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 11th 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?
