Mandatory Fun and the Little Black Velvet Dress: A Social Experiment

Last weekend, tragically, George broke his favorite wine glass, the one commemorating the U.S. Air Force’s 50th anniversary. His sadness reminded me of the night he acquired that wine glass, which reminded me about the little black velvet dress I wore the night he acquired that wine glass, which reminded me how, when I wore the little black velvet dress on the night he acquired that wine glass, men noticeably talked to my boobs instead of to me.

George had to attend a dining out for the 50th anniversary and of course he wanted me to tag along. Military parties come in two varieties: fun and "mandatory fun." Dining outs, or military formal banquets, are usually fun occasions, at least when flying squadrons get together to party with rituals, toasts, and lots and lots of alcohol. This dining out, however, was “mandatory fun.” Few of George’s friends were going, and not one of mine.

Oh, joy. Get dressed up and go to the Officers’ Club; eat cold, bad food; converse with strangers; and wait until given permission to go pee after some boring speech about blah, blah, blah.

I’m sorry if this doesn’t convey my deep and sincere respect for the awesome work of the Air Force over its first half century.

For once in my life, I didn’t have a formal dress to wear, having donated the old ones I’d worn for years to Goodwill some months earlier. At first, I didn’t expect to have trouble finding a suitable dress for a reasonable price, but after much fruitless shopping, I realized a reasonably-priced, attractive dress that fit me did not exist in Boise, Idaho, in 1997. The only acceptable dress I could find was almost $400.

Um, no. Just no. I didn’t pay that much for my wedding dress.

So I dug through my closet and found a little black velvet slip dress that George bought at Victoria’s Secret a few years before. I’d never had the guts to wear it out in public because the v-neck plunged rather alarmingly, but it was at least a semi-formal cocktail dress with a pretty—if short—swirly skirt. It seemed the best option at the time.

In 1997, I was in pretty good shape. The dress was a size 4, my boobs were perky but not terribly large (I wore a barely B cup size), and other than my cankles, I rather liked my body.

Still, I wasn’t in the habit of wearing plunge necklines and showing that much leg. I even had to buy a new bra for the dress as my old, strapless bra peeked unattractively out the top of the dress’s neckline. I tried on at least twenty different bras at five or six different stores before finding a skimpy black push-up that wouldn’t show.

Standing alone in the dressing room, I didn’t mind the décolletage. After all, I was saving big bucks by wearing this little black dress.

This very little black dress.

The night of the dining out, George saw the results of my frugality. He was not amused. He asked if I could put on a sweater. I said no. He asked if I had a scarf. I said no.

On the hour-long drive to the base, he kept glancing nervously at my boobs. I decided this was the perfect social experiment: what, indeed, is the effect of cleavage on social interactions with both a spouse and strangers at a formal event?

The answer, which did not surprise me and I’m sure will not surprise you, is complete and total distraction. Even my smallish boobs were enough to distract pretty much every man I encountered. None of them could maintain an interesting line of thought for conversation, and when they could form words at all, they spoke those words to my boobs, which, to my knowledge, completely lack ears.

As you might imagine, I had a blast with my little social experiment because the circumstances were completely safe and secure, and it was particularly entertaining to watch George squirm. He didn’t leave my side the entire night and tried repeatedly to tie his napkin around my neck. Also, he didn’t flinch when, later that year, I purchased a $120 evening dress on sale at Macy’s that had a modest neckline and did not require a skimpy push-up bra. Never again has any man, other than my properly wedded husband, addressed my boobs in conversation.

On the whole, I rather prefer it that way.



Here's a picture from the Christmas party later that year, for which I bought the dress with the modest neckline. As you can see, this party was definitely fun, and not at all of the mandatory type. Also, note how I look boobless. George really liked this dress.

Out of the Closet

In spring and fall every year, I enact a ritual older than Twiggy: the Seasonal Wardrobe Shift. In spring, I put all my warm, fleecy clothes into storage bins emptied of all my short, cottony cool clothes, which take their place in my drawers and closet.

Ah, the thrill of clothes! The joy of thinking about what pieces you need to refresh your wardrobe for a new season! The adventure of shopping!

