Visible Monday: Outfitting for Oregon

Every now and then, I am reminded that clothes serve a practical purpose. Like the rooftops over our heads, they protect us from the elements.

Last week, Mr. Frump and I took a special trip to Oregon for our 20th anniversary. We spent a few days in Portland, one day traveling through the Willamette Valley wine country, and then a few days on the almost obscenely spectacular Oregon coast.

Seriously, people. If you get a chance to go there, do it.

I did one of my best packing jobs ever. I had my capsule wardrobe all planned.  Knowing that the Pacific Northwest is often rainy and cool, I included a pair of long trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and the brown, jean-style jacket that goes with everything. At the last minute, when the forecast told me it would be especially cool, I replaced two sleeveless tops with two long-sleeved ones, also adding a fleece vest. And it all still fit, easily, in my suitcase! I didn’t have to sit on my bag or fight with the zipper. This may be a first.

As always when traveling, shoes were a problem. The key is to pack (or wear) one pair that’s comfortable enough to walk in for miles, presentable enough to enter a restaurant, and versatile enough to be dressed up and down. In the cool weather months, I rely on ankle boots with a one and a half-inch heel. In the summer, I go with flat sandals. So you can probably predict the problem, right? Most of my cool-weather trousers are hemmed to go with a slight heel, whereas my lightweight summer clothes work with flats. I’ve found one or two combinations that bridge this gap, but not a reliable capsule wardrobe.

So my jeans stayed home. They’ve been a little tight lately, anyway (damn you, black raspberry Oreo ice cream!) They are also heavy to pack, and when you add in the shoe issue, it just wasn’t worth it. To hedge my bets, I threw in a pair of track pants and my running shoes. Even though they also take up too much suitcase space, I thought I might be inspired to go for a run. (Yes, I can hear you laughing from here. Shut up.) In an absolute emergency, if I was freezing to death, I knew I could wear these.

But there was further method to my madness. For awhile, I’ve been wanting to find a more casual pair of jeans to wear with lower-heeled shoes. Because not only are my other jeans a little snug, they were also made from a very dark, crisp denim, easier to dress up than to dress down. I figured if it was really cool in Oregon, I could use this as an excuse to find that new pair. And that’s exactly what I did.

The jeans were one of life’s happy little miracles. You can see them in every photo in this post. They fit me better than just about any jeans I’ve tried in recent years, and like all women, I consider myself difficult to fit. Even better, they were $15. They came from Talbot’s, originally, where I don’t usually shop. I got them at a secondhand chain store familiar to many of my readers: Buffalo Exchange.

The Portland store is conveniently located across from the most kick-ass independent bookstore on Earth, Powell’s Books. Oddly enough, I brought no books home. As an educator, I find this slightly disturbing. But come on: everybody knows that books are the heaviest things you can possibly pack in a suitcase! Heavier, even, than jeans.

Now, about those jeans. I am trying not to obsess about the fact that, in some of the photos, these look just a teeny bit like the dreaded “Mom jeans.” (If you’re fortunate enough to have never heard of these, just click here).

In real life, I don’t think they look like Mom jeans.  They’re not tapered. And while the denim could be darker, it’s not too faded. Yes, that waistline is on the high side, but it is still below my natural waist! And who the hell decided that Mom jeans are any jeans with a rise higher than an inch above your personal lady parts?

But I digress.

The jeans fit very well, even from behind, which is often a problem for me. With my body type, it’s hard to find jeans that fit in the waist without bagging in the hips, thighs and seat.

Bottom line: I like these jeans. I need them, and I am going to enjoy wearing them, even if there are people out there who would brand them as “Mom jeans.”

But this was not the only clothing-related epiphany I had. The other was that bit about dressing for the elements. We were actually quite lucky, as we had a lot of sun during our trip. Though temperatures dipped to the low fifties, they were usually in the mid sixties to seventies. There were entire days when no rain fell at all; when it did, it was often a light spray that ended quickly. If you’ve ever been to the Pacific Northwest, especially along the coast, you know it often showers like this several times a day. You also never know whether your scenic drive will involve a walk through town, a visit to a fabulous little coffee shop or casual restaurant, or a scramble over rocks to stroll on a (miraculously!) empty beach. I needed to be prepared for anything, which brings me to the outfit pictured here:

The jacket, jeans, and shoes can travel from beach to town — provided that I unroll the jeans, of course. (Beaches are sandy, you know). The leather sandals are a little clunky, but again, if the jeans are lowered to the proper length, they blend in. The fleece vest came off as soon as I got out of the chilly coastal breeze.

