Shoes

By Maddy Y.


The one thing you want most when you step into your high school for the first time is to leave as soon as possible with a diploma in hand. That is what you are waiting for once you start out as a freshman. You have fun but you have to keep your attendance up, keep your grades up. It's the daily grind you repeat through sophomore and junior year before you finally become a senior. Senior year is THE dream. That’s right. Capitalized T-H-E. By now, you are able to drive your own car and you have the freedom to go anywhere you want. Since you've got nearly all the credits you need, you only have to take a few classes before you get to go home after lunch. Time passes quickly until the day arrives where you can put on your cap and gown, walk across the stage, and get your diploma. It is the day you finally graduate from high school.
    I start out as a freshman at high school. I have fun but I keep my attendance up, keep my grades up…. Sort of. Kinda. Okay, not really. It's the daily grind I repeat through sophomore and the middle of junior year until I get pulled into my counselor’s office. I’ve been in there so many times that my English teacher hands me the counselor’s note and asks me,” Why are they always calling you down there?” I wasn’t particularly worried since the only reason the counselor would call me down was probably to talk about my class schedule… or so I thought. My counselor doesn’t like to B.S. me and once I am sitting in the seat across from her, she lets me know that my current grades are sliding, I’ve failed classes in the past years that needed to be made up, and there is a possibility of me not being able to  graduate. When she said this, I almost wanted to deny it. I felt like I swallowed a rock that was stuck in my throat. I’m embarrassed to say that my eyes even started to water. She then tells me that I can make it up if I take summer school and spend my senior year retaking the classes.
    This was a much needed wake-up call. I didn’t take school seriously and this was the result. I was always procrastinating, talking to my friends in class and ignoring my work, not caring much about my academics… I had no one to blame but myself for the mess I was in. I agreed to retake the classes but I knew I would have to pass those classes with flying colors so I could graduate. I had to steel myself, keep myself focused on school. To help me do that, I decided to buy the shoes I was going to wear when I walked the stage. It would be a reminder for me to work hard so I could wear those babies when I walked the stage to get my diploma. No heels since I didn’t want to take any chances of me falling when I was walking the stage. Black because school rules said they had to be formal. I looked through many shoe racks in stores until I found THE pair. That’s right. Capitalized T-H-E. Cute black flats with a buckle and pinstripes. They were formal but not too formal. I didn’t even have to look for a pair my size since they fit perfectly when I tried them on. It was destiny.
    I left my "grad flats" on my shoe rack with all my other shoes. In the morning when I put on my shoes to go to school, I'd see the flats and that would be my little reminder to do well in school. Junior year ended. I spent my lovely summer vacation in summer school. Senior year was still THE dream. I didn‘t have a car, not that it mattered. I was too busy to be taking joy rides anyway. I didn‘t go home after lunch since I had retake classes for the rest of the day. Time passed quickly until the day arrived where I put on my cap and gown, walked across the stage in my rockin‘ flats, and got my diploma. It was the day I finally graduated from high school.

Special Occassion Dress

By Ruth Santer


I like clothes to be fun. I love seeing people show their individuality
through a creative outfit and a beautiful spring day feels more festive when
I¹m wearing a fabulous sundress. That being said, the past ten years of my
life, living in a small cow town, have been marked by a significant downward
trend in fanciness. I¹m a mom and I work at home and teach art at an
elementary school, and I¹ve been spending a lot more time in grubby yoga
pants than in the swirling miniskirts accompanied by cowboy boots that were
my signature style when I lived in New York City.  And I¹m 50 now.  Well,
51. I¹m not sure that look really works all that well any more.


But I still love to look at art and go to great performances, so when one of
my best friends suggested we make the trip to NYC to go to the Metropolitan
Opera for the premiere of an opera with a set designed by our favorite
artist, I said yes without a moment¹s hesitation.  Despite growing up on the
East coast and living in NYC for years, I¹d never been to the opera. ³But
what will we wear?² my friend asked, as we finalized plans.


I pondered it.  The tickets were a 50th birthday gift from another friend,
so I felt totally justified in splurging. And I knew just the place.
Although Davis is small, it has a few truly high-quality boutiques.  They
are the kind of places I¹d go out of my way to go to in a city four times
the size, and I love being able to bike there and check out the latest stash
of goodies. The party dress store carries clothes that make me feel
pampered, beautiful and feminine, precious commodities for a woman who
spends a lot of time cleaning up spilled paint.


The dress I found was perfect for my body and for the occasion. I love to
wear brown, but you need black for a night out in New York City, and this
dress combined them. It had a smooth velvet black bodice, a poofy brown
taffeta skirt and interesting hip detail where the two fabrics met that had
a slight, though not overwhelming, Renaissance feel.


