Getting Older is a Hazzard

A couple of days ago my birthday was here like the quiet snow that came and went with it. As I've gotten older, especially after I turned 30, I occasionally lose track of my age. I often forget that my upcoming birthday will be in a day or two. And sadly, I have gradually lost a lot of my memories in general. Besides physical ailments being my nemesis since I turned 35, and wrinkles and fat slowly becoming an old familiar friend that annoy me, the loss of memory is the most troubling, and scary. Many of my childhood memories are all but forgotten, so I need pictures or other people's recollections to help jog my brain. Sometimes I wonder if that's why I enjoy 1970's vintage clothing so much, because it takes me to those times that are leaving me. As I think back, the only birthday I can remember is my 30th, when my wife took me to a surprise party at a St. Louis Blues game. I can't remember any of the other special multiples of 5 birthdays. Nor my 16th, 18th, or 21st. I can't even remember last year's. Unfortunately, most of the pictures from my childhood are at my parent's house. I happen to have a few Polaroids from that special first camera I probably got for a forgotten special birthday. And one of my Polaroids is of me and my friends at, I think, my 11th birthday, exactly 25 years ago. Disregard the fact that the kid in the sweet butterfly collar thinks my cool party is boring. Don't focus on the kid in the humongous glasses. Ignore the two kids trying to steal my thunder. Forget about the tough one in the back with the rolled up sleeves and open shirt whose mommy wouldn't let him sleep over at my house. And especially don't pay attention to the fact that I'm acting like an idiot, or that I remind you of the young Tommy Boy who runs into the sliding glass door thinking it's open. Focus instead on my flannel shirt. Vintage, early 80's flannel. I was probably also wearing Husky corduroys that my Grandma bought for me because she felt it was the only brand I could fit into, but again, focus on the flannel. I wish I could say I remember it like it was yesterday....During that time I was a HUGE Dukes of Hazzard fan.

I had the Matchbox cars, the figurines, the lunchbox, and a baseball style shirt with the smoothest picture of the Dukes on it I had ever touched. You may recognize my flannel shirt as something you might have seen Luke Duke sporting. Now, I liked Bo better because he looked like me, or so I thought, and he was a more daring driver, and he seemed to attract more of the ladies. But Luke was the brains of the operation and was cool and collected. And those forearms that would bulge out of the rolled up sleeves of his blue plaid flannel impressed me as well. Of course, then, there was Daisy, and I don't think I need to explain myself any further in that matter. But how could I be cousin Bo or Luke when I had these feelings for Daisy? The two of them seemed to struggle with my same problem on the show. I felt that it was a problem I could live with, for Daisy's sake, so I kept on being one of the Duke boys. Like I said, 25 years have passed, and I don't feel much like a hood slidin', car ramp jumpin', yahooin' Duke anymore. I now feel a lot like Uncle Jesse. Thank goodness I don't remember him very well.

Hey, Wait A Second! I Voted For Change!

At every Presidential inauguration the President and his wife, and much more so his wife, get either raked over the coals or lauded for how fashionably they are dressed. At Tuesday's inauguration Mrs. Obama didn't pull any punches with her vibrant, "lemon grass" dress. As I have learned she likes to kick the fashion world in the stomach by using relatively unknown designers for her wardrobe at modest costs to her wallet. What I especially love about her choices is that they are colorful and different, and that no matter what others think she's not afraid to stand out in them. On top of that she sends her daughters down the same path, putting them in beautiful colors from lucky J. Crew. Madame President, you are a kitten and a tiger rolled up into one. On the flip side, she has not helped her husband. Barrack Obama dresses in the traditional, boring, dark suits, as you saw at his inauguration, and like the Presidents before him. Mr. Obama's ties are colorful, thank goodness, in a solid red or solid blue kind of way. But it's time for change, right? Change is what President Obama talks about. So this has given me an idea....and hope. Barrack Obama has sent a message that he wants environmental change, so here's his window of opportunity. Like John F. Kennedy and Jackie Onassis did in fashion before them, the first family can influence and lead the world in a change for a better environment. Second-hand clothing is one key to this. I don't mean any old Wal-Mart sweatshirt. I mean vintage clothing. It's colorful, bold, unique, environmentally friendly, in style now in many circles, and would be economically meaningful to vintage clothing businesses. Many would take notice and follow the first couple's lead. How could anyone challenge the President on this when the talk from his heart equals his actions? For example, I think this 1970's men's vintage suit combination would look very dapper on President Obama. The Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, sent her own message at the inauguration. Women across the U.S. are making calls to find copies of that hat she wore. This is the kind of change that I voted for--my President to take the lead and make this world a greener place, and look good doing it.

I'll Show You Mine if You Show Me Yours

Like me, I'm sure when you hear someone mention the brand Fruit of the Loom you most likely think of under garments. Well, guess what? Unlike Fruit of the Loom, we've been one-dimensional thinkers all these years. Not only was I befuddled when I learned that the Loom dabbles in more than just briefs, I was shocked to learn that the brand name has been around for over 150 years! And to confound things even more for me, I never quite got the guys in the grapes and apple and wilted head of lettuce costumes. How exactly did they fit in to the concept of cotton close to the skin?
From Wikipedia: "The Fruit of the Loom brand dates back to 1851 in Rhode Island when Robert Knight, a textile mill owner, visited his friend, Rufus Skeel. Mr. Skeel owned a small shop in Providence, Rhode Island that sold cloth from Mr. Knight's mill. Mr. Skeel's daughter painted images of fruit and applied them to the bolts of cloth. The ones with the fruit emblems proved most popular. Mr. Knight thought the labels would be the perfect symbol for his trade name, Fruit of the Loom."
I, of course, can only remember Fruit of the Loom as far back as my childhood, when in the late 1970's and early 1980's Underoos became a big must-have phenomenon for kids.

