What did you wear on New Year’s Eve?
A black dress and pearls? Pyjamas and fleece? (or “Pyammies,” as a Swedish accent will sometimes pronounce the word?)
I believe that New Year’s Eve can be a time to stretch our horizons. The archetypal liminal moment. A threshold. Where you get a brief hall pass from societies on either side, leaving you free to cavort as you will. A faerie, even, spangled.
Around here, this translates to, You May Dress Like A Rocker If You Choose To. So I did. Please suspend disbelief. In the liminal phase there is no disbelief, only existence.
A few weeks ago I won a giveaway hosted by Mary Jo Matsumoto of Trust Your Style. She asked us how we dress our inner rocker. Since Rock the Casbah, by the Clash, remains my favorite anthem of type, I had to enter the contest. Lo and behold, I won this ANAMA shirt.
Which presented a dilemma. I couldn’t go out wearing the tights on this model, as you can understand, but nor could I wear said shirt with any of the pants in my closet. Not with Levi’s 501s, not with 7 for All Mankind “Ginger” flares, not with Armani or Banana Republic trousers, nor even nameless Southern California hotel gift store khakis. In fact, this shirt required leggings.
Please understand that I had managed to dress my way through the 00s without leggings. Without, even, skinny jeans. I’m long-torsoed, so straight or skinny leg coverings ended ungracefully and prematurely at my feet. That was, until December 31st, 2010. The decade’s last gasp.
These were on sale at Neiman Marcus Last Call. 50% off retail.
I wore them with the ANAMA tee, a black shapewear tank, my trusty Louboutin Simple 70s, gold Swedish antique chandelier earrings, and this family locket. We don’t actually know who that baby is, dressed in the white gown, but he’s related.
You are saying, “Wait!”
You are saying, “Don’t think you can get off so easily! Don’t think you can distract me with your High WASP artifacts. I clicked through. I saw the detail on those leggings. That is SNAKESKIN! Faux snakeskin, understood, snakeskin in pattern only, but SNAKESKIN nevertheless.” You fall silent. Cross your arms. Look at me with raised eyebrow, foot tapping.
Liminal means out of time, out of place. In that moment between one year and the next, all that matters is the person with whom you cross the threshold. And if they, when asked, reply, “Yes, honey, it looks good,” to whom else must you answer?
That said, I’m feeling quite in need of the color blue this week. Navy and perhaps a nice sweater from L.L. Bean. Doors open, light crosses into the dark, one enters the room. Happy 2011. May we all find a threshold when we need one.