Blend-setters

(September 12, 2000)

The overabundance of animal pelt patterned merchandise is, quite frankly, unnerving.

In the old days (last fall) fashion observers were treated to the occasional tiger striped halter on a voluptuous singer; perhaps a pair of cool zebra striped bell bottoms on an aging hipster. A scarf here, a skirt there-- it was fun & funky, and things were just dandy.

These days? We need a new word for "glut" to describe just how much crap a la Wild Kingdom there is. It's no longer just overpriced garments & accessories in the tonier bead & bauble boutiques, oh no-- it's everywhere. Sears, Marshalls, Kmart, WalMart, ButtMart , DorkMart , you name it .

And it's everything; underwear, outerwear, pillows, rugs, notebooks, pens & pencils, lamps, candles, dishes, bags, picture frames, sunglasses�

And it's anything; tiger, zebra, leopard, dalmation, cheetah, giraffe�cow? (Yes, cow. Mostly it's bags and purses that got saddled with the "cow" print. We all look like we work at Ben & Jerry's now, or else are campaigning for the milk movement. Got purse?)

And it's anyone; rapper, folkie, poor student, corporate drone, bus driver�(Grandma is that you?)

"But Lexi, since when are you a slave to fashion trends? Why do you care if the whole world dresses like Charo?"

I'm annoyed because of, not in spite of, my reluctant aversion towards that which is "trendy." Reluctant, because I have never said to myself, for example, "Lex, avoid Gap vests no matter how much you want one, because Gap vests are trendy!" Nope, if I happen to like the Gap vest I'm there, kids-- and I'd probably have three different colors.

However. I'm easily bored by the Ordinary, and just to the right of Ordinary is a line. A few steps over the line is Creepy, which vies for space with Stupid depending on the subject matter. Didn't you ever see The Stepford Wives? The scene at the end in the supermarket, with the big floppy hats and the frilly sundresses? That's the kind of Creepy I'm talking about. When Trends Attack, all individuality is obliterated and one person blends into the next. When I see eleventy-eight hundred girls on the T wearing Gap vests and faded denim bell bottoms, it doesn't make me think, "I want one too." I'm thinking, "Oh my frikkin' LORD, it's the Stepford Lives�thanks once again for FREAKING ME OUT, Gap!" Then I sprain my ankle running home to donate to Goodwill any innocent vest I happened to have owned, pre-trend. Because now it's ruined; it's just Creepy and Stupid.

And therein lies my animal pattern quandary: I have this ankle-length black velvet coat with leopard trim cuffs and collar. I found it, oh must be two years ago by now, among the old lady dresses in Marshall's, for a thrilling twenty bucks. As a club-hopping garment, this coat was funky, even a little seductive, and inspired real envy in those who didn't find it first. I just dig the coat, that's all. Or rather, I used to dig the coat. Sunday night as I ran out the door to the dinner at Central Kitchen and Ray Corvair Trio at the Plough, I discovered, to my chagrin, that I have lost all desire to wear this coat. Seemingly overnight, my adorable little find, once so funky and cute, has vaulted straight to Ordinary and is already quite in danger of becoming Creepy.

Maybe I could change the trim to something different. How about a lot of purple lace? Prince changed his name back to Prince after all--- so a Re-Revolution of doily-wear could be in order. Maybe I could single-handedly bring back paisley.

There's probably therapy for this, you know.