I know the pink rain slicker is far from stylish, but it can be rolled in a ball and thrown in the bottom of my bag, and it weighs nothing. It also wraps oh-so-fetchingly (!) around the waist. This is actually very useful because, even if it’s sunny when you start your trek down to the beach, it could rain at any moment. We took more than one walk during which the raincoat came on and off several times in less than thirty minutes. And once that rain starts, you don’t want to be climbing back up those rocks, running for cover.

Once all the layers came off, I looked more like this:

Not a glamazon, by any stretch of the imagination. But still, in an area filled with casual, outdoorsy people doing rugged, athletic things in a natural setting beset by wind, rain, and constantly changing conditions, I felt like I could pretty much go anywhere.

Now, if I lived in the Pacific Northwest, a few things would have to change. I’d probably have to own something along these lines:

And perhaps, as well, some cool, outdoorsy, not-quite-sneakers, like these:

or perhaps these:

Because you know what happens when you wear open-toed shoes in a chilly rain? Your feet get cold. This is an obvious point that I still failed to anticipate, somehow.

In Oregon, people are quite casual, wearing their cool outdoorsy gear everywhere. They don’t look frumpy, just incredibly healthy and youthful and at home in nature. I know this, because while we were eating quite possibly the best restaurant meal I’ve ever had, I was sitting next to not one but two tables at which everybody was wearing jeans, windbreakers, and outdoorsy almost-sneakers.

Guess what? They swirled the Pinot Noir in their glasses just as expertly as the dressed-up folks. I am not kidding.

If I lived in a place like this, my perceptions of acceptable garb would have to change. But I promise you this: You will never, ever see me wearing my jeans together with the ugly running shoes. I will not waver; I will not settle. I am firm on this. Because everybody knows that nothing tips a not-quite-Mom-jean over into the Mom jean category faster than a clunky pair of sneakers.

I will not go gentle into that good night.

How does your personal style reflect the climate in which you live? Have you ever had to “recalibrate” your style in a new place? Be sure to visit “Visible Monday” over at Not Dead Yet Style, to see what all the fabulous women are wearing today!

Shopping with Mom

I recently returned from a visit to the Frump Factor ancestral home. It was here that I endured junior high school, an endless sequence of bad haircuts, and culottes. So let’s just say the style legacy I left behind is not one of greatness.

But this was also the place where Mom taught me some of life’s essential lessons. Kindness is important. Growling dogs should be left alone. And the wrong pair of shoes can ruin an outfit. What more does one really need to know?

On this visit, we decided to spend an afternoon shopping for clothes. We are not exactly champions of recreational shopping, so when we get a chance to spend some time together, a trip to the mall isn’t usually high on our list. But when we manage to pull it off, shopping together is a real treat.

We’ve come a long way since the good old days, when I would whine, “Moooom!” every time she opened my dressing room door to see how I was doing. (Like many young girls, I was absurdly modest about being seen in my underwear, even by a store full of mothers and grandmothers). These days, shopping with Mom is both fun and educational. Here’s what I learned this time.

1) I am not the only one who hates tops with other tops built into them. You know the ones I’m talking about, right? The sheer blouses with camisoles sewn in? Or the perfect cardigan — the one you race toward as angels sing — which some idiot designer permanently attached to the ugliest blouse in the universe?

Mom and I made identical, exasperated sighs when we came across these. “I got stuck in one of those once,” Mom said. “I didn’t know if I’d ever make it out of the dressing room.” Yes, my friends; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

2) When you discover that sleeves with extra holes in them are a trend,

Why, exactly, did I try this on???

it’s much more fun if you have a companion with whom to share this fact. Mom and I had ourselves a rollicking laugh over this one. Well, once I managed to remove my arm from the second hole, that is. (See, again, number 1, above).