I worried it would emerge from my suitcase crushed, and considered putting
it in a box like a wedding gown, but settled on rolling it up and it emerged
unscathed after my red-eye flight. We were staying with friends and felt
like little girls playing dress-up, as we got ready and paraded around for
each other before showing ourselves off to them. They were suitably
impressed by how elegant we both were, and sent us off in a cab from
Brooklyn to midtown Manhattan.


We got to the Met and I had to pose in front of the newly renovated fountain
that I had seen in so many movies. My friend was freezing, but I had my
grandmother¹s Persian lamb jacket and lace up spool-heel boots to finish off
my ensemble and could have stayed outside all night, enjoying the crowds and
the lights. She finally dragged me in and I noticed that the crowd was not
quite as dressed up as I¹d imagined.  This was a very avant-garde
performance, and it looked as though there were a lot of art and music
students who had saved up all year to attend. It wasn¹t the usual crowd,
perhaps, and we actually stood out and attracted lots of admiring looks. Not
an easy feat in New York!  We had amazing seats, the set was transcendent,
and afterwards we went downtown to the meatpacking district, which our
cabbie had informed us was the hip late night place for dinner. We certainly
stood out there!


Much later, as we got ready for bed in our room with a view of the Manhattan
skyline, I was sad to take off my dress.  I'd enjoyed buying it, I'd enjoyed
anticipating the event, and I'd loved wearing it and feeling powerful and
lovely.  Would I have another, equally worthy occasion? I hope so.

Shoes

By Hannah Cole-Leathers


As soon as I stepped out of our hotel, I knew that this day was going to be one for the record books. The sun shone bright through the few clouds over Las Vegas, Nevada and I could see my reflection in the window of our hotel, the Mirage. I waited for my mother to hail a cab so we could start celebrating her thirty-fifth birthday, (for the twelfth time since I had been born). We had planned to come to Las Vegas to take a sort of pilgrimage to a fashion “Mecca” otherwise known as Caesar’s Palace.
      The stores of this expansive Greek themed mall were known to be legendary, and I was more excited than a child in front of a candy shop. Ceiling to floor was adorned with beautiful paintings, gushing fountains, and of course the flashing logos of all of our favorite designers. Every store imaginable was there, from Gucci to Pucci to Prada, not a soul could be disappointed. Of course my mother had to go pay homage to Louise Vuitton, and I would have gone with her, but something else caught my eye. There was a Dolce and Gabbana store just adjacent and I couldn’t help but to notice a flash of purple. I wandered in the store and was immediately drawn to the most amazing pair of heels I had ever seen. They were electric plum, patent leather, wedges. The heel of the shoe alone was about six inches off the ground and I swear that I could hear the straps begging to be buckled around my ankles. I was soon approached by a very cordial, very pregnant sales woman who wanted nothing more in the world than for me to try on these heels.
      “Size 7” I requested, and she was back in a flash. 
      She helped me buckle each of the shiny purple buckles and stood back as I attempted to stand up. Keep in mind that I was only about thirteen years old at this time and had not had the experience of heels before, or the good graces of balance for that matter. So, after successfully standing up I decided to take these magnificent shoes for a test run. I took my time mastering just walking to the door but I soon found my footing…somewhat. I waltzed as proudly as I could right down to Louis Vuitton to show my mother my great discovery. Luckily she was already on her way to meet me, so I didn’t have to attempt walking very far. She took one look at me and then the biggest grin in the world appeared on her face.  My absolute first pair of heels and I had chosen to try these ones, six inch, bright purple, wedges.
      I had no intention of taking these shoes off so I convinced the sales woman to let me walk just around the indoor plaza. I still remember thinking to myself, “left foot…ok good….right foot” and I continued on like this until I noticed that I had become somewhat of a main attraction. The people around had stopped focusing on their gourmet meals and had decided to watch me attempting to walk. Once I got the hang of it I felt like a model, stretching to almost six feet tall, with the six inch boost of course. My presence was commanding and my shoes were absolutely astonishing and I marched right back to my waiting mother, the expecting sales woman, and that fabulous designer store.
       I wish I could have purchased those heels that day, but alas; what is a thirteen year old girl to do with six inch, electric purple wedges? Nonetheless I will always remember those vibrant purple shoes as my first heels. The way I felt in those shoes is exactly how I imagine Carrie Bradshaw must have felt every day on Sex and the City.

