(Day 17 of this year’s Advent series. Yesterday’s piece was about lightning rods; today we consider shoulder pads.)
Other Clothes
What other clothes
Could I wear?
What other cloth,
What other ties,
What other face to bind
Across my easy ways;
What other shape to cut,
Or tears to mend,
Or hemlines tread.
Whoever, however, I know not:
But by Your mercy
Show me how to wear
Such as You lay out
For me.
I have a thing for 1980s sweaters and jackets. House rules: the more garishly colored the better, and the cheaper off of eBay, the best.
The only downside I have ever found to these pinnacles of creation is the matter of shoulder pads.
A few snips are an easy fix. No problem, I thought.
But the last few months I’ve had bad luck. I received one, and then another, masterpiece – in which the shoulder pads were treacherously sewn into the lining.
In one case, a frenzy of seam-ripping and strategic re-sewing (after disposing of the shoulder pad remains) seemed to do the trick, at least enough to wear at Halloween.
In the second case, a friend with actual fashion curatorial chops convinced me to seek professional help…probably. I have yet to make the phone call, and I still eyeball from jacket to scissors thoughtfully whenever I look in the closet.
The point is, even after changes there’s no guarantee of perfection. One will either end up closer to or farther away from the vision one had to begin with.
Given that gamble, I suppose it’s valid to ask: why even begin? I have yet to figure out a better reason than “it might be super cool.” Then again, I wasn’t really consulted about the beginning of all this. There wasn’t an opt-in or a bid, I didn’t get to choose shipping, and I certainly didn’t get to choose whether I wanted shoulder pads. Among other things. (Did any decade have the option of “shoulder pads, but slightly smaller”?)
And at the end of the day – or beginning, rather – the options are: put it on, or pass. And if I pass, I still have to find something to wear.
That is definitely some sort of model of – let’s call it, self-acceptance. Seam-eyeballing and all.
And in the meantime, I’m watching Golden Girls reruns for style notes.
Skeleton At The Feast 