Bah, humbug.

I used to love clothes and spent many hours thinking about them, perusing fashion magazines to see all the clothes that I couldn’t afford, and shopping for knock-off designer items that both fit and looked great on me.

Then I had kids. Kids killed the fashion buzz for me. First, breastfeeding left me wanting to wear oversized comfortable clothes, a preference that has stuck with me for the last six-and-a-half years since I cut Jack off from the boob. Second, stay-at-home life doesn’t motivate great clothing choices because whole weeks go by when the only adults you see are your spouse and the checkout folks at the grocery, who are generally wearing highly unattractive aprons themselves and hardly inspire you to break out a dress, heels, and panty hose. Third, clothes shopping—shopping of any kind, actually—with infants and toddlers and preschoolers and elementary-age kids is painful to the nth degree and must be avoided at all costs.

Lately, however, I’ve been reading Susan Wagner's Friday Playdate blog. Susan writes about fashion for several online magazines. She’s a real mom who likes to look great and likes to help other real moms look great, too. She doesn’t promote $500 skirts; she writes whole articles about finding great stuff at Old Navy.

She’s my kind of person.

Susan has written about how purging your closet of everything except what you can and will wear actually leads to greater wardrobe choices and more fun mixing and matching. Having less, according to Susan, gives you more choices. I decided to trust her advice and last week carried out the Great Closet Purge.

First, I took everything—absolutely every piece of clothing, belt, shoe, slip, sock, and nightgown—out of my closet and drawers and piled them on my bed. Then I politely asked them a few questions.

And yes, I do talk to my clothes. Don't you?

Question #1 Have I worn you in the last two years? If not, but you are wearable, you go into the donation bag. If a hobo would be ashamed to be seen wearing you, you’re going into the trash.

About 70 percent of my wardrobe disappeared with this question. So many of these pieces were clothes I wore before Nick was conceived almost 12 years ago. I will never again have a 21-inch waist. Heavens, I even had belts from that time in my life…eight of them. Why, oh why, have I clung to these clothes for so long?

Question #2 Do you fit me right now? If you don’t fit now but a 10-15 pound weight loss would let me wear you, then you go into a storage bin.

My goal this winter is to shed the weight I have gained in the last year. I’m exercising again, which is a step in the right direction, and fall is usually a very busy time that keeps me from munching between meals. Because this is a realistic goal, I have no problems holding onto these items…just not in my closet or drawers where they clutter things up and distract me from what I can wear right now.

Question #3 If you fit me right now, can I be seen in public wearing you? If yes, let me hang you in my closet or put you in my drawer. If no, you’re going in the trash.

I expected to have three articles of clothing left to wear but was surprised at how much I have for fall and winter that is wearable and in decent shape. Mainly, I could use a few new pairs of shoes and a couple of tops, but I don't even need those urgently.

In the spring, however, if I haven’t lost weight, I’m going to have to go shopping or go nekkid. That’s because the few—very few—summer clothes that survived the purge are just barely this side of acceptable, and then, only if you are a hobo. By the time cooler weather gets here, they will have to be tossed.

I do, however, have quite a few crop pants and shorts in the lose-weight-and-wear-these storage bin. No shirts, though. Not one. So shopping is definitely in my future.

Susan also reminded me that I can have clothes altered, and as I carried out the Great Wardrobe Purge, I found a nice cream blazer from the ‘80s that fits really well (it was too big back then), but the huge shoulder pads make it look dated. It’s fully lined, so it’ll take a professional to snip those suckers out. A fleece skirt needs to be hemmed, too. They are good pieces, and a tailor can take care of both for less money than it would cost to replace them.

For now, however, the Great Closet Purge of 2010 has served me well. I’ve actually worn dresses twice in the past week because there is now so little in my closet that it is easy to see that I do, indeed, have several dresses for hot weather.

It’s sort of embarrassing that it took me 43 years to figure this closet thing out. But I feel so liberated from worry about clothes. No anxiety, no stress. This must be the honeymoon period. I expect the golden glow of self-satisfaction will evaporate the first time I go to the shoe store in search of all-purpose, comfortable black winter shoes.

