Great Outfits
06-11-03

If this essay were a movie it would be in the short film category, but it is nonetheless nominated as a “keeper”.

The sight of a great looking outfit can be a source of pleasure to a woman. When I was in a partial hospitalization program receiving treatment for severe depression, the three RNs (Corinne, Debrah, and Joanna) and their office angel, Judy; wore spectacular outfits everyday. They each have a completely different style and a good eye for what works well for them. Their outfits had an “expensive boutique” individuality about them even though, at least two of the ladies, confessed to bargain finds when I complimented them on what they were wearing. Their ensembles were perfectly accessorized and included exactly the right footwear to complete the package. And another remarkable detail that did not escape my notice, was the fact that their clothes were very well pressed. I don’t know whether it was due to a happy accident of good fabric, or a professional dry cleaner’s steam pressing, or simply fine handiwork with an iron; it was, nonetheless, an impressive final touch.

What it was about the fact that these women took such care in their personal presentation for their workday that contributed to my healing, I can’t fully explain; but I know that it did. Their effort lit up a smile in some corner of me. It created a little sense of order, a little permission for indulgence, a little color palette of whimsy, a little faith in things fitting together, a little hope for clear sense of purpose and a little more love for life. It created a lot of “littles” that added up to a great deal.

The therapeutic value of the great outfits these women showed up in every day may be intangible, but it was undeniably significant to me. If I were the head of their Human Resources Department, not only would their salaries reflect their fine work and dedication as therapists; I would also pay them a monthly clothing allowance in addition to their regular paycheck. As it is, I can only say with heartfelt gratitude: “Well done Ladies, well done!”

Why Can’t We All Just Get a Thong?

Because it’s really not a good idea and I’ll explain my thinking. For many years my younger daughter has waxed poetic about the benefits of a thong - the main thing being, the avoidance of a panty line – which I seem to acquire on a regular basis and for which I am roundly chastised by my brood.

I have long understood the importance of good undergarments. Shortly after I started my first wage paying job during high school, I invested in a rainbow assortment of high end bikini underwear. They were $2.50 a pair and came in soft pastels (yellow, mint green, blue, pink, and lavender). They were decorated with lace, little bows and flowers. Nothing slutty; (a term employed today which I detest) – let’s go instead with – nothing too racy (no red, black or cutouts) - just a very pretty and dainty bikini style, a little bit daring. No one ever saw them, of course, but I felt very special wearing them. Considering that this was
1969, $2.50 per panty was a pretty steep price. I protected my investment by hand washing them each week in Woolite and hanging them to dry. They lasted me for several years.

It was during my first pregnancy at the age of 32, that
I reintroduced myself to the huge cotton panty that covers everything. I’ll admit that renewing the acquaintance felt good, but in between pregnancies, I went back to colorful and silky bikinis. However, after the third pregnancy at age 37 (which somehow seemed to permanently alter a number of things); the big cotton behemoths stayed on.

Back in my younger, trimmer days, I saw a PeeWee Herman comedy sketch about “giant underpants”. It was so accurate and made me laugh for days, because I remembered that as a kid, my grandmother’s underpants looked humongous hanging on the clothesline. I couldn’t fathom a butt that big. But, these days, I find myself in the same league. Maybe only at the junior level - but still - in the league. And once you get in the league – it is very hard to get back out.

Last summer I donned a snug fitting dress to attend a wedding. I don’t get out very often, so my daughters were assisting me in the preparations. They made a quick run to Payless for updated shoes and stopped by Kmart for a matching purse, and yes, you guessed it, a thong. They persuaded me that it really was in the best interest of all parties concerned, that I wear the thong. And while there were not any real offensive panty lines for the day; there were, I think, a couple of odd lumps. I won’t go into the discomfort that I experienced; suffice it to say, that I was really glad to get home and extract that little strip of material from its area of residence.

It was about six months before I was willing to try the experiment again. Putting on a pair of knit workout pants that admittedly didn’t look quite decent; I thought, “Okay, time to step up to the plate again.” To my tremendous dismay, having added some pounds since acquiring the aforementioned thong; I not only had “odd lumps”, I also had a distinct thong line and proportionately increased discomfort. Clearly I could not “wear it well”. I removed the thong and again sported the “little oldfashioned, but that’s all right” panty line. I guess I’ve reached the point in my life where I am mature enough or stubborn enough to suffer embarrassment over discomfort.

You know, I think that there’s truly something to be said for those cultures in which the older women dress in big long swishy skirts and a pretty, bright colored shawl. And my money’s on the idea that such women are “au naturale” under all the gathers of the long skirt, and nobody is the wiser. And I am also thinking that it was such comfortably-clad women who first invented the “Mona Lisa smile.”