French Women... [insert stereotype here]

Isabelle Huppert, 57. Photo from New York Times here.

Going through my e-mail Thursday morning, I saw that the lovely Rubiatonta had sent me a link to a NYT article entitled "Aging Gracefully, the French Way," and my interest, bien sur, was piqued.  I didn't have a chance to read the entire article (actually, two articles) and all of the fascinating reader responses in the comments section until later that night and throughout the next day. 

The article itself is mostly a re-hash of much of what has already been written about French Women™ including some truths (e.g. they pay more attention to skin care than makeup), some gross generalizations, stereotypes, and more than a few "bon" mots that almost made me spew cafe-au-lait all over the monitor.  (This snorter for example: "And even the average Frenchwoman — say, shopping along the Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré or enjoying a leisurely lunch on the Left Bank, or strolling through the Luxembourg Gardens..." This is the equivalent of saying the "average" American woman shops on Fifth Avenue or Rodeo Drive, enjoys an extended lunch at a posh restaurant and then goes for a stroll in Central Park.)  Several of the commenters including some French women or people currently living in France, pointed out the ridiculousness of these examples and the fallacies of many of the generalizations within the article, so I won't fisk everything in there.  (I find that "lifestyle" and "trend" writers in the NYT tend to be from a rarefied, privileged demographic and assume everyone leads the same kind of upper-class lives that they do.)

As une femme americaine who has visited Paris three times in the last four years and tried to pay close attention to the women there, I do see some overall differences between the women of our two countries, even taking the broad diversity of both places into account.  Yes, les femmes d'un certain age in Paris and the few outlying areas we've visited do tend to wear less makeup than their counterparts here.  No, one doesn't see the freakish, sometimes scary results of overdone plastic surgery while walking through the more upscale arrondisements that one might encounter in Beverly Hills (though some commenters observed that the obviously Botoxed face is becoming more common in Paris).  I did see exceptions in Paris, but generally women over 40 don't try to dress like teenagers or 20-something celebrities. Nor does one see legions of women teetering around on stilletto heels.  True, the occasional high heel is seen, however low heels or flats dominate as is often noted, Parisian women do a lot of walking and climbing of stairs on a day-to-day basis. While generally well put-together, not every woman you pass on les rues is stylish or chic.  Frump is evident in Paris too, though you don't see women schlepping around in baggy sweats or oversized tee shirts bearing the logo of a local radio station or a picture of their grandchild.

And yes, *overall* the women in Paris were thinner than a comparable cross-section of American women, but not all Parisiennes are whippet-thin.  While we're on the (inevitable) topic of weight, the assumption that staying slim is a primary component aging well, repeatedly voiced in the article and comments, has limits.  While I'm not advocating that we abandon healthy habits and moderate portion sizes, especially as our metabolisms slow with age, I've also known women who maintain a fashionable gauntness through unrelenting deprivation, only to look haggard, tired and worn.  And how much joie de vivre can we experience when we're always hungry? Do I even need to say that smoking to keep weight down (which French women are reputed to do in large numbers) plays havoc with the skin, not to mention health, or that the reducing "pills and creams" mentioned in the articles are dubious at best?

I say all of the above as a general admirer of French women and style, just to be clear.

But I think the major difference is cultural.  There was a bumper sticker from a few years back, "Change How You See, Not How You Look" and I think the French see women over 40 or 50 very differently than our culture does.  The French are very comfortable with The Feminine (and I mean that more in the grand metaphysical sense rather than just "femininity") and don't stop seeing or valuing women once they reach a certain age.  Though I think it's slowly changing, women in the US seem to have an expiration date and are often culturally invisible after that point.  Duchesse once spoke of the concept of "granny goggles" in relation to hair stylists and older women; I sometimes think our culture wears granny goggles, and this spills over into how women see and treat themselves.  Here in the US, where so often beauty = youth, women go to great lengths to look youthful in the hope of looking beautiful and often wind up looking neither.  Or they give up entirely on trying to look their best or even thinking of themselves as attractive, as women.  Some mentioned in the article's comments section that French women's relentless drive to stay attractive and keep weight off stems from wanting to keep their husbands out of the arms of a mistress, in a culture that tends to be more tolerant of such things.   Perhaps in some circles that's true.  But I also think there's something to be gained from the attitude of valuing ourselves no matter what our age, taking care of our physical selves, not allowing ourselves to become drab and invisible, but rather using our appearance as a form of expression, and allowing our inner radiance to shine through.

Street style photos of les femmes fantastiques from Paris and environs by the gorgeous Tish from A Femme d'un Certain Age. Used with permission.

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Picture (im)Perfect

I wanted to thank everyone for their kind and supportive comments on yesterday's post.  You all are generous, gracious and gorgeous yourselves!

I'll beg your indulgence once more, as I wanted to expand and clarify a bit.

First, in my family "fat" was shorthand for a whole raft of feelings and situations that had nothing to do with adipose tissue.  When my mother said "you look fat in that" it could mean anything from "the sleeves are too short" to "the color is unflattering" to "the fabric looks cheap" to "the hem is uneven" to "I just don't like it."  So even though my knee-jerk reaction was to fire up those old "look fat" tapes, what I really saw when I looked at the picture the first time was that my legs looked disproportionately short, probably due to the camera angle.  But once the body-negative stuff gets activated, all of the rational analysis goes right out the window.  (And despite my family's prejudices, there's nothing inherently wrong with looking fat. Being above a certain size doesn't preclude having great style. Selecting clothing that fits, works with our proportions, enhances our best features and flatters our coloring will do wonders for all of us.)

Another reason I've been reluctant to post modeling shots is that I don't want to give the impression of fishing for compliments. Some of the old "good girl" conditioning, I guess. Don't "toot your own horn." But I need to remember that I don't react that way when other people post these what-I-wore pics and I really enjoy seeing how people put themselves together, (usually I find it downright inspiring!) so I'm doing my best to let go of that bit of conditioning as well.

So many of us, it seems, place a thin film of expectation of how we "should" look over our own images that clouds and distorts reality.  It's not our image that's the problem, but our own expectations of it.  When I can lift that film and look underneath, often what I see is just fine.  Many years ago, after a vacation in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, my mother-in-law was sharing some pictures she'd taken.  "Oh, you're not going to like this one," she said.  In the shot, I was in a bathing suit, sitting in a very unflattering position.  But I remembered that day, what a great time we'd had at the beach, and saw the look on my face captured in the picture: happy, relaxed.  "Actually I think I look pretty good," I told her.
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Weighing In on Les Rondes

Apologies if this rambles and is a bit of a rant.  It's a topic that's close to my heart, having lived it for most of my life.

Tish at A Femme d'un Certain Age kicked off a lively discussion last week with these two posts, and then Duchesse at Passage des Perles followed up with some thoughts of her own. 

