I have a friend who judges women on whether or not they remember where they were when Lady Di died. She uses this as a barometer for what kind of woman you are. If you can’t remember or don’t care my friend would instantly dismiss you as “not her kind of girl.”
Well I can take that concept a step further…I know what I was wearing when Lady Di died—a pair of burnt orange Gap jeans, a gray short sleeved t-shirt and a pair of ratty Nike Pegasus shoes, sans socks. I was probably wearing a bad bra too; I don’t remember the brand. Underwear? Who knows? I had been painting my office and made a quick trip to the paint store when I heard the news. I wish I had been more appropriately dressed for the occasion. It was Lady Di after all.
I know it’s silly and probably a giant brain drain but like songs from the 70s I remember almost every important event in my life by the outfit I wore. I am not just talking about clothes I wore in pictures; I am talking about clothes that I wore to my first gyno appt., my first kiss, and my first day of third grade. The list goes on and on, it’s kind of embarrassing.
I also have a list in my brain of my top ten outfits of a lifetime. It starts with an ensemble from third grade. A knit pant suit with yellow and white horizontal striped bell bottoms (who knew that was ever a good look) and a solid yellow knit tunic. And then there was the pair of footless black leggings paired with a fuchsia shaker sweater that went down to my knees—In retrospect I looked like The Big Fig Newton with a ratty perm. Then there was the Rayon black blazer from The Limited that I wore with pleated Seattle Blues acid washed jeans, The Nicole Miller aqua and black print flapper dress with the long waist (it looked hideous on me but I loved the print).
I won’t bore you with the rest of my top ten, but here’s my point. Apparel makes my world-go-round. It’s part of who I am, how I approach the world and how I organize my mind. Weird, and quite possibly shallow, I know. Just think of all the world’s problems that have been left unsolved simply because my brain is filled with memories of polyester and wool. But, oh well, that’s me.
For the record, as I write this I am wearing a J. Crew heather gray long sleeved cotton t-shirt, a pair of strategically ripped jeans by Big Star, my Frye engineer boots with Hue stripped socks, a pair of Calvin Klein undies and a flesh colored Natori bra.
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