Category Archives: Beauty and Fashion

January 22, 2011 · 8:57 am

Overnight sensation

Just recently, I sulked when a snobby saleswoman snubbed my style as shabby chic.

I’ve decided I could go two ways with that. I could bristle and point to evidence that my sought-after slipcovers are plenty trendy. Or, I could roll with it and play the part I was assigned.

Maybe shabby suits my economic reality, and just maybe there’s a way to be shabby chicly. But how?

Just as I was trying on this new persona in my mind, I got a tweet from one of my sources for what’s hot. At my age and without a young person at home any longer, I need help in boosting my trend awareness. Twitter to the rescue, once again.

Voilà the latest in footwear for the economically aware, environmentally sensitive, deadline-conscious shoe fanatic.  Goodbye Vanelli pumps; hello Shipping Package Kicks, new from Civic Duty Shoes.

Why so crinkly, you ask? These babies are made of dependably durable FedEx envelopes, and styled like old-school Chuck Taylors.

If shabby and chic don’t ring your bell, consider this. They’ll get you where you need to be by 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.

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January 21, 2011 · 8:57 am

Retort-challenged

Let us all take a lesson from a recent conversation at Pier 1 Imports.

I:  Excuse me, ma’am. Do you carry slipcovers?
SALESWOMAN:  No, we don’t.
I:  Would you happen to know of a store near here that does?
SALESWOMAN:  No, ever since ‘shabby chic’ went out of style, no one is making slipcovers anymore.
I:

I was in the car before I noticed my jaw was still hanging down around my neck.

What does one say after hearing a comment so mean-spirited? Where’s Winston Churchill when you need him? He was the king, rather, the prime minister, of snappy comebacks (“If I were your husband, I’d drink it”).

Driving home last night, after having been verbally assaulted at Pier 1, I suddenly remembered similar comments I’d received. This wasn’t the first time I’d been the object of a stinging, though perhaps well-meaning, insult. But my reaction has always been the same: stunned silence.

Because I’ve diagnosed myself with a watered-down version of Marilu Henner’s autobiographical memory, I can recall when each of these conversations took place.

March 1983.  After starting my first job out of college, I saved three paychecks to be able to afford a pair of shoes I wanted. They were two-toned, brown and tan Vaneli pumps. I loved them. The first time I wore them to work, a woman in the office said, “I like your shoes. I used to wear shoes like that, back when they were in style.”

August 1990.  An industry colleague approached me at a conference and asked me when my baby was due. I wasn’t expecting. It was then I started paying attention to my posture. And ditched that spongy double-breasted jacket.

April 1991. A woman seeing me try on a dress suggested, “Maybe it would look better if you wore a push-up bra.” I was wearing one.

March 2010. At a party, another guest, whom I didn’t know well, said, “You look great tonight. Not a lot of women would have the courage to wear pants like that.”

These obviously made an impression on me; otherwise I’d have forgotten them by now. Maybe now that I’ve aired them, I will.

What’s the worst candy-coated insult you’ve ever received? Better yet, who, besides Winston Churchill, can give me a snappy comeback? I’ll write it down and keep it handy for next time. It’ll be my retort card.

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January 17, 2011 · 11:41 am

Much ado

It makes me sad when I hear a really interesting word, begin to adopt it into my own vocabulary and then, nearly overnight, hear it thrown about willy-nilly, having lost its distinctive meaning.

This makes me think about the first girls to wear Ugg boots. I still don’t own any because, by the time I became aware of them, they had already saturated the fashion scene and were being worn in places where they have no use, such as at formal events or in the desert Southwest.  There’s a narrow window in which to enjoy something novel before it’s over- or mis-used.

We were watching a morning news program yesterday, a story about a Tacoma, Washington, boy having been sent home from school for wearing a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. The Seattle-based reporter ended the piece, naming the incident a “kerfuffle.” I said to my husband, “I love that word, ‘kerfuffle.’” Just then, our local news anchor said, “I love that word, ‘kerfuffle.’”  The horse is out of the barn.

“Kerfuffle” isn’t a new word and, from what I understand, the British adapted the Scottish “cerfuffle” and made it theirs long ago. It’s just that we don’t hear it all that often. It’s fancy and delicate and best saved for special occasions, much like Grandmother’s white lace tablecloth.

Whereas “kerfuffle” has long referred to commotion, fuss, brouhaha or misunderstanding, it seems many are using it almost euphemistically, to trivialize more heated or violent incidents. One literary blog elaborates.

Other words describing social conflict have evolved over time.

I remember studying the word “altercation” for a vocabulary test in grade school. The definition I memorized was “a wordy quarrel.” Webster’s defines it as a “noisy argument.” News writers and broadcasters now use “altercation” to describe a fist fight, even an incident involving gunfire. They also describe a barroom brawl as a “melee,” a term that has typically referred to combat situations.

As we’ve observed here lately, there is a place for language evolution, though I’m sad to see distinctive words become watered down through overuse. Perhaps there’s also a place for Grandma’s lace tablecloth for Tuesday’s hamburgers; just don’t get ketchup on it.

