In Which We Discover That High WASPs Approach Perfume The Same Way They Approach Life. Intoxicated.

It turns out, oddly enough, that High WASPs take the same approach to perfume as they do to life. I know, I know, it sounds preposterous. Hear me out, if you would be so kind.

1. We mean well. Which sometimes drags on to the edge of politeness. But eventually we honor our commitments.

A reader of Privilege wrote me back in December of 2009, asking me about High WASPs and perfume. Today, October 4th, 2010, I honor my commitment. A more revealing test of 'better late than never' we cannot imagine. Jessica, if you're still out there, um, sorry. And here goes.

2. When we look back, we realize we have come far from our origins. We also see that American culture has wandered far from the world of dressing tables, signature scents, and Grandmama.

My grandmother, the Artsy Grande Dame that she was, had a signature scent. Diorissimo. Lilies of the valley. Very sweet. My mother wore Miss Dior. My Aunt Priscilla gave me Caleche, when I was in high school, and then Paco Rabanne's Calandre. I wore them constantly, until, one day, I just didn't. For the past 30 years I have assumed that I hated perfume, that I was allergic to it, that it made me feel ill. I have also watched, and wondered, why anyone would want to smell like Britney Spears.

3. We do research, relying on decades of retail experience. Which more often than not brings us to our spiritual home, also known as Saks Fifth Avenue.

When I finally, finally, organized my various and remaining competencies enough to get myself to address perfume, I thought I'd go to Barney's New York, in San Francisco. I drove up our unscenic Highway 101, and parked at Union Square. I stopped by Saks, "just to look."

3. High WASPs succumb to adventure.

I walked by the Saks perfume counter. And paused, a bit. The saleswoman began to talk to me immediately. I could barely hear her, so overwhelmed was I by all the shiny bottles and waiting scents.


High WASP inbreeding has left us unable to think and smell at the same time. A pity, really. Who knows what acts of irresponsibility have been committed in lavender fields and peat bogs?

Once the saleswoman began to dab me with perfume I was lost. Drowning. You might think I'm exaggerating. I wish that were true.

This was a newish perfume line called By Kilian. Kilian is apparently the heir of the Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy fortune whatsit. One can imagine that amidst all those Ls and Vs he needs to spell out his name like a 6-year old. This does not improve the brand for me but I was far beyond logos and marketing by this point.

She dabbed onto my unsuspecting skin (skin is always unsuspecting, that's part of its tragedy, don't you think?):

• Prelude To Love
• Beyond Love
• Love and Tears
• Liasons Dangereuses
• Cruel Intentions
• A Taste of Heaven

These names offered me no guidance whatsoever.

Did you know that to smell perfumes for purchase you should:

1. Wave your wrists to dry them off after first spraying?
2. Use each wrist, each elbow, the back of each arm, and a few fingers for different scents?
3. Lie your face against your wrist sideways, to breath it in indirectly, not snort it right into your nostrils.
4. Walk away and come back 20 minutes later for the final version of your scent? This is called the "dry down." But had I walked away I would never have returned, thus failing to honor my commitment. So the dry down had to wait.

One bottle smelled like the good part of bugspray, and gasoline. Mixed with rubber. And in the background, sweetness. A tired sweetness. The saleswoman said it was made of something called, "Oudh." And rose. Rose attar, maybe.

All I knew was that I liked it and I had to get out of there or fall down in public. High WASPs do not like to fall down in public.

5. Our senses call us to experiences we cannot predict.


$400 later I owned a large black bottle of scent. Named "Rose Oudh." Which appears to require its own lacquer box adorned by a gold-colored plate engraved with a fancy "K." Oh, and a key. I am still not sure why to lock a box that one can simply put into one's backpack if one is a robber, but I have told you before and I will tell you again, I am at heart too Sturdy for much high concept retail.

4. We call home for comfort and discover that the old High WASPs had some priorities very straight.

When I finally made it to my car I called my sisters. Only to discover that my sisters don't wear perfume at all. I called my mother.

Me: Mom, what's that perfume you always wore?
Mom: I don't know. I don't wear it any more. I hate it.
Me: Well what did you use to wear?
Mom: I don't know. I used to keep the bottles on my dressing table but I thought they looked trashy so I put them away.
Me: Well, Mom, could you do me a favor and go look and see what they are? I'm trying to write a blog post.
Mom: OK but I have to go back across the house to the bathroom.
Me: That's OK. I will wait.
*crickets*
Mom: Lisa?
Me: Yes Mom?
Mom: I found it. You tell your blog people I had to crawl back into my bathroom cupboard to to get it. (Note. The bathroom cupboard is under her sink.)
Me: OK Mom, I will. What's the perfume?
Mom: It's something called Hermies.
Me: Hermies? *laughter* Mom, it's not Hermies, it's Hermes!
Mom: Well I had to crawl into the bathroom cupboard to get it.

