Why I hate fashion


I could probably say it’s because I’m fat and finding new clothing stinks.  Or I could say it’s because I am old no longer a youngster and I just don’t care as much.  And there would be some truth to either of those; however, I wouldn’t say “hate” just for those reasons…. hate is a strong word, y’ know?  So the whole truth of the matter is a thing I call the Cloning of our Daughters.

Yeah.   I took my daughter to the mall a couple days ago.   Which is sort of like mom-torture.  But she had a Christmas gift card burning a hole in her pocket so I agreed to take her…. with the caveat that I’d sit on a bench outside the store while she and her BFF shopped.   I saw them safely inside the store then meandered down to Starb*cks for a lovely, lovely mocha (there is some good in the mall) then I sat and watched the kids… girls… teens and twenty-somethings (with an occasional “lady-you-are-too-old-to-shop-in-that-store” tossed in for good measure) walk in and out of this particular girlie dream store.   What I saw was a whole mess of identically clothed young ladies.  (Each probably hoping to “express her own style”, whattya bet?) Maybe ten percent of these girls actually had her own style… the rest were just dressing exactly like one another,  I suppose in hopes of fitting in and looking cool.  My daughter used to have her own style, her own sense of what was “cute” and “fun”… people used to comment on it all the time… how “refreshing” it was to see.  Now she’s just another slave-to-the-industry-clone like the rest of them.

I find this terribly sad.  Not to mention boring! .



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s