Sunday, December 27, 2009

Pleated skirts, knee socks, a velveteen suit and a broken leg

It's good to know that a sibling's love can help one overcome the trauma of a bad outfit. Thank goodness this woman had a brother.

"There are no words to describe how much I hated the outdated hand me downs I was forced to wear. Pleated skirts were my nemesis, it was fruitless to argue with my feisty mother. My knee socks bought on dollar forty nine day either slipped to my ankles, or were splashed with mud on the five mile trek to school, causing my constant childhood distress. The only thing that brought me happiness during those years of being teased was that little guy standing right next to me!" (via)

And at least they could share in the pain-which is not actually a joke about her brother's leg. 

"Everyone thought I was sixteen, but I was only eleven. Another ugly outfit outdated by seven years, rolled up at the waist, an attempt to fit in. Desperately trying to mirror the current style, a calico cotton mini skirt, worn by most of the other girls. My school photo from that year I looked like the teacher." (via)

I am puzzled by her brother's outfit as it seem to be a velveteen suit, with a zipper. Personally, I think that breaks the formal nature of the velveteen, which certainly calls for some kind of shiny buttons. Then again, anything goes with a leg cast. 

This next lucky winner has fallen victim to the inevitable matching-sibling outfits. I am completely intrigued by their purses, and also curious about the funky gloves, which look like something I might wear to ride my bike. 
"When I was seven years old I remember standing in a dressing room in a Broadway department store with my mother and sister. Mom wanted to buy us new dresses for Easter. Becky and I were posed in front of the mirror, silently gazing at ourselves in identical outfits. We might as well have been staring into one of those crazy, distorted amusement park mirrors. We were so different in so many ways that just seeing ourselves dressed like twins looked bizarre.

I could tell that Mom really wanted to buy those dresses. She was pleased with everything---the matching two-tone gloves, the little white drawstring purses, and more importantly the price. But she kept standing over me with the Ameritone color samples fanned-out above my shoulder and shaking her head. 'I just don't like this navy blue on you,' she said. 'It's too dark for your olive skin...

I remember being a little hopeful about the prospect of getting a new dress, but any excitement was dulled by the fact that my sister was getting the exact same outfit too. After all, I wore her hand-me-downs. I would be wearing this dress for a long, long time, no matter how fast I grew.

Finally, Mom came to a reluctant compromise. 'The trim on this dress is a true winter white,' she declared, 'And because the collar is white and it is near your face, I think it will be okay for you to wear it." (via)

"I did wear that navy blue dress for a long time. Not just for Easter, but for birthday parties and even at the LA County Fair. And after I grew out of it, I inherited the same navy blue dress from my sister, which I wore to school for many more months. 

But I don't think there was one time that I put that dress on that I didn't think about my skin color. I never wore that dress without worrying that maybe not everyone else would notice that the color white was near my face. On those days I secretly hoped that my complexion didn't look quite as olive and that my dress didn't look quite as navy blue as I knew they really were.

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