My mother doesn't care one bit for brands. Or labels. I doubt she would understand the phenomenon of young Mr. Kilian.

5. We keep anything that dizzies the senses far away from our reading glasses, our well-flossed teeth, and our pearls.

In the past few weeks I have discovered that I have to wear Rose Oudh behind my knees. Anything closer to my face is too much. Good thing too. Perfume oils are bad for pearls. Everyone knows that.

Everyone knows that perfume was invented to disguise the smells of human life pre-plumbing.

Everyone also knows that perfume is just perfume. But they're wrong. The Three Kings knew what they were doing. All that myrrh and frankincense was the original Trojan Horse.

A Brief List Of Some Very Good Looking Products

Somewhere my sisters are laughing. "Good looking" is my mother's phrase. Mom's got great taste, and if I could abstract out her theories I would. Would probably make millions. But for today, rather than talking about the how of good looking, let's focus on the what. Sometimes, in style, you have to start with the details.

For example.
A weekender by Dash. In its favor we've got navy, stripes, luggage-colored leather, a classic shape. At least I think that's what she'd say. The knowledge is deeply buried. $210.


A crisp, highly shaped, white jacket from Jack Rogers. The same people who make sandals. Brisk, efficient, clean. There's nothing like good heavy sateen, (oh the sheen) and a 3/4 sleeve. $248.


Merino throw rug from Anchini. In the brick red color family my mother adores. And the flowers look cheerful, and classic as medallions. $395.


Linens from Libeco. "Now what's so good looking about these?" you might ask. "Those are just some blue sheets." In this case "good looking" is a euphemism. It means that these sheets are made of actual linen. I don't think we've had real linen bedding in my family since 1974. Round about then I put a teenage toenail through a top sheet. Everyone took it very well. I have never forgotten how it felt to sleep in so much smooth and soft.

I'll refrain from posting prices. We're not talking about good buying, just "good looking."

Holiday card from Kate Spade. Plaid. Plaid that looks like an old woolen kilt. Enough said. $25 for 10 cards.


These, on the other hand, she would probably find vulgar. Holidays and family gatherings should make us think first of gambling. But she's too well-brought up to tell you so.

Have a wonderful weekend. It's out there waiting, and summer is drawing to a long, sweet, close.


Images:
Weekender from Dash
Blazer from Jack Rogers
Linens from Libeco
Throw from Anchini
Kate Spade Holiday Cards from Crane and Crane

The Low-Down On High WASP Sunglasses

The Sturdy Gal, sporting Ray-Bans, on a boat in the Stockholm Archipelago.

High WASPs do have their favorite sunglasses. Like IBM in the 1970s, no High WASP was ever fired for buying Ray-Ban. That's me, up above. And yes, I did Photoshop out a wee bit of my frown lines. I have not yet achieved the nirvana of a vanity-free midlife. Full disclosure. But I digress.

My middle sister wears Ray-Bans. And I did a Twitter poll of my preppy friends. While not all High WASPs are preppies, and not all preppies are High WASPs, in the sunglasses arena we're pretty well aligned. Ray-Bans win in a landslide. Tortoise shell a plus. From @AgathaMChristie*, we have the recommendation for these cat-eyes. $145. Sturdy Gal can go a little Artsy.
As @girltuesday and @Agatha also reminded me, we have been known to go for the occasional pair of Pradas, or Oliver Peoples. These are Peoples' "Riley" glasses. Also just a little bit artsy. Love the transparent frames. $365. Or Persol. These are $255. I have been ogling that particular hinge detail for, oh, 25 years now? My youngest sister wears Persol. Oh, yes. Don't think I haven't noticed.
What if you want to sport a Grande Dame look, in what we affectionately call our 'sunnies?' It wouldn't be Versace, or Dolce and Gabbana. Just because it wouldn't.

