Three Generations

Three Generations: The Creation of a Wedding Headpiece and Many Memories 

Edna, Married July 2, 1949


My daughter Connie’s wedding was an important occasion. Every detail had to be carried out to perfection. It became a challenge with Connie living 500 miles away. She also had a job, which meant traveling to the Far East quite often. Connie, however had many good contacts and she found a dress that she liked rather quickly. We agreed that I was to create her headpiece. Connie shared with me the look she had in mind as well as the way she would be wearing her hair. Simple but elegant, that was our goal. We had considered using some lace from the mantilla that I had worn at my wedding. As we looked it over, however, we could see that the lace had aged and it was too yellow. We then decided to search fabric stores for a muslin cap, in a shape Connie liked and would fit her head well. I found fabric that matched her gown perfectly. Now I had to shop for pearls. They had to match those in the gown as well as the antique pearl earrings Connie was planning to wear. My mother had given them to me and I had worn them on my wedding day. I diligently searched for the correct shade of pearls as well as shape and size. Everything was coming together miraculously. Everything except the fact that it was now the night before the wedding, family and guests were arriving from out of town and I was frantically sewing pearls onto the headpiece.....into the wee hours of the morning.


Connie, Married November 10, 1984


I do not remember spending time as I was growing up thinking about what I wanted to wear on my wedding day. I do have very fond memories of passing by a black and white 8 ½” x 11” fancifully, framed photograph on the chest of drawers in my parents bedroom that was a lovely reminder of the happiness they shared and the dress and floor length, lace mantilla my mother wore to celebrate her wedding day. I actually found the dress I wanted to wear for my wedding when I was not looking, but in a small local store while on a business trip in Hong Kong. It was a few months later, while looking with my mom at the actual lace mantilla that she wore, and together tossing around ideas for a headpiece that the design concept began.  My mother offered to create a headpiece for me that would incorporate our ideas. Mom is an excellent seamstress and I was so happy that she would design and create this piece for my special day. Unlike her daughter, my mother does not leave projects until the last moment, so was I nervous when the night before the wedding she was still hand beading the fabric……yes! The headpiece was beautiful and it meant so much to me that my mom was the creator. Twenty-five years later, just last fall, I was filled with joyful memories when our daughter really wanted to wear some part of my wedding attire, and the beads my mother had chosen for my head piece were passed along to her.


Katrina, Married October 17, 2009


I am happy to hear the words ‘simple yet elegant’ used when creating my moms look for her wedding, because those were the same words I used to describe my own. Planning my wedding was a little difficult as I lived in New York City and my mom lived near our wedding location in Northern California. I remember my first trip home after announcing our engagement when my mom pulled out her wedding dress and headpiece for me to see. I had seen them in the past, but now was looking in a completely different light. I was surprised when my mom asked if I wanted to try them on, but happily stepped into the gorgeous period-pieces (two words: shoulder pads!). I knew I wanted to incorporate some part of her wedding attire into my own, and the headpiece seemed like the perfect item. I had heard the story many times of my grandmother frantically sewing the headpiece before my moms wedding, so it was both elegant and sentimental. On the morning of my wedding I sat in the hairdressers chair as she pinned the string of pearls into my hair. It was the perfect accent to my simple dress and the pearl necklace I borrowed from my mom. It was also a wonderful reminder of two very important women in my life, and the three generations in attendance at my wedding. At one point after my ceremony and before the reception I walked past the piano where we displayed photos from past family weddings. There was my grandmother in her lace mantilla, my mom in her pearled gown, and me in the reflection - all connected as we celebrated our weddings.

I Said Yes to the Dress

By Dr. Caron Ann Cioffi

I Said Yes to the Dress and Got on CBS:  The Wedding Gown Featured with Those of Caroline Kennedy and Princess Diana 

“People tell stories about themselves with their clothing.

There are lots of clues in how people dress.”

