October 22, 2007
I knew what she was after as she held up the magazines and pointed to pictures of skinny models wearing matchstick denim while rambling off some X-Y-Z criteria. My boomer mother wanted a pair of skinny jeans.
We had planned an all day shopping excursion while I was recently home. But the role of a personal shopper was not something I had a prepared for.
We dove in headfirst.
Now before I go any further, I would like to digress and send a public announcement to all fashion designers. If designing for the woman over 50 (who I consider to be trendy mothers who have been footing the bill for their fashionista daughters), keep the waist high, and the legs skinny. This pivotal yet essential detail may be the only difference in our denim.
So once inside Nordstrom, our staple department store, I played pinball to every denim rack on the floor.
This pair: too dark. What about those: too low. How about these? What are those faded lines? Eww no. Gross. I can’t wear those. Look where the crotch is. Babble is all I heard.
All the regulars were helping us (and by us, I mean me) in this attempt: Calvin, Donna, Ralph. Even a rack of jeans labeled “Not Your Daughter’s Jeans” hung far from my mom’s interest. And why would she like them? Quite frankly, these looked almost like my jeans but with elastic (which could be nice for me come Thanksgiving).
So I thought, what-the-hell, and took her to my department. Yes, the music was a little faster and the shirts a little lower, even the sales clerks a little younger — but I knew there were skinny jeans. And while my mom traveled dangerously close to me, this blew up in my face — she took one look at the price tag and exasperated a great sigh of disbelief.
“$198 dollars? You have got to be kidding me.” There I stood next to the young clerk, both of us with feelings of guilt for ever having paid that much for denim.
Now, in addition to finding the perfect Audrey Hepburn shaped jeans for my 60-year-old mother — I was under a price constraint too!
The few pairs that survived the rigorous validation of my mother’s taste, met us in the dressing room where they undoubtedly placed us in the oversized “mother-daughter” cubbyhole; a room that has seen more garment carnage by female lineage than any other dressing room.
The waist was either too big or way too small. Legs too long. Inseam too short. Needed to be hemmed (which let’s be honest, you can’t hem denim). You name it, the flaw was there. Even when my pilot brother called after literally flying out of a Middle Eastern war zone — I was unconcerned as I tried to relay the combat I was in — I had it worse at that very moment.
About 15 retailers later and critiques of nearly every skinny jean style available, we were in yet another department dressing room — yes the large one. And thinking we almost had a winner, we both began to laugh. Hysterically laughing at how ridiculous these jeans looked on my mom, this denim doozie had worn us both out beyond expectation.
Beside the fact that she was in search of a pair of jeans that, in comparison, probably belonged in a class with the British Crown Jewels, or did not exist, I loved the fact that she was wanted them. Steadfast with great determination, it proved to me she hasn’t lost her desire for style — you go, girl.
Comments
Beckie (anonymous) says...
Hi Katy. Love your blog. My mom and I have a blog that deals with boomer issues (my mom of course) and boomerang issues (me of course, although I live in another city now).
I have to edit my mom's choices from time to time, too.
Best,
Jamie
April 11, 2008 at 8:42 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
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