Fashion, Turn to the left...

Now that spring seems to have sprung (what a pleasant surprise), I’ve only had two thoughts on my mind. Firstly, because I always see the glass as half full, I’m being filled with thoughts of dread because the first day that is sunny and 75 means that the string of days that are 90 and humid are about to be upon us. I mean last year it got hot and humid and sticky (like it does every summer in New York) but at least that didn’t start until July. And you know why that was? Because it was still cold into June. Now, I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s parade, because I also think that 70 and sunny is beautiful. But New York is a bitter, mean mistress and as soon as she giveth (some nice weather) she taketh it away. (And replaceth it with sticky horrid humidity and putrid smells and stagnant air—and that is when I take cover in my air-conditioned apartment and don’t emerge from a seat near a fan until October.)

I’ve also been thinking a lot about fashion. I mean as soon as it got nice everyone pulled out the big full spring skirts they’d been waiting to wear since February and the wedge sandals that had been taunting them in the back of their closets. I was noticing on my walk to work yesterday, how nice and cool and put-together everyone was looking in the East Village. But then it occured to me—everything that is “new” and “fresh” and “fashionable” is vintage from another era. The people I passed on the streets, newly free of winter coats and heavy boots were dressed in a melange of styles stolen from other eras—either literally (thrift store fashion) or figuratively (those new full fifties skirts made in modern fabrics and patterns). A brief look at what they were wearing—leather jackets (from the ‘50s-the ‘80s), heels with cropped pants (so ‘80s), ladylike blazers (very ‘40s), wedges (‘70s), dresses over jeans (‘90s), skinny ties (‘80s), shrugs (‘90s—and they were ugly then too!), slouchy sweaters (early ‘80s—every picture of my mother from when I was a little kid, she is in one of these), peasant/ethnic blouses (‘60s. ‘70s), purposely ripped jeans (‘80s again)—read like a trip down memory lane. I’m not complaining. I dress this way too. But I just wondered: What are people going to remember about the aughts (‘00s) in terms of fashion? What is unique to this era? Yes, my kids might say that I looked dumb for wearing that polyester blouse, but the fact is that I KNEW I looked dumb in that blouse and was wearing it with a knowing wink that said, “This is clearly vintage and came from another era. Isn’t that hilarious?” My kids won’t be able to mock my bootleg jeans the way I mocked my mother’s GIANT bellbottoms because, basically (now that I’ve actually seen Williamsburg hipsters in french rolled jeans again) ANY style of jean goes now. People wear bellbottoms and look cool. Others wear tapered jeans with super high heels and one of those aforementioned slouchy sweaters and look cool. There is no one look that defines the era. It’s like collage dressing. Pick a little of ladylike glamour from one era, a decidedly ironic look from another—it’s like post-modern fashion.

All of those thoughts were flying through my mind on that walk to work. But, before I could think of a way to work the hideous phrase “po-mo” into this entry that I had already composed in my head before I arrived at my desk, I caught a glimpse at our fashion legacy. And it ain’t pretty. We will be remembered as the era when people (and frankly, I don’t know who these people are!) wore pants and shorts with stuff written across their butts. Never before (and God-willing, never again) had people worn sweatpants with “Juicy” scrawled across their asses. We can blame no ironic gesture to the past for people wearing boxer shorts with their school’s name emblazoned across the butt. This was weirdly designed in our era, for our era. We are clearly the butt age.

The thing about these kind of shorts/pants is that they look good on next to no one. Big-butted girls look extra big-butted and little-butted girls’ flat tushes sort of soak up the letters so you can’t read the slogan or name written on the butt. Clearly these pants were designed for those with booty—since one is needed to fill out pants to make the writing readable—but they don’t actually make your booty look good. They are just plain ugly. I don’t like to wear name brand logos anywhere on me—I think they are tacky--but especially not splashed across my ass! What does this say about the time we live in? “Terror is underfoot, the economy is in the toilet, and lives are uncertain but I’ve got money for name brand gym clothes (or I go to a name brand university and I want to broadcast it) and my big, fat butt is hot!” Come to think of it, I’d rather come from the era of shoulder pads.