3) When you finally find the slacks you want, in the perfect color, your size will always be the only one that’s missing. I thought it was just me. But no; it happened to Mom, too. Good to know.

4) An extra set of eyes helps, so long as you don’t lose your own vision. Mom and I were both able to find things for each other, sometimes spotting items that the other would have dismissed too hastily. But we also know ourselves well enough to be able to say, “No; that one isn’t me.”

5) You should never judge a shirt by its label. I found this printed top on a clearance rack:

Mom walked right by it because of the name on the label — a manufacturer often associated with, um, “old lady prints.” Mom may be in her 70s, but she’s nobody’s old lady! I know how she feels; I’ve walked by this brand many times myself. But this one was different! The photo fails to capture its charms. Once Mom tried it on, she loved it. That very night, she wore it with white jeans and summer sandals for an evening out. Adorable! (I foolishly failed to take a photo, but trust me).

6) Sometimes the smartest purchase is the one you don’t make. I really wanted to find a cute, summery top. I tried on many. The most promising one had that annoying elastic along the bottom hem, ensuring that it would never lie right and I would be forever tugging at it. Mom thought it was really good on me. But we both agreed that if it drove me crazy, I’d never wear it.

7) The key to successful shopping is knowing when to stop. Mom and I have remarkably similar attention spans. We both start to lose it after 90 minutes or 3 comprehensive try-on sessions, whichever comes first.

8) It’s important to have a post-shopping reward. Sadly, the days of the department store restaurant seem to be over. I remember when Mom and I could have a very elegant little lunch after shopping, even in our town’s humble, independent department store. Today, you have to be a little more creative. A cup of coffee will do. Well, as long as it comes with a biscotti on the side. And only if it’s still too early for a glass of wine.

9) Some things don’t get worse with age. When it comes to mall excursions with Mom, my craziest memory is of the time we left the store by the wrong exit and thus emerged in a completely different parking lot. For a panicked 5 minutes, we thought the car had been stolen. We’re over 20 years older now, but we still managed to make our way out the door and to our car without mishap. Whew!

10) Mom and I should go shopping more often. But then, I kind of knew that. Thanks, Mom!

Once in a lifetime

I recently attended my 25^th college reunion. The journey involved a seemingly endless car trip, during which the rocky ridges of Massachusetts gave way to the green meadows of New York and, finally, the wide, open fields of Ohio. I’ve travelled this route many times, when visiting my parents in my Ohio hometown. It always feels like the car is suspended in air, between different lifetimes, different realities, on a journey that starts in one timeline and ends in another, two days later.

25^th reunions strike at an interesting time of life. We have so many options now; our path is no longer predictable or straight. I was amazed at the different life stages represented by my former classmates. Some of us are on our second or third careers. Some have risen to the top of something or other, but most have stopped and started and lateralled and gone into reverse a few times. Many are preparing for their children to leave the nest, but if the toddlers waddling across the quad are any indication, a few only recently started parenting.

My style blog persona didn’t disappear for the reunion, but she went deep underground. The college in question is a small, progressive, liberal arts institution. We were, and probably still are, an idealistic bunch. If I had to listen to the self-righteous proclamations made by my 18-year old self, I would probably never stop rolling my eyes. But there’s a beauty to that, isn’t there? Because if you sell out right at the start, where do you go from there?

I still remember the moment when I decided the only ethical choice was to not buy material things. There was too much exploitation, too much poverty in the world. For at least a couple of weeks, I considered never buying any new clothes.  I didn’t want to eat meat, either, because valuable resources were wasted in its production. This phase ended as soon as I realized I didn’t like tofu and needed something to wear.

I probably spent the better part of four years trying on different selves and  different clothes. When I arrived on campus in the fall of 1983, I had a closet full of chino-style slacks, jeans, and conservative, button-down blouses with frilly little collars. Within the first week, I looked around and realized I had a problem. Although a few of the freshmen looked like me, much of the student body represented one of 3 styles:

1.  60s throwback (tie-dyed shirts, ethnic-print skirts and tunics);
2. post-punk hipster (black, black, metallic studs,  and more black); or
3. anything goes, as long as it’s not considered “normal” (the guy in a skirt; the guy with the dandelion hat, etc.)

