The Wasteland Between Hot Pants and Housecoats
I’m going to share a very personal piece of information with you, dear readers. Now it will be on the interwebs, available for sharing and screenshotting galore. Oh, alright, alright. I’m probably overreacting. No one really cares that much about my personal life and my deepest darkest secrets. I’m really not that interesting and not that special. And certainly not that unique. At least that’s what I like to tell myself anyway.
I’ve always liked closets. (No, no, no- that’s not it. I’m not coming out of the closet.) What I am saying is that I’ve always enjoyed a myriad of weird, random things- like office supplies, Bruce Springsteen’s concert speech on cunnilingus, beverages containing pellet ice, any 80’s movie featuring the two Coreys, and brussel sprouts with bacon.
So back to closets, (I know, I know- you’re still back on The Boss and cunnilingus.) But we’re not going there, people. I like closets because they are contained, manageable, organizable, quiet spaces. They are designated for a few purposes only, and when some of the rest of my house gets out of control, I can go in my closet and hide for awhile-light a candle, do some ujjayi breathing and get centered, grounded and recalibrated, and drown out the world.
A pantry, or a refrigerator, for example, is different. If you share a living space with others, those areas are accessible to many people who enter those places, mess them up, and leave, am I right?. Different kinds and quantities of food are constantly coming and going. Those spaces are harder to organize because of that fact, and harder to keep clean. But a closet….. is generally untouched by people other than the person who lives in the room attached to it. So it sounds weird, I know, but especially in a busy household with lots of kids, a closet can become one’s personal coveted personal sanctuary. (Thought perhaps I was weird before? Now it’s been confirmed.)
I get this is a first world problem, but I realized recently that the contents of my closet have been like a hemorrhoid on the backside of middle aged life.
So listen. If you were to weed through the clothes hanging up in my closet, you might find me schizophrenic, or at least a person with multiple personality disorder. I have SO many clothes. There are reasons for this, dear reader, it’s not that I’m a hoarder. I have had an occasion, at least once in my lifetime, that has required such an outfit. The following outfits would be available for you to find, if you were to participate in a scavenger hunt in my closet:
A-Team-Mom’s Questionable Closet Contents:
I-Think-I’m Tupac-Shakur tank top with matching red bandana headdress.
“Paint the House” Clothes. (Although I’ll admit the last time I painted my own house, I still lived in CA)
Playing Twister and eating Cheetos Outfits. (AKA Loungewear).
Various Items still lurking in my closet because I forgot to get rid of them after my last pregnancy: Nursing Bras, belly bands, postpartum items I shall not name, newly pregnant and newly delivered clothing that accommodates for a belly one is attempting to hide in either case.
An entire section of Santa Cruz Surf Hoodie Sweatshirts. (Psssst: I have never surfed a day in my life.)
The Outfits I generally wear when I don’t know what to wear.
Black cocktail dresses. Quantity: approximately 750,348.
The Bathrobe of unknown origin.
The Rack of designer jeans I paid WAY too much for and are now out of style but I keep anyway.
The Underwear we shall not speak of.
So. Many. College. T-Shirts. I’m actually shocked that I ever had to do laundry. My school was famous for making a T-Shirt for every event they ever held: “Azusa Pacific University’s Dinner Rally 1996: It’s a Jungle Out There!” and “In-n-Out: Azusa Pacific University’s ‘Burgers n’ Degrees’ Grad Night!” I’m surprised there wasn’t a T-Shirt for “Azusa Pacific University’s Regular Old Going to Class Day!”)
The Workout gear appropriate for leaving the house.
The ghetto (as in “ghetto fabulous”- Don’t email me please) workout gear for when I’m working out at the house.
The “Perhaps I’m going to turn Boehemian today” outfit.
Formal wear for auctions and galas, and all the accompanying shape wear.
The outfit which gives a shout out to Grand Rapids, Michigan (Which includes a sweatshirt that says #GRap.) PSA: I’ve never been to Grand Rapids in my life. But it’s a kickass sweatshirt.
The Outfit that makes me look like I have a corporate job. (AKA My “I’m Pretending to be an Adult” Outfit.) Hint: it includes a blazer. Anything that includes a blazer means you’ve pretty much arrived. Or so I hear.
The Captain E.O. Jacket from the nineties.
The Mom Uniform. (Yoga tights and any top that makes it look like I went to some effort to put an outfit together.)
The Alaska Airlines’ Section. Yes, an entire section of Alaska Swag. T-shirts, sweatshirts, jackets, vests, rain jackets, running shirts with wicking, hats/visors…. pretty much everything except for pants. I don’t own Alaska Airlines pants. You’re welcome.
