Fashion Sense

I'm pretty sure I hate to shop for clothing. I much prefer to be doing something else, like, for example, buying groceries, and then stumble across something good, toss it into my cart and hang it in my closet until I need it. Stores that offer groceries and clothing are my best friends. I am only mentioning this, up front, because I have recently had a rather traumatic clothes shopping experience to rant about and I want to establish that I am not a fashion queen. This does not mean, however, that I don’t have fashion sense.

Ron and I have a rather limited social life, mostly revolving around family that cares not one twit about how we dress, so, faced with a pending semi-dressy social engagement, I was forced to go seek out and purchase an appropriate outfit. Everything in my closet is more geared to sitting on the screen porch watching the grandkids chase fireflies.

My parameters for the outfit I had in mind were highly defined, but not unreasonable, I thought. I needed something that was black, at least from the waist down, dressy-casual, a sort of jacketed thing that was not quite a suit, maybe with some discrete sparkle (optional), good-fitting (meaning well-built to hide figure flaws). And reasonably priced if not outright cheap.

I started my quest at Lord & Taylors. I have found, in the past, they have GREAT sale racks at the end of the season. On the ride down the elevator to the Big Girl Clothing Department (euphemistically called Women's) I could see huge rounders, literally bulging with great buys. Seventy-five percent off! I admit I was momentarily blinded by the potential of enormous savings but it didn't take long to see there was a profoundly disappointing reason behind the shear number of things available for the low low prices.

This brings me to the heart of my rant.

First of all, I had worked up a sweat, tugging and pulling at the clothes stuffed so tightly together so I quickly skipped over anything that was wool or suede or long-sleeved or turtle-necked. I could hardly breath much less could I desire to try on anything that even remotely resembled cold-weather attire. Where were the end-of-season clothes? In warm climates like Atlanta, in-between clothing is far more useful than season specific garments. There is a genuine dearth of transitional clothing available. This is just an aside and word to the wise for any textile marketer who might happen across this.

But I digress.

The real reason there were so many clothes on those racks was because they were awful! They didn't sell because who would want them? Someone designed these things. Someone must have thought they were just what mature women wanted to wear so they put them through the lengthy process of having them made and brought to market. What a complete waste of energy and materials. Bad choices of fabrics, unfortunate selections of patterns and colors, not to mention abysmal styling. Narrow options ranging from a tiny blue/pink floral print my grandmother might have liked to a sad rip-off version of something my granddaughter might wear. Bows? Croppy little jackets? Flower Power prints reminiscent of the sixties? Are they nuts?

Here's what I think.

The good clothing designers, those who understand the mature woman's preferences, life-styles and physique, are gone. The ones remaining are too young to understand anything about sagging butts, puffy arms and fluffy waistlines. They have no idea what raw silk is or the merits and mystical qualities of gabardine and linen. Apparently, mastering classic line, timeless style and flattering color are the techniques and tools of clothing design artists of the past, who, as I mentioned before, are all retired now.

I did finally find a nice two-piece outfit. Black pant, loosely fitted but not croppy jacket with three quarter length sleeves. Lightweight enough for October in Atlanta, yet dark enough to acknowledge there's been a seasonal change on the calendar. A scattering of gold thread subtly woven in the jacket-top, plus, being on sale for $40, made it fit my criteria as close as was possible. It was a hard won victory, however, because it took exhaustive searching through five stores to accomplish. I felt like a princess who had to kiss a lot of toads to get to her prince. To me, this is consummate waste. Literally thousands upon thousands of unwearable garments hang limply on rack after rack in store after store and who is to blame? Who do we track back to for these crimes against fashion? The fabric mills? The clothing designers? The store buyers? Maybe it is we, the buyers, who are to blame. They give us what we have been willing to settle for. Maybe all those clothes left unsold are clues the fashion market should be considering.

Maybe we should put on our brown and pink Flower Power, croppy jackets, tie the front bows and do a sit in.