Feel Pretty. All Ways.
Somehow I ended up in fashion for most of my career. My parents would tell you it made sense since I used to create wild and imaginative outfits as a child. I wore tights on my head to have long, luscious hair. I put tutu’s on top of the tights. I wore skirts over skirts and mixed colors and patterns.
In my art school days, I wore long underwear with short skirts and my favorite car-seat pleather coat. I made drawings of haircuts, went to Astor Place and got lopsided, funky haircuts. I went through a yellow-ochre phase, from clothes to make up (not a good color for me!)
These days I look quite conservative in my favorite jeans and blazer or simple black dress, but I know I’m still funkadelic inside.
I choose my outfits to feel like me; to feel beautiful as me.
When my mother was fighting cancer, her body changed dramatically. And with it, her sense of self.
I went on shopping sprees until I found the right mixture of comfort, safety and beauty. I bought thick cotton t-shirts that hugged her body but weren’t tight, velour lounge-wear so my mom felt comfortable but wasn’t walking around in pajamas, those incredibly soft socks sold everywhere, shoes that were comfortable and ok looking, a plush cashmere sweater with no buttons so she could wrap it around her body like an elegant and sophisticated blanket, and scarves, scarves and scarves.
The first time I bought her clothes, I laid them out on the couch in her house. My parents came home from a doctor’s appointment and when my mom walked in and saw it all, the look on her face was breathtaking.
Over 3 years of suffering and endless body humiliations and changes, Mom and I bought clothes that made her feel like her old self was still present. She and I knew her old body was gone, maybe forever, but that didn’t mean she had to feel like someone else. She was still here.
My sisters and Dad joined in. They added to the collection of scarves and pants and sweaters. Mom had a brand new wardrobe that fit her, made her feel pretty and gave her a grounding in herself – she was still here.
Fashion is a tool. It’s not about the brand or the price or the trend. It’s about choosing a physical manifestation to express your sense of self and to feel pretty, from the inside out.
My mom used to close emails with “ISH” for “I’m still here.” I wish she were.