Olympic Gray?

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Day 215


I think that any time a theme can be implemented, well, "Just Do It." The Olympics has a pretty easy theme to follow- your own country's colors. Shouldn't be a problem for the good old U. S. of A! What could be more patriotic, more festive, easier than the tried and true red, white and blue? This is a picture of our United States Olympic Gold-Medal winning gymnastic team--the U.S. Fab 5-- sporting GRAY. Huh?


According to the St. Louis Post, Nike felt that the gray "glows on the medal stand and lets the audience see just how bright America's athletes can shine." I have looked and looked at this photo. I've squinted and covered one eye. I even tried blocking out the other teams. I see no glowing whatsoever. I see a sad, uninspired look. The Russian suits are really interesting. The Romanian suits are suitably Olympic. Yet here we are, the greatest country in the world, drab.


To make it to the Olympics it takes nearly unfathomable effort and dedication. To win a medal, nearly super-human. And we reward them by sending them to the medal stand looking booor-ing. It's not right. In the moment of their greatest glory, I think that we owe them a rockin', super-patriotic, amazing outfit. Well, at least that.


There is speculation that the true reason Nike supplied these ho-hum jackets is the potential sale-ability after the Olympics. While I'm sure the jacket technically cool, it will sell for $450. That's pretty darn steep for an ugly jacket. I say we band together and say NO! No, Nike! We will not buy your ugly warm-up jacket. Not even on sale. We demand style. We demand color. We demand patriotism. C'mon, Nike, Just Do It.

Mid-summer Slump

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Day 218

I spent most of Saturday tending to my yard. It's a sad state of affairs. Like me, the plants have been basking in the sun, dancing in the breeze and taking too little care of themselves. We are all a bit wilted. One area of my backyard is a particular problem. It's turned into a hostile environment over the years and even the hostas have a tough time out there. Worst part is, it has a view to my backyard neighbor's yard.

I spend a lot of time in the spring planting, weeding and grooming my yard. I'm not really educated about horticulture so I basically wing it. Much like my wardrobe, I focus on the frivolous, fun things and nifty planters rather than the staples of landscaping. True to my habit, "if one is good, five is better," I have more than 15 varieties of herbs. I think I use about 6. I killed at least 3. My neighbor, on the other hand, tends to her yard daily. It is lovely. There are pockets of luxury throughout her yard: pillows on a wooden bench, upholstered cafe chairs, a chandelier with solar lights. There's a pond, an ivy covered trellis and their grilled food always smells good.

I admit, I have yard envy. It's kind of like living next door to a super-model. Wait--I kind of do. The gal across the street is beautiful, tall and oh, so thin. And funny, smart and nice. It sucks. The gal next door has a waist so tiny, I have often wondered where her organs go. She's also hilarious. If I got carried away- I could have all sorts of envy and I really have to work to keep it in check. I am positive that at least some of my outfits are a result of some envy or another.

Also like my wardrobe, I have to keep reminding myself what I do have. I have a big open yard that my grandson loves to play in. My house wouldn't pass a white glove test right now, but we sure do laugh a lot. I'm a little behind on household tasks but I wouldn't trade one day on the lake, one dinner with friends or one hour of volleyball. I'm sure no super-model but with some effort, I don't clean up too bad.

My husband and I are celebrating 23 years of marriage. We've built a life, like a wardrobe, piece by piece. We add something, get rid of something else, looking for the balance that feels right. It may not be perfect, but I wouldn't trade our life (or my wardrobe) for anything.

Project Runway Season 10, Episode 3--Poor Anya!!!

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Day 220

Because of the Olympic coverage, I watched Project Runway OnDemand this week. It had much of the excitement that the Olympics deliver! This week, the new crop of designers were assigned a former designer and had to create their Emmy Award red carpet look. The twist was that the new designers had to work in pairs which generates lots of drama. I was super-excited that one of the returning former designers was my fav-- Season 9 winner, Anya!

Dressing Anya would be a dream. She is beautiful, stylish and true to her Caribbean roots. This is what the two current designers (Andrea and Christopher) created to send Anya to the red carpet:
 You can see the details of it here ... if you have the stomach for it. Poorly constructed, completely unflattering, a miserable design of a gown. Poor Anya!!! I acknowledge the time constraints, small budget and stressful conditions, but still!!!

