Madison Avenue Strikes Again
On Fifth Ave, in the fresh spring light that bathed the Prada store, a six foot tall blond wrapped in high fashion teetered above a much shorter, much older man with a snarling face. Her hair was perfectly straight, and fell in shiny sheets. The bottom of her angular cheekbones were just visible beneath her pitch-black designer sunglasses. Her mouth was expressionless, her chin high, as though life was a runway.
I looked at Bear. He looked at me. We had both seen them.
Two blocks later, it was a petite, curly-haired woman, strikingly gorgeous, with a much older man with a sagging face and stringy hair. She was wearing a wafting short white skirt with tasteful brown embroidery and a clinging vest.
All sorts of interesting people were out on the Upper East Side yesterday. It was Easter, and the doors of the stately, stone churches were flung open. Everyone was wearing something nice, and some of the little girls had white socks with ruffles, pulled way up, and pink dresses with those frilly bibs, as though history had never advanced. Of course, people said “happy Easter!” to me, and I paused for just a split second before saying, “You too” instead of “I don’t celebrate it.” Always awkward, but I didn’t have the heart.
We crossed over to Madison and wandered down. I, of course, got immediately sunburned. It was the first really warm day.
Families went by, the fathers tall, the mothers thin and beautiful, the children mostly girls, mostly with big eyes and masses of wavy hair. The mothers all looked like they might play mothers in movies. They could do the understated look. They didn’t have to always be the center of attention anymore. But even a messy ponytail was elegant on them.
Young women went by in threes and fours, in sky-high heels and dresses. Their faces were spare and prep-school pretty. TV pretty.
I forget sometimes, how Manhattan is full of these people. I don’t know how I forget. Maybe I’ve adjusted to stop noticing. Maybe I don’t really mind these days. But sometimes, there they all are– hordes of slender, exquisitely dressed, genetically lucky people, expertly avoiding brushing against one another as they pass on the sidewalk.
I used to fantasize, briefly, about moving to a small town, where the people were relatively ordinary looking, and where it would seem as though I occasionally dressed nicely.
In the restaurant where we stopped for lunch, I watched a tall, dramatically hatted woman mince her way towards a table. She had long white/blond hair and the same heavy sunglasses that everyone wears. Her trim, subtly sexy pantsuit was clearly very expensive, and the skin was pulled tight across her face. The kind of tight that means plastic surgery and then more of it. And then more, again. She was elderly, I think. It was practically impossible to tell. She used her long, graceful umbrella as a cane, listing the slightest bit to one side in her high heels.
There was something a little heartbreaking about that umbrella. I wondered what she did on days when rain was not even the slimmest possibility. Did she take it anyway? Did she laugh and say, “Oh, you know me. I’ve got to be ready for anything!”
Each step was an effort. The heels weren’t helping. They did go perfectly with her outfit, though. She seemed to be alone. I wondered if she would let someone take her arm, if they knew and loved her. Or if she was too proud. She held her head high.
Oh, Madison Ave…What have you done? It’s so easy to make these things matter so much, when they really shouldn’t have to. It’s so easy to believe you have to keep competing, even though you will really never win.
Sometimes I think it’s a little lucky that I’m starting out off-kilter, with my big nose and short hair and total lack of designer clothes. If I started competing, I might not know where to stop.
* * *
Un-roast: Today I love being able to wear a flowing, gauzy skirt again! I’ve never completely gotten over them.
A new post on Un-schooled, in which I talk about wearing whatever I wanted as a kid. Somewhat related.
Bear and I, in the creepy lobby of our building, in accidentally matching outfits:
Kate on April 25th 2011 in Uncategorized
San D responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 11:35 am #
I think of New York city as the otherway around, not that it dictates my style but that it makes me “have” style. It is the only place I know of that when I walk down the street I feel “accepted” for who I am and what I wear. In the “burbs” I am always conscious that what I put on will get quizzical (is that a word, I wonder) looks from the neighbors, the “well, she is the only one I know that would wear that” kind of looks, the “only she can pull that off” back handed compliments. Of course what I wear is not available in New York City, as I have a wardrobe of handcrafted dresses, jackets, etc from an artist who lives upstate New York in Syracuse. Too much emphasis is placed on being a lemming in our society, albeit an expensive lemming. I never got the memo.
Kate responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 11:46 am #
I’m not sure that’s really “the other way around.” I feel that way too, here. But different parts of the city have decidedly different feels and sometimes implied dress codes. If you’re in the Village, anything really goes, but it should definitely be on the funky, fun side! UES, not so much. Much more designer fashion.
