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I don't know if any of you have the book by Ilene Beckerman entitled 'love, loss and what i wore', but it is a veritable treasure. It's a memoir of sorts, peppered here and there with line drawings by the author of outfits that she wore at significant times during her life - her first day of school, meeting her husband, the loss of a child... It's canny and wry, but also subtle and leaves a lasting impression. When I read it it made me realise just how much us women are impacted upon by clothes, whether we mean it or not. I can remember exact outfits, down to the last bejewelled ballet slipper, on days that were somehow significant to me, whether they be lovely or lamentable. It's something about grounding us in reality i think, the clothes we wear. Or perhaps something else entirely...
The day I met my first 'real' boyfriend was also the first time I ever performed on a stage. We were 16, indie-chic and part of a school rock band. I, inextricably, was the singer. It was our school open day and all the rock bands had to play, including woeful us. We didn't even have a name. But oh! we had style.
We decided that our theme for our set would be rock glamour. For me that meant an American Flag dress, ripped in places (naturally), with a great sparkly, spangly star print and rich colours for the stripes. It was short (for me anyway) and had this twisty, drapey kind of effect on the straps and across the bust as if I had just taken a flag and wrapped it around myself. I also teased and sprayed my hair and wore a pair of crazy thigh high boots. I was well ahead of my time, you see. My best friend A was the drummer in our band, and she was wearing slashed leggings with a glittery shift dress, and her hair sprayed up in a mohawk. The girls playing guitar were in a suitably rock combination of leopard print, rips, safety pins, black, motorcycle boots, skinny jeans and leather jackets. We were so crazy I cant believe they even let us near all the $5000 equipment. But they did. And we rocked out. Hard. If memory serves me correctly (and this memory does, it's pretty hard to forget the day you first perform live on stage and met your high school boyfriend) I leapt off the bass drum. While the keyboardist stage dived. And the bass guitarist attempted to smash her guitar (stopped, with great hilarity by our 'manager', the band supervisor).
We were horrible, I'm sure. All of our friends turned up to rock out and say how amazing we were, but all I can remember was amplification, heart-beating wildly with nerves and the whole thing being over in seconds. And then we climbed off the stage, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared, huge smiles plastered across our faces.
And that's when I met him, he introduced himself and said how great we'd been. I laughed. He was lying. But he looked great doing it! He told me he played bass... We had the same taste in music. He was so tall, well above 6 feet, and even in thigh high boots I couldn't quite look at him eye to eye. I remember thinking how odd it must be to always be looking down at people like he was to me. He said he liked my dress. I laughed again. He must have been lying. It was a sparkly american flag dress, worn with just a pinch of irony. He said he really did like the dress, said it was cute.
And that's when I gave him that mega-wattage, starry-eyed smile that you save for special occasions (and people). Oh I remember that smile well...
I remember we went to a party once, nearing the end of our long relationship and I wore that dress, for lack of anything else suitable for party wear. Without the thigh high boots and teased hair, and with a blazer and sensible ballet flats. I thought the whole look was quite eclectic-chic, almost carrie bradshaw-esque. He was shocked when I ran out of my house and into his car, as if i was wearing a gorilla suit or underwear as outerwear. He laughed at me, not kindly, said i looked stupid. That's a crushing thing to hear, from anyone, let alone the guy who supposedly loves you.
And that's when I realised. There wasn't any fun left in our relationship. No humour. The smiles i gave him never quite reached my eyes. We would sit together, sometimes, and not talk, just sort of be together. That used to be enough, but not anymore. Where had our witty banter, our laughter, the teasing, the petty arguments gone?
I still have that dress. I haven't worn it, not in a long time. But it's still there, at the back of my mother's wardrobe (when we broke up i wanted it wayyy out of my sight, forgotten and gathering dust). But thinking about the book 'love, loss and what i wore' makes me think about that dress. I can't remember what I wore when he broke up with me, it was by phone so probably pyjamas (that's another story entirely, though), but i can remember this dress, and the times i wore it with him, in vivid detail. It started off so fun, but it became something else entirely towards the end.