Hopsy loves Lilly Pulitzers. If I'm going Grande Dame, I'm wearing the logo with impunity. You want a logo that stands for something. Lilly does that. $170. Why logos are OK for sunglasses and not for other things, I don't know. You'd have to ask a real Grande Dame.
Muffy chimed in with Chanel. I did buy a Chanel pair once. During our recent turn-of-the-century madness and concurrent stock market heights. They were black, with that matelasse detailing on the side. I loved them. I lost them. Now I rather like these below, in white. Especially the expansion of the famous double C's to include the stylized camellia. Brilliant. I have no idea what they cost. Chanel figures if I have to ask I don't want them. Fine then. If you're going Grande Dame, go all the way to Florida.
Chanel can also take us pretty much all the way to Artsy. Silver fronds of plant material are definitely not Sturdy.


Or, for even more Artsy, given that these are a special secret probation fashion insider brand, try Karen Walker. She doesn't give us prices either.


Espoused, in a show of secret and only suspected edgy fashionable depths, by our favorite Preppy Princess. Preppy waters run deep. I've said so all long.

Lest you worry I'm advising we all return to giddy, profligate, turn of the century ways, be assured. The Sturdy Gal likes Target specials just fine. That's what my mom wears. She's from the generation before all this brand folderol.

But Foster Grants are even better. $20.

Because the Sturdy Gal loses her sunglasses all the time anyway.

Watch that video. No, you don't have to buy high end for good eye protection. But, things being what they are, you might do it just because.

Ray-Ban here.
Oliver Peoples here.
Persol here.
Lilly Pulitzer here.
Chanel here.
Karen Walker here.
Target here.
Foster Grant here.
Thank you to the Hostess for asking about sunnies. Thanks also to Worthington and Lauren for their contributions.
* The @thingie is how people show up in their Tweets. Their user name, if you will.

The Sturdy Gal Dreams Of A Grand Resort, v.2011

In recent weeks the fashion industry has been showing its Resort collections. High WASPs love resorts. They are places of tennis, sand, and alcohol. What's not to like? We aren't sure, however, what the point is of Resort collections, shown in the summer, and not available until 2011. We think it's an "industry thing," which makes us think of commerce, which makes us have to lie down.

As long as we are lying down, we will look at the clothes. Good news. There's something for everyone.* The Sturdy Gal, Artsy Cousin, and Grande Dame can all participate in what the fashion pundits have deemed a "2011 Resort trend." Good news. For us, or for the industry, of course, I cannot say.

But one might wonder, what trends of the season does the Sturdy Gal like?

Brogues, otherwise known as boy shoes. Black and white. Belts that hold your pants up.

Akris, via simple+pretty

If it's a girly day, we change out pants for a skirt. We don't, however, frown. Sturdy Gals are nothing if not cheerful. And we aren't sure why this woman is so cranky. After all, she's modeling and she's over 16. Shouldn't she be full of joy at breaking ground?

Organic, by John Patrick, via simple+pretty

We can even do dresses. Bottega Veneta bags are our secret vice. We have been known to pat them on the sly.

Bottega Veneta, via simple+pretty

Given these predilections, you can see why the Sturdy Gal worries about her Artsy Cousin. Artsy lives for prints. She adores a good floral, even those haunted by ghosts of upholstery past.

Kenzo, via Style.com

And, while the Artsy Cousin will sometimes wander into Sturdy Gal territory, tending on those occasions towards the wistful colors of seaglass green, fallen peach, and dusty berry,

Calvin Klein, via simple+pretty

she is never happier than when she glows like a multicultural flame. Which the Sturdy Gal just doesn't get. Why would anyone want to wear clothes that, um, show up?

Alberta Ferretti, via Style.com

Now the Grande Dame is, of course, another story altogether. She lets her wild side out. On vacation. Sometimes. Dramatically. With dignity.

White looks so good with a perfect tan and fabulous sunglasses. The Dame rules in Lanvin. Meanwhile Sturdy Gal dreams secretly of a love that would blow her skirt askance. Failing wild romance, a trade wind or two will do. Too bad the sunscreen she is never without lessens white's impact.

Lanvin, via simple+pretty. It appears that the above is a wedding dress. The Grande Dame is considering the etiquette of such a choice.

For a cocktail party, the Dame toes a structured line. Sturdy Gal perks up. "Really? That counts as dressing up? Can I wear flats? Take off the bracelet?" Sturdy Gal makes some allowances for glamor, but none for pain in her feet, or accessories that interfere with eating.

Chris Benz, via simple+pretty

There always comes a moment, in the midst of vacation, when the Grande Dame mutters, a little grimly, "Resort be damned. I say it's a dinner dance and I'm wearing long and tight. Long, tight, and black." The intellectual Grande Dame loves the semiotics of this dress, brazen references to beauty caught in symbols and hieratic rites. Or maybe it's the lace. She's a sucker for lace.

