Fall clothes are in the stores. I LOVE fall clothes. It has always felt like my season. I feel most like myself in velvet, plaid, wine colors, deep hues, sweaters, wool coats, and layers. I love forest green and sage rather than lime; claret and rose instead of pink; navy and royal rather than aqua and ice; true chocolate brown, not tan or khaki.
The reminders are everywhere: cool and crisp are out - soft, warm and fur-lined are in. Pique and seersucker have given way to flannel, plaid and corduroy. There are jackets everywhere - great little cropped ones this year. Sweaters, the comfort food of the fashion industry, are replacing halters and t-shirts on the racks. Sandals are languishing on the clearance shelves looking insubstantial and dated while gorgeous boots are on display everywhere.
I can still remember some of the full page fashion spreads in SEVENTEEN magazine from the early 70's. It is always the fall and Christmas issues I remember - beautiful girls with long, glossy dark hair - the blond summer models were back in mothballs - wearing velvet and lace, cute short skirts with tall, cozy, knee high socks and fabulous tall boots. Football games, fall foliage, Christmas trees, fireplaces and candles provided the perfect backdrops.
For the first time in my fashion memory I can't enjoy the annual renaissance of fall fashion, the dispalys stocked with sweaters and scarves. I have to wistfully pass them by and scour the racks in the corners for the clearance-priced summer clothes which look pale, thin, flimsy, passe by comparison. Compared to the robust fall clothes they lack substance and even significance. I wasn't especially excited by them when they were novel and newly displayed; now they hold no appeal for me. I feel as if I am shopping for limp vegetables surrounded by luscious dessert carts.
Because, as I have repeated ad nauseum, "We're moving to Malaysia this fall." A land of no seasons and perpetual humidity. I am baffled by how life even goes on in the tropics. I was rasied on the metaphors of a northern clime; I remember to this day singing in college choir, "Spring turns to summer/Summer to fall/ Autumn brings winter/ Then death comes to call." Every fall I contemplate the brevity of life as the fall leaves crackle underfoot; every spring I take hope from the way the world bursts into life again from the hopeless remains of winter. So I wonder, are there seasons of life in Malaysia? If not, what is there?? I have read there is not much Malay poetry written. Perhps the lack of seasons is why. What can you say about endless summer? What can you hope for?
I wonder, how DO people age in Malaysia? Do they shrivel up in the sun? Do they rot like an overripe mango? So much of life is understood by metaphor; I have always felt that getting the right metaphor is vital. I never feel I know how to be until I know how to think. I believe I could endure almost anything with the right metaphorical construct through which to understand my experience. But right now I am clueless.
So, I am trying to stay out of the stores, think happy thoughts about hot places (without entertaining the comparison to the ultimate Hot Place), and look at my summer clothes in a new light. I am consoling myself with the thought that I will have the perfect excuse to shop for ALL NEW fall clothes in 2008! Yes!
No comments:
Post a Comment