Whoever those fashion fascists are who tell us each season what is hot and what’s not, I’m on to their cruel joke. You know what I’m talking about. This season they told us rompers were all the rage and showed us endless pictures of anorexic teenage girls wearing them in all the fashion mags. I nearly coughed up my Geritol when I saw that one. Can you imagine an average woman with an average body strutting around in rompers? Not to mention having to get completely undressed to go to the loo, while the whole thing lies in a pool of yuck at your feet. I’ve been noticing signs recently of the latest bit of absurdity they’re going to try coaxing us into wearing. I’m talking about loose-crotch jeans, the kind that make you look like you’re carrying a load, with lots of room for a package if we had a package. At least they’d be comfortable when I go to the movies and need to make room for downing a bucket of popcorn and a gallon of Diet Coke.
These absurd fashion dictates are surely the result of too much inhaled hair spray and other questionable substances. The scary part of this hoax is, however, that I inevitably get sucked in. A few years ago, when I’d accumulated a few nice pairs of boot-cut jeans, they hit us with skinny legged ones. Never, I told myself. By the next season, I was happily lined up with everyone else at the checkout with an armful of new skinnies—in blue denim, white, black, grey and red. The same routine played out for platform soles, jeggings and even further back, stirrups. It’s only because of my age and physique that I was forced to forgo crop tops and short shorts. If I’d ever succumbed to the boyfriend jean, I would have been mistaken for a dumpy dumpster diver.
The irony of this ridiculous situation is that ninety-nine percent of us do not possess the physique to pull off these bizarre fashion follies. Retailers would move so much more product if the manufacturers designed for people like you and me—Boomers who finally have a few bucks to spend on what we’ve learned looks flattering on our well-traveled bodies. Give me comfort. Give me a bit of flash and fun. But give me something that will make me look mahvelous. And if you ever spot me in a lineup with a pair of baggy-crotch jeans, you’re welcome to slap me upside the head—preferably before I’ve paid for them. The current fashion scene is a riot of “don’ts”. I only hope I don’t succumb. And I mean it. Did I hear a snicker behind me?