I'll admit to carrying more than a bit of baggage of my own on this topic, having been a stocky kid in a fat-phobic family, and having spent the years from my early teens through my twenties living with eating disorders of varying degrees of severity.  I started dieting at age 13 and a weight of about 103 lbs. because I thought I should be as thin as Twiggy, the models in Seventeen magazine and the actresses on TV, and no one around me discouraged that belief.  My mother had her own weight issues/insecurities, and my father had inherited from his family certain WASP-y hangups about weight and food (excess weight is indicative of Lack of Character and lower social class, and acknowledging physical hunger Is. Not. Done.)  So no, I'm not neutral here. 

Obession with weight and food is a life-stealer.  At worst, it can cause disease and death.  At best, it makes one's world increasingly narrow.  I'm certain that my strenuous dieting (and periods of anorexia) at such an early age stunted my physical growth, and certainly shifted my focus away from my potential place in the broader world back into a circular obsession with pounds and calories.  (In fact, this narrowing of focus is well documented among people experiencing starvation.  At the time, I thought it was only further proof of my "weakness" and "lack of character.")

While I do think that young women of today are more aware and media-savvy than I was, I still have to wonder about the damage being done to young bodies and psyches when a single, narrow standard of physical beauty or even just acceptability is promoted.  But it seems that anytime there's a discussion of increasingly skeletal models or attempts to show attractively presented women above a size 4, the chorus invariabley chimes in, 3, 2, 1...But What About Obesity??  So much worse!™

I've seen other articles/studies that back up the quote that Duchesse posted, stating that girls who diet are more likely to be heavy later on.  Would my weight be lower today had I not spent years starving myself, periodically bingeing and eating far less less healthfully than if I'd never had an eating disorder?  Without a time machine and the ability to rewrite history, I'll never know.  But I do know that I wasted far too much mental and physical energy on trying to achieve a size/shape that just isn't realistic for me and never was.

Nancy in comments on Duchesse's post said: One of the things that really annoys me is when weight is presented as a dichotomy: either extreme of thinness or obesity. There is a middle ground; it's where most of us should live, and it's ok!   Yes!!  I'm annoyed by this too (see "3,2,1" above)!  The vast majority of us fall somewhere in between skeletal and obese. Presenting only uber-thin images of women is doing nothing to stem increasing obesity among the general population, and I'd argue that it's actually accelerating it, by encouraging women and even young girls who are not overweight by any stretch of the imagination to diet and wreck their metabolisms and set themselves up for years of eating disorders and higher weights.  As Duchesse pointed out in comments over at A Femme, it's hardly "promoting obesity" to present a few isolated images of larger women, when 99.9% of the time, only the thinnest and youngest are presented as "aspirational."  But why can't we see images of beautiful clothing modeled on women who are size 8, 10, 12, 16?  Who are older than teenagers?  Why does "aspirational" have to mean "impossible for 95% of us?"  Street style blogs used to be an alternative, but now even they seem to focus on either the young and very slender, or the fashion industry insiders.

The result of this, (and I'm in agreement with Duchesse here) is that it's skewed our perception of what's "fat" vs. what's normal and healthy (hint: a wide variety of sizes, due in no small part to genetics).  I'm the first person to say that not enough people here in the US are eating healthfully or being optimally active, but a healthy diet of real food in moderate portions and daily activity do not always result in a culturally sanctioned physique.  I've personally known women who devote much time and energy (agonizing over the precise number of points in a salad, spending hours daily at the gym) trying to achieve a body that has no basis in their own genetic reality, to the degree that the rest of their lives get short shrift, while being applauded by their peers for their "discipline." I find this disturbing and sad.

I'm also admittedly thin-skinned about the moralizing subtext that seems to tag along whenever weight is discussed, having been ingrained as a child with the belief that my non-slender build was somehow a moral failing (despite eating the same food as the rest of my family, fixed and portioned by my mother).  So the needle on my Sanctimony Meter shoots over into the red zone when I hear or read people stating we should stop complaining, that super skinny images of women in media should "motivate" us to "push the plate away" and "get up off the couch and get some exercise."  Or "if you'd just do xyz you'd achieve 4% body fat just like I did!"

Marketers claim that we don't want to see images of women who are size 12 or 65 years old, that it doesn't sell products.  I'd disagree with the first part of that statement, but probably agree with the second part, which is really their motivation.  People who feel insecure are more likely to spend on products that promise to fix them. (Sal at Already Pretty addresses this beautifully here.)  Some women have stopped looking at fashion magazines, stopped watching television, removed themselves from those impossible images. And if you want to do that, fine.  But visual media do have an impact on our culture, or advertisers wouldn't pay the billions annually that they do to present their products.  I've come to believe that cutting ourselves off from our culture isn't the answer, raising our voices to change it is (even if it's writing letters to CEO's you know will never be read, or impotent bloggy ranting).  And keep teaching our kids media literacy, so they learn to question and deconstruct the images they're presented, and ask "who profits?"

Summary: Life is short.  Eat real food, move around whenever you can in ways that you enjoy, and re-evaluate your beliefs and values periodically to be sure they're serving you.  Question and discard those that aren't.  In the end, a little roll of fat around the middle doesn't say anything about the kind of person you are or how much you loved and were loved.
~

Walking the Walk (Part 2 - Next Steps)

First things first: today is the Three Year Blogaversary for Une femme d'un certain age! I'd like to express my most sincere thanks and gratitude to all of you who have read, commented, e-mailed, blogrolled and linked to une femme, and I hope we'll continue to have these fabulous online conversations on style and life and all the rest! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Before launching into Walking the Walk Part 2, I also wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for such thoughtful and engaged comments on Monday's post. It's a relief to know I'm not alone in trying to navigate these murky waters.

It seems that many of us fall prey to some of the same beliefs that keep us in a pattern of settling, so let's unpack those beliefs and see if we can release their hold a bit.

1. Availability and Familiarity. Lack of time is my well-worn excuse for sticking to what I know, and while it's a valid one to some degree, I can make time to familiarize myself with some new retail options. In fact, if I cut back on my internet browsing/shopping for things I don't need, and subsequent trips to return most of those items, I'd free up some time right there! What Jen said in comments on Part 1 about shopping being work is true, yet easy to forget. I use shopping as recreation, which is fine at times, but to achieve the desired goal I need to set priorities and schedule time for this like any other task.

2. Sizing. Shopping only in Petites section is more a lazy habit than anything. I have found some items that fit me well in regular sizes (and need to keep reminding myself that alterations should become Standard Operating Procedure to get the fit Just Right).

3. Lifestyle. It's not like I'd wear my finest clothes to work in the garden or bathe the dogs. But for work, going out to lunch with friends, Saturday night out with le monsieur, why not? What's wrong with standing out (in a good way)? Growing up when I did, I was raised not to be too "proud," to be a good girl and not broadcast my accomplishments lest I make others envious and resentful. Having nice things that get noticed can sometimes feel like "showing off." At an early age I also learned from my mother that my not-thin body was something to be hidden and camouflaged or risk attracting a critical gaze (or my mother's critical comments!). Time to retire those outdated beliefs!