Oscar de la Renta via Style.com. The Grande Dame's friend, is Oscar.

The Sturdy Gal, having arrived early to the dinner dance as she does to everything, sits and eats her salad. At the sight of the Grande Dame in her finery, Sturdy Gal cocks her head. If she squints, she is reminded of favorite tees with silly sayings. Writ large, as they say. Writ wizard. Not a bad thing. Everyone wants to make a mysterious and magic entrance, come the Resort.

*The Sturdy Gal, Artsy Cousin, and Grande Dame are High WASP style archetypes. If you're curious, just type the names into the blog search box and see what we're talking about. In future, I'll put up a page devoted to explicating this curious taxonomy.

Antwerp Fashion, Real And Imagined

Antwerpen Centraal. A train station. A beautiful train station. From the era of decorative iron.

Thursday, my friend and I traveled from her small town in Belgium into Antwerp. Antwerp has a cathedral. Antwerp also observes Ascension Day by closing all its stores. Hmm. I saw the cathedral. Beautiful. Hung with an exhibition of Piers Paul Rubens* paintings. More beautiful. I also saw the outside of the Dries Van Noten store, at Nationalestraat 16. Also beautiful.

I thought all Dries Van Noten clothes looked like this.

Like Antwerp weather. Neutral. Functional. A certain austere beauty. Well, Mr. Van Noten has evolved. Jakarta meets Palm Springs. I bet Jonathan Adler loves Mr. Van Noten.

That's what I saw in the window. It wasn't an anomaly. This is what Dries showed for spring.

And the fall.

Where have I been? His stuff is wildly beautiful. (And brutally expensive, but, yeah, well, the window-shopping is free.) The kind of classic to which I am doomed by my genetic heritage, made up in colors and fabrics that make you want to sleep with them. For those of us with Sturdy Gal leanings, Dries Van Noten is Artsy Cousin in a box. Risk-free. Constructed from a luxe set of materials that the Grande Dame would not shun. Not at all.

Despite the Ascension Day store closings, Dries piqued my curiosity about Belgian designers. So let's pretend I saw some other stuff. Let's take some photos from the ever useful Style.Com, and intersperse a few snapshots of the Belgian things I did instead of going into stores. And if those things seem to mostly include food, well, I have nothing to say about that.

Apparently other Antwerp designers we might visit include Walter Van Beirendonck. Off we go to. But on the way to Walter's store we see this.

We take note. McGregor is a European company with the tag line, "New York 1921." Go get 'em J. Crew. Don't concede your sweet spot in chasing Anthropologie. Even Belgium is doing neo-prep this year. Pink and green. We proceed down imaginary streets to find Mr. Beirendonck at Sint-Antoniusstraat 12. Deemed "trash-cool." Well then.

Walter also offers a fairly unique take on pink and green wear for men. For those unable to reconcile their Lily heritage with hipster yearnings.

Now imagine these. Courtesy the lobby of the Antwerp Hilton. Centrally located and quite convenient. Not closed on Ascension Day.

Fortified, we continue.

We would love to visit Oliver Theyskens, but he has moved on to design for Nina Ricci, or Veronique Branquinho, but she has shut down her line. While it's been announced that Veronique has begun to design shoes for Camper, and bags for the classic Brussels leather goods concern, Delvaux, we're going to guess there's no store with beautiful windows in Antwerp. At least not yet. So in our imaginations, we try one last place. Ann Demeulemeester., on Leopold de Waelplaats.

I do not believe that at this point in my life I will be wearing a leather brassiere much. Even if I liked the look, the discomfort is too severe for Sturdy Gals of any age.

Imaginatively shopped out, dreaming of Dries, amused by Walter, and uninterested in Ann, we eat dinner. At De Peerdestal. Ceiling of dark wood beams, tables covered with white cloths, walls roughly plastered. Exactly what an American might predict for Belgium. No mussels, instead we eat langoustines and taglietelle and lick our fingers as Americans will. Take a more delicate approach to the white asparagus in vinaigrette. Drink red wine. Push away from the table.

What's real and what is imagined are often hard to separate. Fashion likes it that way.

*That's what the Belgians call him. When in Antwerp, etc.

