This post is part of a BlogHop with the lovely ladies of Generation Fabulous*. Today’s topic is: “My Biggest Fashion Mistake”.
Born in 1961, I was a pudgy little girl during the reign of Twiggy, which didn’t help my self-esteem much. And the 70s were even worse. Those would be the years not just of poor self-image, but out and out self-loathing.
Farrah, Cheryl, and Bo were the girls of that day, and although I laid out for hours in the sun, basted in baby oil and iodine, I never could achieve their sun-kissed look.
Let’s not forget the fact that I went to school with Tawny Kitaen.
I’ll never forget Tawny standing there at our junior high graduation, in all her majestic, bronze, flowy, auburn-haired glory, wearing some sort of Bob Mackie knock-off, looking for all the world like a more beautiful and glamorous version of Cher, while I schlepped (can non-Jewish girls schlep?) up to get my diploma in a dress designed after the one Melissa Gilbert wore as Laura Ingalls in that very special episode of Little House on the Prairie where the entire cast caught diphtheria.
Thank goodness for the 1980s. If it weren’t for all of the utterly dreadful personal mistakes I made during the first half of that decade–many thanks to cocaine, who, contrary to what Mr. Clapton says, most definitely does lie–it would have been a good era for me. That’s when my full set of luscious boobs finally arrived making a complete matched set with those aforementioned, cushiony thighs.
Most importantly though, with enough Aqua Net, I could make my hair as big as one of Gallagher’s watermelons. Shoulder pads looked good on me during those years of my hourglass figure–before cocaine wreaked her boob-withering havoc, and stole it all away.
With Madonna all the rage, I bought myself some fingerless lace gloves to wear with my layered short skirts, tight leggings, and swooping sweatshirts torn just-so to hang tantalizingly off my shoulder a la Flashdance. For shoes? My motto then, as now: The higher the heel, the better.
And then came the 1990s. Did I go heroin chic or grunge? No. The 1990s will always be known as the years I was a conservative, Evangelical Christian homeschool mom.
What was I thinking?
Oh, I remember now. I was thinking that if I hid my powerful and dangerous feminine sexuality under large men’s t-shirts and over-sized cargo shorts that somehow God would finally love me, and that my dearest dream– children who would never, ever stray from their faith, or my parental control–would be my eternal reward.
I sure as hell didn’t want my children to make the same terrible mistakes I’d made, and if the price to prevent that was bulky, defeminizing clothes from the clearance rack at Ross, then sign me up!
Which begs the question that is far outside of the scope of this little blog post: Why do so many religions start (and seem to end) with the institutionalized oppression of feminine sexual energy in the form of something called “modesty”? Are women’s bodies really that damned dangerous? Isn’t aggressive male sexual energy—war, rape, pillaging, anyone?—really much more dangerous and deadly? But I digress. This post is about fashion after all, not about wholesale, legalistic, religiously enforced, peer-pressure-approved, female sexual oppression.
So, during the 1990s, I donned the fugliest, unsexiest clothes I could find to appease the gods, er, God.
And was He? Appeased, that is? On that, I have no idea. What I do know is that I have a lot of pictures of me in my 30’s looking very dowdy and frumpy that make very good blog fodder.
*You must be a member of Generation Fabulous to participate in the BlogHop. If you are interested in joining our group contact me to request more information.