For the last month or so, Jim and I have been hosts to all of our eight grandkids while we’ve been here on vacation in Plymouth, Massachusetts. They range in age from 5 to 26 and five of them are girls. Part of the fun of them being here lies in the dizzying array of apparel we’d see hanging on doorknobs, drying in the sun, draped across the deck railing: shorts, skirts, tops, and bathing suits in all shades, stripes, and dots of of pink, peach, purples you-name-it seasonal colors. Let me tell you, these girls love their clothes and have a lot of them. It’s gotten me thinking about what I wore in my own childhood.
My mother always made a big deal about new school shoes and one fresh new outfit a year. We didn’t wear uniforms until high school, and I know I got up and got dressed every day, but I’m unsure about what I’d actually wear. Thanks to school pictures, I do remember at least a few outfits from my elementary years. In first grade I had a shiny, poplin dress with a cropped bolero that had covered buttons. Let me tell you, that bolero was a show stopper. In second grade I sported a red, wool-plaid skirt complete with shoulder straps. The collar of the white cotton blouse was embroidered with red and green flowers that had yellow centers. (I’m not making this up, and are you impressed with my memory?) I inherited this blouse and skirt combo from my older sister and I’m not complaining.
Girls didn’t wear pants to school, there are five days in every school week. Again, wouldn’t you think I’d be able to describe more than just a few outfits?
Another garment I do remember is the multi-purpose-costume I wore for my tap-dance recital at the end of first grade. My younger sister, Lauren, and I each got to don a pink plaid cotton bathing suit that was ruched prettily down the torso. I think we wore a little hat and gloves as we hoofed it to Orange Coloured Sky. (Flash, bam, alakazam/Wonderful you came by). I loved that bathing suit, and, after the recital, swam every summer in that thing for years.
Never to be forgotten was my famous, blue, corduroy jumper (not to be confused with Leonard Cohen’s equally famous, blue, raincoat). My jumper was famous because I had it on the day in first grade that I sat in front of the whole class and everybody drew my portrait. (I cried every day of first grade. No doubt, this must have been an attempt by Sister Michael Marie to solve the pesky problem of little Ginny's serious aversion to school.) After this creative exercise, Sister gave me all of the crayoned portraits which I put in my (long lost) scrapbook. It was a class of 52 students, so I had a lot of replicas of me in that jumper - proof that I had more than just one school outfit in first grade.
I may not remember my own clothes much, but my older sister, Beth’s, are another story. She had great taste; she was neat. She also had a social life that meant she was out of the house and I could sneak into her room. I could always find, for example, her spring green striped sweater folded up and in the same clean corner of her bureau drawer. The matching green, wool skirt? Predictably available on the hanger next to her circle-bottomed-red-plaid-wool number. Hers was a very tidy closet. I won’t say much more, but I loved trying on (and later stealing) her clothes. No blood was drawn, but, ya, there was friction.
Mom must have gotten the message, because over the years, come December, I’d find a couple of skirt and sweater outfits under the tree at Christmas. I’ll spare you the details of the color combos, fabrics, and styles. What’s notable is the palpable relief I felt upon receiving them. Honestly, I remember these pre-teen outfits as fondly as some might recall a childhood cat or dog.
By the time I was in high school, I was developing a fashion sense and began working in Dresses at Cronin’s department store. Nothin’ like havin’ a little money of yer own. These were the days of The British Invasion, Twiggy, Mary Quant and the mini skirt. My friend, Lorraine, drooled when she told me about this boutique called Paraphernalia in Harvard Square that sold the now iconic Betsy Johnson dresses. The one I picked out was a brown, black and white cotton jersey print. It had a white collar and cuffs and buttoned down the front. The skirt hit high above the knee and flounced when I walked.
Clothes are fun. My granddaughters live in a world of fast fashion. I needed only one sassy dress. It embodied the freedom in the air and reflected my youthful joie de vivre to a T.