Images (because photo credits are not imaginary)
Antwerp Centraal - me
Dries Van Noten store - me
Dries Van Noten coat - Style.com
Dries Van Noten pants - me
Dries Van Noten skirt - Style.com
Dries Van Noten pants and jacket from runway - Style.com, and here
McGregor store window - me
Walter's tshirt - Walter's online shop
Fries - me
Ann Demeulemeester - Ann D.'s site
Ann Demeulemeester - Style.com
Dinner - me

Additional Resources
If you want more about the original Antwerp Six, read this.
Those dedicated to serious shopping might want to read about discount clothes shopping in Antwerp.

Do We Buy Christian Louboutin For Design Or For The Brand?

 I'm going to New York at the end of next week. To visit my kids, stay in a new hotel, wander through the city looking. (All those dressed up people walking on rough sidewalks past windows.) During said trip, it's possible that I will need to wear my little black dress. It's possible that ever since I acquired said little black dress that I have been wistfully remembering matching Louboutin pumps the fab Barney's salesguy showed me. And it's possible that I am fortunate enough to occasionally receive generous presents. Let's move to the realm of the certain. This is one of my new shoes. I do have two. I promise. We might ask, why these? Why did they pester me, for months? Design? Brand? What? The design is absolutely impeccable and reasonably comfortable. I bought a half size up and had them put a pad in. We Sturdy Gals, even when we Grande Dame it up, aren't a fan of foot pain. Although in my dreams I was wearing what Mr. Louboutin, or his minions, call the Jazz Decollete 100 pump, with a heel height of 3 3/4", in fact I don't do heels higher than 3". Luckily, Mr. Louboutin, or his minions, have deigned to offer similar shoes in the Simple 70. With an internal platform that brings the experienced heel height down to about 2 3/4". That internal platform also transforms a plain black pump into a terrible object of desire. Where to start? It was the lines that did me in. The underside curve from heel to sole juxtaposed against the toe. What they call the "almond" toe. Almond as in fingernails - not pointed, not squared, not round. That same internal platform also creates a snub nose, adding a touch of what in a woman we would call "jolie laide." The ugly pretty of a sleek brute. Reminds me of a Chrysler 300, another shape that bedeviled me for months and months and months.

Luckily the quality of the shoe matches the hissing yes of the design. Soft kid. Lovely, quirky gold lettering on the instep. A well-made red sole. Yeah, wait. That red sole. A necessary part of the design, but also the brand. The moral equivalent of a logo. We might well ask, how do we feel about Louboutin's extremely recognizable red-soled brand? The mythic image of the shoe vs. the actual product? Your mileage may vary. I believe I bought the shoes 80% for the design, 20% for the brand. But it's a very mixed 20%. Complex. Worthy, I think, of some deconstruction.

• Did I buy just because they were Louboutins? No. Clearly not. I wanted these shoes, and only these. I searched through 3 stores, passing up dozens of other Louboutins.

• Would I have bought them if they were not Louboutins? Imagine everything else was the same, even to the red sole, but they had been made by some nameless other Italian shoe manufacturer? Not so clear. Maybe. First of all, how would I have known they existed? How would I have become convinced that only these shoes would make my wardrobe for Manhattan complete? I don't, all evidence to the contrary, spend that many of my days shopping. But let's say that fab salesguy had shown me identical nameless Italian shoes. Would I have bought? Maybe. Probably.

However, I wouldn't have paid over $400. So Louboutin's savvy non-marketing, with a red-carpet and celebrities platform, has in my case reaped a luxury premium. Why did I think Louboutins were worth more? Damned if I know. A tangle of inferred quality and desirability. Difficult to deconstruct. Perhaps I wanted some Angelina Jolie bruised-mouth glamor to rub off? To feel that I can participate in a trend, even at 53? Or maybe just to buy status? Which brings us to the next question.

• Do I like the fact that, because of the red sole, everyone knows that I have Louboutins? A flash of yes, and then, no. No. Not really. Which is complicated. I don't mind people knowing I spend a lot of money on items of clothing and accessories. Evidently. In fact, as I have confessed before, luxury goods assuage some unresolved identity issues.

But I do mind the possibility that people will think I own these shoes just because I want to own a name brand, that I am, in fact, a status wh***e. Because while I may be a status loose woman, so to speak, I want to suffer only the censure I deserve. I wish that the red sole did not so clearly identify the maker. I would like to keep my Louboutin love to myself. To my way of thinking, the Louboutin brand, because it's so obvious, has in fact jumped the shark. At least the High WASP shark. I would have loved it more two years ago. When only the cognoscenti knew.