4. Weight. I'm trying to be realistic about this without settling in this part of my life too. I know that I'll never weigh what I did in my 20's or even 30's, but I think I can get the weight back down to where my current clothes fit a bit better. I'm all about balance these days, and am no longer willing or able to undertake drastic regimes or become obsessed with a number on the scale. Just because we are no longer young or have girlish figures doesn't mean we still can't have great style! Knowing what works best for my shape (thanks, Imogen and Karen!) and keeping the possibility of alterations in mind will help me feel good in what I'm wearing.

5. Fear. While it's true that nothing lasts forever, and our favorite items wear out or are discontinued or are "re-designed" (too often with pre-teenage bodies in mind it would seem), there will always be other wonderful pieces somewhere out there that we'll love just as much. We may have some dry spells, but The Fabulous Abides.

So here's une femme's plan for the next five or six months (whenever fall fashions start to hit the stores):

1. Stop Buying, especially More of the Same. I have more than enough clothing to get me through the next several months. There's nothing I need. Another cardigan is not going to add any value to my wardrobe or life. I'm going to stay away from my usual venues and e-tailers. I'm vowing to stop "frittering," along the lines of Make Do Style's challenge, and this includes makeup and accessories I don't need. I'll save up what I'd normally spend in these months to accumulate a decent War Chest when the time comes to shop for real.

2. Gather Inspiration. Rather than shopping online, I've begun collecting pictures of what inspires to create my own "lookbook" which I'll share here periodically. The pictures need not show an exact item I'd want to wear, but rather colors, cuts, textures, stylings, aesthetics and moods that speak to me in some way.

3. Explore. I'm going to set aside some chunks of a few hours here and there to browse around some different boutiques and consignment stores outside of my normal venues. When I am ready to buy, I'll hopefully have honed in on a few retailers that will have a greater likelihood of stocking items that will work for me.

4. Enlist Help. Once fall items start coming in, I plan to make appointments with some in-store shoppers at one or two better department stores, and maybe sales associates at some of the smaller boutiques if I've found anything promising. (This is where the lookbook will come in handy.) I'll try on a bazillion things, maybe engage Karen for an afternoon of focused shopping.

5. Discriminate. Before I spend on an item, I must love it. No more "it'll do's." I must be able to work it into my current wardrobe, or it must fill a gap. (Hello, LBD?)

So that's the plan (which in a nutshell comes down to retraining myself how to shop) to achieve my goal of upping the "fabulous" quotient in my closet, while continuing to pare down to a solid core wardrobe. I'll update how this is going periodically.


Have you changed how you shop? What motivated you, and how did you do it?
~

Walking the Walk (Part 1 - The Usual Suspects)

Thursday, March 18 will be the Three Year Blogaversary of Une femme d'un certain age. I launched this blog right after turning 50, hoping to start an online conversation about style for les femmes d'un certain age, a demographic that at the time seemed to have almost nonexistent representation among fashion and style blogs and websites. I'm pleased to say that there are many, many more of us out there now, adding our viewpoints and voices to the mix of style and fashion bloggers. What I hadn't counted on, and what has been the very best part of blogging has been making the acquaintance of so many wonderful people I now consider friends, many of whom I've had the delightful experience of meeting in person.

I'd also hoped to use the blog to explore and hone my own style and take my wardrobe to the next level. This has and hasn't happened. In my head, my wardrobe goal is clear: a foundation of of well-edited, well-fitted, timeless pieces of best-I-can-afford quality to anchor my wardrobe, and be the basis for fun high/low styling to express my "with a twist" side. Despite these intentions, I continue to restock the same types of items (basic tees, cardigans, jeans, the occasional jacket) from the same mass retailers (Banana Republic, Talbot's, Ann Taylor, J.Crew) as previously. I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with these retailers' lines or that they don't contribute some very workable items to my wardrobe, but...

Some wonderful and thought-provoking blog posts in recent weeks and months by Make Do Style, Imogen, Duchesse, LPC and others have been percolating in my brain, culminating in a moment last week where I stood in my closet unable to move, overwhelmed by how oppressively drab all of my garments seemed. I'm not talking about color necessarily, still love my neutrals; I'm talking about style, quality, details, fit. There's not a single piece of clothing in my closet that I would describe as "fabulous," and that, mes amis, is a sobering realization. (I'm referring to actual garments here--tops, pants, jackets, etc.--not accessories. I do have some great accessories, but tend to rely on them too heavily to carry and elevate the whole ensemble.)

When it comes to clothing I've been settling for less, and in a big way. Settling is the enemy of satisfaction, and lack of satisfaction probably contributes in no small way to my urge to buy the same damn cotton cardigan in three different colors. Despite all of my talk about wanting to create a Goldilocks wardrobe, and embracing the French ideal of fewer items that are all Just Right, I've continued to repeat my pattern of settling for "it'll do," and overbuying. If you're still reading and will forgive a bit more narcissistic navel-gazing, the following are some of the reasons/rationalizations that cloud my thinking and keep me in this rut.

1. Availability and Familiarity. I don't have a lot of time to shop or try on clothes, so tend to shop online and "buy what I know." I wouldn't know where to begin to shop brick-and-mortar other than mall and department stores.

2. Sizing. Habitually limiting my shopping to the Petites section, which in turn limits which retailers I'm visiting. While it's true that *some* items fit better in the Petite (short) cut, this is by no means true for everything.

3. Lifestyle. When I do run across something amazing (like the MaxMara coat I tried on a few months ago) I tell myself that a) it's too nice (read: expensive) for my lifestyle, b) I don't have anywhere to wear it or c) I'll stand out too much.

4. Weight. And this is a biggie (no pun intended). I'm still at a higher weight than I'd like by a few pounds (but a few are all it takes on my 5'1" frame) and have convinced myself that a) better quality isn't available in my size or b) that it wouldn't look good on me anyway. And some of my better wardrobe building blocks (black wool trousers, pencil skirt, decent cashmere tops) are just fitting too tightly these days to be utilized.

5. Fear-based buying. I'll never find the perfect ________ and this is as close as I'll get or I'll never find another _________ that fits me. (Ridiculous, I know, especially when applied to items like tee shirts and sweaters!)

Unexamined, these thoughts have been powerful drivers, but laid out in black and white seem rather silly, n'est-ce pas? Conventional wisdom says that we have to recognize where we are to figure out how to get where we want to go. Coming up in Part 2: unpacking these beliefs and steps to move away from settling and toward sartorial satisfaction.


