Clothed in Imagination

Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society. ~ Mark Twain

If clothes make the (wo)man, does that mean that what you wear is a visible representation of your life, your story? Last year I paged through a J. Peterman catalog (they call it an Owner’s Manual) for the first time and saw that each item of clothing had a mini-story associated with it. Perhaps to add an additional layer of fantasy, most of the items are illustrated instead of photographed. I understand that they use this long copy technique to sell clothes, but honestly it made me look at my wardrobe and wonder what tales my clothes are telling.

Here are some sample stories from the catalog for your reading pleasure:

Trouble.

               An indiscretion here, some questionable assets there, and next thing you know a little ad in the back of that fashion magazine catches your eye:

               “Legally obtain a second passport…become a Perpetual Traveler, avoid taxes, governments and hassles.”

               You could head for Luxembourg or Turks and Caicos, but I suggest Quito, Ecuador. You can’t beat the year-round climate or the expat bars, and the dollars to sucres exchange rate is still favorable.

               In preparation for departure, I suggest you pack this soft cotton corset and matching skirt, with its blossoming skirt panels with pintucks.

               I can see you now, the soul of innocence, sitting in a café on the Avenida Amazonas, sipping a Trago spiced with cinnamon and reading about your mysterious disappearance in the International Herald Tribune.

Italian Colors of Vernazza.

 

Are intoxicating, like this dress, like Maya.

We first met as she sauntered across the cobblestone wearing it (I would later describe it to her as mosey, but she said that was too American).

It’s when I discovered I had synesthesia. Frank Lloyd Wright claimed to hear music when he designed buildings; Nabokov saw the letter o as an “ivory-backed hand mirror.”

Me?

Upon seeing Maya mosey (sorry) in her cheery linen dress, I heard an ebullient tambourine and smelled freshly cut nasturtiums. When she got close, with the soft linen clinging and contrast trim hitting her tanned legs, I had the sensation of tasting the most exquisite carambola.

Interesting, I know. N.B. Wine is not an antidote for synesthesia.

“My will to win.”

It was almost a confession, really.

He buttoned his slicker, his hands still shaking from being underwater for three minutes. Hair still smeared in sand. Skinned forehead still bleeding in a way you can only do pinned on the soft sea floor 30 feet down, 100 yards out.

I’d of course heard that statement before—haven’t we all? But this was different. It wasn’t a claim, a boast, nothing artificial like those words usually come wrapped in. It was a personal weight. Not quite a burden because he loved it. But something deep he carried with him that often tortured him, like his father’s expectations.

Salty ocean air can be an elixir (and breezy).

Apparently, you can also tell your story using jewelry. For instance, some jewelry companies like Origami Owl sell clear lockets in which the wearer can display meaningful charms that capture her story.

But who has time to shop for the perfect shirt or accessory when there are so many stories to tell? Or, am I too absorbed in my characters’ lives and fail to tell my own story?

As an aside, I don’t completely agree with Mark Twain. For instance, Lady Godiva is still remembered for riding naked through the streets in the 11^th century to protest a tax imposed by her husband. Today, she has delightful chocolates named in her honor.

Do you wear your story? Or, do you throw on whatever is handy and spend your time telling your characters’ story?