Valerie responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 12:22 pm #
Sometimes seeing older women who are perfectly groomed and exquisitely dressed makes me think something along the lines of “you go, girl!” And other times it just makes me sad, because I wonder if she feels compelled to keep trying so hard because, when she was younger, so much of her sense of self-worth was tied up in her appearance that she didn’t/doesn’t realize there were/are other things to feel good about besides her looks. When I look at other young women who are impeccable and gorgeous, I can’t help but think that the aging process might be more difficult for them than for me. As someone who has never felt that my looks are something I can rely on for attention, praise, etc., I’ve developed other ways to feel good about myself. But, for those women whose sense of self-worth is based solely or largely on their appearance (and I realize not all “beautiful” people are like this), aging must be spectacularly and particularly brutal.
Liz Nord responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 12:27 pm #
I think it’s easy to fall into the trappings of how our society thinks of beauty, but I also think it’s our responcibility to rebel against it.
I wrote a post about French women and I cited sections from the book, What French Women Know, by Debra Ollivier. I love the idea of adapting some of France’s attitudes…like this–
A French woman says, “In the U.S. you have to fit a certain norm. In France, it’s just the opposite. For French women, if you don’t fit a standard mold—you are compelling. If you don’t look like everyone else—if you express something different or somehow unique—you’re interesting, your special, and that makes you attractive and sexy.” Ollivier goes on to say, “Their allure lies not in their surface glam, but in their capacity to nurture an inner life.”
LOVE that!!!!
Kate responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 12:29 pm #
@Valerie
Same. Actually, often, when I see well-dressed elderly women, I think, “Good for you!” But when I see all of the obvious plastic surgery…that’s a little different.
Hannah responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 12:36 pm #
Ah, so sad! I get that feeling when I visit New York. It’s so disturbing how Madison Avenue has constructed these beauty ideals that are warped beyond belief.
Meri responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 12:44 pm #
I think city life is freeing if you want to be your own person, and a prison if you are dying for acceptance. I find freedom in the anonymity, acceptance in that there are loads of others who look like me and I don’t have to feel like I’m standing out if I’m dressed crazy or fancy.
Many times though, like you, I don’t even join the “race,” I just throw on my jeans and t-shirt and breathe in the spring air!
Lovely post, and great observations, as always 🙂
Meri
Anna responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 12:51 pm #
When I see older women proudly groomed, my heart goes out to them, as does respect. It takes much effort and a proactive mind to care and accomplish how she wants to be seen. It has more to do with dignity and self respect. Common sense may not have a place. May we always show graciousness to such fragility.
I feel more hopeful when my mom in her eighties fusses about her outfit matching. She cares, which translates to she’s alive and wants to thrive! When the time comes that she doesn’t care anymore, I know she has checked out already.
Erin Block responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 1:22 pm #
“Sometimes I think it’s a little lucky that I’m starting out off-kilter” –> I’ve been thinking this a lot recently too, about myself. This is such a beautiful post, Kate.
Un-roast: today I love that I have a curl right in the middle of my forehead.
jane minion responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 1:22 pm #
a few years ago porthault had their semi annual sale
I noticed a lady in her eighties swimming in a bill blass suit &
she was still chic…the woman behind me said “I hope she gets on this line, shopping for linens at her age would be such a life enhancing thing to do” I never forgot that and at almost sixty I now do a double take before running out looking like an unmade bed…That lady was Kitty Carlisle Hart, always beautifully turned out. She must have had a great plastic surgeon who did not do too much, and wore heels she had no trouble walking in. I asked my doctor, (who happened to be her own) where she got her face done and how did she manage in those shoes? “About the face, my dear, I cannot tell you, but Kitty swims for an hour every day and her balance is better than my own.” We can learn a lot from older ladies but in passing, just say a silent prayer for those who slip over the line. Very sad.
Cakelady, you are adorable Character in a young face is strikingly beautiful, you have that and writing talent in spades.
Blog on!!
Kerry responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 1:48 pm #
I love “accidental matching” days! It happens to us quite often.
Deanna responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 2:13 pm #
Kate…You pick exactly the right topics. I love that.
I get depressed when I see beautiful young women with older men. It makes me feel like ‘love’ is a trade…your beauty for my money. I find the women to be opportunists and the men to be shallow. If looks and youth are everything…I guess I need to hide under a rock.
Also…the ‘perfect’ families that somehow the recession missed. The beautiful moms with the perfect hair and bodies, the wealthy husbands and the perfect kids. We all know that most people are not this way, but there are days when that’s all you see.
I remember when I was a teen, people would tell me that looks were not as important as character and personality. All my life I wanted to believe that, yet it still seems that people with perfect genes get all the goodies. How often do you see beautiful homeless people? Of course, money helps to buy great skin care, hair care and clothes so what nature can’t give you, Vidal Sassoon can!