Do you have beliefs that keep you settling for less when it comes to style, or any other part of your life? Has recognizing them helped you to change your patterns and move ahead?
~

The Artist vs. The Art

Over the weekend, we had the pleasure of watching Coco Avant Chanel (subtitled, bien sur). Those of you who are interested in fashion, vintage clothing or Chanel herself will probably enjoy this movie, as will anyone who enjoys period dramas, complete with lovely sets and costumes. The performances were very good and I liked that the story often alluded to images and influences that helped to shape Chanel's aesthetic, which kept this from being just another movie about the personal life and romantic entanglements of some historical figure. (Whether the specific circumstances shown are historically accurate is doubtful; there's a lot of play with timelines and condensing for the sake of good filmmaking. This is not a documentary.) Those same stylistic elements that drew me to classic Chanel designs are emphasized: simplicity, function, comfort, elegance. And of course lots of black, black, black. The movie does not downplay her opportunism or the calculating way she set out to find and seduce wealthy men in order to better her own circumstances. Of course, l'amour happens too. The story leaves off once she's opened her Paris atelier, then picks up with an epilogue which seems to be set sometime in the early 1960's from the look of the clothing.

Chanel's opportunism did not end once she achieved success as a designer and businesswoman though, and what's often glossed over today was her cozy relationship with the Nazis during the WWII German occupation of France.

Paris during the occupation was a compromising and uncomfortable place for other artists and writers, who tended to keep their heads down: “Oh, I am not looking for risks to take,” said Picasso, her friend, “but in a sort of passive way I do not care to yield to either force or terror.”

Edith Piaf sang in nightclubs for the Nazis. Jean-Paul Sartre said: “Everything we did was equivocal. We never quite knew whether we were doing right or wrong. A subtle poison corrupted even our best actions.”

But Chanel was unequivocal. She decided to place herself snugly in the enemy's bosom, conveniently near to her shop. After the Paris invasion she fled to the country, but returned a year later to demand back her room at the Ritz, which had been commandeered by the Germans. There, aged 56, she shacked up with von Dincklage, a German playboy officer 13 years her junior, who may have been a spy and was known frivolously as “Spatz” or sparrow.

...[after the war] Chanel was arrested and soon released, though no one knows exactly who among the Allies protected her.

...Chanel and her perfume royalties went into exile in Switzerland for a decade, because she was most definitely not wanted at home.

Chanel made a comeback in 1956. The French papers panned her collection as old hat: she was not forgiven. But across the Atlantic, the Americans just loved those bags and little black dresses. Sales grew, Chanel was rehabilitated, and history faded away. Now she is merely a brand in Karl Lagerfeld's hands.

Knowing this, I've been at times a bit conflicted about loving (and buying) accessories, perfumes, and maquillage bearing the name Chanel, and with being so perpetually entranced with her designs and vision. On the other hand, she is long dead, and the business continues to be owned and run by the Wertheimer family who initally financed Parfums Chanel in 1920's and successfully quashed her attempt to take over the company during the Nazi occupation.

But it begs the larger question, at what point do the foibles, failings or even crimes of the artist outweigh the value of their art? Coco Chanel. Elia Kazan. Miles Davis. Picasso. Woody Allen. These are just a few of the people whose work I have loved, depsite knowing things about their personal lives and choices that I find disturbing. I don't have an answer for this. Creative genius often seems to go hand-in-hand with being, well...a self-involved asshole. (And yes, astounding assholery can be present even when discernable talent is absent, see Mayer, John.) As Jeff Goldblum's character in the movie "The Big Chill" says, "I don't know anyone who could get through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations."


Does the personal/public life of the artist impact how you view their art? Have you ever found an action or attitude so unforgiveable that it forever sways your view of the work? Or do you keep the two separate?
~

Les voyages de la mode

Some women are fortunate enough to develop and hone their personal style from a very early age. They know what they like, and they stick with it. Some of us flounder a bit more, not trusting when a certain style or garment speaks to us, perhaps because someone in whom we've vested authority steered us in another direction or perhaps because we're not yet confident enough to march to our inner beat when it goes against current wisdom. We launch ourselves on one style odyssey after another.

But like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, who realizes only after her lengthy travails that she's had the power to go home all along, I've come to realize that while my innate style sense has been trying to guide me, I've often been allowing various style blogs and InStyle and How To Not Look Old and Sex & the City and a plethora of books and articles on how to have _______ style (trend du jour, fill in the blank) to overpower that inner voice. I've often searched for my style somewhere over the rainbow, when it's been right there with me the whole time.

"Classic With a Twist" is my Kansas. The pieces that still most make my heart go pitter-pat are simple, elegant and iconic: a strand (or three) of pearls, a great jacket, well-tailored pants, a cashmere sweater, a classic bag, a silk scarf. But I also need to mix in quirky, slightly edgy elements to keep the whole from looking and feeling too "done" and stodgy. (Emily Gilmore, Society Matron™, pictured at left, is not the look I'm aiming for!) My comfort zone is also a bit more covered up than modern norms; I've never felt right in tight, flashy, skin-exposing ensembles, not even in my clubbing twenties. (And I get cold!) I've always gravitated to Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly and Katherine Hepburn as style icons while my friends were swooning over Madonna's latest look. Owning my style has been a slow and shaky process; fear of being dismissed as drab, boring, or matronly has made me hesitant to fully embrace my classic sartorial inclinations.

And despite my lifelong love of elegant and beautiful clothing, much of what constitutes Fashion these days (with some exceptions, bien sur) just leaves me cold. Very little of what I see from runway coverage or fashion pages or even in designer boutiques inspires or generates desire. Sure, age (and attendant wisdom, hopefully?) is part of it, but so much of the fashion game seems to be about celebrity red carpet looks, edginess and exposure and those have never been inherently part of my style. Still, I often admire women who are able to pull off more fashion forward looks beautifully and organically, even when I know the same looks aren't right for me. Inspiration should only lead to emulation when there's alignment with our inner sense of style, those little clicks of "ahhh, yes!"

What about you? Are you at home with your style, or do you periodically travel down the Yellow Brick Road of fashion? Are there influences in your life that prevent you from owning your style? Or are you still on a search to find it?
~

Bien dans sa peau, encore

(Because I needed to give myself a pep talk, this is a repost from last year.)

"Bien dans sa peau." It's that mythical state that French women supposedly embody from birth (though the vast number of minceur creams and pills in French pharmacies may be a chink in that armor), and, we're told, the foundation to achieving effortless chic.
Being comfortable in one's own skin is not a state that comes easily to some of us. We struggle with our failure to meet cultural standards or even just our own. We starve, crunch, pluck, dye, wax, inject ourselves toward an arbitrary and unattainable ideal. We practice denial: the comfort of going sleeveless on a hot day, ice cream from Berthillon, sex with the lights on, a day at the beach, clothes that actually fit our bodies as they are now.
Not to be morbid, but recent deaths of family, friends and people we knew only from their work bring home the point that Life Is Short. Life is too short to worry that your thighs are too dimply or your ears are too pointy or your boobs are too small or your upper arms sag. Life is to short to get upset at finding another wrinkle or grey hair. Life is too short to spend apologizing for the genetic hand we were dealt.

