Broken Promises/Happy Endings

  
Sometimes it pays to disappoint yourself, especially this year.

Every January I make the same promise I make in July: Don't buy anything for next season until that next season arrives. This is a promise I can never keep.

The stores start hauling out spring and summer clothes while the winter sale signs are still wet. I love me a good sale, but I CAN NOT resist the shiny and new.

It's easy to forget what you actually own when it's packed away for a winter nap, so I'm often replenishing what doesn't need to be replenished. I will also imagine events that never occur—patio parties where I swan about in a silk caftan passing out hors d'oeuvres and cocktails to my neighbors. I don't even know the neighbors. I envision romantic evenings in a flowy summer dress on a cruise ship in tropic waters, strolling the decks with my husband apres dinner. What's wrong with this picture? I hate cruises and get seasick besides. Nevertheless the fantasies persist, and I can end up in October with outfits still hanging in the closet, tags attached.

I've gotten better over time but am not 100% pre-season impulse-free. This year, when stepping inside the mall or a department store seems a far-fetched idea, I'm happy I broke my promise. What that means is I start the season with new clothes I WILL wear, mainly because they are new. I bought some striped Breton sailor tees, black pants with white daisies, wide-leg linen pants in a terra cotta color, a black knit blazer cut like a riding jacket, that flowy summer dress for my husband's birthday dinner (which will still happen just not aboard ship), a black straw bag of shredded raffia, a pair of tooled leather mules and a pair of black slip-on sneakers with white treads.

You might think this is enough to satisfy a woman's summer wardrobe in its entirety. But you don't know me. Before this all happened, I shopped, like a shark swims, constantly. I enjoyed the hunt while always looking for "a good price".

I've learned a lot, even in six weeks. I've learned how little I need and how much I have. I've learned to do other things with my time, like cooking real recipes instead of throwing dinner together. My garden has never looked better. I'm reading more. I can't find an excuse to avoid cleaning house, but I'm working on that.

As retail slowly opens up here, I wonder how things will change. I'm old enough to need to proceed cautiously, but I do feel I won't go back to my meandering ways. The new normal doesn't seem able to support that idea anyways.

I will tell you one thing: I'm happy to have something new to wear when I can be let out!

Coming to a Summer Near You? Socks with Sandals

 
With most of us missing months of pedicure appointments, I wonder if the new trend this summer will be socks and sandals.

This has been touted before, many times, and has never caught on. It has either cried "trying too hard" or looked too 1940s. Many trends have no reason for being, of course, but wearing socks with your sandals now Fulfills a Need.

Miami, 1940

Lest you think I am just a prima donna and can't do my own toes, I really can't. They are so gnarly that, well, let me spare you the details. For years I would never even wear sandals until a wonderful nails person assured me she had seen it all and not to worry. So, yes, I get pedicures. And can now wear sandals.

The always-stylish Eva Chen

But now is then, if you know what I mean. It's finally sandal weather in Texas. Okay, it's always sandal weather even when it isn't. Texas women will put on a winter coat before they change out of sandals. It's not necessary to ask forgiveness these days. It's more a case of self-pride. Even I don't want to look at my unkempt toenails.

Maybe...

Maybe not

Of course, these might be a new trend altogether...

How Chic is Your Mask?

I never thought I would be seeing this, let alone writing about it, but I noticed two women in the supermarket today who looked so fabulous in their social-distancing masks, I had to stop and tell them (from a safe distance of course).

Me, I was wearing my bandana-and-a-rubber-band mask, baseball cap and no makeup. Who could tell who I possibly WAS? (one benefit of all this cover-up-ing). I felt emboldened to compliment them, as one so often does become more chatty when in disguise.

I didn't get up the nerve to ask for a photograph, but one was wearing a pink-and-white gingham mask with strips of white appliqued flowers along the side pieces. She had a black pixie haircut and bold, black eyeglass frames helping to keep the mask in place. I didn't notice what else she was wearing because she looked so cute from the neck up.

The second woman, a statuesque African-American, had on a sweeping caftan dress in one long swath of mustardy-olive. Her hair was pulled back; the mask was a deep-colored African print (which she said she made herself), and she was wearing one killer pair of false eyelashes.

Whatever glorious pictures you have in your head, keep them there. These women looked—dare I say—stunning and appropriate. And who looked like Glamour Dont's? The few women not wearing masks.

Is there some new chic afoot? Will it no longer be okay to just wear a mask? Will the well-dressed woman get points for coordinating her look with her outfit? This will either give me a new push to get creative or another reason never to leave my house.

Tone Deaf During Covid 19?

 
Any place I've ever bought anything from is sending me emails, lots and lots of emails. I've learned to ignore those missals from Banana Republic, Old Navy, the Gap, Carter's, Ann Taylor, J Crew, DSW, H&M, J Jill, etc., but now they are beginning to feel wrong.

I've not Unsubscribed because eventually I will want to know what's happening out there. I don't bother to open them; I just delete from the inbox. I can't help seeing that first line as I do. Over time those emails are feeling more tone deaf and more desperate.

"Comfy clothes for this special time!" I don't need any more comfy clothes, thank you. I especially don't need them without a pay check coming in. I don't need a "wardrobe refresh" or a "personal online shopper".

I've also received a few tailored to me by local store managers. I will refrain from mentioning which stores to save them any embarrassment, but I do NOT want a video consultation or a curbside pickup to get new clothes. Do you not understand?

I am not going anywhere. I am not doing anything except trying to stay healthy. I know you are feeling desperate. I work in retail and, I don't have a job anymore. I have zero confidence that I will ever have one again. Now is not the time to buy what can't be consumed, read, listened to, played, or wiped with.

I understand your plight. Clothes are a need or a pleasure in our lives. Fashion has always been the stuff of angels' wings. I feel your pain (do I ever!), but I don't want to see you sweat. Leave me my illusions (which means being very, very quiet) or treat me like a good friend.

Tell me you understand how we are all feeling. Let me know you want me to be safe and healthy and that you look forward to seeing me again soon. Send me a sweet thought but not a 60% discount coupon. I'll still be your friend.