There’s a famous picture in my family of my mother as a young woman, around 1949, standing on the edge of a diving board, fully dressed, her knees bent, her palms together, her shoulders hunched forward. She looks as if she’s about to dive in.
Anything more than a cursory look, however, reveals that not only is she smiling broadly, but her hair is impeccably coifed in the close-cropped style of the day. Though the picture is in black and white, it’s obvious that her impeccably tailored suit is gorgeous; beautiful suede high-heeled shoes and a double strand of pearls complete her perfect postwar giddy-single-girl look.
“That suit was a fine, light gray gabardine,” she says, still a hint of pride in her voice, whenever she sees the 5-by-7 picture, which now hangs framed in my house. “I bought it at Peck & Peck or Best & Co., one of those. I always wanted to look nice.” In fact, she was at the height of fashion.
She had bought the entire ensemble to wear on her first transcontinental flight, from her home in New York to visit her first cousin in Beverly Hills. He was a big star in radio then (and subsequently became the voice of Fred Flintstone on television) and lived in a large house with a pool surrounded by orange trees.
Today, more than 50 years later, my mother is still as attractive and put together. And while her interest in fashion per se has waned, her interest in style has not. It’s a tricky balancing act for anyone, but especially so for women of a certain age. Fashion, after all is said and done, is a young person’s game.
Fashion is constantly evolving, swirling like a dervish from one thing to the next, this month’s Vogue to next month’s Marie Claire. Fashion is “50 Must-Haves” and “Best Looks for Spring” and “The Softer Side of Khaki.” Fashion is caring about the old guard (Valentino, Blass, Herrera) and the vanguard (Gucci, McCartney, Gaultier), as well as the much-photographed fashionistas who wear them-Pia Getty, Marina Rust, Susan Fales-Hill, Gwyneth. Fashion is fun but stressful.
For the young, fashion can act as a guide in the long and winding road to self-definition and understanding. It can help a woman decide who she is, who she wants to be, who she can be.
But there comes a point when all the mewing for Miu Miu and pleading for Prada becomes nothing more than a cri de coeur, an unfortunate admission that even now, at midlife when living should be about more than the middlebrow and middling, she is still not sure who she is, is still looking for direction and seeking supervision.
About a year ago my mother and I walked into Prada on Oak Street. She looked at the vaguely 1970s-inspired skirts and dresses in kind of ugly combinations of greens and rusts, and at the inelegant shoes, and with a quick wave of her hand dismissed it all. “I’ve done that,” she said, turning to walk out of the store. What she meant, of course, is that “fashion” is no longer for her.
As some women get older they often complain that designers ignore them, that fashion magazines don’t speak to them. And, of course, not only are they right, but it’s as it should be.
The point these complaining women are missing is that imbued in their rant is their strength. Designers and fashion magazines guide those in need of guidance. Those who already know where they’re going-or those who have already arrived-no longer need Chloe to point the way. Yes, the magazines may be ignoring you, but in the much bigger picture, you should be ignoring them.
If fashion is about the art of self-definition, once you’re no longer in the flush of youth, it should be too late for fashion to have much influence on your life. Hopefully it’s symbiotic: Fashion’s interest in you fades as naturally as your interest in fashion diminishes.
The upside is that a competent sense of style takes its place. Style, as manifested in some “mature” women like Lena Horne, Lauren Hutton, Sonia Braga and my mother, is something you earn by living, something you accrue over a lifetime. It’s about being comfortable in your skin, about the grace that comes with a life fully lived and loved.
There’s another picture at my house of my mother, taken two years ago at a chamber music concert given in honor of her 75th birthday. Her hair is silver and cut well, she’s wearing a double strand of pearls and her wide smile is exactly as it was in 1949. My mother has lived a full life that has included marriage and widowhood and marriage again, births and deaths and cross-country moves and the raising of children and caring for aged parents.
As with so many women her age, she has absorbed it all with dignity and aplomb. For women who have survived their youth, it’s their life history that is the source of their style, and that’s the sort of thing that never goes out of fashion.
