Many years ago, preparing for a visit to LA, I called a friend who had grown up there and asked her what kind of clothes I ought to pack. “I’ll answer you in a minute,” she assured me. “But before I do, I just want to say, Nobody is going to be looking at you.”
And how right she was! The early middle-aged woman I’d been those many years ago was essentially invisible among the impeccable, willowy, golden, toned beauties strolling the environs of Rodeo Drive.
I have never been one of those willowy, golden, toned beauties. On the other hand, even now—in my mid-90s—I don’t especially want to be invisible. So how then does an old lady like me put herself together in a way that is not merely suitable, but interesting—maybe even worth looking at? I’ve answered that question just for myself, not for anyone else. But below are two possibly helpful generalizations:
- I think if you want to be looked at you need a “look.”
- It’s best to pick a look that you enjoy.
When I was 21, I moved from my parents’ home in the suburbs of New Jersey to the seemingly boundless options of Greenwich Village. It was there I first consciously chose to acquire a “look,” an intense, free-spirited Greenwich Village Girl look, a look that suggested coffee houses, poetry readings, and existential angst. This involved a great deal of head-to-toe black clothing, plus hair hanging freely and frizzily down to my waist, plus—my special fashion statement—green eyeliner so extensive that it kept on lining almost back to my ears. In addition (though this is embarrassing to admit) I usually wore my Phi Beta Kappa key, hoping to convey—without dropping names like Hegel, Picasso, or Dostoevsky—that I was not only interesting-looking, but deep. I got looked at a lot, especially when I went to visit my parents back in New Jersey…