I suppose it was inevitable, given that my female relatives in my Mom's family always dressed well. Big Babci instilled the virtues of clean, neat and well-fitted clothing; everything had to be 'just so'. The epitome of that virtue was my beloved Cioci Ena. Even going to the grocery store had nary a hair out of place nor the slight tint of lipstick. "Permanent"s were protected by plastic bonnets in the rain or in the pool. My Mom and her sisters followed suit, although they could occasionally be caught wearing 'leisureware' on the weekends. (funny how that has become high fashion in my daughter's high school).
Now I have seemed to go through an image re-invention every 5 years or so. When I made the gradual (and sometimes stressful) transformation from preschool special ed teacher to public relations coordinator, I realized my wash-n-wear playdoh-proof wardrobe had to get replaced by tailored, dry-cleaned suits and mix-n-matchable outfits. When I transitioned (again) to instructing in postsecondary education, some of my clothes could travel with me but some had fallen out of style and usefulness.
Then, the inevitable occurred: a notable birthday ending in zero (you can guess which one). And with that came a creeping sense and fear of loafers, sweatsuits, and double-cuffed turtlenecks--y'know, fashion staples for women 'of a certain age'. There is a name for this condition: Frumpyphobia , the fear of looking or acting frumpy, especially before one's time.
Of course, my Cioci Ena never exhibited any of the signs of Frumpyphobia. Dresses were still worn (with pantyhose!), pantsuits were shapely, and makeup was impeccable. And I think perhaps my female cousins experienced the early symptoms at the typical cusp of adolescence, as they all still dress quite well. But me, well...I seemed to always be a 'late bloomer' compared to them. So, much like chicken pox, my later-in-life symptoms of Frumpyphobia exhibited themselves in full force.
Where could I find my cure? Well-dressed coworkers? Oprah? Books? E-books? All of the above, and more, seeking that certain combination of 'j'nais se quois' and comfortable confidence. With school on break and armed with fashion templates in my head and $200 in my pocket, I looked for the next re-invention of myself. (note: I keep consignment stores and re-sale shops well-shopped and stocked). Voila! I am finally going through that dress-up stage my poor mother has always waited for, the stage where I was found playing in sandboxes or biking down dirt hills with breakneck aplomb.
As I write this, though, maybe it is not about the clothes, or the perfect lipstick color, or just the right haircut. Certainly my Cioci Ena owned all of these. But perhaps what made all of the outer package more visible was what the inner package shone through: faith, kindness, caring, love of family. Perhaps feeling grounded in these values made Cioci Ena stand a little more confidently, a little more self-assuredly, upon which all of the outer package was displayed.
Maybe that is the lesson learned: I can't buy self-confidence on a rack. Maybe the second lesson learned is: by being grounded in what I truly value makes my 'fashion' all the more authentic. Maybe the third lesson is: what I need may not always be what I want.
Now if I could just get rid of these puffy dark circles under my eyes...
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