smart/mature enough to occasionally give in to the ones I sense will work well on me (a brief affair with Vertigo Suits and Juicy sweat suits).  The common thread is always comfort, offbeat and form fitting.  And boots.  And a great Bag.  And an amazing Jacket.  Denim, leather, simple, original;  my wardrobe is generally the clothing equivalent of, say, Lauren Hutton: casual-classic, slightly offbeat, genuine, one of a kind.  Oh, I've made my share of fashion faux pas, trust me.  But I wore them at the time with pride and what the kids today would call swagger: Feathered earrings, parachute pants, the jackets and vests of my brothers 3 piece suits with jeans, stilettos and a wardrobe of fedoras, capezio dance shoes....  Always when no one else was wearing them and always with delight.  Proudly, in some cases, I was less out-of-fashion than simply waaaay ahead of my time:)

At 50, not much has changed.  While I now have to struggle a bit to maintain my waistline, its still there, and I still look best when it shows.  These days I have an arsenal of Lucky Brand and GAP 1969 jeans; all boot cut (try as I might, I simply cannot pull off the straight leg 'jeggings' thing that looks so cute on others.... ruins the whole waist/hip balancing act I have perfected).   My ever present Frye harness boots I have had going on 2 decades, Uggs for yucky weather (too bad, they're warm and cozy, top that!) and a newly acquired pair of plaid lined Doc Martens I suspect I will live in this winter (it needs to get cold already!!).  For tops I own a variety of cute logo Ts I wear in the summer and a ton of slouchy-soft-yummy over sized sweaters I wrap myself up in winter.  I have a HUGE collection of scarfs ranging from funky to floaty and ethereal, that I wear year round except in the heat of summer.  When possible (or irresistible) I splurge on the best leather bag I can afford (currently rocking a cognac, leather Lucky leather Cross Body I've owned for over a year and still get compliments on daily!) and I am always a sucker for a sharp jacket I know I will live in and will make me feel like I did when I wore that denim jumpsuit.

A few of my favorite things:

 

Winter Cozy Casual

My New Love

My True Love

My Hippiechick Luckys
threadbare but irreplaceable

For the record: I am a religious, voracious reader of fashion magazines, and can tell you, at any given time, what is "in" at the moment.  But those books are entertainment for me and have little, if anything, to do with what is in my closet.  It took me four decades to come to terms with the fact that people don't 'get' me, no doubt due in some part to my style choices, and I'm cool with it.  So, Anna Wintour, Andre Leon Talley and Nina Garcia, keep on doin' what ya do....  Love what yer serving, but as always, I'll take my dressing on the side.

Peace

Rudy

Glossary:

accomplish - When a Jewish woman goes shopping with a specific goal ("I have nothing to wear to the wedding/bar mitzvah/shiva.  I'm gonna have to go shopping.") and she finds something to buy.  It is the retail equivalent of mission accomplished.