A Fashion Statement
It wasn’t hard to pack for this trip south. Over the past decade my wardrobe has been whittled down to what is necessary rather than what is fashionable. High heels and fancy dresses do not do well on a sailboat, and a long, flowing skirt is only a frivolous nuisance when I wade through two-feet of snow to get from the log cabin to our Jeep. The clothes we wear now are practical, durable, and well worn… so well worn that they are almost threadbare. Buying some new clothes was high on our agenda of things to do while in the U.S.
Sunday afternoon at Bellingham’s Bellis Fair Shopping Mall, Bob and I walked into the upscale Abercrombie & Fitch store. I wore my frayed, ten-years old oilskin Outback jacket, and my equally beat up leather hiking boots that had traversed so many trails and rocky islands, that little tread remained. All eyes were upon us. Was it our age, or the faded and battered patina that our clothes exhibited? The electronic beat of rap music played in the background, and a young thing that was busy refolding T-shirts, asked, “Can I help you?” Bob always quick on the uptake, says, “I don’t know. Can you?” Then he points to a beautiful wooden canoe suspended from the ceiling, “How much for the canoe?” She is startled, then looks surprised, as if it is the first time she has seen the canoe. She stammers. I chuckle. Bob quickly says, “Just joking.” Relieved, the clerk returns to her task of refolding T-shirts.
As we looked around the store, we couldn’t believe what we were seeing. Beautifully displayed on the tables and racks were stack upon stack of faded, frayed, holey, beaten-up clothing. Twenty-nine dollars for a tattered, paint-spattered baseball cap, ninety-five dollars for a pair of jeans that looked like the ones I finally threw out because I had slid down too many rocky cliffs on my butt, and it showed. I was in style, and here was everything needed for the twenty to thirty year-old wannabes to look like they were living on the rugged edge of wilderness adventure, climbing mountains, fording rivers, fighting off bears, and taking the road-less-traveled. Indiana Jones reborn. Golly gee. I guess I wasted the last ten years of bumps and bruises, hard knocks, storm-tossed seas, peeling logs, camping in tents, melting snow over a fire, chopping wood, etc. etc. I began to wonder how much someone would be willing to pay me for my frayed oilskin jacket and patched jeans – the real thing? Maybe I should check out e-Bay.
All joking aside, walking through the store I couldn’t help but feel a little sad. The canoe and well-worn appearance of the clothing tells me that the desire for adventure is obviously part of this new fashion statement. It is a desire I know well. But looking like you have just spent the last few years living in bush country doesn’t make it so, and THAT is the great loss. There is no substitute for getting out there and doing it yourself. Every mile I have walked is written on the soles of my worn-out boots, and every tatter and patch of my jacket tells a story.
Sunday afternoon at Bellingham’s Bellis Fair Shopping Mall, Bob and I walked into the upscale Abercrombie & Fitch store. I wore my frayed, ten-years old oilskin Outback jacket, and my equally beat up leather hiking boots that had traversed so many trails and rocky islands, that little tread remained. All eyes were upon us. Was it our age, or the faded and battered patina that our clothes exhibited? The electronic beat of rap music played in the background, and a young thing that was busy refolding T-shirts, asked, “Can I help you?” Bob always quick on the uptake, says, “I don’t know. Can you?” Then he points to a beautiful wooden canoe suspended from the ceiling, “How much for the canoe?” She is startled, then looks surprised, as if it is the first time she has seen the canoe. She stammers. I chuckle. Bob quickly says, “Just joking.” Relieved, the clerk returns to her task of refolding T-shirts.
As we looked around the store, we couldn’t believe what we were seeing. Beautifully displayed on the tables and racks were stack upon stack of faded, frayed, holey, beaten-up clothing. Twenty-nine dollars for a tattered, paint-spattered baseball cap, ninety-five dollars for a pair of jeans that looked like the ones I finally threw out because I had slid down too many rocky cliffs on my butt, and it showed. I was in style, and here was everything needed for the twenty to thirty year-old wannabes to look like they were living on the rugged edge of wilderness adventure, climbing mountains, fording rivers, fighting off bears, and taking the road-less-traveled. Indiana Jones reborn. Golly gee. I guess I wasted the last ten years of bumps and bruises, hard knocks, storm-tossed seas, peeling logs, camping in tents, melting snow over a fire, chopping wood, etc. etc. I began to wonder how much someone would be willing to pay me for my frayed oilskin jacket and patched jeans – the real thing? Maybe I should check out e-Bay.
All joking aside, walking through the store I couldn’t help but feel a little sad. The canoe and well-worn appearance of the clothing tells me that the desire for adventure is obviously part of this new fashion statement. It is a desire I know well. But looking like you have just spent the last few years living in bush country doesn’t make it so, and THAT is the great loss. There is no substitute for getting out there and doing it yourself. Every mile I have walked is written on the soles of my worn-out boots, and every tatter and patch of my jacket tells a story.
... P. L. Morningstar
posted by Looking for Hope | 10:04 AM
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