• Will I buck up and cease to perseverate over these issues with luxury goods, as long as I am going to continue to buy them? Good lord I hope so. My new shoes are so beautiful to me that I have one sitting next to me on the sofa as I write. Just to admire the play of light on the leather. Privilege should be enjoyed. Shared whenever possible. Perseverate is the big word of the day. My sister the academic taught it to me.

And with that in mind: Shoes, Christian Louboutin Simple 70 Pumps via Neiman Marcus, Nars Sheer Lipstick in Cruising via Sephora, pearls via my life. Et voila. Manhattan here I come. With Paris, evidently, on my side.  

What To Wear For Your Second Wedding

My mother married my stepfather in the early 80's. They held their small wedding, family only, at the chapel at Columbia University, where I was in the middle of my MBA studies. It's a beautiful place.

They held the reception at the Junior League in New York. Another beautiful place.

And my mother wore a Chanel shirtdress. Extra beautiful. Which still hangs in the upstairs storage closet in Santa Barbara. It was, unsurprisingly, peach.

We shopped for dresses together, mom and all three sisters. At some point we tried on Zandra Rhodes dresses, and laughed so hard we fell over. One sister found a dress that she now describes as a giant pink puffball. It had a lot of attachments. I wound up in a dark blue-green, satin, Albert Nipon, with sleeves that, had we filled them with popcorn, would have been bigger than my head. My mother wore this.

My sister agreed to try the dress on this weekend. It doesn't fit my mom any more. Fitting into your dress 25 years later shouldn't be one's first priority. I Photoshopped out my sister's identifying details. Leaving behind a virtual High WASP mannequin, I suppose. Thank you sister.

Before the wedding we rampaged around New York with our step-sister and brother to be, speaking fake Swedish, ascending the World Trade Center tower and visiting the open viewing deck, where I clung to the coin-operated binoculars in fear. After the wedding we rode in taxis and drank champagne from bottles. I know. I have a picture to prove it.

But that one we really don't need to plaster all over the Internet, now do we?

This post is in honor of Meg and her relaunched Practical Wedding site, and all the brides, new or second time, because weddings are always new, and always to be cherished even if someone drinks from the bottle. Perhaps especially then. If you are a bride-to-be, go there now. If you are a mother of a bride-to-be, go there now. Many things will be made clear.

Images
Columbia University Chapel via mrkw's photostream on Flickr.
New York Junior League via wallyg's photostream on Flickr
Dress photos, me and my sister

A Vintage Color Analysis, For A Woman Of Style

My mother has Style. Very classic, but with a twist, and a clear sense of color. In fact, she had her colors, "done" back in 1980. This weekend she presented me with an historical artifact. Foxed and faded as old documents often are.

If I bring my mother to mind, there's always peach in the vicinity. Although I can't say I've ever seen her in peach lace, exactly.

Apparently, this color typing system, in which you are cast as a season, had been around even longer than I knew. And is that a Liberty print? Copyright, 1963.

However, choosing colors to wear is not just about which hues make you look good, it's how much, how often, in what combinations. As Imogen is discussing this week, with her usual intelligence, over on Inside Out Style.

My mother was a traditional stay-at-home mom, of the gracious generation. She decked her four out children in clean and matching clothes from Saks Fifth Avenue. Every day. Cooked like a foodie, when Alice Waters of Chez Panisse was in junior high. And dressed to complete an identity. To express herself.

Mom's not afraid of color. She will go head to toe pale yellow. Or rose. When she wears black and white, she WEARS them. Black cashmere tunic with white stripes, silver and black beads at neck and wrist, black patent flats with a lucite toe ornament. Still dignified, even with all that sartorial detail.

I don't dress like my mother. How many of us do? Maybe it's because I spent most of my middle years in corporate America. Fighting like hell to prevail, against customers, peers, subordinates. Managing up and managing down. My clothing wasn't self-expression, it was protective gear. Aqua makes a piss-poor weapon. See? Even the language changes when I put myself back into that world.

But just as likely my color-avoidance is due only in part to what we might lovingly call, "the suits." I was protecting myself not only from the corporate environment, but also from my own senses. I am thin-skinned. Color startles me. Too much causes dangerous rapture, to the point where I shudder at the thought of vivid flowers out my back windows. But you know, you work with what you're given all around. I am imagining a set of temperament swatches, one that we could carry to the office, or to our kids' schools, a guide to put in our pockets to remind ourselves of our emotional makeup. Pale green chiffon for anxiety, navy satin for dignity, cream chenille for affectionate, orange burlap for irritable. Black velvet for the mysterious part we will never figure out.