I was killing time waiting for my daughter to meet me for dinner when I spotted the perfect leather jacket, adorning a headless mannequin in a fancy department store. The collar and lining were lambs wool, like a hunter’s jacket, but the styling, more moto. I still glance at the covers of fashion magazines when I’m in at the market, so I know that is an actual term; the moto jacket.
I wasn’t shopping for a jacket. Still, I wandered the racks, searching for it. There was only one left. It wasn’t even my size. I was pretty certain the mannequin was wearing my size, but I didn’t want to undress the mannequin. I didn’t want to call attention to myself.
I have undressed many mannequins in my time. I am not a good shopper. To ensure I don’t make a poor choice out of fatigue or frustration, when in doubt I buy what the mannequin is wearing. Give or take ten pounds and one pregnancy, I have been the same size since college. This does not mean I have the same body I had in college or that I should or can wear the same clothes.
Imagine a tube of toothpaste. Imagine all the different ways the paste in that tube can be squeezed and manipulated and moved around. I am that tube. Time and nature and gravity has moved and manipulated all the paste. There is not more paste; it’s just less attractively distributed. Long gone are the days of clingy, body revealing fabrics. But every middle-aged woman knows that lots of problems can be camouflaged with the right jacket.
But the price tag was a big number. Really big. Too big. I texted a photo of the jacket to my daughter before reluctantly returning it to the rack.
Seconds later she texted back: Wait there
Together we stripped the mannequin, which required unscrewing its plaster, mitten-like hands and tucking them into our armpits. I yanked off my grey sweatshirt and slid my arms into sleeves lined with cool, silky fabric, like a second, younger skin. I pulled the jacket over my shoulders, a Cinderella’s slipper of buttery leather.
My daughter attempted to play devil’s advocate because of the outrageous price tag, and because she is a law student and enjoys an argument, but ultimately she admitted it was a great jacket. Weakly, I justified the price by pointing out that no matter what else I was wearing, by topping it with this jacket, I would look “put together.”
“Well, you didn’t have to wear that,” my daughter said, critically eyeballing my careless ensemble, and I wondered when it was that we’d traded places.
My own mother does not shop at fancy department stores. This is partly my fault. Years ago I bought her an outfit from a fancy department store for her birthday, and when she tried to exchange it for size, they gave her a hard time because she didn’t have a receipt.
In fact, the salesperson reduced my mother to tears. I got in my car and drove forty minutes to rescue her, waving my credit card bill and demanding an apology—which she received—but my mother never stepped into a fancy store again. My mother, who is firmly middle-class, prefers to shop at the sort of place where you can buy three shirts for ten dollars. If I told my mother how much this jacket costs, she would have me committed.
I wonder how old my mother was when she decided she never deserved another nice thing? If I were to peer inside her closet right now, I can guarantee every item was bought on sale, at a discount store, with an additional 20% off coupon—unless it’s a gift, either from me or from one of her daughters-in-law, in which case it is never worn, because it is being saved for some imaginary future special event.
When my mother was my age, my father passed away. She was completely shattered, and it fell to me to dig through her closet for a dress she could wear to the funeral of her high school sweetheart, to whom she had been married for over thirty years. There was nothing. My mother didn’t own a single decent black or grey or navy dress. I’m no clotheshorse, but if I were required to dress appropriately for a funeral later this afternoon, I could pull something together.
Taking her shopping was out of the question. She was literally out of her mind with grief. Not raving or tearing her hair. We are quiet people. Instead she took to her bed, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow, gazing vacantly at nothing. I went to the mall alone and spent hours looking for the perfect dress that, like her wedding dress, would only be worn once.
Because what we wear on the outside might not always matter, but sometimes it definitely does. It can be the armor that protects our vulnerable interior when we are at our most fragile.
The dress I chose for my mother was a well-cut black crepe sheath with a white collar. It was simple and lovely and probably more expensive than anything in her closet. I gladly would’ve paid twice the price.
Together, my daughter and I tried on nearly every more reasonably priced leather jacket in the store. Most of them had tons of zippers and hardware and large asymmetrical collars. Most of them, she not so gently pointed out, made me look like an old lesbian biker.
We gave up and walked to dinner.
