Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Yoga Pants

When did mommies stop looking like mommies? When did grandma stop looking like grandma? I pass the grade school where my kids went and I don’t recognize the women. It’s not just that I don’t know them, which I don’t. It’s that they don’t look familiar to me. There is a uniformity to their look or more correctly - a uniform.

Tall, “blonde” and almost too thin, if that’s possible. It’s possible. Add platinum wedding bands, a huge engagement diamond, either Uggs or flip flops (in any weather), a $75 tee shirt and $200 yoga pants. A down vest maybe. Yoga pants worn as day wear - not just for exercising. You have to have a great body to look good in yoga pants. They are most unforgiving, so wear if you dare.

These women obviously take a lot of time getting their bodies into incredible shape. You’d think they might want to show it off in something else for a change. Linen and cashmere come to mind. Or a slim summer sheath with pearls. A few years ago I sold a multi-million dollar house to a woman after showing her over a hundred properties. She was always dressed like she was on her way to the gym. Never was she dressed in regular clothing. Not once. This is not classic style. This is not Mad Men. This is the look of new money.

I am not one for running around in exercise attire. I don’t want to look like all I’ve been doing is playing tennis even if all I’ve been doing is playing tennis. It’s sweaty and clammy and looks like you have yet to start your real day - with real clothes. I change into tennis clothes right before I play and out of them right afterwards. It’s rare that I’ll be caught in the market, or god forbid, a restaurant in exercise clothes. Eric doesn’t understand this. He gets up on weekend mornings and always puts on shorts which can be used for swimming, hiking, lounging or playing tennis. If it’s cold he puts long pants on top of the shorts. He’s constantly prepared for whatever activity might break out. At first he thought we could go straight from the courts to eat dinner somewhere. Now he knows that unless we’re just picking up burritos, I’ll want to change.

I was no fashion maven when my girls were little, but I had an excuse. It was the eighties. Yes, those eighties. At the time I wasn’t aware that I looked like a complete dork, but the photos do not lie. Did I really wear big, red plastic earrings? Why? The hair got a little scary. There was the pixie (a.k.a. the rooster) in l983, the shoulder length perm in ‘85. Then came the mullet with bleached tips- a continuous source of amusement for my daughters. They salivated as they dismembered the photo albums to commemorate my fiftieth. They’re already planning an evil slide show for their father’s sixtieth. Think Speedo.

The hair remains a problem. I get tired of the same old straight, blonde hair, and yes, blondes do have more fun. Thanks for asking. It’s just been such a nasty trip every time I’ve veered into another style . I don’t look good in pixies, perms, mullets or bobs. I stay with this look to save myself from a wild impulse that could be very unfortunate. When I really NEED a change I rearrange the furniture until the obsession passes. These days, without Nicole, I wouldn’t really be blonde at all. I’d be dishwater and gray, but that’s our little secret.

One thinks back and remembers their children looking so adorable. One looks at the photos and sees some major fashion misses. Lucy was all about comfort and ease, not style, until the Guess jeans. When she was around six or seven she was so gangly with such a tiny butt that we couldn’t find any jeans that fit her. Somehow she discovered Guess jeans with zippers on the ankles. They seemed really expensive to me, but she just had to have them and they were really cute on her. Better than some of her matching sweat suits. Lana had her velvet overalls and the hideous, teal green matching warm-up suit that she wore with red Mary Janes. She looked like a small golfer with party shoes on. Allie’s outfits were always the most outrageous concoction of colors and accessories. We were constantly being stopped in stores - even when she was two and three years old and people would comment on her ensembles. I would assure them I had nothing to do with choosing her clothes. I still think she could have a career in the fashion business.

How many times have you seen a woman from the back you assumed to be a teenager, only to be shocked by her actual age when she turned around? Like sixty or seventy but wearing high heeled boots and ultra trendy, expensive jeans. It’s getting so confusing. So many women are getting the little injections into their lips and eyes that it’s hard to tell anyone’s real age. And when did the young daddies get so hot? Hot, if you like mud-splattered, spandex covered sweaty men with numerous logos. Men who have fanned out across the county and taken over every hill and dale, bike rack and coffee house. It would be surprising to see a well-dressed guy strolling through town on a Saturday afternoon - a guy in chinos and loafers. It would be a pleasant surprise. I could go on and on but I have to go out now and I need to figure out what to wear...

1 comment:

  1. Ahh, the slim summer sheath - yesterday was not a day to be wearing one of those! Nor today for that matter

    To see people somewhat dressed, head into SF, not to the post-graduate, fraternity/sorority sweatshirt wearing spots of either Fillmore or SF, but downtown. If you want to see people actually dressed, head to New York or better yet Europe, where it is still a measure of respect for oneself (la bella figura) and others to put on actual clothing.

    Getting dressed sends a message to others that you can't bother for yourself, and certainly not for them. It is akin to the same disrespectful message conveyed by chronic lateness, which is now "excused" by the last minute cell call wherein one breathlessly declares that one is going to be late, no offense intended.

    Here in Marin one routinely sees children (double digit age) driven by their oh so Marin parents to Starbucks for their AM caffeine. They hop out of the car (mommy and/or daddy with tween and teen) unwashed, unbrushed and wearing pajama bottoms. . . . Liz

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