I know that there are women out there who ask their husband’s opinion on their dress. It is a loaded question. And the response from the man is designed for failure. No matter how the husband responds the woman stomps off angrily.
To the best of my knowledge I have never asked my husband if my jeans are flattering or if he likes my outfit. Why would I ask him? He doesn’t know. His opinion is meaningless. And conversely my husband doesn’t consult me about finance or accounting. Why would he? I have no expertise. My opinion is meaningless.
If I need an opinion on personal style—a real opinion—a blood and gore cut to the bone unedited unfiltered opinion of what I look like—I ask my daughters (or even my mother). They will tell me. And they will tell each other too. And the adjectives are mortal. No one (but me) says things like I think the fabric of the dress falls in an unflattering way on your behind. They will say thing like Whoa--Oh my God that dress makes your butt look HUGE.
In a few short weeks my nephew Andrew is getting married. And we all are very excited. He is the first of that generation to wed. And of course my entire family is invited to the wedding and so we (my girls and I) all need dresses and accessories. My husband simply needs to wear his tuxedo.
I am the Rachael Zoe of the family. I am the family stylist. I am also the personal shopper. I understand what to wear and how to wear it. And since my children were babies they have been my fashion models and clients. And as the mother of 3 girls it was important that I take a vested interest. I never wanted to put my girls into an undeserved competition—I never wanted people to designate a superlative winner: prettiest, thinnest, best dressed.
So outfitting my girls for the wedding is a lofty task. It is necessary that each girl dresses equally in caliber yet maintains individuality. And as a family we also need to compliment one another—we need to be of a similar color palate so that the family photos justly highlight everyone. It is not an easy road. It has taken me a full year to buy the dresses, shoes, jewelry and bags. And for anyone who is as detail oriented as I, and must work within a fixed budget/person and with focused styling concepts, a year is barely the correct amount of time for accomplishment.
And while I am so excited for the wedding, I am also dreading it. None of the girls has seen the other yet in their dresses. All they have seen is dresses on hangers and the accompanying accessories in their boxes and bags. And on the day of the wedding, at any given moment, while we are getting ready, someone may make an unsolicited comment and all hell will break loose. And it won’t have to be an actual comment. It may be a quick disapproving look. And then the claws will come out. And the hissing and spitting will commence. The ensuing cat fight will take a life of its own. And the only person who can deescalate it is me. And being in the middle is an even more dangerous place to be than the cat fight itself. They will turn on me. I will be the one they blame if the dress is too tight or the earrings have too much bling or her shoes are more awesome than mine. I will be at fault if the mascara runs or the heels are too high. I will be the one accused of not doing my job. And it will be all that I can do to redirect the negative energy into peaceful co-existence. And during all this emotional strife, I too will have to get dressed and ready.
Which is why on the day of the wedding my husband will shower and get dressed at the club; and I have hired Blanca, my cleaning woman to go to my mother’s house and help my mother get dressed. It’s just safer for my husband and mother that way. They won’t have to endure the inevitable drama. And I won’t have to worry about my mother tripping over all the beauty items that will trail all over my house. Getting ready is not only dangerous, it is messy. If a robber comes in my door that day they will think some other robber has already been there. That’s how messy it will be.
And when my husband returns from pampering himself at the club he will know to say nothing about how anyone looks-- especially if asked. He is no fool. Firearms are dangerous. He stays away from loaded questions at all times. He understands that sometimes they can shoot you in the foot. And even an off-centered glance can pull the trigger even if the safety latch is engaged.
No comments:
Post a Comment