Once upon a time, women dressed up to go out. And getting dressed meant donning undergarments – things like nylons (or fishnet stockings), garter belts, girdles, and a bra, the most famous of which was probably the Playtex ‘Living Bra.’
(The ‘Living Bra’ always made me think of a Japanese horror movie. I imagined a giant bra terrorising Manhattan, or Pittsburgh, or Cleveland. “It’s a 38 double-D!” men would scream. “Run for your life!”)
Maybe I had an overactive imagination.
At any rate, it wasn’t my imagination that ads for bras back then were just plain weird. The models in these ads were stylishly attired – except for the Maidenform bra they sported in lieu of a shirt…
… because every woman likes to go on safari, or to the ballet or the circus, in her bra. Doesn’t she?
Ladies’ underclothes back then consisted of a slip, stockings, a long-line bra, and a serious, top-of-the-thighs-up-to-the-waistline girdle. Watching my mom wrestle herself into that stretchy white thing was like watching a soldier arm himself for battle. The effort was sweaty, and interspersed with danger and muttered curses – but in the end, she emerged triumphant, the battle won and the girdle firmly in place.
Women wore hats and gloves to church. Hatboxes resided on the top shelf of the closet, taken down on Sunday morning (or if someone died and there was a funeral to attend). A couple of hatpins jabbed judiciously into the hair secured the hat in place. Gloves were short and white, with perhaps a dainty button at the wrist.
At the beginning of every school year, my brother and I each got a new pair of Buster Brown shoes. After school, I couldn’t wait to exchange my Mary Janes for PF Flyers (‘run faster and jump higher’). I was denied desert boots because, according to my mother, they weren’t ‘good for the feet.’
I liked going to the Buster Brown store for new shoes; it meant I could choose a comic book from the box in the corner. Every comic featured Buster and his dog, Tige. While we’d probably call this heavy-handed marketing today, back then, it was a treat, a little something extra that no other shoe store offered. And the shoes weren’t half bad, either.
(Although now that I think about it, Tige looked a little scary. I’m surprised he didn’t feature in my childhood nightmares.)
In high school, I wasn’t into trends. I didn’t know what a ‘trend’ was. I only knew that jeans were allowed in school, so who cared about dressing up? Not me. No more skirts or itchy slips or Peter Pan collars… instead, my go-to outfit was a plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and desert boots (sorry, mom).
Back then, I didn’t want to stand out; I wanted to blend in with everyone else.
By the nineties, women no longer wore pantyhose. Bare legs ruled, models sported ‘heroin chic,’ and Seattle’s grunge scene took over. I think there was a tartan phase in there somewhere, too. None of the old rules applied any longer.
It was freeing – but confusing, too. With so much sartorial freedom, where did one start? How did a distinctly unstylish girl learn to be stylish? Was it really okay to mix a floral print with plaid? Did combat boots go with a dress? Did I look cool – or ridiculous?
These days, I play it safe. I leave the trends to younger women and stick with classic (admittedly, sometimes boring) clothing. I prefer comfort over couture.
Still, it’s fun to gussy oneself up now and again. A gorgeous dress, stockings, and heels make a girl feel like… well, like a girl. And that’s not such a bad thing.
Just don’t ask me to wear a girdle…
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