                                                Julianne Moore, actress 

Behind every great woman is a great dress.  Yet a dress is so much more than just a sketch executed in fabric.  It’s an expression of one’s soul in the quest for eternal beauty.  It is a dream waiting to become a memory.  As Oscar Wilde put it:  “Fashion is that by which the fantastic becomes for a moment the universal.”  A dress is only as powerful as its designer and its wearer, who form a symbiotic relationship centered in the imagination and based on originality.  As that perpetual iconoclast Coco Chanel knew, to be irreplaceable one must always be different.  Stylish women don’t just appreciate clothes; like Carrie Bradshaw and her real-life counterpart, they adore them.  It is a case of fashionista fate that Sarah Jessica Parker and I were both born on March 25^th.
The dress one chooses for her wedding day reflects both the desire to be beautiful and the passion between two people.  It is a double love story and the stuff of fairy tales—Cinderella shedding her rags and waltzing in a ball gown with her Prince.  In my case, I followed Coco’s advice and broke with tradition.  That meant convincing my family that a big, fat Italian wedding dress was out of the question.  They wanted me to resemble a doughnut-shaped zeppoli; I was hoping for a streamlined cannoli instead.  Citing Diana Vreeland, legendary Vogue editor, I argued that elegance is refusal, and that a chic, fitted silhouette would flatter my body more than acres of bubble-shaped tulle.  “This is between me and my mirror,” I said to my weeping mother and hysterical godmother.  I made two concessions: the dress had to have beadwork to honor my late grandmother, who learned the craft in Italy and used it to save our immigrant family during the Great Depression, and a piece of my mom’s lace bridal gown would be sewn into my own.


The next step was a visit to Kleinfeld’s Bridal, now the setting for The Learning Channel’s show “Say Yes to the Dress.”  I met the owner, Hedda K., and got my first surprise “wedding gift”: an interview with CBS news for a feature-length story titled “Big Weddings Are Back.”  The premise was that all economic classes desire to lead a life of style, if only on that one blissful day.  I would implicitly be compared to several high society icons:  Caroline Kennedy (whose nuptials would include Jackie and California’s current first lady Maria Shriver) and Princess Diana.  Two royal families, one American, one British, and moi.  Letitia Baldridge, Jackie’s White House Social Secretary, would also be consulted regarding impeccable taste.  Wishing for an Excedrin the size of a hockey puck, I nonetheless agreed to have my entire wedding filmed and viewed on national TV.  Finding that special dress now took on a whole new meaning.


Thankfully, I knew what look I wanted.  My muses were Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca and Grace Kelly in anything.  I imagined myself as the star of my own movie—dramatic, softly feminine, subtly seductive, as elegant and mysterious as a swan.  Striking images came to mind:  floating clouds, angel wings, classical goddesses wrapped in sea-foam, Paris’s Cathedral of Notre Dame, The Mona Lisa, the poetry of Keats.  From that flood of metaphors, I realized that clothes are symbols that gather moments of life into an autobiography, and that they are poems of form and color to be enjoyed and revisited forever in the stream of history.  My wedding dress would be catapulted beyond the realm of family and friends and into the archives of a far vaster audience.


