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A crime of fashion

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Reel Mama: A crime of fashion

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

A crime of fashion

Everyone talks about the dressing down of America.  How now every day is casual Friday.  How flip flops are becoming ubiquitous in the finest eateries, and not just in California.  I might argue that today’s moms aren’t helping the situation.  Could I be referring to myself?  Guilty as charged!
Not that I would wear flip flops to any establishment serving anything French (McDonald’s and fries being the exception).  Nevertheless, since I became a mom, my fashion sense seems to have gone the way of the dodo bird, and I didn’t even know it until last week.
I was carded by a somewhat flirtatious cashier/bag boy.  “You’re just doing your job!” I told him, my ego inflating pleasantly. “I thought that you were my age, but then I saw your shoes,” he said.  What was the matter with my shoes? I had to ask, ego deflating unpleasantly.  “No offense, but they’re ugly as hell and totally out of style.  A young person wouldn’t be caught dead in those.”  
Talk about a backhanded compliment.
Yes, “comfortably broken in” would be an understatement for these shoes.  I got them a year ago, half price (yes!), at Lady Footlocker, and it hadn’t even crossed my mind that they needed replacing until that moment.
It's time to look at the mom in the mirror.  An extreme mommy makeover may be in order.  I have to ask: When did every day become a bad hair day? When did my uniform become sweat pants and flip flops, or worse, throwback tennis shoes that were probably worn by cave people back in the day (at least according to the checkout boy).  
How is it that I can find hours to shop for that perfect pair of fairy wings for my daughter, but shopping for myself isn’t even on my radar?  When I was pregnant I was something of a fashion icon at the company where I worked.  If I may say so, my ability to accessorize was unparalleled.  But, somewhere along the way, I lost that ability, along with my car keys (they’ve got to be here somewhere!) and “me” time. 
So if you see a line-up of recent arrests by the Fashion Police, you’ll know me by the bad hair and the sweats.  And the tennis shoes, of course.


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