Deanna responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 3:11 pm #
PS…@Liz. You are right. In France it’s okay to be different and not fit a mold. In the States it seems that in order to be beautiful, you have to fit a certain pre-determined look: Thin, long thick hair, flawless skin, perfect teeth, wide space eyes..etc etc.
Just today one of my clients told me I’d be a lot prettier if I did something with my hair…do one of those Brazilian blowouts because I have frizzy hair. I supposed it would look better…but the thought of putting all those chemicals in my hair and sitting still for 3 hours makes me crazy! I would rather someone find me attractive with my frizzy hair!
josie responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 3:18 pm #
Love the picture of you and Bear. The one where he is kissing your head is so sweet! It made me miss my husband. And I can never get over your vivid descriptions. Great post!
Ashley responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 4:41 pm #
I’m from a small town and I’m considered “among the most attractive” around here…at least that is what I have gathered. I am a model here as well, but not New York model material. I’m sure if I walked down 5th I wouldn’t be given a second look either. I’ll post my pictures on a message board and many people are curious at how I became a model because to them, in their bigger towns with hotter women, I am just an average looking girl, so you can imagine a lot of people accuse me of being a faker and get really snarky when I mention that I am a calendar model. I guess you can say I have accomodated a little extra bit of self confidence from being in a small town, but every time I go online or in a bigger city, it’s always a …humbling experience.
2girlsonabench responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 5:23 pm #
Best part they way you talk about how the mothers look like they might play mothers in movies = awesome. We live in LA, it’s even worse. Enough said.
Obi-Mom Kenobi responded on 25 Apr 2011 at 8:52 pm #
Your post reminds me of the pictures of Audrey Hepburn and how chic and stylish she always – ALWAYS – looked in her ballet flats. As much as I love my heels, and I do, I try to remember that they are not a requisite to either style or fashion. Thanks for the peek into this NYC neighborhood.
Anna responded on 26 Apr 2011 at 12:58 am #
What a great post! I just came through a link on my friends facebook page. You write beautifully! And I love the trip through your eyes on Manhattan. I cannot imagine all that you just said, it sounds beautiful and empty all at the same time. Strange and unreal. I live in such a different life. A mud yard and gravel road, interesting rural folks around and more of colorful from within type if that makes any sense at all. Anyway, thank you for this post, now I am off to check out your other posts, and that pic at the end, you two are adorable!
Kate responded on 26 Apr 2011 at 9:22 am #
@Anna
Thanks for stopping by! And you’re making me curious about where you live… 🙂
Cassie responded on 26 Apr 2011 at 5:02 pm #
My hubs and I like to stroll Newbury st in Boston, which has shops for lots of the major European fashion houses and where all the super elite visiting from overseas goes to shop on their holiday to Boston. Everybody either looks like me (slightly dumpy, average joe) or swaddled in whatever weird high fashion concoction they want because it’s all worth more than my mortgage payment. You can tell who is who. We always kinda play this game we call “Wife or Daughter” where you secretly wonder whether that impossibly slim, impossibly fashionable twenty-something with a giant diamond on her left hand is REALLY married to that 60 year old guy in pleated pants or if that’s gramps out for a stroll with his daughter and her twins in the $3K pram. Not to mention that the moms of these kids look slimmer in their walking pumps and skinny jeans two months postpartum than I’ve ever looked in my scrawny highschool days. It’s a life I like to watch from a distance, with interest, but one I’m pretty glad I don’t have to live myself. I think I prefer wearing my awesome sneakers and not having to go to socialite functions three times a week.
Mandy responded on 27 Apr 2011 at 12:16 pm #
Kate, I understand what you mean about “starting out off kilter.”
My particular challenge is that I have arthritis in my feet–I haven’t been able to wear shoes with heels since my very early twenties. It definitely influences the way I dress. I pretty much stopped wearing skirts, because with a skirt, you really do need cute shoes, and I can’t find shoes that look as if they “go” with a dress, and don’t make me want to grimace in pain.
When flats came back into style a few years ago, I was relieved, because I could stock up. But it turns out that every single pair I tried on put pressure across the balls of my feet –which is where I have arthritis! So I can’t wear dressy flats, either.
So much for dressing up, which I like to do on occasion. It would be nice to have more choices in the matter of footwear, but I console myself that I have the perfect excuse to never wear heels again!
Fortunately, my profession lets me get away with wearing sneakers all the time. A massage therpist would look pretty strange in heels!
And, I believe that I mentioned my tiger-striped sequinned high-topped converse sneakers in an earlier post…
Unroast: I love that though I can’t wear high heels, I can still jog. My body obviously has it’s priorities straight!