I missed the Uggs boat and, clearly, my new favorite word is aboard a train that has left the station.

It’s just a simple observation. I won’t make a kerfuffle out of it.

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January 11, 2011 · 9:59 am

Bottomless skit

As a native of Washington, D.C., I have always thought the nation’s capital could take some lessons from New York City. Fashion. Taxicab regulation. Pizza. Liverwurst on rye.

Unfortunately, it seems that, several years ago, Washington took a tradition from the Big Apple and planted it right here inside the Beltway. C’mon. I’d rather have the liverwurst.

Sunday afternoon, between 3:00 and 6:00 p.m., Washingtonians observed their fourth annual No Pants Metro Ride by boarding the subway and peeling off their pants. Organizers rallied riders via Facebook and other social media, instructing them to act as if nothing were wrong as they rode past all the popular tourist stops. Amusing, I suppose, as temperatures stayed mostly in the 20s. The stunt paid off for riders who took advantage of a local eatery’s offer of half-priced hamburgers for half-dressed patrons.

Those who know me know that I can’t even bear to sit next to someone wearing shorts on an airplane. The thought of spending Sunday afternoon in a crowded subway car awash in goosebumpy, pale, shivering, shrinking flesh made me glad to have been, well, anywhere else.

Now, D.C., can’t we find a more mature way to be like New York?

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January 1, 2011 · 10:12 am

The List

Every New Year’s Day, the first thing I do is open The Washington Post and read The List, a comparative account of what’s Out and what’s In in the new year. Other papers around the country may publish something similar, but the Post tends to include a few inside-the-Beltway references.

What always strikes me is that I didn’t know so many things were In until they were already Out. Brussels sprouts, for example. Conversely, I am amused to read what’s now In that was already In for me. For example, IHOP is now In. I celebrated my birthday there (by choice) two weeks ago.

Sorry, Betty White, you’ve been replaced by Anne Meara. I’m just glad you’re both enjoying your due glory.

I’ve jotted down a few personal Ins and Outs:

OUT IN
Two spaces after a period One space after a period
Oxford comma No comma
Hot house Central air conditioning
Goose bumps Hot flashes
Real Housewives of anywhere Hot in Cleveland
Coffee, alcohol, chocolate, garlic, onions, tomatoes, fried foods, and late night snacking Hot water and Dexilant happy hours
Zicam Webcam
Pandora jewelry Pandora radio

 

What’s Out and In for you in 2011?

Happy New Year.

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December 28, 2010 · 9:07 am

Time for a change

I promised I’d tell you about the 9:45 a.m. phone call that got me out of bed yesterday.

The call was from my doctor with the results of a recent blood test. Not to worry, the diagnosis was not of a disease and it’s something very common. Just not for me. So I’m bracing myself.

The test results foretell change swirling about our house. All I can do now is wait. For mood swings, hot flashes, maybe a mustache. I have already started losing my thick hair. And now I’ll be growing hair where I don’t want hair. Like on my chin.

I apologize to those with delicate sensibilities for the indelicate subject today. But I also thank the creators of All in the Family who, in 1970, brought a taboo subject into American homes, and playwright Jeanie Linders, who turned a horrific condition into a Broadway musical.

My husband isn’t sure what to make of it all. His first question had to do with the mood swings: “How is this going to differ from how you already are?” At least he didn’t ask that about the mustache.

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December 13, 2010 · 9:39 am

Time capsule in the news

In case you missed them, here are some headlines from Sunday’s Washington Post:

“Twining Criticism Stirs NATO Clash”
“Bulgaria Reds Shift Politburo”
“Nixon Committee to Organize in District”
“Gay Clothes Put Sparkle in Young Eyes”
“Cosmopolitan Tehran Lacks Middle East Table: Hardest place to find a Middle Eastern restaurant in”
“Electronic Gadgets Shrinking to Specks”
An op-ed piece on “Wall Street Money and Politics”
“The Federal Diary: Efficiency Rises in 3 Agencies”

Confused? I pulled these headlines from the Sunday paper that was printed on December 13, 1959, the day I was born. I still have the actual paper my father bought at the Hilton at 16th and K Streets after he dropped my mother off at Georgetown University Hospital. That’s how things were done back then. 

Fifty-one years later, that newspaper is all yellow and crackly around the edges, as am I. Still, I pull it out every year and marvel at how things have changed—and how they haven’t—since 1959.

Debbie Reynolds graced the cover of Parade, while Ann Sothern appeared on the cover of TV Week.

What is now the Style section was “For and About Women.”

One could buy a completely redecorated row house in Georgetown for $28,000 or rent a furnished luxury apartment at 2400 Pennsylvania Avenue for $160 a month. A house in Kensington, Md., where I live, went for $18,900.

District residents were enticed to do their shopping at Julius Garfinkel & Co., Woodward & Lothrop, Kann’s, Raleigh Haberdasher, Best & Co., Stein’s, G.C. Murphy Company and People’s Drug.

