Saturday, February 23, 2008
SHABBY CHIC
Last week on the District Line, I saw my fantasy family - a family that oozed harmony and creativity - a family that seemed to be living more vibrantly and more joyfully than everyone else around them.
There were 4 adults and 6 children, representing (I think) 3 different families. But so relaxed and seamless were the parent-kid interactions, it felt like one big family. Also, they were dressed alike. Not in the "creepy cult" sense, but rather in the "birds of a feather flock together" sense. You know how you always see pairs or trios of friends walking down the street wearing the same kind of outfit? Either they shopped for them together, or they recognized each other as kindred spirits via their fashion choices.
This family I saw on the tube was the epitome of "shabby chic." Everyone was wearing vintage and/or handmade clothing. There was a ton of color, lots of layers of different kinds of patterns, crocheted hats, chenille coats with applique - you get the picture - the kind of clothes you might see on any stylish thrift-store maven in San Francisco. Also, they were all a little unkempt - in the "I've been too busy painting murals or writing my novel to get a proper haircut" sense. The 6-year old was wearing summer shoes with no socks. The 10-year old was dressed entirely in orange. The Dad was dispensing snacks from a small backpack which the kids shared with democratic fervor, and I got the sense that the parents expected the kids to mostly to take care of themselves and each other without too much parental intervention. The adults weren't about to get bent out of shape over a failure to wear socks or eat nothing but shrimp-flavored crisps all day. In fact, it seemed as though eating and dressing might be considered creative acts by this clan - opportunities for the kids to practice creative self-expression. These parents were clearly in it for the joy, not for the nag, and the children seemed incredibly happy, well-adjusted and open to the world.
That's it. That's what I want for me and my family. I want us always dressed in a riot of color. I want to have a wall in our house that we repaint 100 times a year, whenever the mood strikes us, with fabulous murals and pithy sayings. I want the word "Mama" to conjure up images of surprise, adventure, pleasure and fun, rather than duty and organization and rules. I want "No!", "Don't!", "Stop!", and "Be careful!" to be replaced by "Why not?", "Check it out!", "Let's do it!" and "What do you think?" I want to laugh more than I worry, and play more than I work.
But I think I might need a tutor. I was never the bold one in either my fashion choices or my ability to buck the system and my ideas about what I "should" be doing. I had a friend in junior high school who had a cool Flock of Seagulls haircut (long on one side, short on the other), and pure United Colors of Benetton style. She would layer a purple spotted short-sleeve top over an orange and green striped long-sleeve top paired with a rainbow knitted scarf and a jaunty little hat. She was cool. Meanwhile, I was wearing tailored lavender courdoroys with a matching wool sweater that my grandmother picked out. I was not cool. And 25 years later, I still haven't gained much purchase on the fashion front. It doesn't occur to me to "mix 'n match" and I'm generally too obsessed with being tidy to let myself (or my kids) have as much fun as we could.
So here's a prayer to the gods of color, composition, and chaos:
Please spring me from my middle-class suburban strait-jacket and embolden me to unleash the creative mama within. Give me the courage to let my children make messes - even when they aren't going to come out of the carpet. Keep sending me signs that the world needs us to express ourselves more than it needs tidy sock drawers and clean kitchen counters. And send me back to the land of thrift store magic and multi-cultural magnificence, where I might have a fighting chance of making these dreams reality.
Be well.
Last week on the District Line, I saw my fantasy family - a family that oozed harmony and creativity - a family that seemed to be living more vibrantly and more joyfully than everyone else around them.
There were 4 adults and 6 children, representing (I think) 3 different families. But so relaxed and seamless were the parent-kid interactions, it felt like one big family. Also, they were dressed alike. Not in the "creepy cult" sense, but rather in the "birds of a feather flock together" sense. You know how you always see pairs or trios of friends walking down the street wearing the same kind of outfit? Either they shopped for them together, or they recognized each other as kindred spirits via their fashion choices.
This family I saw on the tube was the epitome of "shabby chic." Everyone was wearing vintage and/or handmade clothing. There was a ton of color, lots of layers of different kinds of patterns, crocheted hats, chenille coats with applique - you get the picture - the kind of clothes you might see on any stylish thrift-store maven in San Francisco. Also, they were all a little unkempt - in the "I've been too busy painting murals or writing my novel to get a proper haircut" sense. The 6-year old was wearing summer shoes with no socks. The 10-year old was dressed entirely in orange. The Dad was dispensing snacks from a small backpack which the kids shared with democratic fervor, and I got the sense that the parents expected the kids to mostly to take care of themselves and each other without too much parental intervention. The adults weren't about to get bent out of shape over a failure to wear socks or eat nothing but shrimp-flavored crisps all day. In fact, it seemed as though eating and dressing might be considered creative acts by this clan - opportunities for the kids to practice creative self-expression. These parents were clearly in it for the joy, not for the nag, and the children seemed incredibly happy, well-adjusted and open to the world.
That's it. That's what I want for me and my family. I want us always dressed in a riot of color. I want to have a wall in our house that we repaint 100 times a year, whenever the mood strikes us, with fabulous murals and pithy sayings. I want the word "Mama" to conjure up images of surprise, adventure, pleasure and fun, rather than duty and organization and rules. I want "No!", "Don't!", "Stop!", and "Be careful!" to be replaced by "Why not?", "Check it out!", "Let's do it!" and "What do you think?" I want to laugh more than I worry, and play more than I work.
But I think I might need a tutor. I was never the bold one in either my fashion choices or my ability to buck the system and my ideas about what I "should" be doing. I had a friend in junior high school who had a cool Flock of Seagulls haircut (long on one side, short on the other), and pure United Colors of Benetton style. She would layer a purple spotted short-sleeve top over an orange and green striped long-sleeve top paired with a rainbow knitted scarf and a jaunty little hat. She was cool. Meanwhile, I was wearing tailored lavender courdoroys with a matching wool sweater that my grandmother picked out. I was not cool. And 25 years later, I still haven't gained much purchase on the fashion front. It doesn't occur to me to "mix 'n match" and I'm generally too obsessed with being tidy to let myself (or my kids) have as much fun as we could.
So here's a prayer to the gods of color, composition, and chaos:
Please spring me from my middle-class suburban strait-jacket and embolden me to unleash the creative mama within. Give me the courage to let my children make messes - even when they aren't going to come out of the carpet. Keep sending me signs that the world needs us to express ourselves more than it needs tidy sock drawers and clean kitchen counters. And send me back to the land of thrift store magic and multi-cultural magnificence, where I might have a fighting chance of making these dreams reality.
Be well.
Labels: Creative Process, Mamahood