In the meantime, I’ll take whatever satisfaction I can from this and thank Susan Wagner for it. Thanks, Susan, for inspiring me to get out of the closet.

What lessons have you learned about clothes? How do you keep from being stressed over wardrobe choices? Is your closet overflowing with stuff you can’t wear? Care to share the content of your closet?

Yoga Pants and Fashion Statements

My initial topic for this week was politics and how disgusted I am with the ugly rhetoric that has been slung around lately, but what I really want to write about is pants. Specifically, should a 43-year-old woman who’s only slightly overweight be seen in public wearing yoga pants?

Politicians have nothing to say on pants. They are happy to be noncommittal on issues like pants because whatever they say will be attacked by some special interest group and cost votes. No, politicians are NOT courageous enough to provide leadership on pants, though most, I’m sure, are in favor of them in general.

The extremes of fashion blunders are easy to identify and laugh at...just check out the People of Walmart blog. PoW showcases extreme examples of what NOT to wear.

But when does a man or woman’s attire just barely cross the thin line between tastefully comfortable and vaguely unfortunate? I need leadership because I fear I am walking the line and might, just might have crossed it.

My yoga pants cover my lower half quite nicely, and they fit well. Like Baby Bear’s bed, they are just right. But they are also yoga pants, just a tiny step up the wardrobe ladder from sweat pants. I’ve worn them in public a few times but wondered if I looked absurd with my graying hair and slightly droopy jaw-line. I want to age gracefully, and I suspect that yoga pants might be an unfortunate choice for a woman of a certain age.

Am I of a certain age?

No. Just no. Please, God. No.

I’ve rarely thought about clothing style since high school, but Susan Gardner’s blog Friday Playdate, one of my favorites, got me thinking about my wardrobe and feeling, well, inadequate. Susan is much more stylish than I and writes extensively on fashion. I admire her opinions because they are so realistic and moderate. She’s a mom of two boys and has lots of education as well as a wonderful sense of perspective and humor. In fact, I would suspect she and I were twins separated at birth except she is adorably stylish in her short-short hair, is not an ounce overweight, and confidently uses cool accessories that look frumpy on me.

In Susan’s opinion, if a woman buys high-quality yoga pants that keep their shape (no saggy knees or butt) and that fit perfectly, she should feel okay about making a quick trip to Kroger while wearing them. I was also relieved to learn that my pairing of yoga pants with a fitted casual shirt and sneakers met with Susan’s approval.

Unfortunately, my yoga pants came from Target—and thus are not the best quality—and do get a bit stretched at the knee after a while, which is why since I’ve read her article, I haven’t worn them out of my yard.

Yesterday (April 20, 2010), Susan posted a few pictures of her recent wardrobe choices. She makes it look so easy to, in her words, “make a statement.” After showing her adorable pictures, she throws out this request:

“Your turn: what’s your statement piece? And do you save it for a special occasion, or bust it out on a random Tuesday?”

What’s my statement piece? I’d never once thought of any piece in my wardrobe as a statement piece. As I reflected on this, I realized that for winter, my lavender coat certainly makes a statement that fills me with pride and joy when I step out my door wearing it any ol’ day of the week. Any day can be lavender coat day! My sister gave it to me because she never wore it. If not for her gift, I would still be wearing an extremely frumpy, dark gray fleece car coat all winter. My winter statement was made because my little sister made it first. How sad is that?

The only statement my spring/summer wardrobe makes is “this woman never sacrifices comfort for fashion and owns a scary amount of cotton knit.” Right now I have a strong desire to run right out and spend some money on new clothes so my wardrobe can make a more stylish, grown-up statement.

Unfortunately, our bank account took a huge hit on tax day (ouch, ouch, ouch) and now is a deeply unfortunate time to repair my unfortunate wardrobe. I can’t even afford a pair of high-quality yoga pants. Until the bank account recovers, I’ll have to make do with what I have and try to look as inconspicuous as possible.

Time for me to throw out my own request to you. Please share with me and the entire internet what you do to feel good about what you wear. I need all the help I can get.