Style - ish

When I was a kid – I had as much style as a Vicky Pollard and Ugly Betty combined. I couldn’t have cared less what I wore. And I have to give my parents full credit for this. Mum, wearing her big sunglasses from the 70’s, all through the 90’s, with her collection of home-made dresses and a few items she picked up from K-mart in ‘85. And Dad, sporting bus driver shorts, socks up to the knees with sandals, when he wasn’t in his flairs. I didn’t know fashion existed!

Between Mum’s bad perm, and Dad’s full beard, we looked like we were a family raised in some religious cult away from society. People must have seen our family, and thought we were retarded. And I had no idea about any of this, until one day in Grade 6, when a friend made fun of my mum’s huge wide brimmed golf hat. (Mum wore it with her giant glasses, a dress her mother had made for her in the 60’s, and sandals with navy socks.) She was clearly not a golfer.

As soon my friend uttered the words “OMG – what is your mother wearing?!” -- I knew.

I knew it. I didn’t want to know. But I knew it. My parents were freaks. It was a rude awakening, like learning Santa wasn’t real. I had been in some serious denial. And I was furious! Furious at my friend and furious at my Mum! Why didn’t she realise she looked like she had raided the dress-ups box at pre-school instead of a grown lady’s wardrobe! Why hadn’t I?



But before I could judge her, I had to take a look at myself. My wardrobe consisted of second hand garments, gaudy gifts from relatives and K-mart clothes that Mum had attacked with her sewing machine and box of glitter-puff paints. She would buy plain tracky tops, and in a burst of creativity, attach a floral ‘clown’ collar, or patterned strips around one of the biceps, and a piece of ribbon or lace. It was a unique look that belonged purely to the ‘craft corner’ on Playschool -- not the fashion industry.

I remember she once lovingly sewed me a dark blue outfit, with a round white collar, a gold and white button and two little ribbons hanging from the button. It looked exactly like a try-hard sailor’s costume, and she loved it so much, I felt bad not to wear it.

But, thanks to the cruelty and honesty of Grade 6 kids, I was in on the Fashion-Matrix. I would never look at the world the same again. Suddenly I could judge people on their ability to match fabrics and color or handbags with shoes.

Leaving the house had also forever changed. “Mum – please don’t go out in that! … No, I don’t want to … BECAUSE! I’m not a sailor!” “Dad – you don’t need socks with those Jesus sandals. … well at least loose the bow tie!” “No Mum! It doesn’t need any lace!”



Thus I began my slow and bumpy journey into trendy-town. I bought a copy of “Girlfriend” magazine (which was banned in our house). I refused to wear second hand bathing suits. I told my little brother not to put on anything that had passed through mum’s sewing room. This severely limited his choices.

Over the years, and against all odds, I have somehow transformed into quite the fashion victim, once shamefully paying $300 for a pair of designer jeans. (Never again.) But I don’t look back. I like to shop. So what if it’s driven by an underlying fear and determination to stay edgey, or risk slipping into the abyss that was my embarrassing childhood. At least I can hide the photos.

But what of my family? How do they continue to survive into the 21st Century? Well believe it or not, my brother and I are now style icons of our peer groups. Dad has rekindled a sense of pride in his appearance, that he once had, when he was voted ‘best dressed’ at high-school, class of 69. -- True story! (Many thanks to my Step-Mum, who graciously threw out all his clothes, and replaced his entire wardrobe on their third date.)

And as for Mum? Well some things never change. Funnily enough some of her puff paint designs might actually be quite cool now, in a stoner-indi-hipster kind of way. And pants that are too long for capris and too short for long pants are finally back in style again. So this year when she whips on her original glasses from '75, she will actually look cooler than anyone I know. Because she has no idea she even looks cool. And isn’t that the definition of cool???