Baby Boomer Fashion Phobia

Why, WHY? Now that Michelle Obama is the officially declared “new Jackie-O,” the First Lady of Fashion as well as the White House, WHY does her first big trend setter have to be the sleeveless sheath dress? It’s too cruel. The female news commentators covering the inauguration on TV – already sheath clad -- made me remember what it was to risk hypothermia for fashion.

In the ‘60s, I had two sheaths: one in emerald green, a knit, and the second in royal blue wool. I had a starry sun with pointed beams, a junk jewelry accessory, that I pinned in the center of the bodice. In those sheaths I shivered through Christmas parties, dances and dinners. No one ever wore jackets or little sweaters. You might gently drape your coat over your shoulders, sitting down, but you were careful not the ruin the line of the sheath. It was a simplicity thing. I remember observing pimply goose bumps on my arms when I was fixing my face in the merciless ladies’ room mirror.

But the cold isn’t the worst thing. Now I’m sixty, why, oh WHY is the new must-have body part a set of well-toned upper arms? Just when I’d resigned myself to my genetic heritage, turkey arms? They wibble, they wobble. My grandmothers had them, my mother had them. They made soft places to cuddle a grandbaby’s head. When I was small, I found those arms so comforting, so REAL. In my fifties I gave up my free weights, gym machines, aerobics, step aerobics – trading them for yoga. For walking. Exercise for the body AND soul, fitting for a slowed-down metabolism like mine. Jimi Hendriks’ Foxy Lady just isn’t my theme song any more; it’s more like Love is All I Have to Give, I'm Built for Comfort, Not For Speed, or, seasonally, My Funny Valentine.

But now . . . I am starting to panic. Spring is just a few months away. I only have a short time to get the mini-barbells from the bathroom closet, where they share a shelf with a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner. Hillary never would have done this to us. Never!

Small IS Beautiful (isn't it?)

GIVING, CHRISTMAS 2008 

My personal gifting budget was about one third its pre-retirement size, so I struggled this holiday season with the concept of “small.” Small is beautiful: I believe that. It’s a phrase from the title of the 1973 book by E.F. Schumacher, followed by “Economics as if People Mattered,” a supposedly influential philosophy that disappeared into the ozone layer, as as far as I can tell, after having lived through the advent of SUVs, millionaire consciousness, and the substitution of manipulation for integrity on the part of our government. At least Schumacher’s book changed me and the way I try to live.

Now the acid test. Come the second week in December, it was time to put my beliefs about humble spending into action. My gifts came from local Spruce Pine thrift and book stores, artist hideaway boutiques, Walmart, the grocery store, and my own closet.Still, certain bogus equations and axioms hissed in my head, like an evil sotto-voce, as I doled out my modest funds. 

Here’s one: Love equals big-ticket item Christmas gifts. Absurd flashes from pop movies filled my head, for instance, parents leading the college-bound child down the driveway, cautioning "don't peek!" (The denouement: a brand new car with a gigantic red ribbon around it. Fade out as hugs, tears, and smiles continue.)

Another: The greater the cost, the bigger the love. The year’s hot items, like brand new Ipods, laptops, and Blackberries, were beyond me. Being honest with myself I wanted to light up my loved one’s faces with joy: the particular joy of having Big Stuff. I itched to take out my credit card and commit myself to huge monthly payments I couldn't make.

The other meaning of the word “small” -- stingy, ungenerous, mean- spirited – apparently haunted me as I apologized for presents as I handed them over. “It’s nothing much,” I heard myself say, even though I had picked each item with thought and care.

This year I have more post-holiday blues and fatigue than ever. This confrontation with the force of consumerism has rocked my world, made me realize how insidious are its roots.