30 May 2007

Christian D'or

It's well-known amongst my intimates that I loathe shopping for clothes. More to the point, I loathe the concept of fashion, and even more, I loathe fashion "designers." Who are these people?

I'll tell you. They are the real terrorists. Chauvinists. Misogynists.

A very long time ago, I was part of a modeling program for a local department store. I was in my mid-teens, and because I am quite tall and was then extremely fit and still have something of a flair for the theatrical, everyone figured I was a natural.


I was too tall. And as this was the era when Cheryl Tiegs was the face of modelling, I was also too well-endowed and probably too athletic looking, not to mention too brunette.

But you know what? I always liked being really tall and a brunette, and I've never once in my colorful history been blonde. Men with mischief on their minds tend to steer clear of tall women, especially those who have some muscle definition and body language that doesn't mince words but calls out loud and clear, "It's not that I can kick your ass, dude, but I will kick your ass." (Ok, one time, I was packing a pipe wrench, too, but that is so far off topic that we will save it for an entry on "how the smart woman accessorizes her look.")


We know who the fashion terrorists are designing for. They are designing for the bodies of 12-year-old boys. Real 12-year-old boys when I was a teen, and now something more along the lines of 12-year-old boys with enormous breast implants (which is highly ironic to me. Where I was once too well endowed, I am now practically flat chested by local standards. It's important to note that my bra size has not changed.) I hear all this talk of clothes for the "bootylicious," but seriously, if Beyonce and Jennifer Lopez have asses, where are they? I can't really discern glutes on either of those girls.

I am WOMAN. Here me ROAR:

I want clothes that are flattering and that fit and that are kind. I do not want a trapeze dress or a tube top, which, honest to God, someone recently tried to sell me. I do not want low rise jeans. I do not want to wear a bed sheet 10 different ways. I most assuredly do not want to wear nylon or spandex. I am a woman of middle years, I have given birth twice (and had two C-sections, which is an issue all of its own), and I still have a decent figure. But more to the point, I have the money to buy the clothes I want. And I am not alone.

So, fashionista terroristas, what are you waiting for?

Go listen to some good music: "Christian D'or" from the album B-Side Babies by Adam Ant.