At the restaurant, we were seated next to a couple of very mature women, and during the meal my gaze kept drifting to them.
“You’re still thinking about that jacket,” my daughter said. She was right. I was wondering if I bought it, how long could I wear it? It wasn’t the sort of piece that would go out of style, but at what point would I look like an old fool?
This is a game I play all the time. What sort of old woman will I be? We all hope to be Helen Mirren, don’t we? The thing is, Helen Mirren started out as Helen Mirren. If I wasn’t a bombshell in my twenties, then it is ridiculous to think I will become one at sixty. The two women seated next to us were more likely candidates for the future me. They both had that frazzly hair that I’m certain is my destiny—but were pleasant looking and in fair shape.
In order for me to justify the cost of that jacket, I figured I’d need to wear it for fifteen years. What woman, fifteen years older than I am, would still look fabulous in that jacket? Jane Fonda? Deborah Harry? I was clutching at straws. The only thing I shared with those women was an X chromosome.
I imagined each of the Golden Girls wearing the jacket.
My daughter eyeballed me. “Maybe if you gained a little weight,” she said, “just in your face and neck, then you wouldn’t get so lost in those zippery jackets with all the hardware.”
She is too young to know that all the weight I gain from here on out will join the softly inflating tube around my belly. That nothing I do short of injections—and we’ve all seen the actual result of face filler, which is not youth, but Muppet—will round out my cheeks, or fill in my clavicle. That this is what aging is, and I am trying to do it as gracefully as possible. I have my dignity.
Then, for some reason, I thought of the writer Joan Didion. I’d seen her recently at a literary event in New York. She had become as shrunken as a teacup Chihuahua, so frail that she had to be literally carried to the stage. But she was still turned out. When she sat and read, her huge glasses covering a face as wrinkled as a peach pit, she was still indomitable, and gorgeous.
I did a Google search. Joan Didion is twenty-five years older than I am. And she would rock that jacket.
We, all of us, always, deserve nice things.
And I am wearing mine—right now.
Tags: aging, clothes, eileen shields, fashion
That was lovely about your mom. I’m glad you got the jacket.
! You remind me of all the things I like about all the women in my family, each and every one.
Loved your story! It is MY story too in so many ways…..
I’m really glad you bought the jacket!
I am very firmly of the opinion that I work for a living purely so I can have nice things. I am going to be wearing my giant purple platform New Rock boots when I’m 50, given I tend to wear my boots until they go through on the sole…
Oh I loved this.
Good for you for buying the jacket! Fashions change for all ages– younger women today wear different styles from young women 40 years ago; same goes for older women. When I got a tattoo ten years ago, my mom said “But you’ll look ridiculous when you are my age, with that tattoo!” But I feel like I see women of all ages with tattoos now and they look awesome. Personally I can think of nothing cooler than a woman in her sixties and beyond wearing a bad-ass moto jacket.
So true! I was just thinking about how, when I was coming of age or whatever in the nineties, leopard print and color blocking and big graphic prints and giant statement necklaces were considered “old-lady-ish,” and Sassy was full of small, dainty flower prints and delicate chokers. Now it appears to be the total opposite. All the more reason to wear what we want when we want.
This hit close to home. I have a hard time with spending money on nice things for myself, as I’m sure do many women. I still want them, but (issues with materialist consumer culture aside) usually only end up spending money on things I can justify as being utilitarian somehow. The concept of getting myself something nice for no reason other than because it brings me joy feels like the height of luxury, even if it’s something that won’t cause me financial hardship. There’s a lot of “you don’t deserve this” programming to unlearn.
My partner recently convinced me to buy myself a beautiful leather moto jacket (they are so fantastic, aren’t they?). I haven’t worn it yet – the weather’s been too cold – but every time I think of it I get a little thrill, like it’s a reminder of a tiny triumph against my upbringing. It’s nice.
Nice leather jackets are just lovely, and if you live somewhere like I do where a leather jacket is appropriate during about 3/4 of the year, also an excellent investment. I do not feel bad about the cost of mine, because the amount of use it gets, and how fabulous it looks and feels, is absolutely worth it.