But it was a great dress. It really was.
X
p.s i'm thinking of making this post semi-regular, i have such stories, some mine, some others, that i'd love to share with you. let me know if you'd like to hear them. I think that the link, especially among women, between clothes and emotions is so strong and so fascinating. :)
The day I met my first 'real' boyfriend was also the first time I ever performed on a stage. We were 16, indie-chic and part of a school rock band. I, inextricably, was the singer. It was our school open day and all the rock bands had to play, including woeful us. We didn't even have a name. But oh! we had style.
We decided that our theme for our set would be rock glamour. For me that meant an American Flag dress, ripped in places (naturally), with a great sparkly, spangly star print and rich colours for the stripes. It was short (for me anyway) and had this twisty, drapey kind of effect on the straps and across the bust as if I had just taken a flag and wrapped it around myself. I also teased and sprayed my hair and wore a pair of crazy thigh high boots. I was well ahead of my time, you see. My best friend A was the drummer in our band, and she was wearing slashed leggings with a glittery shift dress, and her hair sprayed up in a mohawk. The girls playing guitar were in a suitably rock combination of leopard print, rips, safety pins, black, motorcycle boots, skinny jeans and leather jackets. We were so crazy I cant believe they even let us near all the $5000 equipment. But they did. And we rocked out. Hard. If memory serves me correctly (and this memory does, it's pretty hard to forget the day you first perform live on stage and met your high school boyfriend) I leapt off the bass drum. While the keyboardist stage dived. And the bass guitarist attempted to smash her guitar (stopped, with great hilarity by our 'manager', the band supervisor).
We were horrible, I'm sure. All of our friends turned up to rock out and say how amazing we were, but all I can remember was amplification, heart-beating wildly with nerves and the whole thing being over in seconds. And then we climbed off the stage, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared, huge smiles plastered across our faces.
And that's when I met him, he introduced himself and said how great we'd been. I laughed. He was lying. But he looked great doing it! He told me he played bass... We had the same taste in music. He was so tall, well above 6 feet, and even in thigh high boots I couldn't quite look at him eye to eye. I remember thinking how odd it must be to always be looking down at people like he was to me. He said he liked my dress. I laughed again. He must have been lying. It was a sparkly american flag dress, worn with just a pinch of irony. He said he really did like the dress, said it was cute.
And that's when I gave him that mega-wattage, starry-eyed smile that you save for special occasions (and people). Oh I remember that smile well...
I remember we went to a party once, nearing the end of our long relationship and I wore that dress, for lack of anything else suitable for party wear. Without the thigh high boots and teased hair, and with a blazer and sensible ballet flats. I thought the whole look was quite eclectic-chic, almost carrie bradshaw-esque. He was shocked when I ran out of my house and into his car, as if i was wearing a gorilla suit or underwear as outerwear. He laughed at me, not kindly, said i looked stupid. That's a crushing thing to hear, from anyone, let alone the guy who supposedly loves you.
And that's when I realised. There wasn't any fun left in our relationship. No humour. The smiles i gave him never quite reached my eyes. We would sit together, sometimes, and not talk, just sort of be together. That used to be enough, but not anymore. Where had our witty banter, our laughter, the teasing, the petty arguments gone?
I still have that dress. I haven't worn it, not in a long time. But it's still there, at the back of my mother's wardrobe (when we broke up i wanted it wayyy out of my sight, forgotten and gathering dust). But thinking about the book 'love, loss and what i wore' makes me think about that dress. I can't remember what I wore when he broke up with me, it was by phone so probably pyjamas (that's another story entirely, though), but i can remember this dress, and the times i wore it with him, in vivid detail. It started off so fun, but it became something else entirely towards the end.
But it was a great dress. It really was.
X
p.s i'm thinking of making this post semi-regular, i have such stories, some mine, some others, that i'd love to share with you. let me know if you'd like to hear them. I think that the link, especially among women, between clothes and emotions is so strong and so fascinating. :)
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