Skorting the topic of music.
I was perusing my favorite blogs during some free time today and was reading Moonbeam McQueen’s post about music. It got me thinking about my taste in music, which subsequently led me to thoughts of fashion. Bear with me as I explain.
As a very young child, I used to enjoy the music my parents listened to like Roger Miller’s “King of the Road” (I knew the lyrics by heart at age seven), some of the Beatles, like Michelle Ma Belle, which my dad and I used to sing together while he played his guitar. I loved many of the ’60s groups and artists, even Donny Osmond (I still like him as a person, as well as Marie) and the Partridge Family.
As a teenager in the ’70s I loved Abba, Bread, Electric Light Orchestra, Bachman Turner Overdrive, Elvis Costello, and more. I lived in England in the ’70s and was there at the beginning of the punk rock era, but still didn’t get into the fad of it, preferring to stick more with music like Steely Dan and America. And no, I didn’t pierce anything or wear safety pins in my clothes. That seemed completely silly to me. Still does.
During the ’80s and ’90s I was too busy raising kids to pay much attention to music whatsoever. In fact, I would enjoy music while doing housework or driving the kids somewhere, and as they got older and started developing their own interests in music, I listened to their choices in music. This often included rap music and artists like Marilyn Manson. Him, I didn’t quite get, but with rap, my philosophy was I’d better listen to it so I could understand and then I could decide. Often my kids taught me so much and I learned that although some music lyrics were negative, much of it was positive about bettering oneself and believing in God. Now, how could that be bad?
I was a pretty cool mom, or so I was told, and this was probably because I was so young. I was especially cool when I got to go to a Nirvana concert with my brother in Seattle.
I had an idea who Nirvana was but I had no clue of the genre of music to which they belonged. Grunge. When my kids, then early teens and in junior high school, learned I was going to a Nirvana concert, they told all their friends and I was the coolest mom ever.
Ya, well, not if they’d seen what I wore to the concert.
Imagine this. Young, late twenties/early thirties mom, blond shoulder length hair, fairly slim, wearing….wait for it… a SKORT. Not only was I wearing a skort made from patterned fabric that you’d now see at Chicos, but I also wore sneakers, a t-shirt, and a sweater that my mom gave me after her trip to Wales. The sweater has to be the biggest fashion disaster ever. It was beige, matched the rest of the outfit, but it had turtles knitted into the pattern around the hem of the sweater. Now, these weren’t small turtles or ones that blended in. No, they were huge turtles, probably two or three inches in size. Good GAWD. What on earth was I thinking? Imagine how I wanted to crawl under the sidewalk while standing in line at the concert completely surrounded by black. Black boots, black goth, black grunge, chains, pink, blue, purple and black hair sticking out straight on so many of the people around us who weren’t standing there openly laughing and pointing at me. Thank God we had seats up high and not in the mosh pit.
So as I wandered down memory lane, I’ve realized two things: I’m not a music aficionado, never was and never will be, and I’m not a fashionista either. This doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate music or fashion, I do. However, during the day working from home, I’m happy if the house is silent and peaceful. As for fashion, I have my own individual sense of fashion that probably doesn’t even fit the definition of fashion. I wear what I like, what fits well and in colors that are flattering to me, and usually something that’s classic in style.
Well, all except for the skort deviation.