To say that the pressure was on is an understatement.  I began to tear through the racks at Kleinfeld’s with the ferocity of a Viking warrior.  And suddenly, magically, there was the dress.  It was by the then-unknown Japanese designer Yohji Yamamoto, whose avant-garde fashions now appear in Vogue, etc.  I was drawn to the Zen-like way that the weight and textures of the luxurious fabrics harmonized.  The shape was modified mermaid, consisting of body-hugging Alençon lace embroidered with seed pearls and columns of rich taffeta ruffles down the sides and around the hem.  The neckline was face-framingly high and elegant, while the upper bodice was peek-a-boo lace that added some sensuality.  The sleeves were demurely long but of sheer lace, with set-in, slightly padded shoulders.  (The latter detail remains the hallmark of a Yamamoto design.)  The back consisted of a perfect line of silk-covered buttons that cascaded into a chapel length train to be bustled into a bow for dancing.  It was my dream dress, superbly made, objectified on a hanger, and I hardly needed to try it on.
When I did try on the sample, it fit perfectly.  As I watched my mom and godmother dissolve into happy tears, I knew that they experienced it too—the power of an unforgettable, sophisticated, breathtaking work of art.  In that dress, I felt like a Michelangelo sculpture come to life, like my best, most true, most beautiful self made visible.  We are what we wear, and how we wear it.  I was ready for my Warholian 15 minutes of fame; I was ready for the CBS cameras and the Kennedys and the Princess of Wales.  I said yes to the dress that I loved and that would carry me to the man whom I idolized.  Two life-long romances came together at Kleinfeld’s that day, because what is true of passion is also true of fashion—they are matters not of common sense but of uncommon sense.  I envision our son’s bride gliding down the aisle in my gown, because a great dress, like a great woman, never goes out of style.

Shoes

By Jodi Zeisel

I come from a family with a lot of women. I am the youngest of 3 girls. My mom has always been very fashion conscious. I cannot say the same for myself. Growing up, my clothes were chosen for me. Anything I picked out, my mom either disapproved or made fun of. In college, I wore army pants and t-shirts without a bra! As an adult, I finally was able to find my own style. For my mother, shoes were always my issue. I have very wide feet with a high arch and a high instep. I used to wear a triple E as a child. I need shoes that are comfortable more than anything else. For most of my adult life, I owned 2 pairs of shoes, Birkenstocks for the summer and Doc Martin boots for the winter! I'd wear the boots with long dresses or short dresses with leggings. It was a look. My mother always gave me grief about this. Once, while visiting me for my birthday, she  commented that I had a "shoe problem"! I just let comments like these go, trying not to make a big deal of her judgments. I moved to California, and continued my boots with dresses look. A neighbor actually noticed and told me that my look was definitely dated! The nerve!  Well, I figured the time had come to seek a new style. I found new sandals, not Birkenstocks, but not exactly "pretty". It was a start. That was 7 years ago. I now have so many shoes I have to keep them in 2 long boxes under my bed!
 A couple of summers ago, I was visiting my Mom in Chicago before her open heart surgery. I was still wearing brown sandals with my pretty sundresses. She suggested a trip to Nordstroms to find a pair of pretty silver sandals. Trying to be a "good" daughter, I complied. Well, nothing jumped out at me. There was a pair that were almost identical to my mom's silver sandals with a giant jewel in the middle. UGH! Of course, she liked those. I had all but given up when I saw them. Silver, sparkly sandals! They were gorgeous.  I put them on. They made my Fred Flinstone fat feet look amazingly fabulous and feminine! I walked over to my mom and she agreed. These were some special sandals. Even the woman trying on shoes next to her said they were amazing. Then I checked the price. $175.00. Maybe not a steep price for a nice pair of shoes but these were actually jellies! Ok, fancy jellies with sparkles and silver leather, but still, I couldn't see spending that much money on this type of shoe. What if they were uncomfortable. What if they made my feet sweat. My mom offered to split the price with me but I just couldn't do it. Sigh. So, I ended up with the mother- daughter look alike sandals. She was thrilled to get me into something other than brown. Months went by. I was shopping at the Rack with my shoe enthusiast boyfriend and guess what? Yep. There they were.  I was breathless. I was in shock. I picked them up. Holding my breath, I checked the bottom to make sure. They were my size! I held them lovingly to by chest. I never expected to see these sandals again. When I showed them to my boyfriend, he seemed questionable. I'm like, "No. You don't understand. Wait til you see these on my feet." I put them on and he had to agree. Gorgeous! I called my mom. I said, "remember those sandals from last summer?" She knew right away. I was so excited I could hardly talk. She was excited too, but for a different reason. She was thrilled that I could care so much for a pretty shoe!! They were only $75.00.(I still can't beleive I said only $75 for a pair of jellies but these are Stuart Weitzman's, a name I had been oblivious to before) She was happy to get them for me as an early birthday present.
   You think the story ends here but it doesn't. Last Thanksgiving I had my suitcase stolen out of my sister's car in Phoenix. All of my favorite things were in there, including,of course, the sandals. I was sick. All day long I kept remembering things I had packed, some of them irreplaceable. It's a feeling I wouldn't wish on anyone. I decided to do what I could to feel better about this violation. I decided to replace what I could and forget about the red lingerie set from Italy, my new thrift store find, the gorgeous white ruffly top from The Wardrobe and all my other favorite things I'd packed that I would never see again. It took a few weeks but I finally found my sandals on Zappos. They came in the mail 2 days after I ordered them. Now, sometimes I can't help but wonder, who took my suitcase? What could they possibly have wanted with all my things? Whoever it was, I sure hope they're not a size 6!