Part of my no-buy odyssey has been really coming to terms with what is a good look and what qualifies as an impulsive, unwearable garment. Anya's dress is something I would equate to a final clearance, purchased "as is", designer second, not returnable dress. In other words, RUN!!!! 

P.S. I wouldn't be caught dead in Andrea's outfit either! I thought she would represent us "wise women" with class but I can't relate to her taste at all!

Fine

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Day 223

I am not one to fish for compliments. As an "ugly duckling" growing up, I learned that what's inside is so much more important. Even still, I do everything I can to look my best and care a lot about what I wear.

And, although I don't fish for compliments, like anyone, I cringe at criticism. Recently, I was handed a whopper. Twice, actually, in the last couple months, I was given the grand-daddy of slaps---the dreaded, "You look fine." I am not even kidding, I was told this twice. Not by my husband (he would never ...) or kids (they have said much worse, for example as I was getting ready to go out my daughter said, "I thought we said no to that outfit.") I was told I look fine by a kind, well-meaning friend. And it was not in the "girl, you look fine" tone.

What does "fine" mean? I'll tell you what "fine" means. "Fine" sucks. Fine is mediocre. Fine is for bland food, a dull outfit, boring hair, no mood. Fine is for a nondescript day, an uninspiring project and the color gray. Fine is not trying and it's evident but not entirely offensive. Fine, in the end, means that little effort was involved.

I don't do FINE. But, a look in the mirror shows that some slacking on my part is starting to read as fine. I've been fooling myself a bit about doing the best I can with upkeep, dressing and fitness. It's true. I may not be a monster, but I am soft and tired. Perhaps, I am fine. 

But I will not remain fine. Nor sir. I am sure I can do better than fine. I must formulate a plan of attack. It may take a few months but I'll be back. Fine. Hunh. My friend, "you have awoken a sleeping giant" (that IS a fat joke).

Back to School Shopping 1/2

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Day 227

You would have to be living in a cave to escape the advertising blitz announcing to one and all: It's Back to School Time! You must buy everything!!! From a retail sales perspective, this has to be one of the most profitable times of the year. Who wants to go back to school looking anything less than fabulous?

(groovy flashback music) I never really fit in at school. Plain, chubby and smart, I wasn't a cool girl, ever.I wanted to be and the best I could do was wear the same clothes (maybe in a bigger size) than the cool girls. Fortunately, my mom was great about it. I don't think it was easy, but she made sure I had the Levi's jeans (please don't pull off my orange Levi tag!), Adidas three-stripe sneakers, Elton John t-shirt, sizzler dress (with matching panties), palazzo pants, knickers, mini, maxi and midi. I had elephant bell jeans, the denim jacket, a three-piece suit, disco leotard and skirt, jumpsuits and high-waisted pants. There was the fancy ski jacket (White Stag, with the tiny stag zipper pull), platform shoes and a real Gunne Sax dress. Yep, I had it all.

But I still never fit in. So, as a junior in high school, I finally decided to take my own fashion direction. It was a complete departure from my fighting-to-fit-in looks. My look ranged from 1940's style pencil skirts and padded shoulder jackets (not the typical high school wardrobe, and I probably looked more like a teacher), to floral skirts with ruffled ankle socks and high-heeled shoes. I was the first to sport the "Bad Sandy" Grease look. I think I even mixed in the occasional "Good Sandy." No real style, no point of view or particular aesthetic, just whatever I thought was cool that day. 

By the end of senior year, I was decidedly odd. I did, however, have a date to senior prom. My time to really pull out all stops and go wild? No, I weenied out and completely reverted to trying to fit in. It was the prom, after all. I wore a very safe, aqua floral Gunne Sax. Booorrrrring. 
And guess what? I was in the Ladies Room that evening, admiring my ho-hum look, when a group of cool girls approached. Really cool girls. They must love my Gunne Sax. Yes, it's real. Instead, one said, "I'm surprised. We were really looking forward to seeing what you'd wear."

Here's the fashion lesson: Don't dress for others. If you have to change your look to fit in, it's probably not a place you really want to fit in. Trying too hard never works. Embrace and develop your own look, your own personal style. Then OWN it.