IBM took out a want ad for machine operators, offering complete training in Key Punch and Tab and Wiring. Another company advertised openings for “Ambitious Men (white).” Egads.

Before I put away this paper time capsule until next year, I thought you might enjoy a few images.

 

I’m betting many of you recall Washington in the 1950s. Does any of this stir a memory?

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December 10, 2010 · 9:49 am

Button Button

This might seem a little trivial, but I thought I’d get your thoughts, especially from readers who might be Internet savvy. Which I thought I was, until a recent phenomenon.

To make a long story longer, about three years ago I bought a black Anne Klein pant suit. It’s rare when I can buy a suit off the rack that fits me, needs no alterations, looks nice and travels well. This one met all the criteria so I snapped it up.

The first time I wore it, I lost one of the jacket’s three buttons, so I took the spare and had it sewn on. Shortly after that, I lost another button. I was working in a large conference center and had covered a lot of ground that day. Miraculously, after extensive searching, I found it in the press room. I had it sewn back on. I’ve since lost all three buttons at least twice each and, with the exception of that first one, I have always found them. I even tried sewing them back on myself, in an effort to make them stay on permanently.

Last week, I lost a button in Florida and never found it.

I went online and tried to find a supply of replacement buttons, and was able to contact someone through the Anne Klein website. I provided an e-mail address that I use only for Internet business.

Over the last eight days, I logged in 14 e-mails back and forth with the Anne Klein company and its parent, Jones New York, narrowing down manufacturing dates, style numbers and something called an RN number, to determine availability of said buttons. Everyone was responsive, and I’ve just received a message that my new buttons are on their way. But the dialogue has provided an interesting glimpse into how this exceedingly narrow slice of the industry does business.

There are two mysteries at work here. One is why buttons keep falling off my suit. The other is this: Since I began my search, everywhere I go on the Internet, an Anne Klein ad pops up. On Facebook, on Comcast, several others and just now, on a blog about words and phrases. That one ignited my curiosity. I presume my initial Google search and visit to the Anne Klein site led to this, but I really don’t know how it all works.  All I know is, in my online travels, Anne Klein is omnipresent.

Will I forever be stalked by Anne Klein and, of so, how can I use this to my advantage? Perhaps all she now knows about me will help me find another great suit in my size, preferably one with a jacket that zips or snaps.

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November 23, 2010 · 9:11 am

Hi ho silver

This is a big week. In addition to Thanksgiving, my husband and I are celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. That’s the silver one.

It’s been a great run so far, but frankly I don’t think I am old enough to be celebrating 25 years of marriage.

My husband and I celebrated last weekend in New York City. We stayed up late, walked for miles and hung out with our young peers. We saw a Broadway show, had great meals and hit some swanky night spots. Very different from  any prior mental image I’d had of such an occasion.

The first silver anniversary celebration I remember was that of my Aunt Mary Lee and Uncle Henry. And they were ancient; I think Aunt Mary Lee was 43. From what I remember, the party room was full of old people dancing to old people’s music. I wore about six inches of crinoline and wondered if I would ever live long enough  to be married 25 years.

Here. See for yourself.

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November 4, 2010 · 8:32 am

Dream on

Not too long ago, we had fun here talking about our first jobs. The idea came about when the Today show ran a series about its hosts’ first jobs. The post prompted readers to share memories of theirs.

This week, CBS’ The Early Show has been airing a series on dream jobs, in which the hosts and others from the CBS family help viewers score their dream jobs, if only for a day–working at the zoo, cooking alongside Bobby Flay, writing cards for Hallmark and so on.

This got me thinking. I don’t know about you, but my idea of a dream job takes on a different form with each passing year.

When I was four, I wanted to be a ballerina nun. That lasted until I was six, when I wanted to be a go-go dancer. Actually I was a go-go dancer, in a make-believe go-go club my friends and I set up in the garage, with the help of my mother, who made us all fringed hot pink go-go dresses. We had one 45 rpm record, The Beatles’ “Can’t Buy Me Love;” two if you count the flip side, which was “You Can’t Do That.”

It has turned out that I’ve had a real dream job or two in my life. Or at least good jobs with dream perks. For several years, I got to travel the world, sometimes via corporate jet, doing fascinating work. Still, working in public policy as I did, it was not unusual to work on a single issue for years on end with seemingly little hope of completion.

It was then I used to dream of being a supermarket cashier. In addition to a fondness for groceries, what appealed to me most was the ability to finish a day’s work completely and definitively, with nothing hanging over my head. When your shift ends, you turn in your cash drawer, clock out, go home and leave it behind. You come in the next day with a clean smock and a fresh outlook.

I no longer have that dream because I am fortunate to be engaged more recently in project work, which carries with it that same sense of satisfaction–of completing a project, wrapping it up neatly and beginning a new one.

My husband has what many consider a dream job, and yet he dreams of other options. He is an oceanographer and wants to be a cowboy.

I can’t say at this moment what I’d consider to be my dream job. Maybe a shoe model.

Your turn. What did you want to be when you grew up or, now that you’re grown, what would be your dream job, even if you could do it for only a day?

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