I grew up “economically disadvantaged” in an, um, “interesting” household where spending money on nice things for yourself was what shallow fascists who support the military-industrial complex do. It’s been my lifelong project to figure out how to do that. I’m glad your partner is supportive! Mine ultimately doesn’t really mind, but he likes to make do with tattered, ancient clothes, which I’m trying to unlearn how to do because it depresses me. His total lack of regard for externalities, while pretty great in ways (he never judges anyone or anything based on appearance, and never argues with my decorating schemes), also means that he can’t understand why I won’t just buy whatever’s on clearance whether it fits or not. If I can get ten of them rather than two of the thing I actually want, so much the better, because more is more! So I’m kind of doing this alone. I try to channel my inner Lady Mary Crawley, because unpleasantness aside, she knows what she really wants and never settles for less.
“Not youth, but Muppet” Such a great turn of phrase!
When we cleaned out Grandma’s closet after she died, we found all the nice clothes her children and grandchildren had given her, folded away in tissue paper, never worn. Mom sat right down and cried. When we cleaned out Mom’s closet 40 years later there wasn’t a single thing tucked away except for her wedding dress.
My mother told me how her grandmother survived the Depression but was so scarred by it she could not spend money. She wore old patched flannel nightgowns for years after. Her husband finally bought her two pretty nightgowns and she thanked him, then put them still in the box in the closet because they were too nice to wear. They stayed there until both of them died. My mother said what a shame, it would have made him happy to see her in them and know they got through it. I took that to heart and I try to wear all my nice clothes. I can’t take ’em with me. And I find that stuff wears out on the hanger anyway, so you should use it. As a nice man in NYC once told me, God doesn’t want us to wear schmatte.
I love this so much.
I have also been craving a moto jacket for several years now.
This made me cry. Here’s to always recognizing that you’re never too old for nice things.
I did the same thing with a jacket and my daughter (bless her ) talked me into buying it. Daughters are wonderful. We all deserve nice things.
This is perfect
I did a mental fist pump when I read that last line.
Nice things are the BEST, especially when worn with the mindset that they are serving their purpose. I have this amazing jacket (what is it about jackets?) that makes me feel awesome whenever I wear it, and I should wear it more often. Thanks for the reminder.
I so desperately wanted you to have bought the jacket in the end!
I make so many efforts to wear my nice clothes and not think about what happens to them if something gets on them or whatever. It’s hard when “nice things” were drilled into your head as being specific to a life you don’t lead. I have many church clothes but I do not attend church, so where do I wear them? When is nice enough for nice clothes?
I LOVED this, but I have to admit I’m a tiny bit disappointed there wasn’t a picture of the jacket.
I come from a tradition of middle-class tightwads, hagglers, and bargain hunters (we call it the Klein Gene, after that branch of the family) but am slowly teaching myself that, all else being equal, if there are two similar things and one is four times as expensive as the other, it’s worth it if I also like it four times as much.
Although my great-grandfather would like to point out that if you can get the nice thing for the same price as the less-nice thing, that’s even better.
My grandmother was the most fantastic bargain hunter. She got her kids great presents, and her wardrobe, when we went through it, was full of beautiful, quality clothes, for which I’m almost certain she paid no more than half price.
If you had not bought it, the Toast collective would have to start collecting donations. I love this. I am happy you chose correctly. Please post a picture ASAP.
I concur on all counts!
The revelation at the end made me want to stand up and cheer. I am always in favour of decadence, rationalize it if you must, but give in! Here’s one I use: nylons cost about $8 a pair and I get one wear out of them, but I still buy them! An Hermes scarf would only have to be worn 50 times to be a better value, and of course I’d wear it way more than that!
This is deeply lovely, and like everyone else here, I’m so glad bought the jacket 🙂
Thanks for all the heartfelt comments. I am on the road today – but will post a photo of the jacket tomorrow. Now go buy yourselves something pretty.
I found myself nodding through all of this. Fantastic! Glad you bought the jacket. 🙂
Dear Eileen,
I really enjoyed your story. It brought tears to my eyes. Remembering your mom, and the passing of your dad….what a good man he was! Our upbringing was so similar. I have many of the same thoughts that you brought to light. Next time don’t think so hard about getting something nice for yourself. You deserve it !