Grown-Up Security Blanket

By Ashley Mariano


Knee-high in study guides, piles of homework, and a plethora of other school-related tasks to complete by the end of the night, I had just about given up. We all know the stress that comes with starting a new journey in life. It can be so unbearable that sometimes all you want to do is curl up in a little ball. However, that just isn’t possible when life is THAT hectic. So I thought to myself, “what did I do as a kid? How did I cope with starting a new grade or activity?” Well, if you can recall, we each had our own security blankets that we carried around. I would bring my favorite brown teddy bear, complete with a little pink ribbon, which I hand-made on a kindergarten fieldtrip or wear my cute-as-a-button jelly shoes every day.
But it would be crazy to bring those nostalgic trinkets to my college dorm, let alone wear them around campus. So one morning while I was rifling through my mom’s closet for the 93598th time, I found the most adorable ring! It has a classic, vintage vibe that blends perfectly with my overall style. A nameless ring without a unique story or even remembrance of the place she found it, this tri-color beauty soon became my very own Pandora’s box. But instead of unleashing all of the world’s sins it unleashed all of the strength I needed to buckle down and complete my tasks. Although it can be difficult living independently and away from home this ring gives me the security and reassurance that my family and friends are just a phone call or car ride away.
With all the ups and downs in life I know that just by having this ring on my right index finger I have all the strength, power, and love to persevere with my dreams. So in honor of mother’s day this past weekend, I just wanted to say, thanks mom! And as corny as it sounds, this ring never leaves my finger because your love will never leave my heart (I should start writing Hallmark cards). 

THE DRESS

Ann Murray Paige

5/13/10

When I was searching for the perfect dress to wear to my film premiere it was no easy feat. It’s not that I couldn’t find plenty of lovely places to shop or fine clothing to wear; it’s that none of those clothes looked right on my figure anymore because 2 years earlier I had lost both of my breasts to cancer. Now I had no bosom, and having chosen not to reconstruct it I really needed to pick my fashion carefully. If I didn’t, I could end up looking less like a pretty wife and mother of two and more like a pre-teen boy ready for little league try outs.

My journey with breast cancer is the subject of a documentary film called The Breast Cancer Diaries and in 2006 it was about to have its premiere at The Richmond Museum of Science in Richmond, Virginia at the IMAX theatre in front of 200 people. I wanted to wear an outfit that would make me look and feel pretty, sexy, and strong--like the courageous person I was hoping I was. It had only been a few years since my diagnosis and I was still getting used to being a cancer “survivor.” Of course, not having died of anything else yet, I was clinging to the hope that I was truly a survivor of breast cancer--but only time would be able to tell.

In the meantime, I had little time left--just a few weeks--until I flew to Virginia for the film screening and following gala in the ballroom outside the IMAX theatre. I had been through countless magazines, shopped store front windows, and combed the closets of family and friends desperately searching for “the” outfit. As the days flew by, I got nervous that I’d be in sweatpants and a t-shirt if I didn’t find something beautiful for my body--fast.

And then one summer day as I walked through my downtown’s main street, a sparkle of fabric wrapped around the shoulder of a store front mannequin caught my eye. I went closer and gazed through the glass at the most gorgeous navy blue taffeta dress I had ever seen. It was cut just below the knee, wrapped closely at the hips, with an elegant drape across the chest. I looked up and down but could not find any straps--and yet it was so beautiful and fairytale-like I made myself question the impossible. Could a breast-less woman pull off this strapless beauty of a dress?


I went inside to see the dress from the opposite side. It had a beautiful covered zipper straight up the back and a handsome, veil-like wrap to cover the naked shoulders of the wearer of this dress. Would that be me? I turned to see the shopkeeper standing behind me, beaming. Would I like to try on this dress? She was certain I’d be gorgeous in it.


I went into the dressing room and put it over my head. I didn’t need to unzip it because it slipped right over my scarred chest. I looked at the profile of my reflection in the mirror and saw the place where my breasts should be. For once, that sad area that cancer had robbed felt alive. Wrapped in blue sparkles and shimmering from a swath of fabric, my chest felt like it was getting something back, if only temporarily. But short lived or not, this feeling was something I’d missed dearly; I felt beautiful. I bought the dress.

And then the shopkeeper and I worked together to pull and tuck the top across my breast bone so that there would be no puckering, no pouching, no where-are-that-woman’s-breasts? When she was done, the dress looked like it was made for me and unless you’d watched my film or knew me personally you’d have never known I had no cleavage.

A few weeks later I walked down a pink carpet, passing photographers snapping pictures and was ushered into a front row seat to await the opening of my film. Encased in the stunning outfit that I’d first seen in that main street shop window a few weeks earlier, I was the belle of the breast cancer ball. I felt happy and healthy and pretty and beautiful and I smiled knowing that beneath this gorgeous piece of fashion was a fighter; a woman who was down once but was definitely not out. In fact, she was so “in” this night that she was beaming; bathed in blue, sparkling like glitter, and pulling off a fashion statement that three weeks ago she would have thought impossible to do.

And it was all thanks to the dress.

Zap Me, Power Dress!