I now realize that many of the people there had style. But I didn’t understand the rules of this minimalist, I’m-not-really-trying style. So I spent a large part of my college career in sweat pants and oversized men’s flannel shirts. No, really. When I see photos of myself from that time, I think two things: 1) I was a hopeless mess, and 2) I looked beautiful. And I so didn’t know it. And it’s so unfair. But there it is.

My freshman year roommate helped me out of my style rut, now and then, because she had a few funky items that I could borrow. I recall a blue and silver sweatshirt with bat-wing sleeves – very 80s chic. She also had “the shirt from France.” She now calls it “the ugly shirt” because one of her teenaged daughters won an ugly shirt contest in it many years later. Here it is:

Thanks to my “roomie” and her family for providing the photo!

Yes, with the wisdom of post-80s hindsight, we can all see why it won the contest. But I thought it was amazing.

In fact, at the reunion, I told everyone that this shirt had magical powers because I wore it to a dorm party and, for the first time in my life, actually cut loose and danced in plain sight of other people! (Of course, the faux leather mini skirt may have helped. Not to mention the beer).

I eventually discovered thrift stores, so I played with “style” by combining thrifted items with hand-me-downs from friends and the rare retail purchase. But I always came back to my flannel shirts. And that’s the version of me that my former roommate remembers. Ironically, now she’s the one who jokes that she’ll end up on What Not to Wear someday. She has nothing to worry about; she looks fantastic and always did.  But she’ll be the first to say that fashion with a capital F is not her thing. She mentioned my blog during our visit and said, “I just can’t wrap my head around the fashionista thing.” I would never call myself that, not by a longshot, but compared to sweatpants and flannel shirts — well, OK. Point taken.

The next day, as I was putting on makeup in the dormitory bathroom, I thought to myself, “If somebody told me, 25 years ago, that I would be here, doing this, I would have said they were crazy.” I mean, come on. Makeup? Really? Often throughout the weekend, I wondered how many of us were doing things that would make us unrecognizable to our past selves.

As I mingled at various reunion gatherings, I overheard snippets of conversation that revealed, so vividly, all of the different life stages and struggles that we are navigating. Some speakers were clearly interested in discussing, and I think promoting, their professional selves. Some passed cellphones with photos of their children. Others focused more on our shared past. At times, I heard that tone you pick up any time people are “performing” for others through conversation – a mixture of pride, uncertainty, and an eagerness to please. To prove oneself. Yes, I turned out OK. Yes, this is the life I wanted.

But I also heard quieter voices, speaking in more measured tones of more difficult subjects. Illness. Loss. Job setbacks. Ended relationships. From more than one person, I heard some variation of: “It’s been a very difficult year. I am so happy to be here.” These were the most interesting voices to me.

I fell in with a group of close friends who seemed exactly the same to me – except for all the ways they are now different. We picked up right where we left off, as they say. As we were visiting in the dorm lobby one evening, at an hour when many of us would ordinarily be winding down, several people passed us on their way to “80’s night” at the college disco. (“I took a nap,” one of them assured us. “I set an alarm!”) Only one of us joined them. The rest stayed rooted to our comfy chairs, talking and laughing at our laziness and inertia. Somebody described a human interest story he’d read in a newspaper, about an AARP ball at which the seniors had reportedly outlasted members of the band. They just kept dancing, wanting more music, willing the party to go on and on. We decided this burst of energy must come later in life, if we’re lucky.  “We’re not quite old enough to be young at heart,” we concluded.

After the reunion, I felt a bit wistful for a couple of days. It’s weird to remember a time when I had no major responsibilities but so much freedom, with endless possibilities stretching out before me. It was just so easy to try on different clothes and pretend to be somebody else, over and over again, whenever I wanted. I truly believed I could become anybody.

Many say that we reinvent ourselves at midlife, or at retirement, or any number of other times in our lives. Wouldn’t it be great if, as adults, we could all go off to a college-style camp to live with interesting new people, learn new things, and try on new selves? Without required reading, exams, or soul-crushing student loans? Is that what Elderhostel is for? Can we create this for ourselves before we need assisted living?

Young-at-Heart University, here we come. Who wants to join me? I’ll bring the beer.