My sister Kathy had a set of Scooby-Doo, my sister Beth had a set of Wonder Woman, and I had Captain Marvel Underoos. (This picture is not me--I couldn't find any of me sporting the red 'Roos. Thanks to Derik for this pic and here's his Flickr link.) Beth and I used to poke fun at Kathy for her Scooby-Doos, because we were super heroes. (Well, I considered Scooby a hero but didn't let on. The cartoon was my favorite and my mother was convinced that I was scared of the dark because of it.) I would yell Shazam! and rough up my sisters, and Beth would put up her wrist shields to block bullets, and Kathy, well what could she do? Run around acting frightened of fake monsters and eating pretend Scooby Snacks? Wimpy. And by the way, you can bet I'd sport Captain Marvel Underoos now if they were in my size.
Little did I know Fruit of the Loom went beyond tightie-whities and Underoos. I found this sweater-shirt made by Fruit of the Loom. Now, whether this is a vintage men's shirt or a woman's I'm not sure, nor do I care. It fits me for the most part. But my gut feeling is that it is a guy's shirt from the 1960's. The fact that it seems men wore more feminine clothes in the 60's and 70's has me that much more confrused (as Scooby might yelp), and is something I'll have to write about in a future blog. Now, fair is fair. I showed you my Fruit of the Loom....

The Garden to My Flowers

Maybe it's the warmer weather in January that's teasing me. We've barely had any snow yet and I'm already longing for Spring. Don't get me wrong, I love a big, deep snow as much as the next snow bunny. But one of the many wonderful things about Spring is that you start to notice people. Winter is a time when you can barely see a person's eyes behind their droopy sock hat, upturned collar, and their world record for the most neck wraps of a scarf. Sand and dirt become your windshield, so instead of people-watching all you see is death flash before your eyes several times a day. People look extra-large because of the sixteen layers they have on, or the goose feathers that are packed into their coat. Let's be honest, you enjoy watching condensation from your breath more than anything or anyone. But in the Spring, people get that feeling of freedom. They're more conscious about what they wear, and have more options of what they can wear. Of course they wear less clothes, but they also wear a lot of different and bright colors. Winter is drab and dark--people in a cocoon. Spring is beautiful and colorful--busting out of that cocoon. So on a 43 degree New Year's Day this is what I wore. I called the pants "the garden to my flowers". Some liked the pants and not the shirt, some liked the shirt and not the pants, and only I liked both, harmoniously together. (The men's vintage pants are 1970's Kings Road--The Men's Store from Sears, and the men's vintage shirt is 1970's JC Penney Towncraft.) And yes, though it was questioned by several, that is a man's shirt, embroidered flowers over see-through linen and all. Truthfully, I felt like a hippie disco cowboy in the shirt, in a weird, neat kinda way. But the pants and the flowers cried out to me, as I know it did in other ways to other people. But don't laugh at me. Instead, laugh in Winter's face.

Are My Cheeks Red?

Happy 2009 to you! One of my many New Year's resolutions is to start a weekly blog dealing with issues that are thudding around in my brain. But it won't be world peace that I'll be pondering--not for the most part anyway. Instead, and unfortunately, what is occupying that little bit of left-over space is my infatuation with vintage clothing. Sometimes I lay awake at night with unanswered questions or my day's adventures...Which has led me to this blog. Maybe I'll learn something...

I have this wonderful pair of red polyester, and I mean RED, Mercury Sportswear men's vintage pants from the 1970’s. So I decided to break them in for the first time on my favorite holiday--Christmas. I paired it with a JC Penney Towncraft 1970’s men's vintage shirt with rose prints that I thought would look hip with it. But in the mirror I saw brightness, got scared, and threw on a dark blue V-neck sweater to darken my ensemble. I may have acted brave, but I was still a little apprehensive to leave the house. I was only going to my parent's house--so what was the big deal? Here was my problem. A belief that I'm trying to change is that I think people should wear what they want regardless of what “looks good” in the public eye, or what the current fashions or trends are. Though I may think this, it's hard to practice what I preach. I’m kicking myself all the time when I see people who are dressed differently and say, “They're wearing that with that??” But then I quickly realize that they've got guts to wear what they wear (or just don't know any better.) Why do we care what others think about our dress? I love what I sell on my website, but I also want to believe in what I sell, if that makes sense. I am self-conscious about some vintage that I wear, probably because society has influenced me. But if I like what I’m wearing, who cares what others think? I want to feel good about what I wear for myself, and I want the same for others like me. Anyway, it’s funny, when I got to my parent’s house for our Christmas gathering, everyone I came up to said, “Nice pants.” Sarcasm? Some. But I was feeling a little more confident in my choice. So I asked others later, just to be sure. My brother-in-law asked if my pants were a fire hazard. My mom thought my outfit was “Christmasy”. My wife thought the sweater and shirt looked ok together, especially because the sweater covered up the shirt, and said with the pants I looked part-clown. My Dad, who’s 60+, thought the whole thing looked great. My three year old daughter just growled at me. One sister thought my pants were loud. My other sister said the pants were obnoxious, and that the navy blue and Santa red didn’t mix. She felt that it would be better without the sweater. So I went back to how I started. Ok, yeah, it’s my family, and they were brutally candid. Around strangers will be my true test.

This is my daughter. Cute outfit, right? What if you put that on me (not in that size)? Not so cute? Why do kids get the fashion breaks? I actually wouldn’t mind her pants pattern as a disco shirt.
This is my brother David, who owns funksauce.com with me, in a purple, glittery, female sweater. And I thought I was being brave.