When I was little it was the 80s. And people of all ages and sexes were given license by a fashion industry on drugs to wear hot pink, plastic jewellery, accessories of all kinds (multi colour sweat bands anyone?)...well pretty much anything loud and colourful. I personally owned several different sets of fluro socks, a tracksuit top with that fluro splatter bubble paint all over it that everyone seemed to have, and a not inconsiderable collection of bursting-with-fruit-flavour plastic jewellery.
And my mum was my idol. Her best dress, in my eyes, was a deep blue arrangement with hot pink flowers exploding all over it. I made her wear it whenever I could manage to persuade her. Even without that awesome dress there was a lot of cool stuff I could have chosen from her wardrobe. In my eyes she was the most amazingly pretty mum there ever was.
When Charlotte was about three we had a brief experience going to the pool that alerted me to the fact that she was missing out on the experience of having a cool mum with really funky clothes. We were dressed to go to the pool and over my swimmers I had a huge diaphanous print top edged with sequins. As I belted her in she snaked her arms around my neck and whispered to me.
"Mama...Mama your top is so pretty with those sparkles. And I love your pretty necklace. Mama, when I'm big I want to have a pretty sparkle top and a pretty necklace and Mama I want to be pretty just like you!"
She was so excited at a pretty Mum with pretty clothes that I could have wept. A bunch of jeans and plain tops in a little girl's eyes is fashion doom. Well it's fashion doom in most people's eyes. And that's about all I owned.
So I committed to changing it, albeit slowly as we're not exactly flash with cash. Enter colour, fun and the influence of Charm School. Ebay is my secret weapon, giving me colourful, cheap, awesome clothes. Like my butterfly pants (I got them in a slightly different colour, but you get the gist);
These are by far and away my most awesome buy so far. Imported from Thailand, about $30 including postage and as comfortable as wearing pyjamas. Best of all, they got Modom's seal of approval. "Wow Mama, your pants are super cool!"
There have been more dresses, more jewellery, much more hair and makeup - the works. I have spent hours trying to learn how to do my hair the way they taught us in Charm School - elegant sweeps and curls that echo the graceful icons of the 30s and 40s. Pippa has contributed a wealth of advice and accessories. Charles is constantly on hand to help put the finishing touches to a 'do or simply to compliment me on my efforts. And I'm finally getting there.
I do admit that it's a constant struggle and I have to continuously remind myself not to go back into the rut. Two days ago I went looking for sand shoes in Kmart for swing dancing and, again, my clever fashionista daughter managed to steer me away from mediocrity.
"Mama, you have so many black shoes and they're boring. Get these ones!"
And she held up a hot pink pair. After carefully explaining that they were her style and that I wanted my own style, she tapped her chin and surveyed the shoes on offer.
"How about these?" she asked, holding up a bright, cherry red pair, "they look really good and they might be your style if you try them."
So I bought them. Charlotte was right. They were only $6, nothing special, but so far I've had two compliments on the cherry red sand shoes. Quite spontaneous - one at swimming and one at the mall.
The new wardrobe and attempts to try and do my hair and makeup more often have had quite an impact. But for me, none of this has been an easy transition. Aside from finding it easier to patch a plaster wall than do my hair in anything but a pony tail, I always feel stupid when I'm all dressed up. I feel like a clown with makeup, a tranny when I wear dresses and a fraud when it's all happening together. I am convinced everyone is looking at me and secretly laughing. And yet people I don't know literally stop me to compliment me. Men ask me if I'm single (ignoring the little ones I've got permanently attached to me). Women want to know how I got my hair to look like that. And older people sigh wistfully as they touch my hair or dress and wish out loud that people would again care about what they wear, how they look and just smile.
Compliments and confidence aside, for me the most positive aspect of attempting to be pretty is the way my daughter looks at me. For her first day at preschool this year I donned my nicest dress, my vintage polka-dot sunnies, did my hair and make-up and took her to school. And as I stood there, surrounded by her and her classmates, one wide-eyed little girl leaned in to Charlotte and whispered, "Is that your Mummy?"
"Yup! Isn't she beeyoootiful?"
"Yeah...I wish my mum dressed like that!"
Mission accomplished.
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