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YOU ARE WHAT YOU WEAR
by Shirley Pierce
Certain things are hereditary like eye color, hair texture and the circumference of your hips. But I will now present scientific proof that the ability to accessorize is also passed down through the genes.
On my desk is a picture of my mother taken with my father when they were both young and in love. She is dressed in a sharply tailored suit with matching hat. Everything matched. The black leather hatband matched the belt, the purse and the shoes. I think it's safe to say that when it came to dressing, my mother had it going on.
The operative word in that sentence is "think" because I never really got to know my mother. She died when I was quite young.
My mother was the first woman I ever dressed. I picked out a pink gabardine, short-sleeved dress for her to wear at her funeral. I chose it because it matched the roses that would decorate the church. Like I said, she liked things to match when she dressed.
She had such excellent taste in clothing that after she died, my father was spared the soul-wrenching task of disposing of her wardrobe. Female relatives and friends swooped in from miles around to claim what they could of her clothing. And they did so with all the quiet respect and intensity of women who walk-off with centerpieces at weddings.
The one item from my mother's wardrobe that I truly hated to see go was an enormous fur coat. (Animal origin unknown.) Many times, as my mother and I walked down a blustery street during a Cincinnati winter, she would open that coat, rap me in its warmth and keep walking with me bundled inside. What a sight we must have made. A large fur coat with two pairs of legs scurrying underneath. One pair with falling knee socks and one wearing silk stockings with seams.
The last picture I have of my mother was taken in black and white. But I can still see the sharp green floral print of her suit and the turban that matched. She didn't need the turban to hide the effects of the "chemo". It just simply matched her suit.
The ravages of the chemo never stopped my mother. You can tell by her attention to how she dressed that she was a proud woman. She actually had her treatments on her lunch hour so she would never miss a day of work. The resulting weight gain never stopped her either. She always showed her best face to the world - to look strong is to be strong was her unspoken message.
That's why dressing is never a frivolous endeavor for me or a thoughtless act that I perform before stepping out the door. To dress well is a show of pride and strength. To dress well is to honor my mother.
This one's for you, Mama
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