What Not to Wear
October 28, 2008, by Connie Stetson
I was standing in the grocery store line the other day perusing magazine headlines: “Madonna Gives Birth to Satan’s Love Child,” “Brad and Angelina Adopt Cat,” “Bulimic Brittany Barfs Barrels—Spagos Diners Disgusted,” when something so mind-boggling, so shocking caught my eye, I gasped. Glamour magazine’s cover page, in all its glossy glory headlined, “What to Wear at 20, 30, 40, to be Your Sexy Best.” I was aghast. All I could think of was when did it happen? When did I fall off the fashion radar? What about MEEEEE?????
It hadn’t occurred to me that I would be facing this dilemma so soon. I’m standing at the crossroads of Juicy Couture and Talbot’s. I’m pretty clear that at my age wearing the word “JUICY” on my ass is just false advertising, but I’m also not ready for the muumuus and leisure wear that I see in the next department, and I sure as hell don’t want to look like a Republican, all coiffed and suited up so tight I squeak.
One of my favorite TV guilty pleasures is the fabulous What Not to Wear. Our experts, Stacy and Clinton, take a mousy, blousy, wrong, wrong, wrong frump and transform her into a magnificent, self-confident creature. I love them (tho’ if I hear the word “chic” one more time, I think I’ll barf barrels), and they are right about how you turn up on the outside says oodles about how you feel on the inside, BUT—what about MEEEE????? I’m not in my granny years yet, am I?
I have yet to see anyone really stand for our age group. I ain’t dead yet, so I’m not ready for shroud wear. Where do I shop? Not at the mall….Abercrombie and Fitch doesn’t make a size that one of my breasts will fit in and their music makes my ears bleed. I’ve never seen Stacy or Tim Gunn (love him) take on anyone in their fifties, sixties or beyond, and here comes that “invisible woman” feeling again.
Our Boomer generation has pushed the lines of age, health and wealth far beyond anyone’s expectations. Can we not insist that designers market something stylish, wearable and economical for us? And because it’s just the kind of gal I am, I am willing to offer myself to Stacy and Clinton, body, soul and wardrobe, as the sacrificial lamb for all my fifty-plus sisters. Or—turn me in, I promise not to be offended.