pantyhose update
/If you have a wedding upcoming, and your hemlines are lower than they used to be, but your age is creeping up, be forewarned. You still cannot wear stockings with your dress, lest you appear old and frumpy.
Fashionistas already know this of course, yet I foolishly thought there was leeway when the temperature dips and the couple has an outdoor ceremony by a rushing river, trees dropping cracked dying leaves, the sky icy grey.
Weather be dammed. It seems no hose is good hose. Still.
Because ideas go in and out of fashion faster than nylons rip, I thought things had changed. After years of applying fake tans to hide wrinkles and blots on the calves, the thighs, and after many episodes of shivering, I thought the ice would have cracked on this amendment to our personal constitutions.
Apparently, this one is hanging on like sunspots.
Look, I’m all in for not embarrassing myself. I was told many years ago by a sassy engaged niece that, “No hose would be invited to the wedding.” This was news to me at the time, and I was humbled and humiliated to learn I was again outdated. It was summer, so I obeyed to look hip, but was outmaneuvered by young cousins who wore basically nothing at all. You could look up their skirts without bending a knee. Obviously, they were fashion forward influencers of the current no pants trend.
My tolerance for cold waning, and my intolerance for laws delivered by twenty-somethings waxing, however, I checked in on the latest official advice. I talked to a Nordstrom expert, one who appeared to remember garter belts attached to locked iron girdles. She disagreed immediately: “Sales are on the rise again. There are no rules. If you’d rather wear hosiery, do it.”
She was right. It’s the modern era and there are no hard and fast rules, it’s a live-and-let-live-fashion-free-for-all. If a woman feels more secure, warmer, and sleeker in stockings, she should go for it. At least that’s what the fine print says. I feared, though, that the trendy billboard beaming above the petit fours would read, “People associate sheer with grandma.”
I called a shoe expert at a local store and posed the same conundrum. “No,” she said quickly, “if you want to look chic, hose at a wedding is still not done. Then she advised, “Tan your legs, get someone to drop you off at the door, and run inside. After a couple of dances, you’ll be warm.” Then she kindly added, “Suck it up.”
Be forewarned.
Since the rule of three has always been my personal guideline, I tried to break the tie. I texted my younger sister Shara, always up on the latest, and never afraid to tell you if you’re not. She said this, “NO. PERIOD.”
Texts can be so wishy-washy.
In my defense, I’m not a pantyhose fan -- not at all, not in the least. All that bunching and sagging and ripping and swishing makes me crazy -- but sometimes it’s better than turning blue. And what if, at a certain age, you have spots and sags that truly would look better out of sight and out of everyone’s mind?
Maybe they’d thank me!
Confused, despite my research, I turned to Ray who could care less. He threw up his hands, said, “What the hell do I know,” and shook his head to expel the question. He would wear full-on pants, comfy shoes, and a suit jacket to the affair. I would have bare legs, dangerous heels, and a sleeveless dress.
He’s right, I thought. “What the hell?”
I was suddenly reminded that when I was young, I started college in stockings, a skirt, pumps, and makeup. We girls were all buttoned up. I ended freshman year in jeans, a t-shirt, flats, and not a stitch of lipstick.
The change had come. No more were we conforming to repressive rules -- holding ourselves in and barely breathing. All other forms of repression aside, we felt free.
So, I’ve made my decision. I’ll go hose-less, in solidary with younger generations that wrote this naked leg decree because of their hatred of being all buttoned-up. They deserve support for that same burst of relief we older women felt when we ripped off our girdles, yanked up our jeans, and burned our bras.
In fact, to let them know I’m all in, maybe I won’t wear a bra either.
Times, surely, have changed. But still, what mature, secure, nonconformist older woman can tolerate being upstaged by a bunch of youngsters -- nude, shivering, and sassy.