Visibly thrifted: A top for spring

For some time now, I’ve been fighting the scourge of Thrift Envy. This disease is a side effect of reading too many fashion blogs. So many of my favorite bloggers are champion thrifters. They go into real thrift stores — the Goodwills, the Salvation Armies — and emerge with amazing items that can be effortlessly incorporated into their wardrobes.

True confession: I haven’t visited a “real” thrift store in over 20 years. I just don’t think they’re a good place for me. I’m easily overwhelmed by too much stuff. Even in a fairly well-organized department store, my strategic shopping plan flies out the window almost immediately upon entry. It’s like I’m blinded by the sea of racks, the weird lighting, the lack of oxygen. Everything becomes a blur, and I just pinball around the place. I can’t stay long.

Everybody says that, to be an effective thrifter, you must be focused and purposeful. Disciplined. Vigilant. Methodical and strategic as you tackle rack upon rack of not-exactly-organized items of varying quality. I shudder to think what would happen to me in a place like this.

However, I do love a good consignment store. Sure, the prices are a little higher, but you still get a unique selection at prices much lower than retail. Your conscience is soothed because you are reducing waste rather than just consuming more. The clothes are usually quite well-organized, the collection small enough so as not to overwhelm.

I also worry less about quality, simply because consignment stores have the reputation for being more particular about what they accept. In theory, somebody has already done the quality control for us.  (In practice, though, I must admit that I’ve found damaged items in more than one consignment store. I’ve learned to conduct a thorough investigation before leaving the premises).

If any consignment stores existed along my route to and from work, I would visit them weekly. Unfortunately, the closest one is 25 minutes in the wrong direction. And my very favorite consignment stores are over an hour away, located in various college and tourist towns that I might visit on day trips. Now, I’m not generally one who enjoys shopping when there is sightseeing, recreation, or fine dining to enjoy. But for a bit of consignment shopping, I will make an exception.

Awhile back, in a lovely coastal town, I came across this top:

I like it because it’s springy and feminine, and because it has a bit of that free-spirited, floaty, hippie-chick thing going on.

It has no tags, so the origin of this top is completely unknown. (I wonder if any of my readers might recognize it?) The fabric is synthetic, but very soft and light and somewhat breathable.

It doesn’t seem to me like a super-expensive or high-end item, but it has a uniqueness that is pleasantly surprising to me. I don’t know if you can see how the pattern seems to almost “bleed” through from the reverse side (if that makes sense):

I’ve worn the top a few times now, and it plays nicely with both jeans and dressier slacks. It also looks good with my favorite brown, knee-length, ruffled skirt and boots.

For some reason, though, I really enjoyed what happened when I paired it with my classic, work-appropriate trousers and a jacket:

It struck me that this top is one that I might have chosen way back when, in my college days, when I actually did shop in “real” thrift stores. I was always drawn to peasant tops in floaty fabrics.

Now, my style has changed a lot since then. I love tailored shapes now; I would never walk around in  body-engulfing tents of fabric like I did then. But isn’t it great how you can have both? Hippie chic can mix with tailored classics. And that’ s just one of the many things I love about fashion.

Happy Visible Monday, everybody. I encourage you to visit Not Dead Yet Style to see what all the other Visible Monday participants are wearing. There is no greater inspiration for women who, at middle age or later, are still just hitting their stride when it comes to personal style. I’m on my way there now!

A sports bra of one’s own

Public domain image from wpclipart.com

Women of all ages, sizes and fitness levels strap themselves into some kind of exercise gear on a regular basis. If you’re like me, you probably don’t think about the sociopolitical history of either the exercise that you’re doing or the clothes that you’re wearing.

A friend got me thinking about this when she forwarded this article about Sue Macy’s book, Wheels of Change: How Women Rode the Bicycle to Freedom. Please do read the whole thing — you’ll be inspired even if you’re one of those women like me who complains about exercising.

The gist is that, toward the end of the Victorian Age in the late 1800′s, the widespread popularity of bicycling gave women a newfound freedom. It allowed them to leave their homes for independent, unchaperoned activity. It helped them become physically stronger. It even allowed women to begin wearing — can you guess? Pants! Well, bloomer-style pant prototypes, anyway.