Fashion Piece

By Kaitlin Ball


Vladimir, Russia, is known for a deep and bloody history as the ancient capital of modern-day Russia; it has never been known for its fashion.  If anything, Vladimir has been three steps behind European fashion since the tenth century.  Present-day Vladimir is no exception to this pattern, wrought with greasy mullets and track suits.  Therefore, it seems unthinkable that one would find some glimmer of fashion wisdom among the conventional industrial apparel that clothes most of the city.
      I spent a semester in the small town of Vladimir to get away from Western culture and immerse myself in Russian life.  And yet, nearly every day after class my friends and I would flock to the only mall in the province.  We would not seek out any pseudo-authentic Russian tea house, but instead always made our way to the chique coffee house.  The coffee house was full of sleek, red chairs that were as thoughtlessly manufactured as the pastries available in the display case.  We did not go here because it offered us something exciting and different; it only offered us something boring and safe. 
      And every day in this banal coffee house we saw a not-so-banal young Russian woman walk by.  She would strut by our coffee house like the poorly paved sidewalk was her personal runway, in a pair of jeans that seemed only to have drawn their inspiration from some synthesized boy-band from the nineties.  Like most Russians, she only had one pair of jeans, and she wore them every day.  These faded jeans had no pockets in the back (leaving very little to the imagination at times), and were bleached in a manner to imitate tie-dye, with a flare that ended awkwardly just at her ankle.  At one point, these jeans were probably very cutting-edge; but that flare had long since worn off. 
      Every day she walked past, going home from work or university.  And every day we saw her, and made fun of her.  Like most Russians in Vladimir, she had a sense of fashion that offended our need to assimilate to what was served to us by the prevalent fashion magazines.  This astounding young Russian woman was not at all unlike her peers on the street, from her hair color to her slender Slavic build, and yet we managed to spot her every day as she strolled by the coffee house. 
      Outdated and antiquated were among the kindest things we called her; it almost became a sport.  As it continued, I began to wonder why it was a sport.  Why did this otherwise ordinary Russian woman merit our attention every day?  I did not think it was because we led boring lives, we were constantly being enriched with new cultural and linguistic challenges.  Her outfits, however outdated and cliché they may have been, were thoughtful and much better composed than those of many of the men and women who often shared the street with her.  Why then, did I notice this young woman and her one pair of jeans every day, no matter what the weather?  Russia would hurl its best at her, wind, rain, and snow; and yet I never failed to notice her. 
      It took me over four months of reflecting after my departure from Russia to understand this young woman and her jeans.  It was not what she wore every day that drew our attention; it was the attitude with which she wore it.  Her very existence not only boasted confidence, but also some other mysterious ingredient that I am still unable to name.  She did not have many of the things we take for granted: the finances to invest in another pair of jeans, and even more likely many of the opportunities that allow so many of us to advance in life.  But she moved with a confidence and comfort that still have not mastered.  She did not draw eyes because of her keen following of some fashion guru in Moscow, she drew eyes because of her confidence and comfort with herself. 

Shoes

By Mabel Yang


This is a pair of black Anne Klein sling back heels.