P.S. Wear it well.
xo
Francine
I like how mothers are the most likely people to believe they deserve nice things, when in fact they are usually the most deserving.
There was a beautiful moto jacket that I tried on and never bought. I even took a photo to verify, yes, I look amazing in this jacket. It was $80 so I didn’t buy it.
Maybe sometime, before I go shopping, I should look at that photo.
“Maybe if you gained a little weight…” What a daughter! That’s a daughter to be proud of. And I am so glad you bought the jacket.
When I turned 50 I started sewing again — I kept seeing all these really cool, simple, minimalist clothes that were ridiculously expensive, and since my other turning-50 resolution was that I was never wearing anything that binds ever again — well, I made a bunch of nice clothes. It wasn’t even weight gain as much as an entire shift in how my body was put together that was unsettling. So I bit the bullet, and took measurements, and made clothes that even if they weren’t “skinny” fit me and looked cool and I *feel* good wearing. It’s been such fun.
I’m 36, and my major life goal is to be like you and do that. There’s nothing like well-fitting clothes! (Or so I imagine, since I’ve never really had any.)
Fabulous story. I’ve been there–the realization that the cute floral top will turn suddenly dowdy on a 45+ year-old woman, etc. We DO deserve nice things. (Just have to choose which nice things lest we lose retirement funds!)
This was really lovely. It’s been one of those days and everything sort of hurts, but this was just a thoroughly pleasant read.
“Because what we wear on the outside might not always matter, but sometimes it definitely does. It can be the armor that protects our vulnerable interior when we are at our most fragile.”
Oh, lady. This.
My husband knows that when we go to see my family, it will take me at least two hours to get ready, because I need my armor.
I will take off all my makeup and redo everything if needed.
I will go through seven different outfits.
And he waits, patiently. Because he understands that our exteriors protect our hearts.
Nice things matter. What a kindness you gave to your mother.
Good, you bought it! I bought a leather jacket for myself while shopping with my sister for a leather jacket for her husband (I was the model because I was “a bit smaller than him” – we are shaped nothing alike, but whatever, it was a fortuitous outing) and I wear it constantly, love it forever, and will never regret it.
Hello all! Some of you were asking to see a picture of the jacket, so Eileen sent it to me to post:
!!!
this looks so good. i’m so glad you bought it, because it looks wonderful and classy and badass and elegant all at once, and the essay was wonderful.
YOU LOOK AMAZING.
You made the right choice. You look like a badass, but an extremely classy and sophisticated one.
That you bought that jacket is making my whole damn day better.
That is a great jacket and you will be able to wear it with elegance for a long time. Thank you for writing this. I needed to be reminded to wear things that make me feel good. I am struggling with depression and financial stresses but I do have a closet stuffed with all manner of lovely clothes and so much jewelry I have inherited/been given. Why not let them serve as my armour against the day? I just turned 50 and am so focused on how to make the inward journey into aging with grace and dignity, I have forgotten about the value of adorning oneself. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
!!!
this looks so good. i'm so glad you bought it, because it looks wonderful and classy and badass and elegant all at once, and the essay was wonderful.
Oh boy, I am really looking forward to the rest of my 30s now!
That you bought that jacket is making my whole damn day better.
I loved this so, so much. As the daughter of a mother who's never believed that she deserves nice things, this hit home for me.
Loved this great piece! Be it the art of aging or essay,I’m confident you’ll be sitting right alongside a a turned out Joan Didion, rocking that moto! (High praise from a huge Didion fan)
Your story made me teary. SO glad you bought the jacket and you ROCK it!
It took me till I was 41 to buy a black leather biker jacket. The turning point came when I realised that if I’d bought one when I first wanted one, I’d have got an extra 24 years of wear out of it. I fully intend to get more than 24 years of wear out of it now, though.
Yay, I am so glad you bought it! I am an epic bargain shopper, I just got a beautiful Black Friday $135 dress for $28, but every once in a while there has been some stupidly gorgeous thing I had to have or die. A Florentine red Romeo Gigli blouse. A perfect film noir black wool peplum suit. An antique cameo pin. A King Arthur Hermes scarf. And an optic floral Ted Baker purse. I usually wear thrifted vintage and discount Gap Tshirts but when true love calls, price is no object.