Friday, April 28, 2017

Not My Style

I model clothes not worn since summer. Sleeveless tops reveal ropey arms, slack muscles, colorless skin not exposed all winter. I shake my head at dressy items, wonder why I bought them, where to wear them, and will they look dated?

Dated! I’m dated last century. I need pants that sit at my waist, stay at my waist. Yes, even at my age, I still have a waist. I’ve had wide hips since I was twelve. My legs are sturdy and curvy. I don’t want baggy knees or saggy butt when I stand.

Skinny jeans with short zippers?

Not my style.

Midrise with extra flesh spilling over?

Not my style.

Backside gaps? Gender-equality reigns, but –

Not my style.

My pile of discards grows large. I look at what I’ve saved and remember the guy who said I looked like I was from Boston. I think he meant my style of dress – turtlenecks and tailored pants, multiple layers, sensible shoes.

I am a New England native, relocated West as a child.

Katharine Hepburn and Barbara Stanwyck.

There’s my style.

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