Today was Sunday and a day to dress-up. Yes , I mean it in both senses of the word. I do mean to put on "dressy" clothes and also in the sense of wearing a costume. I realized that every day of my life (and that is only a mild exageration), I have planned the night before, what I will wear. I remember doing this in earnest in junior high and high school but I am sure the practice began many years earlier. You see I think that what dress-up is, in the Sunday sense of the word, is only a bit removed from the game of dress-up that was my passion as a child.
I would have to say that there is nothing that defined me more as a child than dress-up. I wore bright red lipstick to church when I was four and gypsey scarves to school when I six. The latter behaviour must have become an imbedded gene as I had a child who at four wore stretch pants on her head. There was a dress-up room, a never used entrance, in our house at Boundary Creek ranch. There I kept my beautiful curtains that I draped around myself and stored the high heels that made every exotic outfit complete. I dreamed of having high heels that fit. My mother bought me a pair of toy ones ones once. It was a dream come true. They were hard plastic and really just a sole that fit on with elastic straps. They were beautiful with sparkles imbedded in the plastic. Being the '50s, and the plastic industry very new, they were brittle and lasted only for two days before they snapped in two. I was broken hearted.
The dress-up venue changed when we moved to Lethbridge. I had a whole unfinished basement to fix up as a play house. The costumes were consistent, still the curtains although now being taller I could actually use old dresses of my mothers and older sisters. The game expanded to include friends, Laurie Maxwell, Connie Johnson, and Marlene Selman. In Scandia, it became solitary once more with no interested companions and finally was replaced when I went to Junior High, with wardrobe planning.
This brings me back to my original thought, that dressing up is really just about playing dress-up as an adult. This week-end has been a case in point. In mulling over what to wear to church today, I considered the new yellow cotton blouse with a beige and grey hounds tooth skirt and a grey jacket - kind of a country business look. Decided against it. Skirt too uncomfortable and somehow it just wasn't right. The weather is snowy so wearing my new elegant black boots with long toes and high heels with a thick cozy green wool turtle neck would be a relaxed comfortable look and feel. Problem is I didn't feel like being approachable today. I'm in a quiet, reflective, introverted mood so I opted for the highly intimidating black on black look. It was hard core dramatic sophisticated and designed to scare people away. Black jacket, skirt, boots, turtle neck with just a dash of colour - a splashy blue scarf I got from a supplier for Christmas. I figure that if I wanted to soften the impact I could make the first move and smile and talk. Otherwise I would be left alone. I think it worked pretty well.
Friday was the Sweetheart's ball. I opted for Romance. A soft gauzy ruffly almost transparent beige blouse with a sophisticated long black skirt and my gold stiletos. A new look for me. I had rejected the sparkley sophisticated clingy top with a low neck top I had worn last year. Just not what I wanted to be. I considered a gold brocade jacket but it's formality didn't reflect my escapist mood - too much like work or mother of the bride. The blouse was perfect. I felt almost transformed - soft doey eyed, fragile..... .
I now know that really I am still playing dress up. All those nights at Scandia that I spent hours trying on outfits to decide on what to wear the next day were not expressions of insecurity but of escaping into the world of make believe. In front of my mirror I could try on ways of being, exploring what and who I wanted to be. Did I want to be the artist, the professional, the jock, the good morman girl, the trendy Twiggy in a mini. So many possibilities. All I had to do was decide and figure out how to make them work.
The question that I have now is, "why do I have such a limited cast of possible characters". Take the retro look for example. I tried on two retro dresses on my last shopping excursion at a consignment store. One was a pretend early 20s velvet. Interesting but pretty wierd on me. Maybe just too much like a costume. The other a sparkley early 60's shift and jacket. I couldn't help thinking that maybe someone would think I wasn't retro and that I hadn't really left the 60s behind. I have daughters that can pull off all kind of looks from retro to artist,and even high fashion, New York New York really well. I often just feel kind of pathetic. You know how you feel watching a really bad amateur actor that you just feel sorry for because there is nothing really believeable about their performance. That's how some looks seem for me. I just can't believe them.
Maybe its that when you pretend to be something, you have to want to be it. I wanted to be a Gibson Girl for my wedding and it would have worked for me if my hat would have been right. I wanted to be a medieval princess for high school graduation but couldn't find the right kind of tapestry brocade. I settled for the Classic Vogue and felt okay in my beige crepe blouse and long velvet wraparound. No one else had anything close. I can really pretend to be a high powered business woman in a suit. John T Malloy would be proud. I like to pretend to be a cowboy, a runner and a pioneer. I try to pull off being a skiier and I would dearly love to be able to be a mountain woman and a dramatist. I could do those with more money and more places to play the role. I can sometimes feel close to getting it right. I almost always feel pathetic trying to be cool, trendy, and sexy however. Well, maybe, after all, it does take more than wanting it and getting the costume. Maybe I should take that clown course or improv class I've been thinking about and increase my acting skills after all.
