I've Worn All The Dresses

Growing up, my mother, father and I used to go shopping together, in a manner of speaking. The three of us drove along route 9 or Route 17 in New Jersey  to Loehmann’s or Alexanders, standard religious shrines for the devout discount shopper.

My father would bring the newspaper and patiently wait in the car or, if the shop provided seats near the front door or dressing room, he sat with other men who also had newspapers or the ability to snooze anywhere. My mother and I would carefully shop, then the three of us would have Chinese food. In the 50’s and early 60’s, Chinese food was as exotic as it got in New Jersey.  Pizza was considered a staple, just like deli.

My mother, who had worked in a dress shop before she married, examined the garments to check the feel of the material, the seams, the generosity of hem and other secrets that revealed the garment’s worthiness. I still walk into a store and skillfully slide the dress hangers along the pole, internally saying, “no, no, no, hmmmm try it on, no, no". I’m not sure I choose the dress or it chooses me, or my mother chooses it for me. I have occasionally, daringly bought a dress out of my usual repetative style, but I don’t know if I’ve actually ever worn one. I can recognize the right dress as easily as I can identify my daughters on the other side of the park. Red was always a good color for my olive skin, green was a no-no. Simple lines, simple style, no excessive ornamentation.  I’m sure I’m not alone in this experience of having been imprinted as a duckling and now, as an old goose, I don't change.

Years ago, I had a group of students at my home for a failed attempt at intellectual discussion. I was in the kitchen with Deanna. She asked where she could find a fork. “Where did your mother keep the silverware?” I asked. She went, like a young beast imprinted to her mother, right to my silverware drawer. I believe we repeat and repeat, often unaware. Back to clothing…

I read an article in People magazine (one of the few issues when they weren't writing about weight) in which they followed brides as they selected wedding dresses. The only one I remember was a young woman who chose a confection of bows, ribbons, and spangles, all set into voluminous poufs of material. She said that she wanted her wedding dress to be special, different from all the other dresses she had ever worn. My mother would have had a great deal to say to this young woman.

Over the years, I have probably bought hundreds of dresses, suits, slacks that met my mother’s specifications, and I have bought others that did not. That second collection of clothing were, for the most part, given away in good condition, having been pulled from my closet and repeatedly tried on, put back on the hanger, moved to the back of the closet, then to a suitcase hidden away. Occasionally in a pique of independence or cheapness, I have actually worn the dress or whatever, unhappily and later ripped it off after an uncomfortable day. What I can wear and not wear seems to be as effective as the electric fences that keep dogs in a gateless yard - go too far and suffer the consequences. I no longer fight it.

But now, I have worn them all, seen the clothes repeated in a slightly different fabric in 2026 than 1998; longer than I wore in 1978, or designed with new buttons, shoulder pads, or collars. Minor distinctions. I have traded the pin striped black dress for the pin striped navy suit, for no suit. I switched one black pants suit for another, one simple black cocktail dress for an almost identical one ten years later. The blue silk blouse was finally too stained to wear so I have another. Same with the dark green one. So shopping has taken on a weird tone. I like new, fresh clothes, like fresh food, but there is nothing novel, or stimulating in them.

I remember that the artist Georgia O’Keeffe wore black and white exclusively as she got older. I used to assume this was an affectation. Now, I wonder if she had simply gotten tired of the repetition and saved her colors for painting.

 Don't forget: Saturday May 3 at 2:00 PM at Secret World Books in Highland Par, Linda will be bragging about Not The Trip We Planned. If you can come, please do. If you know shut-ins in Highland Park, perhaps they need a field trip.