The Lady Wears Herself

The lady takes “selfish” as she likes to call them of her wardrobe outfits for her first European vacation.

Ask anyone, the lady can dress.

Regardless of the day she wears fuschia blazers on gray dirt roads and desert heats. She commands her linen to defy wrinkles while on bus seats. Leopards gladly give their spots to her.

And when a pair of shoes doesn’t color match, then a quick trip to the corner store to find the dye to match. The same pair of shoes transforms to fuschia then lavender and finally to a lime-green in one summer alone.

“I always wore heels, even on unpaved roads!” she gloats about her ability to master the art of high-heel walking. “I went to the delivery room in platform shoes.”

Yes, the lady speaks little English but understands Coco, Yves and, of course, Oscar. She understands them so well, that she’s on intimate first name basis. As far as she’s concerned: The great ones live in eternity.

“Es clásico!” she dictates when one of her daughters begrudgingly tries on a navy vintage Ralph Lauren blazer with shoulder pads that would make 5-Star general jealous.

“Mom, this is an 80s blazer!” her daughter complains. “It’s no longer in style.”

But her daughter is wrong. The ’80s fad comes back again and even H&M makes a fortune.  The Hispters have met their match in this motherly tastemaker. (Her daughter now refuses to toss the blazer.)

But crossing the USA street sometimes changes your suit. For over two decades now, the lady wears a Maitre d’ uniform. She had to trade the teal mini skirts for black slacks.

However, the fashion guardian angels strike and awake you like lightning. Her white blouse now has lace along the edges, the black vest is adorned with well-chosen teal pins. Her nails are always in lacquer. The hair is pressed so evenly that tar workers stand back in wonder.

Her lips look better in corals but she won’t stay away from shiny browns.

“Your face is your presentation card,” she says as she puts on her makeup. “It’s part of the uniform.”

But on days when she’s not working. She walks in her closet. With her eyes close she imagines herself in the Champs-Élysées. The Lady picks out a hat and wears shades.  Finally after 58 years, the grand dame will cross the Atlantic.

“The lady prepares for the Mecca,” her daughter thinks as she sits on the bed. She holds happy tears and watches the fashion show.

And the lady still wears herself as always, our accessible fashion icon. Her catwalk is everywhere.