This I Believe

Last year NPR began an ongoing compelling "remake" series called "This I Believe" in which listeners were invited to write and submit essays describing their deepest beliefs. Many of these essays were read on the air. You can read some of them here. I did not submit an essay.

KUER joined in the fun last fall, doing a smaller-scale series of the same name, with the same premise. This time I had an actual idea, but I am a procrastinator. I did not submit an essay.

For the past several weeks, this article has been the top link on The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Web site, whether because it's the holiday season and no one has updated it, or because it's really important. Either way, what it says is that members of the Church should blog about their beliefs. This means I have been invited three times--the last time by a person whom I believe to be a prophet of God.

So I guess I'd better do it. After all, I'm not lacking in beliefs, and I bet my five-to-ten loyal readers might enjoy hearing about them, or at least pretend that they do. Maybe if I do a bunch of them I'll get good at writing essays. Also, what could be better than a series of essays by a variety of authors touting their various misguided beliefs than a series of essays by me, each the embodiment of truth and reason? Not a whole lot, I think. Also, here I don't have to worry about a word limit. Ha!

If it were Sunday, I'd probably write about something spiritual. It's not Sunday. If it were January 1, I'd probably feel obligated to try to think up something profound. It's not January 1. That's why you get to hear what's on my mind right now--not so different than reading a regular post. But I'm going to call it

This I Believe: Fashion Is a Harsh Master

I believe that fashion has its place. I believe that first impressions are important, and that it matters to look one's best, unless you got up late and have to drive the kids to school in your pajamas. It also matters to appear to be aware of what the world around you is wearing, watching, using, reading, driving. I don't say that it matters so much what you watch, wear, or drive--just that you are aware of what others are watching, wearing, and driving, and that you make your choices with integrity. For example, many others are driving Hummers. Those people are eco-terrorists and show offs. On the other hand, daltonboy is driving a twenty-year-old Nissan pickup (white) with black fenders and more dents than the feed bucket Rancher Joe uses for target practice. If daltonboy wants to promote himself as a legitimate photographer, I recommend he start driving something else to his photo shoots--especially if there's a chance the client will see the vehicle. Will it get him more business? Possibly. But it won't make him a better person. Or will it?

I believe there's something wrong with the feelings I have for my red leather Kate Spade knockoff handbag. It's cute. Would it be as cute if it didn't have a Kate Spade label? I have a hard time admitting that I only think it would "possibly" be as cute. Would I have purchased it, if it hadn't had that label? Honestly, I probably would not have given it a second look. I vascillate between making sure the label is out and visible (when I'm standing in line next to the woman with the Prada handbag--also most likely a knockoff), and making sure it's turned in and not visible (when I catch myself being pretentious). The receptionist at work verified for me that it is, in fact, a knockoff. She claimed she could tell. I claimed I didn't care--I just liked the purse, but secretly felt gratified that she noticed it and liked it, and that, when she first saw the purse, she didn't know whether or not it was real. She had to examine it closely to find out. Her opinion of me rose--not because I'm good at my job, not because I'm a nice person--but because I have a stylish purse. This is how I prove myself to people who have no education, skills, or life experience, and the sad part is that I feel I need to do so. Prove myself to a person who doesn't even know how to indent in a Word document. I got one back from her with little spaces at the beginning of every paragraph.

I believe The Devil Wears Prada hits the nail on the head in a number of ways, and that Miranda (Meryl Streep) is telling the absolute truth when she shreds Andy (Anne Hathaway) to pieces in front of her staff for smirking over their indecision regarding two almost identical belts.

Oh. Okay, I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select, I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back, but what you don't know is that that sweater is not blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis. It's actually cerulean, and you're also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002 Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns, and then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? And then cerulean quickly showed up the collections of eight different designers and then it filtered down through the department stores, and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner where you no doubt fished it out of some clearance bin; however, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs, and it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when in fact, you're wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room.

What I refuse to accept (and what Andy finally realizes) is that the people in that room made all the right choices for me. Take the low-rise jean, for example. There's nothing inherently wrong with that style; in fact, it looks good. It's much more attractive than the waist-high fashions of the early nineties, however, is it right for me? Absolutely not. It's right for all the flat-stomached women with actual hips, which is what I know I'm supposed to be, but I never will. I'm not going to go on the "cube of cheese every six hours just when I feel I'm going to pass out" diet. And so I put on the low-rise jeans, the waistband of which hits me directly across the roll of fat under my navel (or "muffintop," if you want to make it sound cute, which it's not). Throughout the day I have the option of either letting the "waistband" slide below the fat, which will leave me looking like I didn't quite finish pulling the pants up last time I used the restroom, or I can try to pull it up over the top of the bulge, which results in acute pain and . . . well, enough said on that point, I think. If, by some chance, it does stay put where it's supposed, to, it cuts the fat in half and gives me two bulges, doubling what I didn't really want to show off in the first place.

And so I wear the high-rise jeans, braving the mockery of people with good bodies who assume that I just don't care. I do care--I'm just not willing to sacrifice my comfort for someone I can't, in good conscience, call "master." Feeling uncomfortable causes me to act uncivil, irritable, and irrational. I believe that treating people well is more desirable than being easy on the eyes, so I compromise for the sake of comfort.

Speaking of comfort, let's discuss shoes. Most fashionable shoes have high heels. I gave in and bought a pair last week, because I love shoes and wanted a pair that didn't make me look like I just made away with the pick of Grandma's closet. The problem is that I have arthritis in one of my toes. Walking in heeled shoes causes me extreme pain. Also, it's very bad for the back. Grandma figured this out, and decided she had to just quit caring. I'm not quite to that point.

The people in "that room" are making choices for thin, young people. The rest of us can just go wherever it is that losers go to live out their final, pathetic days after turning thirty-five, I guess. Or we can shop at Lane Bryant, Coldwater Creek, or any number of stores that cater to the aging body. And when I say "shop," I mean, purchase clothing with those labels, be they new or second hand. Either way, I'm not to that point either.

I want to look good. Most of the time, I think I look presentable. Some of the time, I feel comfortable.

Then there's the issue of the children in China working in sweatshops being paid twenty-five cents a day to sew the latest color of beads on the latest jacket, so that we can all run out and donate our last season castoffs in a slightly different style and shade to Salvation Army (or worse, send them to the landfill) because they're simply not wearable anymore. Sure, the thousands of tons of used clothing make their way to Africa where people really need them, but do they really have sucha a need? There are studies being done, but preliminary data suggest that all those second-hand clothes we send to third world countries as a charitable gesture may actually be destroying their economies, as consumers there opt for the cheaper castoffs over merchandise produced locally.

Any idea how many of our earth's waning resources are used to produce this stuff? I believe there's a responsibility factor as well. And how much of our money goes to buy the latest and greatest, because it's fun, hip, cool, and we just plain "need" it, when children in our own country and around the world are going to bed hungry night after night, wondering if the heat will be turned off tomorrow, or if they'll come home to find an eviction notice on the door? Morality should be staring us down at The Gap's cash register, and we should be ashamed to look it in the eye.

The thing is, I believe that I can be a friend to fashion, without being a slave to it; without having it beat me, control me, and destroy me financially and morally. What I don't know is how to make that belief a reality. I don't think Karl Lagerfeld responds to demonstrators wearing second-hand Kathie Lee sweaters and high-rise jeans. I believe I will make a statement by removing the Kate Spade label and using the handbag anyway. Maybe today.


A couple of links to start with if you're interested in pursuing this topic further:

Environmental Health Perspectives

People and Planet