This was no small achievement, and early women’s activists knew it. Elizabeth Cady Stanton said that “the bicycle will inspire women with more courage, self-respect, [and] self-reliance.” Susan B. Anthony agreed, calling a woman on a bicycle “the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.”

Macy’s book traces the invention of women’s sportswear to the 1890′s, with the invention of practical “cycling costumes.” As always, I started thinking about how women’s roles are reflected in the clothes we wear. Remembering my own experiences over the years, I am struck by how much things have changed in my own lifetime.

Consider the following:

The Sports Bra

For a truly fascinating read, check out this piece about the history of the sports bra. How is it possible that women exercised, attended mandatory gym classes in schools, and even played sports without these? My mind absolutely boggles.

Believe it: sports bras were not invented until the 1970s, by real women who needed them. (And yes, a re-fashioned jock strap really was part of the initial design process!) This decade saw great progress in women’s rights, of course, including the Title IX legislation that went a long way toward leveling the playing field (at least as far as college sports were concerned). More importantly, perhaps, the 1970s ushered in a widespread jogging craze. Enter the “jog bra.”

Astonishingly enough, though, large-breasted women were mostly excluded from the sports bra market until the 1990s. The 1990s, people! Two decades after Title IX! During a time when playing sports had become a normal and expected activity for girls in schools.

Apparently there was a belief that large-breasted women didn’t play sports. It took a well-endowed hairdresser, Renelle Braaten, to tackle this inequity by a) designing a better sports bra, and b) convincing people that there was a market for it.  Breasts worldwide rejoiced.

Today, the sports bra is such a staple that I can’t believe I didn’t have one until I was a college graduate. (Not being much of an athlete, I was rather late to the party). My only remaining wish? A greater variety of reasonably priced styles with just a touch of padding, for modesty. Microfiber exercise tops show quite a bit, and I don’t always want the girls yelling, “Well, hel-lo!” to everyone we see.

Aerobic Wear

The first time I took an exercise class, I’m pretty sure I was wearing a stiff cotton T-shirt and ridiculously tiny, 1970s-era gym shorts. If you can’t picture the shorts I’m describing, just look at some NBA footage from the 1970s. (Go ahead! I dare you. You’ll be horrified yet unable to look away).

These shorts were meant for running or playing team sports. They were clearly not meant for doing floor exercises that required one’s legs to be elevated and/or, forgive me, spread wide. Can you imagine my dread of the “seated inner thigh stretch?” Everyone must have had this problem, yet I always thought I was the only one showing my underwear to the whole world.

Eventually, I switched to dance tights under a leotard for aerobic classes. This particular outfit probably dates back to 1970s dancers and yoga practitioners. Picture Olivia Newton-John and Jane Fonda, circa 1982. I was wearing this outfit as late as 1990, I’m sorry to admit (minus the leg-warmers, though).

But at some point, I’m not sure when, the fitted  lycra short migrated from the cycling world into mainstream exercise. Once again, cycling led the way! This was a momentous development, indeed. From there, it was only a short skip to the comprehensive array of fitted shorts and leggings that we have now, in all different lengths. Full disclosure, though: I still sometimes wear regular, loose shorts over these, for modesty. Lycra clings, mercilessly, and I don’t want to worry that my most intimate bits are on full display. So perhaps there are still a few advances to be made!

The Yoga Pant

I still remember my first sweat pants. They were made of a stiff, heavy cotton fabric that, although breathable, would never, ever dry if it encountered any actual sweat. The elastic, drawstring waist looked like a cinched grocery sack. The legs were oddly tubular in shape. And you know the flattering bootcut that we see today? Forget about it. These sweats tapered into elastic closures at your ankle. The overall effect made your legs look like hot dogs, only much, much wider.

I know there has been widespread hand-wringing in fashion circles because women insist upon wearing their yoga pants everywhere. I think this is a small price to pay. We can argue all day about whether yoga pants are flattering or not. The bottom line is: women feel good enough in them to wear them everywhere.  This is priceless.

I don’t know about you, but I find it very gratifying to realize that these advances have taken place in my lifetime. I know everything isn’t perfect. I haven’t even touched on the verbal harassment and other threats that many women still face when exercising in public. When Susan B. Anthony made her comments about “untrammeled womanhood,” part of her point was that women on bicycles would not be accosted or harmed, presumably because they could escape! Sad but true.