My mother always made a big deal about new school shoes and one fresh new outfit a year. We didn’t wear uniforms until high school, and I know I got up and got dressed every day, but I’m unsure about what I’d actually wear. Thanks to school pictures, I do remember at least a few outfits from my elementary years. In first grade I had a shiny, poplin dress with a cropped bolero that had covered buttons. Let me tell you, that bolero was a show stopper. In second grade I sported a red, wool-plaid skirt complete with shoulder straps. The collar of the white cotton blouse was embroidered with red and green flowers that had yellow centers. (I’m not making this up, and are you impressed with my memory?) I inherited this blouse and skirt combo from my older sister and I’m not complaining.
Girls didn’t wear pants to school, there are five days in every school week. Again, wouldn’t you think I’d be able to describe more than just a few outfits?
Another garment I do remember is the multi-purpose-costume I wore for my tap-dance recital at the end of first grade. My younger sister, Lauren, and I each got to don a pink plaid cotton bathing suit that was ruched prettily down the torso. I think we wore a little hat and gloves as we hoofed it to Orange Coloured Sky. (Flash, bam, alakazam/Wonderful you came by). I loved that bathing suit, and, after the recital, swam every summer in that thing for years.
Never to be forgotten was my famous, blue, corduroy jumper (not to be confused with Leonard Cohen’s equally famous, blue, raincoat). My jumper was famous because I had it on the day in first grade that I sat in front of the whole class and everybody drew my portrait. (I cried every day of first grade. No doubt, this must have been an attempt by Sister Michael Marie to solve the pesky problem of little Ginny's serious aversion to school.) After this creative exercise, Sister gave me all of the crayoned portraits which I put in my (long lost) scrapbook. It was a class of 52 students, so I had a lot of replicas of me in that jumper - proof that I had more than just one school outfit in first grade.
I may not remember my own clothes much, but my older sister, Beth’s, are another story. She had great taste; she was neat. She also had a social life that meant she was out of the house and I could sneak into her room. I could always find, for example, her spring green striped sweater folded up and in the same clean corner of her bureau drawer. The matching green, wool skirt? Predictably available on the hanger next to her circle-bottomed-red-plaid-wool number. Hers was a very tidy closet. I won’t say much more, but I loved trying on (and later stealing) her clothes. No blood was drawn, but, ya, there was friction.
Mom must have gotten the message, because over the years, come December, I’d find a couple of skirt and sweater outfits under the tree at Christmas. I’ll spare you the details of the color combos, fabrics, and styles. What’s notable is the palpable relief I felt upon receiving them. Honestly, I remember these pre-teen outfits as fondly as some might recall a childhood cat or dog.
By the time I was in high school, I was developing a fashion sense and began working in Dresses at Cronin’s department store. Nothin’ like havin’ a little money of yer own. These were the days of The British Invasion, Twiggy, Mary Quant and the mini skirt. My friend, Lorraine, drooled when she told me about this boutique called Paraphernalia in Harvard Square that sold the now iconic Betsy Johnson dresses. The one I picked out was a brown, black and white cotton jersey print. It had a white collar and cuffs and buttoned down the front. The skirt hit high above the knee and flounced when I walked.
Clothes are fun. My granddaughters live in a world of fast fashion. I needed only one sassy dress. It embodied the freedom in the air and reflected my youthful joie de vivre to a T.
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| Clothes are fun. |
ReplyDeleteThank you for a visit to a totally alien world. I've always gravitated to the comfortable end of the fashion spectrum. Sensible adjacent.
Make sure T reads this; she'll get it.
ReplyDeleteYou call your time in Plymouth a "vacation." I'm at a loss to imagine a vacation with eight grans. Your verbal fashion parade had me strutting down the runway of remembered garb. Thanks for the fashion show. But what happened to the Catholic taboo on paten-leather shoes? The "Sister" was the dead giveaway.
ReplyDelete