My mother is something of a fashion icon. Everyone who knows her knows this. Even some people who don’t know her feel this way. If I ever lost her in a department store, it was because she was busy telling strangers in dressing rooms what suited them best. They ask, and she does not disappoint. She holds little back in her style opinions, and she is always right. Her eye is so legendary I had a childhood friend say she manifests my mother when choosing accessories and follows her rule, “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take at least one thing off.” I had to break it to her that the advice and quote belongs to Coco Chanel and not to my mother. However, confusing the two is paying a high compliment to Coco Chanel.
My mother’s number one rule is to wear what fits. This seems like simple logic, yet I’ve noticed many don’t follow it. Including me. I have plenty of items I wear that are either aspirational (eventually will fit again), desperately need alterations (didn’t fit in the first place), or good but not great (spent good money on this and even though it looks weird I’m still wearing it). I’m no fashionista, just really stubborn.
She can, at a glance, make an assessment of what is good or bad about an outfit but, most importantly, what is appropriate for a person, a season, a venue. I did not inherit her gift. I’m better at preternaturally sensing all-butter croissants in close proximity in new locales. We have different strengths. I call her before I pack for trips, attend weddings, or have a special event. I often have no idea what to wear and what shoes are proper. She knows and it’s faster to have her tell me than go on a treasure hunt in various stores looking for something I cannot name. She also is not influenced by trends. She says, “Just because it’s the style doesn’t mean it’s for you.” This is how I avoided both teased hair and the Forenza sweater craze of 1984. She saved me from some very unfortunate middle school photos.
My children, however, have fallen victim to trends. It’s a different time, and it can’t be helped. Between the dependence on phones and the rapid churn of what is in, it’s hard to fathom keeping current at their age, where they have a constant feed of new. All of them have a penchant for white shoes, which is unfortunate as they evidently walk through black dirt and sand daily. Our front entryway is filled with white leather platform tennis shoes. It looks like a nurse’s station if the nurses had all just done a mud run. And these shoes go from school dance to work to family birthday parties. In their world, dirty white shoes are appropriate for every occasion.
There used to be hard and fast rules around style things. Never wear white to a wedding. Never wear navy and black together. Match your handbag to your shoes. All bets are off now, and my children are reaping the benefits of the no-rules fashion rules. Even at home.
It’s been a long, rainy, humid summer. Our meals are casual and random, but my sons have taken to wearing shorts to family meals. Only shorts. It’s been a shirtless summer. It feels very frat house but with better food. It makes me a little crazy. But I have larger battles to fight, and I guess half-nude meals just don’t qualify at the moment. I don’t think it means anything about their character showing up for a burger with no shirt. But I do hope they know that while the world is casual now, it’s not a free-for-all. Appearances still count. First impressions leave first impressions. Will they choose wisely for what to wear to an interview? A presentation? A date? I hope so, though their summer wardrobes left me with a bit of doubt.
They need to call Grandma. She will know the right call. And they listen to her.
Jen Fortner is a freelance writer who enjoys asking friends and strangers far too many questions. She spends her spare time sitting in inclement weather watching youth sports, traveling, cooking, and searching for the very best baked goods. She lives in Shorewood with her husband, three children and the most spoiled dog.