True Confession: the above are all examples of clothes I know are disrupting my serenity in my closet. If I really truly cannot get rid of them, at least I can have fewer in quantity. So herein lies my problem: WHAT TO REPLACE THEM WITH AT MY AGE? While I’ve taken the liberty of listing some of the things that need to beat feet and be removed from MY closet for sure, here are a few things I’d like to kindly ask men to remove from their wardrobes. (Guys I’m not judging you at all, ok? I’m just asking you to consider joining with me in a “Just Say No” campaign in our closets. Together we are one, we can do this, OK?)
Suggested Items to Remove From Your Closet If You’re a Male:
First, a note to my gay friends: You guys, thank you. Thank you for knowing that the following requests are not unreasonable. Thank you for doing your part and leading the way to help the hetero’s by setting the example of acceptable fashion for men over 40. We applaud you, and we need your voice to continue to preach gently, but steadily. Us wives cannot shoulder this burden alone, it’s too much- so we thank you for your partnership, and we adore you. (And PS: I personally want to thank you for all the times you’ve taken me shopping, or let me text you pictures of outfits or dresses for black tie affairs and saved me personally from some questionable fashion tomfoolery.)
To my straight male friends: I love you. OK? I really do. Please don’t think I’m coming down on you, I’m not. This comes from a place of concern and love. Just like I would tell one of my kids if they needed a shower or needed to brush their teeth, it’s not my own reputation I’m worried about- I’m trying to save you some embarrassment because, well, life is hard enough already, am I right?
Rarely will you hear me say on anything that things are just black or white. Either, or. This or that. I’ve been known to say gravity is one of the only exceptions, except then there is space. Many factors can defy the laws of physics. But there really are a few things that aren’t relative….. and they involve some of the items lurking in your closet, my dudes.
Guys can pretty much get away with anything— especially here on the west coast there is pretty much nothing a male can wear and feel out of place, save for maybe some “#manpris” (I’m sorry, middle aged corporate guys- capris with loafers are not for you. That ship has sailed, you may choose pants or shorts but you must draw a line in the sand here and go black OR white, there is no gray area on this ok?) We don’t get to choose being pregnant but not giving birth, we don’t get to choose having a period so we can have a baby, or not having a period simply because they’re annoying. And there are things in this life *you* cannot choose. So what I’m gently and lovingly trying to tell you is this isn’t like launching the “build your BMW” tool on the BMW website, you cannot dial up the features you want to have, including but not limited to trousers that are quasi- pants, semi-shorts. No #SHANTS allowed, guys.
Another repeat offender is an oft-attempted look many of us are familiar with: Yep, you knew in your heart this was coming, so please brace yourself: It’s the good old socks-n-sandals. You’d think by now this would only be online as examples of hideous fashions from eras past, but unfortunately this is not the case- sadly, this socks and sandals thing is still alive and kicking. I’ll give you a minute while you mourn this difficult truth. I know this is tough to hear, but This isn’t Chipotle, and you may not draw up a custom order: It’s sandals/flip flops, or closed toed shoes with socks. The combo is not available, not even on the secret menu you find online for insiders only. Got it? SANDALS/FLIP FLOPS -or- CLOSED TOED SHOES with SOCKS. (Insert Jeopardy! Theme song here while you make your choice.) Here’s a hint if you’ve come to an impasse: If your feet are cold enough to require socks, you probably should not be rocking the flip flops, am I right? Just sayin.’
Come on, Guys. You need to adhere to these few simple rules, ok? Just remember you get to have boxer briefs as your consolation prize for giving up the Shants and the SNS.
Back in the Day.
Back in the early 90’s after class was dismissed for the afternoon, my friends and I would ride our bikes from Blach Junior High School down Grant Road, past El Camino Hospital into the closest Shopping Center. (Which, by the way, most of our parents referred to as “the most dangerous parking lot in all of Mountain View.” —To this day, I have no idea why- it wasn’t due to any gang activity, or violence; it was merely a strip mall with a Burger King and a Walgreens. But hey- fast food and over the counter drugs probably aren’t that great for you, so there ya go, I guess.)
We of course loaded up at Burger King, and with bellies full of chocolate shakes and onion rings, we re-boarded our bikes and crossed the street to the Marshall’s. This was all tradition we created, and we loved it. If you’re not familiar with Marshall’s, it’s a discount clothing store, similar to a Ross Dress for Less, or a TJ Maxx. Anyway, although I’m quite certain we were hated by the employees, we personally were obsessed with playing this game we invented called “Ugliest Outfit.” The idea was this: our group of about 8 friends would split up into teams of 2. We would then depart from our teammate so we could individually canvas the entire store alone. The goal was to find the most despicable, hideous or hilarious outfit we could. Then we would reconvene at the dressing room, and make our partner try it on…. and *WE* would have to try on whatever our partner found for us. The rule was, you HAD to try on what your partner had picked out for you, even if it was ill-fitting or highly embarrassing; after all, that was the point. AND: you had to pull the fitting room curtain open for all to see so that we could all get a good belly laugh.