But "bien dans sa peau" also goes deeper, I think. It's a type of comfort and acceptance of our likes and dislikes, our choices and values, and how we live our lives. It's the knowledge that we're not perfect, and mistakes do not make us worthless. It's a form of grace, of living (and yes, dressing) in alignment with who we are, and not trying to fit ourselves into a mold.
In his usual eloquent way, the Manolo sums it up perfectly: Dress well, live well, treat others well, and do all you can with joyful confidence and others will invariably come to love your flaws as you yourself cannot.
Photo of Simone Signoret from here.

Clutter

Ever since my Goldilocks post, I've been looking at my closet with a critical eye, and feel another major wardrobe purge may be imminent.

Truthfully, I've just been feeling a bit overwhelmed in general, what with the losses of both of my parents earlier this year, our son starting Middle School, worries about the economy, etc., etc. When I get like this, my urge is to simplify, to pare everything down to the bones, to get rid of clutter both physical and mental. But let's start with the physical: I'm going to cut some wide swaths through my closet (again), beginning tonight.

After that, I'm putting myself on a shopping ban (excluding anything amazing stumbled across in Paris) for the next four to six months. I will keep my Goldilocks items, and so should never have one of those "nothing to wear" moments. I talk the talk about upgrading my wardrobe, but as long as I keep spending on the same old "usual suspects," I don't have the motivation or budget to really walk that walk. I'm going to seek out some new places to shop, do lots and lots of trying on, and attempt to hone in on what is really worth buying and wearing. And reporting on my efforts and experiences ici, bien sur!

This will be an interesting experiment.
~

Goldilocks' Closet

Early on in the life of this blog, I posted about trying to develop a more "Goldilocks" style philosophy, and my desire to pass up indiscriminate acquisition for those items that are "Just Right." Fine in concept, but more difficult in practice, as it takes some considerable trial and error to suss out what elements work and continue to express who we are and fit our bodies over time. It's far too easy to be influenced by someone else's Must Have list, or to succumb to the thrill of the new or an otherwise so-so item marked down 70%.

Our lives change and our attitudes and aesthetics shift, and we often want our outward appearances to reflect that. While the style gurus often caution against getting stuck in a style rut, I think for most of us there are some core items that we return to season after season, in whatever form; these are the foundations of our style, and will feel Just Right for most situations. I've done quite a bit of experimentation in the last couple of years, but keep returning to my tried-and-true numbers. For me, those items are:

1. Black trousers. Right now my favorites are Banana Republic lightweight stretch wool in Jackson fit. They dress up, they dress down. When I'm unsure about what to wear, I can always feel good and appropriately dressed if I start with these.>

2. The Jacket. Wear it with above trousers for work or add more bijoux for dressier occasions. Wear it with jeans and a tee shirt to look casual yet pulled together. This Ann Taylor jacket is my addition for this season.

3. Knit tops/tees. As much as I love the classic look of a crisp white blouse, that look doesn't love me. A white cotton tee, neutral 3/4 sleeve tee or a silk jersey long-sleeved top will get me through almost any situation, layered under a jacket, or on its own with a scarf.

4. Jeans. Classic styling, sans embellishment. I'm loving these NYDJ straight leg jeans this season.

5. An interesting pearl necklace.

6. A pointy-toed flat or low-heeled skimmer. My current fave is leopard haircalf, but black leather would work just as well.

7. Black leather ankle boots. My Stuart Weitzman pair is heading into winter #5, and I've added these Fluevogs as a more casual choice.

8. Cardigan. My favorites right now are those with some interesting detail, either from color/pattern or a little bit of ruffle.

9. Gold hoop earrings.

10. Scarves, bien sur!

(At some point in the future, my new pencil skirt may be added to the list.)

Many of you looking at this list might find it a little boring, but that's OK. If I've learned anything from all of the accumulating and culling I've done in the last couple of years, it's that I need to listen to my own style voice, and that I can admire another's stylish choices without needing to emulate them. Each of us has to find our own Just Right.

What are your J.R. items? Have they changed much over the years?

~

No place like...

Some random thoughts inspired by the series of "Home" posts at La Belette Rouge.

For the first few years after we moved into our current home, I'd have periodic bad dreams (they weren't intense enough to describe as "nightmares") where we were going to have to move somewhere else. For most of my adult life, I'd dreamed of a house of my (our) own, and the year I turned forty, finally realized that dream. I'd never pictured myself settling in Los Angeles, but I really like our little WWII-era house: the huge elm tree in the front yard, the curving lath-and-plaster wall in the living room, the trees that line our street and form a canopy overhead, the park across the street where families picnic on holidays and youth soccer leagues hold games on weekend mornings, the original glass doorknobs, the oak hardwood floors we found when we pulled up the worn cranberry carpeting, the vaulted-ceilinged master bedroom that we added in the back about six years ago. But deep in my heart, there's a Home in a place I've never lived, where the summers are green, the autumns are crisp, the front door is red and the place has a sense of history, stability and tradition.

********

I remember a visit to my maternal grandparents' Ohio farmhouse when I was probably about seven. My grandfather had built the house sometime between the two world wars, and the rooms were laid out so that you passed from one to the next; there were no hallways. The staircase rail was slightly crooked. The one indoor bathroom in the back had been added mid-century (prior to that the large family had used an outhouse, which still sat across the front yard by the garage). There was a huge covered porch in the front of the house off the kitchen and living room, where a porch swing was the seat of choice for most of us. My favorite thing was sitting out there on the swing during a rainstorm. In the mornings the smells of coffee and bacon would waft through the heating grate to the upstairs rooms where the kids slept, and in the evenings the adult conversations from the kitchen below rose and fell in pitch as someone told a joke or a tidbit not meant for children's ears. These memories are vivid and strangely comforting. Even as a child I was struck by how much more this felt like "home" than the the house I'd lived in all of my conscious life.

*******

In 1967 when I was ten, my father was doing well financially and we moved to a bigger house in the hills where we could keep our horses. My mother poured all of her energies and no small amount of money into decorating in late 1960's pseudo-Spanish style. People often remarked that our house ought to be featured in Sunset Magazine. It was while we lived here that my parents' marriage and any sense of normalcy in my world began to unravel. My favorite make-believe game during those years was that our house was a luxury ocean liner, and that I was a servant to one of the rich passengers aboard.

********

During a couple of extended periods from my early twenties to mid-thirties, I lived in the San Luis Obispo area. I'd originally stayed there after college, and then returned when my first (brief) marriage ended. I lived in several apartments, but the tightly-knit community of friends I had there was my home. We travelled in a pack, and often many in the group would gather at someone's house and spend the entire weekend. It was the norm to have half a dozen or so people around, and it was in those years I really grew to associate "home" with a houseful of people cooking, eating, cleaning up, playing music, singing, talking, snogging and dancing late into the night, and then getting up and starting all over again with breakfast. The physical aspect of home receded into the background. This communal, existential life worked for a while, until it didn't, and I started feeling the pull toward something more solid, a life more built rather than found. I have that now (a solid marriage, work, a house), but still look for reasons to create big noisy gatherings, as that's when our house feels most like home.

