One of the things I like to do, though unconsciously, is people watch. Likely it is because I grew up in the fashion world, so I enjoy seeing what people wear and how they wear it. I am not critical, I am just looking with a critical eye to analyze, because I’ve been a buyer. At a young age I was buying not only for youth but for older men and women. I know too well the fleeting nature of fashion and of trying to stay ahead of the game to anticipate trends when shopping the markets to buy for the next season.
Stores in our area had a hard time sustaining themselves when they used northern buyers for our market. It just didn’t fly. Think hot, humid, and tropical and you would be right. What you’d wear in NYC or Chicago, you would likely not wear here. Also, the majority of us grew up somewhere else and came here for the space industry, so our fashion tends to be eclectic, but geared toward extreme heat.
The other day I was on a college campus with my 11 yo who had a function there. There were parents, as well as kids from 5th grade to 12th. Three college girls parted a swath amidst us. One was striking; one was average; one was OK. It was clear the striking one was leading the others and they deferred to her. They were an island to themselves. She was head of the pack, and she knew it. Confident. The rest of us of whatever age were invisible to them. I wondered what they would look like as parents. It was hard to imagine. But the day is coming whether they parent or not.
The next day I stood in a long line at the post office. Two young girls were in the front, one might have been an exchange student. One wore a dress; one wore shorts and a T. Both were modest and circumspect in their clothing. In front of me were two women older than I am. They both were invisible, in their demeanor and in their clothing. Behind me were women, invisible, looking hot and tired, none young. More or less patient in the line. I tried to imagine them the age of the young girls and failed. I tried to imagine what the young girls would look like at the age of these women or of me, or the ones behind me, how they might dress, and it was near impossible. I wondered what the hopes and dreams of the older women had been, and if they had achieved them. I wondered if the young girls would achieve theirs.
Next came me, fading into invisibility, maybe, wearing my uniform for the heat: shorts and a T. And don’t forget I wore a lot of bracelets before they came back in style. Or I set the style, LOL. I am fashionable, but not a fashion plate. And I’m recycling things I loved from years gone by.
It reminded me of Dylan Thomas:
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Or Robert Frost’s
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I don’t think of myself as old, though to some I might be, and there are moments when I definitely look older than I would like to. I don’t intend to go quietly. I hope never to be invisible. I’ve got a long ways to go before I end up there. Maybe I’ll be like the 107 yo woman blogger and still be blogging. That would be something! But I hope it is an interesting ride. And she is clearly not invisible.
Someone I know once said to me that she couldn’t wait until she was old enough not to care what she looked like. How old is that, pray tell? I’ll never forget the striking much older woman on the arm of a younger man in Paris, her head scarf twisted into a flower by her ear. High heels and tasteful makeup. I have something to aim for, but skip the heels!
How about you? do you think of yourself as invisible, or do you know better?
Karin
Here it is in full:
If you liked this article, vote for it on del.icio.us and stumbleupon.Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Poem lyrics of Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Categories:
Age, Beauty, Cosmetics, Fashion, Hope, Just thinking
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2 comments ↓
Hi there!
Great post and thought provoking. Youth has such a way of being insolent in the face of the future; I doubt young ones bother to think about what they would do with themselves in the years to come. Stylistically or not. They’re into the “now”.
I do wish you all the success of never being invisible well into advanced old age.
Myself I also think I am not invisible most of the time (doesn’t suit my personality I guess), although I do try to accomplish just that when going for perfume sampling on the counters and want to sample as many and as varied things I want to without being bothered by SAs! (LOL!)
I hear you re insolence, haha.
LOL indeed. I was thinking that perfume is a way of becoming visible too, at least in one of the other senses (smell.) My stepmother wore her fragrances so strongly that you knew what room she had been in. Sometimes that was OK; sometimes it overpowered whatever fragrance others might want to wear. But she was not invisible!
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