A cold morning sent us southward on what I guess I’m going to call the 5th Ave. Loop, as we march down Thomasville Rd. to 5th and then over to Monroe. It’s a little shorter than our normal Lake Ella route, but a) it was cold and b) I was running late.
I punched the alarms off as soon as they lit up, which is proof enough that I am still in recovery mode from this stomach flu thing. 🙁
(latergram: I stopped by CVS on my way to work in order to buy microwavable rice and chicken soup for lunch; things are progressing but slowly, apparently.)
Yet even so, Keely is better than any clock, belly flopping on me by 6 am to roust me up and out the door.
One reason I enjoy the 5th Ave. Loop is that it takes me by Sparkles, a boutique women’s clothing store on the corner of Thomasville & 6th. I have never actually gone inside — I’m fat and 50, absolutely nothing there would fit me in size or style — but it keeps me up to date on fashion trends. Then I wondered why I care. I stopped and looked at an outfit that, in another life and body, I might have worn, but in this world never have and never will. Why do I care?
It is ingrained in me to be aware of fashion trends, I guess in the same way it is for men to know what current news is in the sports world. My ex, who loathed sports, could nonetheless tell you which football teams were “winning” that year and who were playing which championships. We have these undercover gendered languages based on presumed interests that we have to be nominally literate in or be questioned as to why we are not.
I do not care if bohemian or 90s indie or flapper fashions are “in” and those trends have zero to do with my style choices (except indirectly when I cannot find actual 30” inseam pants because capri cuts are popular, wtf). Yet I stop and I look and judge and remember.