**********

Home isn't something I long to return to; it's something I'm still seeking at some level. My quest is partly for a child's vision of normalcy: turning leaves and yellow school buses in the fall, snowmen in the winter, picnics in the summer, a orderly life, a stable family with a father who comes home at night after work, a mother who fixes dinner instead of drinking and telling us we can eat cereal again. I keep thinking that finding the home of my childhood fantasies will make up for the feeling of growing up on a foundation of quicksand. The rational part of me knows I'm chasing a myth, but that doesn't stop a pang of longing when I visit places with summer rainstorms and old houses with big, deep front porches.

~

This blog has a "Great Personality" *

*Remember when those words were the kiss of death? ;-)

Materfamilias tagged me last week for a most intriguing meme, (The Premium Meme Award, for blogs with Personality) which has turned out to be more challenging than I'd anticipated. The assignment is to list 7 personality traits which are evidenced on one's blog. First, I had trouble coming up with any distinct personality traits at all, and then conversely had trouble editing down to seven.

Donc, les voilà!

1. Enthusiastic. I tend to gush as much in real life as here, where I tend to over-use exclamation points!

2. Polite. Well, mostly. Let's just say my intentions are good.

3. Superficial. But hopefully not shallow.

4. Sociable. Une femme loves company, and one of the greatest pleasures of blogging is being part of an online community (and one that has often crossed over into the real world as I've had the opportunity and utter delight to meet other bloggers and readers over the last couple of years).

5. Obsessive. I tend to mentally fixate on certain things (*cough*Paris*cough*) and I've seen this tendency with what I choose to blog about at times.

6. Polished. I try not to send my blog posts out in public still in a housecoat and curlers.

7. Committed. (Or maybe I ought to be!) This is my 645th post!

I'm tagging seven blogs with Great Personalities (and I mean that in the best possible way)... Doll Cannot Fly, Miss Janey's Place, Fashion After Forty, Bonjour Madame, La Belette Rouge, and A Femme d'un Certain Age. Participation is totally voluntary; after all I am a great believer in Blogging Without Obligation.

~

Schooled in Style

On Saturday, I had the pleasure and privilege to participate in a group style workshop led by Imogen Lamport of Bespoke Image (whose blog, Inside Out Style is a treasure trove of great style information), with Karen (Of A Certain Age) assisting. Karen is starting an image consulting business here in LA.

I learned so much from this one-day workshop, and would recommend it even for (especially for?) women who are well established in their own style, as it provides a professionally trained eye and fresh perspective.

Some things I've learned/realized:

1. Our color changes as we age (we lose pigment), and getting a professional color analysis every decade or so can be a great way to keep us looking our freshest and best. The last time I'd had my colors analyzed was in my late twenties, when I learned that clear, bright, warm colors ("Spring") were best for me. In recent years I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed by really bright colors, and gravitating toward more muted warm tones. Turns out my instincts were correct, as the color analysis revealed that my best colors are now "dusky" warm, light colors. A couple of the women in the group were surprised to learn that their best colors were in the warm family, when they'd always assumed they were "cool."

2. While I'd always assumed that I was an "hourglass" shape, it turns out that I'm really more of an "H" which changes what styles will work best for me. And we also learned that proportion (relative lengths of different areas) is as important as shape when finding what will create a balanced and harmonious effect. It can make a huge difference to an overall look where sleeves and necklines and hems hit. Even just a couple of inches difference can totally change the entire look of an outfit.

3. Pattern, texture, scale, and structure (or lack of), and horizontal, vertical and diagonal lines (not necessarily patterns, but rather where pockets hit, in which direction seams or gathers go) all factor into the mix. (It can get complicated!)

4. Women's bodies really do have a lot of natural variety. It's one thing to know that on a philosophical level, and another to really see it. Two women of the same height and size may be built totally differently, and look good in vastly different styles. Too often we beat ourselves up when something doesn't look good on us and blame our bodies for not being "right," when really it's about figuring out the brands and shapes that are cut right for our unique physique.

5. I really do need to reduce the percentage of black in my wardrobe, especially near my face. Thanks to Imogen's "black aversion therapy," it became very apparent that black actually does drain a lot of color from the face, and emphasizes lines and shadows.

6. Personality matters. Some styles may look great on us but will feel uncomfortable if they aren't in sync with our personality (or in my case, personalities). Sometimes a garment that breaks all of the rules is something that will make you feel great, and if that's the case, wear it anyway even if it isn't the most flattering thing in your closet.

7. What we admire isn't always what we should emulate. In a conversation with Karen on the ride back from the shopping portion of the day, I was reminded once again that the styles that I tend to admire most on others really don't fit with my body, my personality or my life. (I will never be an "Elegant Chic.") My personality is more playful, my life more casual and complicated, and my style needs to reflect those factors. I think I gravitate to those more refined looks as that was what my parents idealized. Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Jackie Kennedy...cool, slim icons of WASP-y perfection were the feminine ideals I was taught to aspire to. Despite my various and sundry style rebellions since childhood, something in me has never fully pushed aside that particular archetype as an attainable ideal.

But everyone has their style icons. The trick is to separate fantasy from reality, to take what inspires, what works, a pinch from here and there and create a personal mix, rather than trying to follow literally another's style script. I've been inadvertently doing this the last few years: starting with clean lines and neutral color, and adding some whimsical or artistic or casual touches of my own when the purely classic elements start to feel stultifying.

With what I learned from Imogen on Saturday, I now have even better tools to add, edit, tweak and continue to develop a style that's workable, flattering, cohesive and most importantly, my own.

Thanks, Imogen and Karen!
~

The Shoe Abides

Tant pis, the dress was not meant to be, pas pour moi. Still trying to navigate the uncharted, swirling, muddy waters of "style after fifty," I occasionally end up stuck in an eddy, adrift or even beached on the bank. The reality is that I don't have the physique, budget, temperament or discipline to pull off pure, unrelenting strict, or even a modified-but-close version. This is yet another style that I'll admire on others, and periodically incorporate elements that work with my own "classic-with-a-twist" aesthetic.

For the quirky part of me must have her due. And when clothing kicks us to the curb, the shoes are there, waiting, to pick us up, dust us off, and give us a pep talk.



And what better footwear to help ease one through the vicissitudes of style: fun, idiosyncratic, whimsical, extremely comfortable (accommodates my orthotics, top strap is adjustable), in a unique yet versatile color and also on sale. Think! brand from zappos.com.

New Romance

For those of use who are mariées or in committed relationships, no matter how fulfilling, the thrill of a new romance is something we've put behind us (unless we take lovers, which I'm neither advocating nor condemning, but it isn't une femme's style). But we still need that little zing of the new, which, je crois, is why some of us enjoy shopping, fashion and style. A new dress, a new pair of shoes, a new lip color are ways to create that sense of possible selves which I think is necessary to keep us slogging through the underbrush of our day-to-day lives.

