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- All I wanted for Christmas was my old tye-dye skirt, pocketbook, jeans and sandals
Thu, Dec 26, 2013 05:53 PM
I used to have the coolest tye-dye skirt. I ordered it years ago
from the Chadwick's catalog. Whenever I wore it, friends and
co-workers would refer to my "hippy skirt" (yes, this means you
JW). It had every color of the rainbow in it, so I could wear it
with anything. The drawstring waist meant it fit into both my
skinny wardrobe and fat wardrobe. I wore it until it was threadbare
and it pained me to throw it away. And I only just did that last
When I wore that skirt I was transported back to the early 70s - my
high school and college days. It reminded me of all the other
wardrobe items I loved back then.
My daughter has an affection for Coach purses. Every time I see
her, she seems to have a new one. When I ask how much it cost, she
always replies, "It was 50% off." I never actually know the true
price. She has found a little niche market though to help defray
costs. When she wants a new one, she sells a couple out of her
collection. She doesn't sell them to girlfriends - women want the
whole experience of going to the Coach outlet, perusing the aisles
and choosing the perfect "on sale" bag. Then when people ask how
much it was, they can reply with the stock "percentage off"
What my daughter does is sells her slightly-used purses to men who
have girlfriends. They get to look like a hero without having to go
to the store and shop. She gives them a discount on the price she
paid, but only a little since she already got it at a discounted
price. The guys think they made a great deal, their girlfriends are
impressed with the purchase and my daughter gets the cash to get a
new purse. Everyone wins.
I am not a purse fanatic, though I am currently using a Coach bag -
a gift from my daughters. But what I really want back is the
macramé bag I slung over my shoulder every day when I headed to
classes at Brentwood High School. It was navy blue which meant it
matched every pair of jeans I owned. It had beads woven into it and
they clanked when they hit my locker. It had no compartments or
side pockets. It was one open nylon-lined bag and I could fit a
hundred things in it at once.
My macramé bag wasn't practical. I could never find a thing in it.
But that was ok, I simply would dump the contents onto a table or
my desk and rummage through until I found my lip gloss, spare
change, cigarette lighter or the roaming pack of Teaberry
I have reached the age where I buy shoes more for comfort than
style. Long gone are the days of high heels and spikey boots.
Simple black flats go with most of my outfits these days, though
during the warm months and outside of work, I live in flip-flops. I
probably have 20 pair.
Back in the 70s, there were four basic types of shoe in every
college coeds's wardrobe - buffalo sandals, desert boots, Frye
boots and Dr. Scholl's. I didn't own a pair of Frye boots, they
were out of my price range. But I was lucky enough to have a friend
at college who wore the same size shoe. She would let me borrow her
jeans, her baby doll tops and once in a while, her precious Frye
Buffalo sandals actually came in two versions. The flat version was
also known as "hippy sandals" or "Jesus sandals." Typically all
leather, they went with anything from shorts to jeans to skirts.
The ones I had were platforms with beige leather straps
crisscrossing over the top of the foot and a buckle around the
I also owned several pair of wooden Dr. Scholl's in various colors.
Though touted as an exercise sandal that forced natural gripping
and flexing of the feet, they were extremely dangerous when walking
on an uneven surface - though not as dangerous as my platform
Desert books were suede, ankle-high boots that laced up through
three sets of grommets. They were a staple with jeans and sweaters.
I still don't understand the name as I doubt anyone would wear them
in the desert. Today, I lean more toward my ten-year-old cowboy
boots that I just had refurbished at Cecil's Shoe Repair.
For those who have been reading my column since the beginning, you
will recall the infamous one about finding a pair of jeans that
fit. That column elicited more fan mail than any other one to date.
Boomer women can relate to the dilemma of trying to find a pair of
jeans that have enough material to cover the entire boomer butt. Oh
how I long for my Levis 501's and the way they felt straight out of
the dryer. Fitting more like a glove than a pair of pants, they
were the core of every female wardrobe. You could wear them with
t-shirts, sweaters, silk blouses and my favorite combination, the
white man-tailored shirt.
I hate shopping for clothes these days. I'm not ready for the
old-lady polyester pantsuit look or elastic-waist jeans. But this
body does not conform to low-slung jeans, midriff shirts, platform
heels that make me six inches taller and definitely not
So I'll just keeping searching for the perfect jeans, flip-flops in
a color I don't already have and a tye-dye skirt that screams
Cindy Phillips is a columnist for The Mountian Times, she can be
reached directly at firstname.lastname@example.org.