My grandmother’s favorite saying, “Fine feathers make a fine bird,” signified her love of fashion and the importance of a first impression. If she were alive today, she’d survey the T-shirted American crowd and conclude that we are bereft of fineness. We carefully select the clothing on our backs only for weddings or job interviews; afterward, we ease right back into sweat pants and sweat shirts. In our quest to be comfortable, we have lost the glamour of a not-so-distant time.
I loved clothing as a child and often flipped through my mother’s 1950s yearbook, admiring the girls’ starched blouses and swirling skirts, the boys’ tailored pants and patterned cardigans, their appearances conveying scholarly seriousness. Like them, I boarded the schoolbus in neatly pressed separates. Everyone, including teachers, noticed I dressed differently. In the 1970s, my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Jorgensen, surveyed the ruffled neck of my peach top and my creased woolen trousers–an extra-special outfit my mother helped me coordinate for my birthday–and asked, “What are you all dressed up for?”
My parents made it clear that there was a time and a place to dress down. My siblings and I exchanged school clothes for play clothes the minute we arrived home, yet our definition of casual–collared shirts and pants with belt loops–was a far cry from the gym clothes that pass as acceptable today. If my teenage brother slouched to the dinner table wearing a T shirt and slacks, my dad ordered him to “put a shirt on.” Church meant patent-leather shoes shined with Vaseline.
While my family laughed at daily “I Love Lucy” reruns, I focused on the charm of Lucy’s and Ethel’s everyday dresses, which were festooned with ribbons, velvet or embroidery. My mother stored similar garments in the back of her closet. Once I had graduated from college, I unabashedly wore them to my first office job, savoring their decorative pleats and pebble-size buttons fashioned from shell or glass.
I’m still out of step with my contemporaries. Returning to church recently for the first time since high school, I felt like I had emerged from a time machine in my tailored skirt, silk blouse and polished pumps. The rest of the congregation sported chunky pullover sweaters and faded bluejeans. In restaurants, patrons peruse wine lists and smooth cloth napkins in their laps while wearing sneakers.
Maybe “first impressions” no longer matter or prestige is conveyed by Palm PDAs and cell phones. Still, there’s something romantic about a Saturday-night date who arrives dressed to impress. I feel special when I open the door to creased slacks and a smile. The latest fashion trend–stained and torn vintage jeans that sell for $187–is almost more than I can take.
It’s hard to justify our disheveled appearance when photos of Depression-era bread lines show men attired in suits and hats, maintaining an air of dignity despite ubiquitous despair. While visiting the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I peered through the glass cases of the fashion exhibit to admire the hand-sewn details of garments that communicated both style and lifestyle. At weddings, I relish the iridescent fabrics and flounce of skirts, knowing that tomorrow I’ll encounter a sea of denim, distinguished only by the fading of the fabric and the label on the pocket.
Some professions have cast off formal attire faster than others. Our president still wears a suit when he addresses Congress, and lawyers wouldn’t dream of showing up in court in anything else. In the ’80s, I worked for a telecom company where my manager always had a colorful silk handkerchief peeking from his breast pocket. But as the ’90s began, casual Fridays took over the office and khakis became everyday wear. Ties, rare as rotary phones, sprouted from my male co-workers’ necks whenever a client visited. I had to exchange my suits for skirts and blouses when rumors began circulating that I was interviewing for another job.
I continue to struggle against the casual quicksand. I own two T shirts and reserve sneakers and sweat shirts for the gym. Sometimes I pass smartly dressed individuals and make a mental picture of them, fearful that sights like those are slipping away. I wonder if these souls are, like me, trying to hold on to a fast-fading formality, or dressed for a special event requiring fastidious attire. I hope they are simply meeting someone for lunch, someone special enough to dress up for.