When it comes to fragrance, I cannot commit. I am fickle, always willing to try something new, even while I am loving what I am wearing. Sometimes with romance, it's the times you're not actively looking that you stumble into something wonderful, and it happened to me on Saturday. I was visiting Saks as I'd promised Karen I'd try the Giorgio Armani Shaping Foundation (more on that later this week) and right next to the GA counter was the dreaded Perfume Spritzer. She handed me a cloth ribbon sprayed with the new fragrance, and I liked it enough to allow her to spritz my arm. Now, you'd think I'd be more wary, after my last Fragrance Coyote Date (you know, the kind where you'd gnaw your own arm off to get away from the smell). But I was entranced, and now I'm enchanted.

The fragrance in question is a new one, "essence" by Narciso Rodriguez. It's not available online yet, but Saks carries it. When it comes to designer fragrances, I'm pretty much immune to hype. I thought Sarah Jessica Parker's "Lovely" smelled like skunk. I like some of the Jo Malone fragrances, but they disappear in an hour. Pretty bottles are nice, but to me, the only things that matter when it comes to le parfum is how it smells right away, and how (and if) it smells a few hours later. This one works on all counts. It goes on very floral (but not sweet) and the first note I detected was rose (a favorite). A few hours later, the musk base notes predominate, but they're soft, not overpowering. I gravitate toward floral perfumes, but so many of them become cloying after the first hour or so, and this one doesn't. It's sophisticated but accessible, feminine but not sickly sweet. So I'm adding "essence" to my stable of fragrance loves.

The best part: even mon mari approves!

Picture at top from www.adclassix.com
~

Scrimp, Splurge, Deprivation, Abundance

In this economy, it's a rare bird who isn't cutting back on spending, or at least talking about cutting back on spending. Une femme has embarked on an aggresive savings plan, which has cut deeply into discretionary spending, and I've been doing some soul searching about what luxuries are expendable, and where I can cut back.

Having been on many diets in my younger days, I know the trap of the "deprivation effect." We deprive ourselves of what we really want, and end up eating an entire package of caramel rice cakes instead of the piece of chocolate that would have satisfied the craving. Likewise, sometimes we "spend around" that thing that we really want: instead of that $300 pair of boots that we LOVE, we buy the $100 substitute, and feeling vaguely unsatisfied, proceed to buy a bag and a sweater from the final clearance table, ultimately leaving the store still having spent the $300. We pass up the $100 eye cream and spend $100 on random makeup. When that deprivation effect gets triggered, all we can think of is more, or the next thing.

Another manifestation of the deprivation effect making it tough to curtail spending are all of the discounts out there right now. There's a part of me that worries that if I don't grab two pair of those lightweight wool trousers in my size at 30% off RIGHT NOW, that I'll never find anything as good (at as good a price) ever again. Yes, I am a fear-based shopper.

The antidote for this is to cultivate a feeling of abundance. Abundance, not in the sense of having a large quantity of stuff, but of having exactly what we need. In fact, having too much can get in the way. Doing my closet purge a few months ago actually increased my sense of abundance, because instead of looking at a whole lot of "not quite" I had a clearer view of the "just right."

Also contributing to our sense of abundance are the non-material things that make our lives more satisfying. Time is a big one for me: time to relax, read a book, visit with friends, sit on the front porch and watch the birds, work in the garden. When our lives feel overwhelming and out of balance, we sometimes rely too much on Retail Therapy to provide that satisfaction. The things we buy never quite scratch that itch; we get the immediate gratification, but not much more.

Cultivating an attitude of abundance makes it easer to be more discriminating. Do I love it or just like it? Yes, it's my color, but don't I already have something similar? Do I really notice that much difference between the $25 neck cream and the $125 neck cream? The trick seems to be to find areas where one can scrimp that don't trigger the feelings of deprivation, and save the splurges for where they will provide the most satisfaction. Right now, I'm fine to pass on salon manicures, spa facials, fancy meals out, designer handbags or Hermès scarves. I'm test driving some less expensive face creams (jury still out) and have scaled back to single-process hair color. I'm holding the line on purchasing any more clothing or shoes right now, as I have plenty for the current season, which will mostly last (within a 10-15F range) until June. But I need my good coffee, my Chanel lipgloss and my Anthelios sunscreen.

What about you? Where do you scrimp and where do you splurge? Where do you find non-shopping satisfaction?

~

Les Moods, La Mode

When it comes to defining and refining a personal style, une femme is nothing if not ambivalent. A combination of the aging process and the loosening dress code at work have left me feeling a bit adrift at times, which was one of the reasons I started this blog soon after my 50th birthday (been at it almost two years now!). My pendulum of style experiments has swung a full arc. Results, as they say, have been mixed.

I come by this vacillation honestly. My mother, who came from humbler circumstances and married into an upper-middle-class and more-than-a-little-snobbish family used swing between a very conservative, Jackie Kennedy-inspired style and a more bohemian mode. I've inherited that conflict between wanting to fit in and be accepted among the swells (which rationally I fully recognize as an idiotic premise), and wanting to thumb my nose at stuffiness and convention. My pattern seems to be that when I'm feeling a bit unsure or insecure, I retreat into more serious, structured, classic styles (conceding my need for approval, if not so much from my paternal family anymore, then from the arbiters of style who decree the "classic items that every woman must have"). When I'm feeling more upbeat and confident, I lean toward a simple but more bohemian, eclectic melange with a bit of chien if I can manage it. The latter tends to get me nearer to my own Style Sweet Spot. This wardrobe Clash of the Titans has its fallout; one might be forgiven if they came to the conclusion that my closet was shared by the two stylistically opposite mothers-in-law from Dharma & Greg.

I've never been a natural girly-girl, and have long recognized that flounces and frou-frou just don't work for me, not only because of my shape, but also because the uber-feminine just doesn't jibe with my temperament. I do like to play off certain style references, but usually with tongue in cheek. However, I'm now past the age where I can appropriate and wear certain items ironically; now some styles come across as just too literal, and the whimsy gets lost in the translation.

For example, I spent a few weeks recently studying the iconic Chanel style, in an attempt to translate it into something wearable, only to ultimately conclude that it felt contrived and forced. (In Simon Doonan's parlance, I'm trying to do Socialite when I'm really more of a Gypsy/Existentialist at heart.) These days, a jeans/sweater/jacket/boots/scarf ensemble feels right, much more so than structured tweeds and ropes of chains and faux pearls, though I still admire that look on others.

I don't know if my style will ever settle in one place, though. In the past, when I've purged one of my personalities from the closet, I've ended up replacing many of the castoff items after a few months. So it's not time to throw the Chanel-esque out with the bathwater just yet, but rather to keep experimenting with the elements I like most and figure out how to wear in a way that's aligned with my current sensibilities, and retains a sense of humor.

~

The Saturday Night (Closet) Massacre

The Bland Family Closet*

Une femme has been making noises for months about doing a ruthless closet purge, and it has finally happened. Beginning Friday night I spent about 15 hours over the weekend pulling, sorting, bagging up clothes to donate at my local thrift store. (Or photographing and posting over at Emotional Baggage. Make me an offer, I just want these to find a good home!)

