A portal to a glamorous universe
On fashion, family and aging
The first fashionable person I ever knew was my older sister. Growing up, her closet was like a portal to a glamorous universe, one that I wasn’t sure I would ever join. Her clothes were so organized that she always knew when I had rifled through them, trying on her bowler hat and homemade suit and posing in the mirror above her chest of drawers.
She had couture taste on an immigrant family’s budget, but these limitations only made her more creative. She shopped at sale racks and secondhand stores, and sewed her own ensembles. From a young age, she intuited that clothing was a form of self-expression. Her sense of style was innate, guiding her like an inner compass.
Mirroring our hyphenated existence in the States, my mother’s closet was split between the blazers and dresses she wore to work, and our collection of Indian garb. She never shared my sister’s passion for Western clothes; her heart lived in the colorful half of her wardrobe, the saris and lehengas we wore to family events.
For my part, I was a late bloomer when it came to fashion. As a chubby kid, I dreaded shopping, and the struggle to fit my round, unwieldy frame. After the obsessive diets of high school and the Dionysian binges of college, I arrived at some form of physical equilibrium in my twenties. I finally began to enjoy clothes, and cultivate a conscious sense of personal style. This era ended in the latter half of my thirties, as pregnancy and motherhood initiated new stages of transformation.
On the cusp of my forty-second birthday, I feel a little lost when it comes to clothes. I am embarrassed to admit that my wardrobe occupies two closets. The closet in my bedroom holds the clothes that fit me as I am today. Mostly workwear - shirt dresses, button downs, and a selection of elastic-waist pants from the Eileen Fisher outlet. When I bought the pants, the cashier promised, in her nasal, North Jersey accent, “You’ll have these foreva, hon,” which sounded like both a blessing and a curse.
The closet in our guest bedroom is my archival wardrobe, packed with items from different eras of my life, before my son and before my daughter. A handful of pieces still fit, but not the way they used to, and most do not at all.
There is an embroidered silk dress I bought in India that I had tailored to a perfect fit - at least it was perfect ten years ago. There is a pair of high-waisted wool trousers I would probably need liposuction to zipper up. There are outfits I’ve worn to weddings that have been there so long, some of the couples are already divorced.
Every year, I force myself to give a few things away, but I can’t seem to let it all go. Despite the numbers on the scale, I hold onto the delusion that I will one day shape shift back into that ever-elusive “old self.” We will reunite in a tunic from 2011, and I will feel whole and free again. We will burn my Spanx and clink mimosas over brunch.
By now, this whir of birthday-related anxiety is familiar (my older sister tells me there are pills for this). I am learning to ride the wave, to balance criticism with gratitude, to see nostalgia as an untrustworthy narrator.
My comfort in this sartorially awkward era of my life is my three-year-old daughter, who loves clothes, and is already deeply opinionated about them. She doesn’t have an older sister to admire; she only has me, and in her innocence, she thinks I’m beautiful.
If she likes what I’m wearing, she asks if she can have it when she gets older. She touches my earrings, my nose ring, my watch, like they are crown jewels. Grinning, she tries on my black suede high-heeled pumps, and toddles around, refusing to take them off. In these moments, I realize that I am mapping womanhood for her, whatever that means. I don’t expect her adoration to last, but it feels good right now, a sweet balm to old wounds.
Links
Since June is my birthday month, I’m sharing some aging-related content I’ve discovered recently and really enjoy. I realize that “aging-related content” sounds bleak, but I stand by these recommendations for any age group!
Oldster Magazine - Brainchild of Sari Botton (editor of the classic anthology, Goodbye to All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York), this newsletter is full of thoughtful interviews and essays exploring aging and “what it means to travel through time in a human body—of any gender, at every phase of life.”
Wiser than Me - A podcast by the ineffable Julia Louis-Dreyfus offering intimate conversations with incredible women.
Artist/Mother Podcast - My older sister was on this podcast a few years ago, and I’ve continued to listen for inspiring interviews with working artists who are also navigating parenthood.
As always, thank you for reading, and happy summer!