Column: Savagemama

j.crew Lost This Mama’s Address

By Jennifer Savage, 10-28-08

The other day I got a catalog in the mail with an attractive woman on the front. An older woman. As I flipped mindlessly through it I thought it I saw women with lines around their eyes, some with full salt and pepper hair, some with a few streaks of gray. The clothes in the catalog were nice, seemed to fit well and offered some allowances for women who may not be as firm as they once were: longer, yet form fitting shirts, flowing pants, accessories in the right places. I tossed the catalog aside thinking it must have landed in my mailbox not by mistake necessarily, but by some fluke. I chalked it up to mailing lists being sold and swapped and didn’t think another thing about it.

Until Eliza’s second birthday party.

A friend and I were talking about another friend who had hurt her knee.

“I guess we’re not 22 anymore,” I said.

“Hey, some of us aren’t 32 anymore,” he said.

And it is true. With the passing of my birthday in September I am 33, squarely in my 30s. And having had, not one, but two children since my thirtieth birthday I’m a little behind the fashion times. I have skipped – not just been late for – entire fashion trends.

I caught a glimpse of a woman the other day downtown who was wearing ballet flats and leggings with a long shirt and a big belt around her hips. I had the same outfit in fifth grade. I thought one of us was stuck in the wrong decade. When I took a closer look at everyone around us I realized I was the one stuck. After this, I did some consulting, some observation, some downright eavesdropping. It seems this back-to-the-80s thing has been going on a while. I’m solidly stuck in 1999, which, I guess, depending on how you look at it, either means I’m so far out of touch it’s just plain sad or I’m just in time for the next trend.

So, I suppose I’m a little more boot cut than skinny leg these days. Maybe this is why j.crew seems to have dropped me from their mailing list. Maybe they know I can’t drop $170 for a sweater or that I’m wearing last year’s boots. Who knows, but for whatever reason, the rail thin, fresh-faced, boys-that-look-like-girls and girls-that-look-like-boys—the models of j.crew—haven’t found their way to my doorstep in a long, long time. Maybe since I was, say, 29. In their place these women with graying hair and laugh lines have found me. And if I take a close look in the mirror I can see why.

I was looking through some pictures the other day and came across one of me the summer before I got pregnant with Eliza. I was 29, had been training for marathons and was in great shape. In the picture I’m planting tomatoes. My arms and legs look strong, defined. I do not look soft.

Some things have changed since then.

There is some sagging these days, some softness, some disappearance of definition. My booty, shaped by years of running, is nothing more than a place for two pants pockets to hang. I’m starting to see a few streaks of gray and the lines around my eyes and mouth are becoming deeper. Strangely, I’ve never felt more comfortable with the way I look.

So I guess I’ll wear worn out Levi’s until the end of time by which point they will have gone out, come back in and gone out of style again. I’ll wear Seth’s old t-shirts to bed and wrap myself in warm, cozy (read big and generous) sweaters. I’ll wear last year’s boots this year and next and the year after that. I’ll be behind the fashion times or completely skip a few chapters. And I’m alright with that, ballet flats notwithstanding.

That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on some personal sense of style, just maybe cutting myself some slack, just maybe realizing that there is more to it than catalog trends. Some things, like depth, class, gracefulness you can’t find there. My body, my appearance, is starting to have some history, and it shows.

I finally got my hands on a j.crew catalog the other day. Flipping through it I realized I’ll never be the fresh-faced twenty something I used to be and I don’t want to be. As I looked at the models I thought of my young daughters. I have my stories to tell and they will too one day, just about the time lines start appearing around their blue eyes, and streaks of gray appear in their curls when the sun hits them just right.

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