A few things I've realized:

1. The hardest clothes to get rid of are the ones I've rarely or even never worn, but that have sentimental value, like my Air Garcia t-shirt (bought in 1992 at the one and only Dead concert I ever attended) or the coffee-themed Hawaiian shirts I bought in Hawaii and wear maybe once ever five years when someone has a luau party. The second toughest items to purge are the ones that I've worn much and loved, but that either are worn out or no longer fit.

2. Impulse buying isn't always a bad thing. Some of the items that have become my core favorites were purchased on impulse. If it speaks to you, it fits, it's within your budget, and you have occasion to wear it, don't dither.

3. After the purge, it's a lot easier to face getting dressed in the morning. I can see everything, and am down to the core pieces that I know actually fit and work for me. Over-abundance and too many choices can be paralyzing, and weigh me down mentally and emotionally.

4. I am just not a skirt/dress person. I kept only two skirts, and no dresses (though I only had two).

5. I am, however, a jacket person (though I already knew that) and while I thinned out my collection considerably, a couple of brilliant additions found their way in over the weekend (more in an upcoming post).

6. I now have a wardrobe that is a) Paris-worthy and b) will cover pretty much any occasion short of black tie (and if I ever get invited to one, I know where I can rent).

7. My tried-and-true wardrobe philosophy (stick to simple, neutral, classic pieces, update with accessories or an interesting jacket) may be boring, but it's what I keep coming back to and what works for me. For some, that might seem like a rut, but after spending so much energy trying to "find my style" I realize I already have.

* Not MY closet, mine isn't that neat and has much more black. Closet photo from here.

~

Class Act

When I was growing up, "class" was something we were taught to aspire to. Having class implied a certain level of refinement, manners and education. In my mother's parlance, the opposite of classy was "tacky" and was exemplified by loud gum chewing, too-tight clothing and overdone makeup or jewelry. But sometimes the distinction was a matter of degree too subtle for my young mind to grasp. Jackie Kennedy's faux pearls were classy, the huge rhinestone costume brooches (which I loved) worn by our babysitter were tacky. A slight bouffant hairdo was classy, a full-on beehive was tacky. A quiet chuckle was classy, a loud chortle, tacky. The old definitions of "class" seem ossified and elitist today, a quaint artifact from ancient times. Class has fallen out of favor.

In fact, we've swung to far the other way in our ME-First!, trash-talking, nothing-succeeds-like-excess, Reality TV-ized world where Bling is King, Catfights are Cool and Manners Drool, that une femme thinks it's time for a return to the aspirational ideal of Class (or Manners or Civility or whatever you want to call it). I'm not talking about a revival of that old classist ideal I grew up with which was dependent on breeding or money and enforced through snobbery, but rather one that comes from actions and attitudes; a more democratic Class that we can all work toward and achieve. A modern interpretation of Class isn't about having a finishing school education, the "right" clothes, or even knowing which fork to use (though I'm all in favor of basic table manners), but about integrity and doing the right thing. When I think about Class Acts, here some things that come to mind, as always in no particular order:

• Honoring your obligations. (showing up on time, following through with what you've promised.)


• Taking responsibility for your actions and mistakes.


• Keeping your cool under pressure.


• Graciously accepting a compliment without a qualifying statement after "thank you."


• Giving honest and heartfelt compliments.


• Being conscious of the people around you. (Holding doors for those behind you, offering to help someone struggling with packages, not cutting right across another's path.)


• Treating clerks, cashiers, janitors, bus drivers, waitresses, postal workers, the people on the other end of the 800# customer service line, and your annoying co-workers with courtesy and respect, and remembering that they're people too, not just robots serving your needs. (Also, not talking on your cell phone while conducting a transaction!)


• Dressing in a way that shows respect for yourself and those around you.


• Neither hiding your intelligence nor wielding it as a club.


• Standing up for yourself without resorting to abuse.


• Delighting in others' joys, not in their misfortunes.


• Being mindful that "there for the grace of God go I." While I believe in personal responsibility and that choices have consequences, it helps to remember that the playing field isn't level and that life throws curve balls at all of us; even those who make all of the "right" decisions can fall on hard times.


• Rather than complaining endlessly about circumstances, looking for solutions.


• Helping when you can: volunteer, donate.

My ever-classy readers...what would you add to this list?
~

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Materfamilias posted this poem a few days ago:

To My Last Period (Lucille Clifton, 1991)

well girl, goodbye,

after thirty-eight years.

thirty-eight years and you

never arrived

splendid in your red dress

without trouble for me

somewhere, somehow.

now it is done,

and i feel just like

the grandmothers who

after the hussy has gone,

sit holding her photograph

and sighing, wasn't she

beautiful? wasn't she beautiful?

The poem was very evocative for me, especially that second stanza. I don't miss the monthly trouble, but I feel caught in that disorienting space between the hussy and the grandmother, not one anymore, nor the other yet. D'un certain age.

My mother and her friends had a euphemism for menopause: The Change. As in, "Arlene's going through The Change," while exchanging the kind of knowing look that drove us kids crazy.

But now that I'm officially on the other side of menopause, the euphemism rings true. It's not just saying goodbye (and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!) to your periods, accompanied by maybe a hot flash or two. Nope, there's a whole package, and sister, you're along for the ride.

Most of the changes I can accept. I pluck the coarse hairs that occasionally sprout on my chin, I add a dab of concealer to the brown patches that appear suddenly despite my liberal use of 50+ sunscreen. A good night's sleep is no longer a given; some nights it feels like I'm trying to snooze atop a pile of bricks. My libido has gone into hiding, but reemerges after a few kisses. I've never been one of those women who trusted in or (knowingly) traded on her good looks, so the prospect of being no longer young and pretty holds little dread for me.

But last weekend I culled a half dozen or so pair of pants from my closet that fit nine months ago and are now too tight. This bothers me, but what bothers me more is the part of me that sees this as some sort of failure. I really thought I'd evolved beyond this kind of thinking and made peace with my body, but here it is again showing me that there is still work to be done.

It's hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head. - Sally Kempton

I don't have many regrets in my life, but one that I still nurse is that I wasted so much physical and mental energy on the misguided attempt to force my body to achieve an impossible ideal, and to let the failure to achieve it impact my sense of self-worth so profoundly.
Wasn't she beautiful? Wasn't she beautiful?
A few days ago, Duchesse posted a picture of a lovely young woman in a tight red dress, and pondered whether she herself had ever dressed to create the same effect. Ultimately she concludes:
I know women who are mired in mourning for their lost effect. What is the point? I'd love to be able to carry off this dress, but know (and most of the time accept) that the natural arc of life has removed that possibility.
Let's have a moment of appreciation for our bodies, whether voluptuous or lean, smooth or lined, soft or firm. What we were, and on our journey, what we have become.
Hear, hear.
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