Many of us still grapple with the question of whether we should dress to be seen or not to be seen while exercising. Appearance and body image issues persist. Back in the day, it often felt like my aerobic classes were divided into two groups: a) the front row women standing proudly in front of the mirror in cute, perfectly-coordinated outfits, and b) the women in baggy shorts standing as far from the mirror as they could get.

I know this is an oversimplification, and a depressing one at that. I hope we’re moving beyond it. I do know that, in exercise classes of more recent years, I’ve often lined up in the front row facing the mirror. The goal was not to admire myself, but rather, to monitor my form and thus prevent injury! Looking around, I once noticed that the entire front row was filled with women over 40, while the younger women hid in the back. Dare I say that, as we learn to cautiously work within our limitations, we also acquire a measure of self-acceptance?

Sure, we’ll continue juggling our often-competing needs in activewear, for comfort, style, practicality and/or modesty. Why, just today, a favorite blogger wrote hilariously about the phenomenon of sexy yoga wear. But I am glad that we have the freedom to approach exercise, and dressing for exercise, in a  variety of ways.

It didn’t even bother me when, awhile back, I read that many women wear makeup to the gym. True, we can view this as a sign that we are still struggling with appearance-based insecurities even as we exercise for our health. But I also know that, some days, I’m more motivated if I can wear my colorful purple paisley workout shirt and coordinating shoes with funky purple laces. (Yes, they’re making them like that now). And on other days, I’d rather throw on an ancient pair of faded running shorts and baggy black top.

On my colorful purple days, I smile and chat with everybody in the gym. On my dark and faded days, I stare down at my treadmill, focusing, pushing myself to the limit while glowering in what I imagine to be a badass manner. In today’s world, I can do both. Hear me roar, dammit.

What are your experiences and challenges with activewear? Are there any new advances that you’d like to see?

Those were the days

Beauty pageant from another era (public domain photo)

A friend of The Frump Factor, the inimitable Maggie T, recently drew my attention to some interesting online content created a few years back for Harper’s Bazaar’s 140th Anniversary.

Now, I’m sure the rest of the Fashion Industrial Complex was all over this story when it originally occurred, back in 2007. But this blog wasn’t around then; in fact, I didn’t even know fashion blogs existed. (Did they?) And while I did occasionally read Harper’s, it wasn’t one of the subscriptions that I hoarded, in secret shame, from friends and loved ones who – I was convinced — only read literary works of great intellectual significance.

So the “140 Years of Harper’s” content was brand new to me. I hope it’s new to many of my readers, as well, because it’s a delightful way to spend a little time.  Starting in 1867, the  magazine spans era after oh-so-stylish era. By perusing the magazine’s covers, you can see the evolution of so many different things: fashion, art, photography, modeling, and of course, women’s roles.  It’s a treasure trove for historians and social scientists of many types, I would imagine. From my seat as an amateur cultural observer, I noticed the following:

1) Apparently, there was an Era Before Euphemisms. In 1902, Harper’s thought nothing of promoting “Fashion for Old Ladies.” No seasoned women of a certain age here! I imagine this was also the era when ladies introduced themselves as Mrs. Insert-Last-Name-Here, not even cringing at the sound of “Ma’am.”

2) Before Sports Illustrated, the “swimsuit cover” was a very different animal. An 1876 cover shows a ladies’ swim costume: a dress-type garment with short sleeves, belted, and layered over bloomers. The outfit also features strappy shoes, laced all the way up to the knees, and is topped off with an adorable little hat. Now we are talking! I don’t want to hear any more crap about swimsuit diets. (Tankini, my ass!)

3) Overdoing trends is apparently nothing new, nor is poking fun at fashion excess. A cartoon about the raging 1870′s “fan trend” shows two women in formal gowns, seated in an elegant parlor, holding giant fans that hide their entire upper bodies and heads. (The caption reads, “What next?”) Now, I don’ t know about you, but there are mornings when I wouldn’t mind one of those face-obscuring fans.