Classy, yet trendy enough for a 17, soon-to-be-18, year old senior about to leave behind the remains of her childhood  and step into the world of adulthood. I found them amidst racks of shoes in a discount store and scored them for an unbelievable $15. And they were completely new. It was probably love at first sight (and I’ve loved many a pair of shoes), but this was the pair I had to have and for such an affordable price, it was like I was meant to have them. Clearly, destiny was calling. It was perfect.


Looking back, I can only say that I was right.


They’re a little battered now, but I guess you can say the little scrapes and such are battle scars. They’re well-earned however and I’m happy, nay, proud to wear them still. These babies have been an essential part of my wardrobe and have been there for some of the most memorable events of my life.


Soon after I acquired them, I walked across the stage in front of my family, friends, and peers to get my high school diploma and to say goodbye  and hello to the next chapter of my life. They were there for the first of many job interviews and they were there when I finally landed the job. They were there for parties and shopping trips and reunions. And they’re still here and they’re gonna be here for a while as I experience many more firsts in the upcoming months and years.


They’re a part of my battle armor. They help me present to the world that I am a strong, confident person and they’re still cute as heck. They have sentimental value and when I look at them, I remember every single one of those moments.


(P.S. Thanks, Mom! Best grad gift ever.)

The Kook Dress

The Kook Dress

By: Joy Policar

My husband, Ray, of 18 years walked into my study and inquired, “What’s the kook dress doing out?” My 17-year- old son, Kyle, followed him in and asked, “Is that your wedding dress? Wow, it’s prettier than in the pictures, but it’s still weird for a wedding dress.” Although I bought the not wedding dress at Nordstrom, I truly believe this magical garment was destined for me to wear at our wedding ceremony on January 4, 1992. As I glance at it, informally draped over the top of its silver box, it strikes me that I have never seen any garment like this one before or since. Kook is a term of endearment used in our family to signify amusement and the appreciation of originality. It really is a kook dress!

This floor length straight white shift bedecked with pearls and iridescent white beads in vertical lines starting below the bust to the floor; and rhinestones, gold and silver sequence form patterns accentuating the bust, V neck, and gold fringed puffed sleeves-- do not speak wedding dress. This form fitting dress hugged my hour glass figure in all the right places. Although it may sound gaudy, it truly spoke elegance, sophistication, and refinement. The dress mirrored my soul.

I was 35 when I married the 39-year-old Ray—a second marriage for me and a first for him. When I left my first marriage of five years, I vowed that I would never settle again. I wanted a man that I was head over heels in love with. That was a tall order because for five years I had been divorced and was living in a beautiful condo I owned, enjoying my teaching career, and relishing the social life I had created. I did not have children, so my biological clock was ticking loudly. Yet I was holding out for a man who I was magnetically attracted to—namely, tall, dark, and handsome. Razor sharp intelligence, a quick wit, and social graces were also part of the criteria. I dated oodles of guys because I had discovered my power as a woman in my early to mid-thirties. I had come into my beauty—able to reel in 20 something guys, plus I had enough life experience and confidence to hold my own with men in their 30s and 40s. So I kissed lots of frogs and had a good time doing it, but reconciled myself to being single.

On Thursday night, April 11, 1991, after a long day of teaching my eleventh grade English classes, I went out for cocktails with a girlfriend at a popular singles bar in Sacramento. As I walked to the bar to get a drink, I struck up a conversation with Ray. Not only was I physically attracted to him; but also as we talked and laughed, I could not believe that he was measuring up to the standards from which I was unwilling to bend. I was bursting with excitement when he invited me to his house for dinner that Saturday night.

There was a drawback. Regardless of the fact that I held high standards, I did not believe that I deserved a man that could fit this criteria. Who wouldn’t want a man like this, and who was I to demand one? What’s worse, how was I going to deal with my insecurities if the man of my dreams was attracted to me? It was easy to date guys that did not measure up because I didn’t believe I did either. I was just a gal from across the tracks. I was the first in my family to get a Bachelor’s degree, and as a teacher, I was the star of my family of origin and extended family. I had pulled myself up, but felt I lacked refinement.

