Cars or clothes; no value in logos
I’m getting tired of all the whining about $4-plus unleaded gas. As usual, the folks who are suffering the most are saying the least. Drivers of 8-cylinder luxury cars moan while self-employed gardeners, plumbers and electricians, those geniuses who save us, are bearing the brunt of this crisis. They need their pickups, often old and inefficient, to schlep tools, parts and broken appliances. They really can’t drive less, buy thriftier vehicles or use public transportation. But they still show up when we call to say our oven turns out fallen cakes, our fridge melts ice cubes and freezes eggs, or our well is pumping sand. And they rarely mention that they won’t be taking their children on summer vacations this year.
The steady whine is coming from the folks who think they’ve solved the problem by buying a small, thrifty car to run about town. Never mind that they probably won’t live to balance the cost of insurance for an extra vehicle, much less its purchase price. At the same time, they’re feeling somewhat smug about doing the “green” thing. Point taken. Still, I’ve seen this first hand: McMansion driveways sporting shiny, new Smart Cars or even Segways alongside the Mercedes or the Beemer. Fuel thrift as a fashion statement.
These must be the same folks I read about in a recent piece titled, “Pint-sized Fashionistas on Increase.” Say what? It seems wealthy parents are catering to the fashion whims of their toddlers and tweens.
With the same sort of hubris (or greed) that GM and Ford displayed year after year with beefier SUVs (with mpg ratings of 10 or less), high-end fashion designers are pushing $150 jeans in sizes 1, 2 and 3T. How much sense does this make when baby Britanny will outgrow them in 6 months? If she has no younger sisters or cousins, these diminutive fashion statements will wind up in thrift shops where smarter moms may pick them up for $6 or less. Of course, by that time, they’ll have more personal decorations, perhaps an orange Magic Marker signature beside the designer logo. This season’s $400 Alberta Ferretti “flirty chiffon” dress for a 2-year-old, may show up with barf on the bodice or grape juice at the hem.
A market researcher was quoted in a Time magazine article on the subject: “The fact that you can’t tell them what to wear is really driving the market.” Well, I’ve got news for the market economy. Parents come with an irrefutable, if underused, weapon: “No.” And with money saved on designer rompers, Mom can by herself some earplugs (sans designer logo) for the toddler tantrum that may ensue.
It’s been my experience, albeit in a saner time, that parents are responsible for their children’s attitudes toward everything from fashion and food to cars and thrift.
When my twin girls were young, they had no older cousins as a source for hand-me-downs. I was so thrilled to have girls to dress that I made matching clothes for them. When they were old enough, they rejected the idea of dressing alike and gladly accepted their older brother’s jeans, tees and sweatshirts. Well, living on a ranch, I suppose that was appropriate.
Developing a value system starts early. I wore uniforms to school, which took care of the competitive clothing idea. Then in the 10th grade, I switched to Beverly High and discovered all the popular girls were wearing cashmere sweater sets. Immediately, that’s what I wanted.
My mother, who was a stylish dresser from the East Coast, had more practical ideas. At Orbach’s, she showed me how to tell fine clothes from junk. It was policy to remove labels from designer end runs and replace them with the store label. But the quality of the fabrics, the silk linings and the way the seams were finished soon became easy for me to spot.
So, I was given $100 and told to buy my wardrobe for the year, or maybe just the first semester. I bought a powder blue, lambs wool sweater set (as close as I would get to cashmere), a glen plaid skirt and a couple of blouses. Then the money was gone, and I hadn’t bought underwear or socks. Oops. Later, I wheedled a few extra dollars out of my dad, and I made a couple of skirts in sewing class. That was it. It didn’t matter much, because I was destined not to be popular anyway.
When my daughters went to high school, they thought those popular girls were snobs. They earned money working other people’s horses and spent it on riding clothes.
When one of them won a medal class, I asked if she wanted her photo in my sister’s magazine. She asked what it cost, and when I told her, she said she’d rather spend the money on new boots. Until that time, she’d never had anything but used boots. I was so proud of her.
Now she’s passing that on to her 6-year-old, who loves her cousin’s hand-me-downs. With any luck at all they’ll never have designer logos.
Now, if she could figure out how to do without the SUV or turn it into a hybrid, she’d have the “green” thing down too. Well, at least she’s not whining.