The Chameleon Dresser
How a tightly tailored mother, with not a frill, puff or gather ever in sight influenced her daughter to stubbornly keep her hemline high into her 50s.
Written by Meg Carlsen
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Most little girls, at some point, become transfixed by their parents' wedding photos and in particular, the dress their mother wore. It’s a moment in time when we see our mother in a whole different light.
This is the time she was the princess, not the censorious queen that motherhood forced her to become. At this time a little girl's own dream of a white dress, frills, flounces, flowers, and a dash of confetti are born. My mother’s choice of gown was not the standard of the time. To me she had chosen to wear a better fitting version of her nurses uniform to celebrate that special day. A closely spaced row of delicately covered buttons corseted a collared bodice around her tiny frame. I can’t help but think it is lucky my father had incredible fine motor skills which would have been put to the test on their betrothal night. Like all her fashion choices there was not a frill, a puff or a gather to be seen and most definitely, no lace. In fact, I have never seen my mother wear anything remotely flouncy, lacey or frivolous. She was then and remains, tightly tailored. Should I blame my mother’s fashion choice on the reason I never dreamed of bridal gowns and shunned a traditional wedding? Why not! As most mothers have experienced at some stage, we get blamed for everything wrong in our children's lives. So let’s run with that theory for the sake of this story.
I’d say my mother fared well in the looks department with a petite figure, large, piercing sky blue eyes and snow blonde hair, cropped short and lacquered stiff. As she would proudly declare herself to have “not a hair out of place.” Now, at a very sprightly 88 years of age and the same slim figure my mother’s style has changed little from that photo. Her uniform of shirtmaker collared button-down blouse, tailored pant and cardigan remains as it always has. Pants are inevitably navy, beige or check. The palette favoured on the top half are of softer hues that compliment these foundation pieces. Even though she eventually owned a clothing store on the main street while I was a teenager, only a modest range of styles hung in her own wardrobe. She may have kept up with the changing fashion of the times, but it was always with restraint. This meant that there is never a photo of her where one could say “oh God what was she thinking to wear that?”. My mother has never been garish which is a word she uses to describe people in her eyes with a bad fashion sense.
The one legacy of my mother’s clothing store is my own obsession with fashion. My wardrobe overflows into five rooms of my home and I can still pull frocks I wore in the 80s. I still love sequins, minis and short shorts, crazy t-shirts and kookie shoes. My style icons are those who push the boundaries with Vivienne Westwood being the deity who before we should all bow down. I’ll admit, I seek to stand out, not blend in. As a teenager, I recall wearing a drop waist, mint green micro mini when they first made a resurgence in the early 80s. In regional Queensland at the time, we took a while to catch up so the hemlines that had crept back to well below the knee from Twiggy’s 60s were still the rage. With the pride of the discovery of a new look and not afraid to flaunt it, I was ripe to be teased on my fashion choices. I really didn’t care. I loved sitting at the front of the bus and with my taste, I was always going to stay there.
Although, there is a revolving door of fashion, for most of us, we have a core style. The essence of what we will be wearing at 70 begins to form as soon as we are given the independence of choosing what hides our bodies and instead probably reveals more of our personalities. For me, although a teenage nerd and outward conformist, my attire was a passive rebellion. The hemline of my school uniform was well above the school policy permitted length. Even though jewellery was not permitted, nearly all my fingers were adorned with rings . I thought I was very rock and roll but to be truthful, I was probably more disco. At an early age, clothes were already becoming my shield. A venomous-looking snake ring I wore at 17 was my secret weapon to make me appear stronger than I really was. By the way, thank you to all my wonderful teachers who turned a blind eye to my disdain for uniform rules.
To this day and in my 50s, I am stubbornly keeping my hemline high and I am naked without my oversized gold, black and brass rings on every finger. I’m a chameleon dresser. One day I think I’m channelling Betsey Johnson and the other, I’m artsy-grunge. Sometimes I’m doing a wacky version of new romantic 80s, or a sparkly 70s or a modish 60s. And very occasionally I’m a restrained Audrey Hepburn - and only then, do I get my mother’s momentary sartorial approval.