Ray was a successful attorney, and he was smart. He went straight through law school and had been an established attorney for 14 years. He had a beautiful home in Carmichael and a vacation home in Lake Tahoe. My insecurities were surfacing with a vengeance. I grew up in South Sacramento living in a 1,100 square foot home. College educations were not encouraged in my family, but in his family professional careers requiring graduate level degrees were an expectation. Ray’s mother made it clear to me that “Ray was not the marrying kind.” Although his family wanted him to wed, his family admired him for holding out. He was protecting the family’s assets while waiting for that special woman, and I couldn’t believe he had chosen me.
I have always loved clothes and for my wedding day, I wanted to wear a dress that reflected my depth and complexity. I could not bring myself to wear a traditional, demure gown—one his family might picture his bride wearing. Weddings always mark transition in a woman’s life, but I knew I was making a radical change. I embraced my new role as wife with enthusiasm, but I still wanted to hang on to my independence, and the place I had earned in the professional world. It was as if overnight my social class identity shifted, and along with this change, I might lose a cherished part of myself. My working-class roots are a part of my essence, a piece of my core that keeps me grounded and ignites my drive. The hand work that created the intricate sequenced and jeweled patterns on the dress told the story of the initiatory journey I was undergoing. When I slipped it on, it whispered, “You are brave and you wear me proudly—you are enough. I am honored to be on your body, so I can mirror to the world your bold elegance that defies convention. You go girl; I was made for you and you alone. I tell your story.”

Special Occasion Wear

By Helen Trejo


I learned to sew when I was 14 and ever since then I anticipated making a dress that reflected my creative spirit. This long awaited hope became a reality when I drafted patterns and constructed my prom dress. The dress is made of dark green satin and dark gray charmeuse. I chose dark green because green has been my favorite color since second grade and I thought gray complemented it nicely.
I was ecstatic when I completed my prom dress and wore it to my senior prom, but saddened at the thought that I would probably never wear it again. During my first year at UC Davis, my green dress hung in my closet at home, begging to catch a glimmer of light and my muslin mock-up lied messily folded up in one of my drawers, yearning for attention. It was my original, foundation piece that guided me as I made my green prom dress; unfortunately, it never received the attention it deserved.
Interest in my mock-up dress emerged during Winter Break as I looked through one of my miscellaneous drawers and found my folded mock-up prom dress under a pile of folders. I took it out of the drawer, unfolded it, and looked at the inside of the skirt where I sewed panels of different muslin pieces together. I remembered how difficult it was to create the perfect panels for the skirt section. I had to consider the circumference of the skirt when I joined it to the bodice front and back, and the bottom flare of the dress. As I looked at my mock-up, I thought of how it would look from far away and realized that the seams of the panels would not show if a person saw it from far away.
Streams of creative thoughts ignited as I held my mock-up dress. I opened my closet and took out my green prom dress. I looked at it and noticed uniformity in its texture and color. The satin and charmeuse were both soft and smooth at my touch, and the dark green and gray harmonized with each other rather than contrasted. I took out batches of left-over fabric I saved from previous projects and began to pick out fabrics that I liked. I cut them into rectangular pieces and laid them out on my living room floor. As I looked at the pieces, images of me making my first tote bag popped into my head, sewing my first dress for a class, my twin sister cutting out her fabric for a pair of pants, and my sister wearing the graduation dress she made. I was in awe of the load of memories my mock-up prom dress would have.
I appliquéd each rectangular piece of fabric onto the mock-up and made it more vivid with the contrasting colors and prints on the fabrics. I also hand embroidered swirls of different colors to make the dress lively and as dynamic as possible.
This dress transformed from a plain dress into an eloquent dress that could speak for itself by conveying an abundance of memories just by the sight of the fabrics. Although it took me an enormous amount of time to complete the handwork on this dress, I treasured every second. I was completing something that I shared a strong personal connection with because it was a mock-up of my prom dress and carried fabrics full of memories. It took a lot of patience and determination to complete and I am very proud this dress. By completing this dress I felt empowered to complete anything I wish. This dress was in the sustainable portion of two fashion shows and continuously brightens my day as it hangs in my living room.

