Fashion,
whatever you want it to be
Lately it has been easier to accept the
fact that my clothes are out of style and
my hair is not hip to the trends, it just
doesn’t matter that much right now.
The spectacle of life in Southern California
and the stark contrast of our nation at
war have me seeing what is excessive become
even more apparent.
But then I look down at my old sweater and
dirty shoes and realize that I have always
felt this way. I have always been a fashion
victim, and probably always will be.
My friend Sarah had to tell me one day as
she saw me changing for physical education
class in the seventh grade that I needed
to start wearing a bra. She already
had C cups, and I didn’t know anything about
boobs at that age. I was a gymnast, a swimmer,
and I hopelessly tried to be cool.
Once I had brassieres down, I still had
major problems that caused lasting damage.
I was waiting for gym class to start one
day, when an acquaintance frantically took
me to a mirror and asked, “Honey, what is
wrong with your face?”
That morning I had tried pathetically to
get the dewy glow so many girls had. I raided
mom’s beauty cabinet for the closest thing
to pressed powder I could think of, Vaseline
and baby powder. I applied a layer of Vaseline
around my T zone, just thin enough for the
baby powder to stick. I dusted the powder
on with a fluffy paintbrush. The end result
in the morning light was a beautiful velvet-like
finish. I rode the bus to school that day
with my head held high, cheekbones like
a porcelain doll.
By 10 a.m. the white powder had sunken into
every crease of my face and set like Halloween
makeup. I was so thankful to this girl who
finally told me I looked hideous.
In the early ’90s, big hair was in
fashion. This was right before grunge, and
aerosol hairspray was still cool. Then I
cut some bangs and cemented them in place
straight from my forehead to the ceiling.
Fashion! I was in! To this day my parents
still make fun of the time pizza got stuck
in it like a fly in a Venus flytrap.
They were happier when grunge came along,
and my school clothes -shopping budget dropped
to $20. This was a turning point. Thrift
stores were heaven — I could finally be
hip with minimal effort. I stocked up on
pants big enough for two of me and old flannel
shirts for three bucks each. I look at pictures
now and realize this is the reason I didn’t
get asked on dates.
These events early on in my stylish life
surely shaped my habits today. My style
is a combination of everything I have learned
— my bad habits, laziness and cheapness
all mixed up into the clothes on my body.
It is not perfect, but it finally feels
right, now more than ever.
Cassady Jeramias is a journalism major
at Cal State Long Beach.
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