My Wondrous Wardrobe

In my pre-teen and early teens, the highlight of the fall was new school clothes. The late fifties was a time of fads; we all wanted to have what the other kids had, and the other kids wanted what we had.

September was my favorite time of year as a child. Meeting my new teachers. Meeting the neighborhood kids at the end of the block to walk to school, shuffling through leaves on the sidewalk. The Jewish holidays coming up, with my mom cooking traditional meals as I set the table for our relatives. And, the calendar had newly turned for me – my birthday was at the end of August. Then, the trip with my mother, Rose, to the two fancy department stores in downtown Elizabeth (NJ), Levy Brothers and Goerke’s.

autumn

the colors of my clothing

changing

I can only speak for the girls, as the boys’ styles never seemed to change. No blue jeans or T-shirts or sneakers allowed in school – unthinkable! Shirts with collars, leather shoes with laces (always unraveling), and slacks with pressed cuffs. Yes, this is all too true, for those of you too young to remember.

A popular trend – and a sweet memory of elementary school days – were mother-daughter outfits.  Dad always took photos with his Rolleiflex camera of mom and me identically dressed on the front steps of our brick cape. I don’t remember where we were going, but no matter, the feeling of us together, and Dad memorializing it, was what mattered.

My mom had thick wavy auburn hair and elegant features, oozing star quality. I had a straight-haired brown bob with bangs. A few years older and my hair had grown long enough for braids, until a traumatic haircut at age thirteen when they got cut off by an over-zealous hairdresser. I had to go through high school with a dorky haircut and shaky self-esteem.

In eighth grade, I finally reached the height and weight of my mom so was able to explore her closets and drawers for real life dress-up.  I found many possibilities – slim wool skirts, Orlon sweater sets in pastel colors (the new synthetic of the day but it did pill after a few washings), cinch belts, silk neck scarves to wear with blouses.

nightstand drawer

so many secrets

to being a woman

In the 1950s, felt circle skirts were the rage for girls (with felt designs sewn on, such as poodles with rhinestone eyes), and crinolines or “horsehair” slips under flared skirts. The starched crinoline material was stiff at first, puffing out the skirt to the max, but as soon as it was washed, it went limp. But that crinkly sound when the slip was new was addicting. The horsehair slips were just plain itchy.

My fashionable mom wore suits with nipped-in waists, but that was too mature and expensive for kids. One year, shirtwaist dresses were popular, and I remember my bright yellow cotton number in eighth grade. Later on, in high school years (but jeans still not permitted in school):

bell bottoms

coming of age

from the ankles up

There was a year in the ‘50s when a combination of pink and grey was popular for clothing. Chevrolet put out a two-tone BelAir in pink and gray. The dad next door parked his ‘56 two-tone Cadillac in front of his house, so impressive in powder blue and navy.

Going to the shoe store to buy new school shoes was a much anticipated excursion. Many small businesses in town were owned by families with children in the school system, my classmates. I remember the store with the machine that x-rayed your feet. It was fun to see my bones under the blue light to determine whether there was room enough for my toes.

I know what you are thinking – this poor kid, and all the others, exposed to doses of radiation. Ironic that we hid under our desks in school for air raid drills, while shoe salesmen selling iconic brands (Stride-Rite, Buster Brown) were bombarding us.

I remember saddle shoes, with either brown or navy blue leather surrounded by pure white, requiring lots of shoe polishing. When white bucks came into style for both boys and girls, you were a target the first time you wore them. I still remember the name of the kid who purposely stepped on my toes, leaving an unremovable smudge. After a while, smudged shoes became a badge of honor, but that first time was upsetting.

I inherited flat feet from my Dad, so one year my mother decided that I needed orthopedic shoes to raise my arches. We went to a specialty store to get fitted and I walked out with dark burgundy laced Oxfords. I wore them dutifully but hated them. Thankfully, after my feet grew into the next size, I guess Mom decided that the expensive shoes didn’t do any good anyway, as my feet remained stubbornly flat.

When I was twelve, I got to pick my first pair of grown-up party shoes at a department store, soft black suede flats, with a pretty ribbon and rhinestone buckle across the front. And I got to wear nylon stockings for the first time!

Perhaps the most important accessory for a young teen was a pocketbook. Italian leather handbags were the craze in junior high, a must-have object of desire. I remember when I brought my new one home and took in the characteristic strong leathery smell. After a few weeks of wear, the smell faded and the stiff leather softened nicely.

Fast forward over decades of change – including my years as a smartly dressed attorney meeting new clients, appearing in court, running conferences – to my life now after closing my law practice. Clothing styles are not anywhere on my radar screen. Every generation has its fun, and I found a creative outlet putting together “looks” for my different roles and phases in life:

1980s fashion

the weight

of shoulder pads

Today, my suburban life tending the garden or sitting at my computer every morning writing poetry has not required new wardrobe items in years. I do admit that when I go to the city – let’s say New York where several  members of the Levine tribe reside – I do adopt an urban uniform, mostly in black: cropped leather jacket, stretch leggings, suede ankle boots, small backpack or Longchamps bag slung over my shoulder.

Into the 70s – and she’s still got game!

Note: all haiku poems included in this piece authored by Barrie Levine, published in various haiku journals and in her book, Cotton Moon (available on Amazon).