 

Finding Confidence Around My Neck

By Lesley Miller


I stood in my closet, right foot resting flamingo style on the left knee. This is my thinking pose; and on Monday night I needed to make an important fashion decision for the following day.
Most days, getting dressed is a short process that happens while brushing my teeth in the morning. My office allows us to dress casually, so unless I have a meeting or event, I don’t need to look perfectly put together—which is fortunate because I’m not a perfectly put together type of girl. My makeup is minimal, my hair is usually straight, and the clothes I wear are often from Target.
I’ve always wanted to dress nicer than I do. Don’t most women say that? Even the ones who are always well dressed? I remember feeling fashion challenged for the first time in sixth grade when all the other girls got body suits and Guess denim shorts. Suddenly, the clothes I had from Limited Too didn’t seem as mature. My mom assured me I looked cute, but I sure didn’t feel as sophisticated as all the other girls.
Sophisticated is exactly how I wanted to feel on Tuesday night. A co-worker and I were nominated for a business award in Sacramento. It was an honor I didn’t expect, and one I felt highly unqualified to win. For that reason, I wanted to look the part of an actual adult. I didn’t want to be the 28 year old kid who shows up to a bar wearing Limited Too when everyone else has on body suits and Guess shorts.
I tried on several outfits. None of them seemed right. How do girls know which shirts go with which pants? When do I need a skinny belt? Can people see my bra through this? Does an undershirt look silly? It’s spring—but it’s raining—so what shoes do I wear? Open? Closed? And, do I have time for a pedicure?
Jonathan didn’t really get it. His most difficult fashion decision each day is deciding what tie to wear. Oddly enough, even this decision can be a challenge for him. And while he gently poked fun of my dramatic closet scene, I found myself lecturing him about how the importance of this very moment and how it might translate to the rest of my career. Was it overly dramatic? Um, yes. (*blush*) But, was it somewhat true? Possibly. Women remember what other women wear—right or wrong—and first impressions count. It’s no wonder we worry so much about finding the perfect skinny belt.
I settled on a short sleeve Target blouse and brown skinny pants. My older heels would have to work, and I’d go without a belt since I don’t own one. The next morning before leaving the house I decided to grab a vintage yellow necklace I’d purchased earlier that week at a consignment store. I’d never shopped at a consignment store before, and it’s rare that I buy jewelry for myself. The necklace was certainly, for me, a step outside the typical.
I fiddled throughout the day with my outfit. The shirt didn’t stay tucked in very well without a belt, and I was cold because of the rainy weather. I started doubting my choice of clothing as soon as I walked into the event not because I was dressed inappropriately but because I am new at this game of playing career woman.
After drinks and appetizers, the award presentation began. I didn’t win. I felt a sense of relief as soon as the last name was called. I wouldn’t have to tromp across that stage in heels with my shirt hanging out. I could go home, change out of the costume, and feel like a kid again.
Shortly after the program, a woman walked up. “You’re Lesley! I’ve wanted to meet you in person.” She was the owner of the consignment store where I’d bought the necklace, and she recognized me from Twitter. I smiled as my hand found its way to my neck.
“This necklace I’m wearing—“ I began.
“Is from our store? Yes. I know. My mom and I recognized it from across the room. It’s so cute. I’m glad you like it,” she said.
I stood a little taller, and smiled a little wider. My self worth isn’t based on appearances. It’s not based on winning an award either. But, in that very short moment, my yellow necklace made me feel like the grown woman I’d been pretending to be.
Maybe I don’t need that skinny belt after all.