Thank God this was before the era of smart phones- no pictures exist which prove that we were ever in some of the following outfits: 1) A Crotchless Unitard 2) A Bedazzled t-shirt with Frank Sinatra’s face ironed-on transferred on the bust, with the words “I Do it MY WAY” on the back.
3) A midrift- Corona Beer themed Mexican hooded poncho (I’ll take this opportunity to add that someone who shall remain nameless achieved a nice case of lice after wearing it.) Young ones, there are SOME benefits to being old….. no security cameras and no evidence were present to document our shenanigans.
Dazed and Confused.
Speaking of old, here is where I’m going with all these thoughts and memories. I have NO idea what to wear anymore. I’m of that age where I cannot- nay, WILL NOT wear an uncomfortable pair of designer jeans even for an hour. Perhaps I would consider it for a photo. A quick photo. But that’s it.
The real problem is, somewhere in my 30’s, I became absolutely averse to any material without an element of stretch to it. In fact, in my twenties (even after having 4 babies), I still had hips that would accommodate certain youthful, stylish, hip outfits that would require bending over carefully (so as not to show any ass crack) and shirts that I was constantly fumbling with (so as not to flash my postpartum boobs)- and I found this behavior tolerable and acceptable, all for the sake of a “cute outfit.” Today? NO WAY. If it’s not comfortable, I’m out. Like, you could tell me that Donatella Versace or Vera Wang herself had custom designed a outfit in a style straight off the runway from NYC Fashion Week, but if it doesn’t have element of stretch or the ability to be comfortably worn for longer than 20 minutes? Consider it dead to me.
Also there’s the fact that I’ve been pregnant, nursing, postpartum chubbiness weight, losing weight, and then finally thin…. only to get pregnant again….8 times over. So I’ve been known for a closet that has sizes ranging from size 2-14….not to mention maternity clothes spanning the better part of 17 years, so imagine how many of those sizes and styles and have come and gone. (Including a beautiful black tie ballroom maternity gown that I donated after baby number 4, assuming I was done having children- only to find out I was going to have 4 more- and I realized multiple times that I desperately NEEDED that dress something TERRIBLE!!!) So I learned to hang on to everything— or as much as humanly possible anyway. I’ll tell you, if there’s one truth I know, it’s that the second I get rid of something, I discover that I need it THE VERY NEXT DAY. I mean, this fact is like gravity; it’s as reliable as rain in Seattle on July 4th.
It’s time for me to lean in to the next phase of life. LEAN INNNNNNNNNNN. No, I’m not quite Ready to look like Blanche, Sophia, Rose and Dorothy from the Golden Girls. And I just cant bring myself to purchase clothes from Chicos yet. (Nothing against Chicos, OK?) But I feel like someone needs to open a boutique for middle aged women who aren’t trying to be super hip, cutting edge and sassy, not trying to slide into grandma mode and feature housecoats and orthotic shoes. No. Something comfortably age appropriate. There are a few stores around I’ve the youngest person in there. Why? Why exactly is that? Where do the fellow mothers of 8 shop? OK, I shouldn’t have asked that…… I do realize the general mother-of-8 population is living in a different area of the country and using thrift stores or sewing their own clothes. (I’m not making fun of this, or coming down on this, I am in awe…. seriously…. who has the time to weed through thrift store racks, besides Macklemore? And who has the time to sew? I just don’t get it. But I admire it.)
I usually end up at Nordstrom… wandering around in there, wondering which area is for me? Top Shop? No. TBD is called something else, now I can’t remember what. Back in the day, I used to work at the Palo Alto Nordstrom, and the first department they placed me in was Town Square. That particular department serviced women from about age 65 till death. I have never in my life (and haven’t since) seen so many pairs of wool gaberdine pants. I can’t even’t tell you what gaberdine IS, but if those pants were wool I have no idea how those grannies survived walking around the Silicon Valley weather in those things. In this context, the term “hot pants” takes on a whole new meaning. I sold a hell of a lot of them, that’s for sure.
I have been through I don’t know how many personal shoppers at Nordstrom. None of them seem to get what I’m saying. So I’m trying to spell it out here. I need these clothes to be COMFORTABLE and I need them to be somewhat STYLISH. I am not taking fashion risks, I am not heading to the club or to a rave, but I am also not going to a bridge tournament and then out for pie and coffee at Marie Callenders, with a side trip to CVS because canned salmon and generic aspirin are on sale. I’m somewhere between crocheted sweaters and tube tops. I just want to show up volunteering at school and not embarrass my kids. Is that too much to ask?
Anyone have suggestions to return my closet to sanity?
Help a sister out.