4) Then as now, the line between artistic and creepy was a fine one. A 1951 photo “collage” showing pairs of elegant gloves, in cheery pastel colors, alongside Diana Vreeland’s own impeccably manicured hands? Fabulous! An assortment of sleeve designs, depicted in line drawings that look like free-floating, dismembered arms? Not so much.

5) As in today’s magazines, vintage issues of Harper’s include items I wish I could wear (sky-high heels), items I’d wear if only I had an occasion  (a 1920′s flapper-style gown with beads); and items I would never, ever wear (anything involving a corset. There was a lot of that, apparently, back in the day).

6) The first photographed model appeared on a Harper’s Bazaar cover in 1888. Could the first airbrush artist be far behind? If only that poor young woman knew the reality-TV carnage that her profession would spawn!

7) Lingerie sets from 1906 were more modest than much of my summer wardrobe.

8) So many of these magazine covers are just so, so gorgeous. Do we ever truly appreciate the artistry of our time? Did readers notice the elegant illustrations, the exciting layouts,  and the vibrant splashes of astonishing color? Or did they just see magazine covers?

True, many of the featured covers were produced by people now recognized as great artists. You can see drawings by Andy Warhol, including an array of colorful strappy shoes and an “explosion” of beauty products floating upward from a decorative box. There is a 1912 cover by French illustrator Georges Barbier that almost takes my breath away. Others echo the artistic trends of the time, including early 20th century Dadaism and 1950s modernism.

I have to wonder — will today’s magazine covers ever seem so beautiful, when removed from their original marketing context and viewed as pure aesthetics? Do we just tune them out because they are all around us? Or do they really not make them like they used to?

9) In case you hadn’t learned this from reading The Feminine Mystique, magazines have been giving advice to women for a long, long time. The nature of that advice reveals something about the era, maybe, or about the values of those writing the advice, or — and I think this is more to the point — what the writers imagine to be meaningful or significant to their perceived demographic, even if it is completely, woefully unrealistic for most women.

In its 140 years, Harper’s Bazaar has offered advice from the lofty (how to manage a summer home; what gowns to wear in Newport) to the mundane (throw a Japanese hair stick in your hair! Wear diamond stars like the Duchess of Kent!) Conspicuously absent from this advice is “don’t rely on advice from others” or “spend less money on clothing and accessories.”

Which brings us to my last observation:

10) I suspect the only path to sanity is, and always has been, not to emulate the women in magazines, at least not too much. My great-grandmothers were amazing women, I’m told, but they were probably nothing like the woman on the cover of Harper’s Thanksgiving edition in 1894. Not only is she flawlessly dressed — flowers in her hair, and not a hair out of place — but she’s also serving up a perfectly cooked turkey.

Are today’s magazines really any more realistic in their expectations of us? True, they now acknowledge women’s professional lives, as well they should. But doesn’t that just mean there’s a longer list of things we’re supposed to do perfectly?  Why, that woman just spearheaded a billion-dollar corporate merger! And then she prepared that free-range, locally sourced turkey with gluten-free stuffing!

So let’s remember that magazines are fantasy. We can choose what to imitate, adapt, or ignore. We can say, for example, “Today, I will be gorgeously coiffed OR perfectly dressed. I will look good OR I will cook.” Or, “I’ll wear whatever the hell I want, and we’ll get takeout, because this is my first day off in weeks.”

We’ve come a long way, baby. Thank you, Maggie T, for the reminder.

We have a winner!

With a little help from some invisible robots over at Random.org, I have chosen my MarketPlace giveaway winner. Let’s have a big round of applause for Tamera at Menopausal Supermodel!

Tamera is a blogger and thrift-store shopper with an eye for cheerful colors and fabulous vintage handbags. I’m sure the offerings from MarketPlace will play nicely with her other finds.

Thanks to everybody who entered — I wish you all could have won! If you didn’t win, I hope you might consider shopping MarketPlace’s online catalog. I know I will. How can we feel guilty about shopping when the money is going to a non-profit, fair-trade organization that works toward the goal of empowering women?

In that spirit, feel free to spread good will toward the women in your own lives today. Tell somebody how special she is — how smart, caring, beautiful, or even better, powerful! Who knows, maybe we’ll start a trend.

Thanks again, and I’ll be back with a regular post soon.