New York Installment 6: Love, Loss, & What I Wore

One morning, I was lying in bed when I started thinking about this dress I used to wear. I drew a picture of it. I drew another. I decided to draw the dresses to hold onto them, and when I finished I thought, these dresses tell a story.
My Snow White dress: My mom made this dress for me for Halloween. It looked exactly like the dress that Snow White wears in the Walt Disney movie. Even the blue pleated sleeves were puffed. She tied a red ribbon in my brown curls and I carried a basket of apples to victory in the town parade. I wore that dress as long as I could. You could wear it with tennis shoes and run around outside during the summer, or wear to sleep at night. It was the perfect night gown: Having never been store bought, there was no itchy tag or scratchy thread to worry about. Throughout the eighties, I strove to repeat this look. Long shirts or dresses and leggings were the unofficial school uniform, and mine always had a hole or two in the knee from kickball. And of course, tennis shoes.
The year I turned twelve I threw out all my leggings and long shirts, so instead of holey leggings, I could pay $72 dollars to walk around in holey jeans. I didn't see the point in buying expensive sunglasses, I lost/sat on them half the time, and the ones with crystals glued on them were cute. That's the benefit of being a girl. You will not get your sexuality questioned or life threatened if you want to wear crystal encrusted sunglasses.
The only expensive thing I actually wear are (shocking) my tennis shoes. They were pricey even on sale, but that's the thing about good footwear. You get what you pay for. In the words of a 90's spokesmodel "You say that [my being a virgin] like it's a bad thing. You see how picky I am about my shoes, and they only go on my feet."
My second most expensive purchase was this perfect long shirt (or short dress) that I got at this boutique in Manhattan. The salesmen here are all muscular, tan, hot, and gay. It's like reading the most fantastic novel and the ending reveals it all to be a dream. Anyway, he led me over to the sales rack, where an Israeli woman and I select dresses and wait in line for the dressing room. She's concerned about finding a fashionable dress that won't disrespect her modesty. We convince her to buy a cute dress with a matching belt. I encourage her to go without the leggings. She giggles that it's "too short!"
My only regret is that I didn't buy my leggings sooner. The truly best part of this city is that I can dress like I did back in the eighties and no one bats an eye. New York has very European mentality regarding fashion. They consider denim to be a kind of "farmer's or laborer's style", or to put it bluntly, blue collar stiffs lacking in sophistication. So jeans aren't really seen that much, except on tourists. The best part is walking past models. You know how you will watch a fashion show and think, "Who in real life would wear that"? They do! It's a relief to see it looks just as odd on t.v as it does next you on the street. They look like gladiator drag queens! How do they walk in those heels? I suppose when you have zero body weight you don't have to walk, you just get pushed by the wind.
The thought of going backwards in time to dress myself now might bother some, but if I have one fashion rule, it's this: never change. That said, things change. In hopes of avoiding humiliation, I try to review certain rules whenever I buy something new:
Function before Fashion
High school taught me a valuable lesson about uncomfortable shoes: don't wear them. In 2000 my platform heels were so big I could help people on ladders reach things on shelves. Not only that, they looked like something Baby Spice would have wet herself over. That's the thing about time: what looks good now will make you cringe in ten years.
Hygiene before Function
Without a doubt, my best attribute is my hair. I love it when people play with it, so it should be clean. Also I think that people generally feel better about themselves when they are clean. Even if you're wearing something that should have stayed in Brooklyn, if you are clean, it's not too bad.
When All Else Fails
It was a Friday in the spring, and my father was trying to talk me into coveralls. "Come on" he said, "It's like that rapper Jay Z! Big Pimping and all that!" In the background, a game show blared on the t.v. The host moaned along with the audience. "How embarrassing for our viewer!" When worn in a garage, coveralls are certainly sensible, but out in public I wasn't sure I trusted it. As it turns out, those coveralls are all the rage in New York runways. They call them jumpsuits here, you can get them for a sensible $216, and you can get them in any fabric except denim.
Grown or not, I still feel best dressed like Snow White. The die was cast for me on Halloween, and it could be this way for everyone. My roommate was an alcoholic nurse, and my cousin went as a brain dead pirate. Their drawings probably tell very interesting stories.