I would have to say that there is nothing that defined me more as a child than dress-up. I wore bright red lipstick to church when I was four and gypsey scarves to school when I six. The latter behaviour must have become an imbedded gene as I had a child who at four wore stretch pants on her head. There was a dress-up room, a never used entrance, in our house at Boundary Creek ranch. There I kept my beautiful curtains that I draped around myself and stored the high heels that made every exotic outfit complete. I dreamed of having high heels that fit. My mother bought me a pair of toy ones ones once. It was a dream come true. They were hard plastic and really just a sole that fit on with elastic straps. They were beautiful with sparkles imbedded in the plastic. Being the '50s, and the plastic industry very new, they were brittle and lasted only for two days before they snapped in two. I was broken hearted.
The dress-up venue changed when we moved to Lethbridge. I had a whole unfinished basement to fix up as a play house. The costumes were consistent, still the curtains although now being taller I could actually use old dresses of my mothers and older sisters. The game expanded to include friends, Laurie Maxwell, Connie Johnson, and Marlene Selman. In Scandia, it became solitary once more with no interested companions and finally was replaced when I went to Junior High, with wardrobe planning.
This brings me back to my original thought, that dressing up is really just about playing dress-up as an adult. This week-end has been a case in point. In mulling over what to wear to church today, I considered the new yellow cotton blouse with a beige and grey hounds tooth skirt and a grey jacket - kind of a country business look. Decided against it. Skirt too uncomfortable and somehow it just wasn't right. The weather is snowy so wearing my new elegant black boots with long toes and high heels with a thick cozy green wool turtle neck would be a relaxed comfortable look and feel. Problem is I didn't feel like being approachable today. I'm in a quiet, reflective, introverted mood so I opted for the highly intimidating black on black look. It was hard core dramatic sophisticated and designed to scare people away. Black jacket, skirt, boots, turtle neck with just a dash of colour - a splashy blue scarf I got from a supplier for Christmas. I figure that if I wanted to soften the impact I could make the first move and smile and talk. Otherwise I would be left alone. I think it worked pretty well.
Friday was the Sweetheart's ball. I opted for Romance. A soft gauzy ruffly almost transparent beige blouse with a sophisticated long black skirt and my gold stiletos. A new look for me. I had rejected the sparkley sophisticated clingy top with a low neck top I had worn last year. Just not what I wanted to be. I considered a gold brocade jacket but it's formality didn't reflect my escapist mood - too much like work or mother of the bride. The blouse was perfect. I felt almost transformed - soft doey eyed, fragile..... .
I now know that really I am still playing dress up. All those nights at Scandia that I spent hours trying on outfits to decide on what to wear the next day were not expressions of insecurity but of escaping into the world of make believe. In front of my mirror I could try on ways of being, exploring what and who I wanted to be. Did I want to be the artist, the professional, the jock, the good morman girl, the trendy Twiggy in a mini. So many possibilities. All I had to do was decide and figure out how to make them work.
The question that I have now is, "why do I have such a limited cast of possible characters". Take the retro look for example. I tried on two retro dresses on my last shopping excursion at a consignment store. One was a pretend early 20s velvet. Interesting but pretty wierd on me. Maybe just too much like a costume. The other a sparkley early 60's shift and jacket. I couldn't help thinking that maybe someone would think I wasn't retro and that I hadn't really left the 60s behind. I have daughters that can pull off all kind of looks from retro to artist,and even high fashion, New York New York really well. I often just feel kind of pathetic. You know how you feel watching a really bad amateur actor that you just feel sorry for because there is nothing really believeable about their performance. That's how some looks seem for me. I just can't believe them.
Maybe its that when you pretend to be something, you have to want to be it. I wanted to be a Gibson Girl for my wedding and it would have worked for me if my hat would have been right. I wanted to be a medieval princess for high school graduation but couldn't find the right kind of tapestry brocade. I settled for the Classic Vogue and felt okay in my beige crepe blouse and long velvet wraparound. No one else had anything close. I can really pretend to be a high powered business woman in a suit. John T Malloy would be proud. I like to pretend to be a cowboy, a runner and a pioneer. I try to pull off being a skiier and I would dearly love to be able to be a mountain woman and a dramatist. I could do those with more money and more places to play the role. I can sometimes feel close to getting it right. I almost always feel pathetic trying to be cool, trendy, and sexy however. Well, maybe, after all, it does take more than wanting it and getting the costume. Maybe I should take that clown course or improv class I've been thinking about and increase my acting skills after all.
2 comments:
are you going to post every week? because I look forward to it. I know I inherited this love of dress up. Cory used to tell me to hurry and get up and get ready, but I was getting ready, I was planning my outfit in my head.
so fun that you are blogging!! can't wait to read dad and anne's. the love of dress up has obviously been passed on. nothing more fun for jack and ella than a big box of dress up. recent favorites include spiderman ninja and beach hula girl. what will max be into i wonder!!
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