By Malisa Yang


It has always occurred to me that there was a spark missing from my life. Ever since I was a child, I always failed miserably in every venture I embarked on. In  my third grade Talent Show, I forgot half the dance moves a group of friends and I made up for Britney Spears' song, 'Baby One More Time'. In fourth grade, I started gymnastics, but after a month, I knocked out one of my baby teeth while I was tumbling. In fifth grade, I was in the school play, The Nutcracker, and I got stage fright during my shining moment. In sixth grade, I was in a tether-ball tournament, and in front of all my entire school, the tether-ball smacked me in the face, which was humiliating.   In ninth grade, I tried out for the soccer team, and when I kicked the soccer ball, it went in the opposite direction of where I was aiming. In tenth grade, I tried out for the soccer team again, and this time, I shot the winning goal into the wrong goalpost, ensuring the other team's victory. In eleventh grade, I built a catapult for a local contest, and out of the twenty people who participated, my catapult was placed at twentieth place.
    So all that I endeavored went astray, but everything changed when I bought this gorgeous dress. It really accentuates my waist, and makes my legs look slimmer. It gave me confidence, which really improved my outlook on life, and gave me the courage to keep on trying. Of course, it didn't magically give me David Beckham skills in the field of soccer, but my skills improved because I gave in more hours of practice. My grades in school improved dramatically because I started speaking up in class. Previously, I always shied away from asking questions in class, or answering questions in class, because I always feared I would say something embarrassing.
    The real clincher on how this dress added magic to my life, is that I was wearing this dress when I won fourth place in a speaking contest. This was the closest to winning I have ever been, and it was incredible. Even though I didn't win, I had successfully spoken confidently in front of an entire room full of people, without forgetting any words from my speech. My dress has been my saving grace, as it gave me confidence, which was the spark I needed to truly live my life joyfully.

I will never part with...

By Kathryn Grimes


After having worked as a Fashion Consultant for a major clothing store, and having had a lifelong love affair with clothes, I read your article on writing  a short story about a item of clothing that falls into the “I will never part with this” category, with interest. I know I am not a writer, but I immediately thought of the one item I own that I could never part with. 


Trivial as they seem and probably not considered at all when writing about your attachment to something you wear, my love is for a pair of socks. These are special socks!  This particular pair are black, thick (thicker than any I have ever owned), and warm.
My daughter and I both suffered from terribly cold feet (probably more circulation than weather related).  We were always looking for the perfect pair of socks, some we purchased were overly expensive and others just so cute you could not resist and you had to wear them over another pair for any relief from the cold.  These black socks however work magic, they were my daughters, and now they are mine. 
Some nights when the air is frigid and my feet like ice cubes, I go to my “house socks” drawer and though many pair are there, I reach for the black ones.  The fabric content must contain wool, for they are perfectly toasty and immediately make me feel comfy and warm.  They affect my whole well being, like slipping on a down robe over my body.  It is the socks? I can’t find another pair, anywhere!!! I look, constantly, in Department Stores, Specialty Shops, on line.  I can’t find them because I don’t really know what I am looking for, there is no label.  When I shop I need to touch and feel, and nothing feels like these. I have to ask myself is it because their thick and warm, and make me feel wonderful, or is it because they were my daughters?  Is it because of all the things she left me when she died two years ago, something I knew we had searched for together trying to find the perfect pair, that this was a quest we had shared. It was something we talked about and laughed about. It was our ” funny conversation” when she was so ill that nothing seemed funny and her smallest chuckles were music to my ears? Or, is it because when I am cold and put them on, a part of her is with me again? I imagine it is all of the above.


I just know that out of closets full of beautiful clothes, my favorite thing comes down to just a pair of socks. Her socks, now my socks, always our socks.

Ode to the wrap pants

By Kimberly Anger


Once you grab a hold of the truly great fashion statement, you are reluctant to give it up.  If my 1974 wrap-style pants could talk they would have more than a few stories to tell.  They have accompanied me on 6 trips to Hawaii and 3 to Mexico.  They are my go-to vacation party pants.  Their diaper-type styling allows room to grow and keeps me in them through my menopausal weight gains.  As the original owner, I recall when the fabric was stiff and new.  The colors were bright and vivid and went with my entire wardrobe of tank tops.  Also the fact that you could flash a lengthly bit of leg made them sexy and eye-catching.  The trick to tying them was to make sure the final knot ended up in the front.  This prevented some party pranksters from untying the back knot and exposing your bare behind to the world.  But after a few drinks, that possibility seemed less and less intimidating.

Now the pants are soft with muted colors.  I love to tie them at the ankles and put on a pretty pair of sandals.  I have seen this same style surface 3 times since the 70's.  I never let them go.  When I wear them, I am 18 again with long tanned legs.  They actually make me feel good about where I have been and where I am now:  whether its on an island or in the backyard.