On Fashion
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
I started out to write about matinees this afternoon. If you are getting up there, you will remember the Saturday afternoon movies, especially the serials. I was wondering at the time what lunatic came up with the Phantom’s grey underwear that went all the way from the soles of his feet to the top of his head with just his face hanging out. I was actually going to write something stupid (imagine that) and to do that I looked up the current fashion designers to find one to blame it on. We, my friends, are in the wrong business.
Giorgio Armani’s little empire is worth $9.9 Billion. I know lawyers who aren’t worth that, not many of course, but some. Ralph Lauren is running a close second struggling along with only $8 Billion. How’s that for a stupid statement, ‘a close second’? Close, like a paltry $1.9 Billion smackers close; that’s more than some of us will make in a lifetime.
The more I thought about it, the more I decided it really couldn’t be that hard to design a dress, a bit of fabric here and there, maybe a button or two, some cleavage, well maybe quite a bit, and you’re in business. Granted most of the good designers are Italian, but if an American like Ralph can do it, it certainly should be a snap for a Canadian like me. I am already considered a fashion leader by some. By ‘some’ I mean hobos, derelicts and newspaper editors (which is the same thing).
I guess designing a man’s suit would be fraught with difficulties, and even more fraught if you don’t know what ‘fraught’ means. As stylish as I am, even I have no idea what style of pant-leg is in these days. I have several pairs of casual pants hanging in my closet, or under the bed, and have no idea what pair will get oohs and aahs from the ladies and which will send them running from the room giggling. I have two with stovepipe legs that cling to my shanks like Saran Wrap on a drumstick and two that flap in a stiff breeze. I have one with cuffs that I never wear. Cuffs, as far as I know, were put on pants to help smokers hide their ashes when the hostess forgets to put out ashtrays.
I could never work in men’s fashion, not because I have no taste in clothes, and I haven’t, but because I would never be able to measure a man’s inseam without blushing. As for helping a young lady fit into a pair of jeans… well I would give it the old college try, after all I am a professional, but I’m sure the whole experience would end up with me in court, my fitting career short-lived, and my head severely bruised, if not missing altogether.
So I guess I best stick with haute couture women’s fashions; which is fine by me since that’s where the money is. There is a cost to getting started of course. One can’t just walk in off the street and make the big bucks. First I’ll need a cloth measuring tape. The steel Stanley Power Lock 16-footer I use around the house would be hard to use when measuring milady’s waist and (forgive me, but it must be said) bust.
That reminds me, a woman went to the store to buy a new bra. The clerk said, “What bust?” She said, “Nothing bust; it just wore out.” I guess you have to be in the fashion business to get that knee-slapper. You see the clerk was asking… oh, never mind.
Do ladies still get their colours done? I remember at one time it was important for the fashion-conscious Ms. to know if she was a summer or a winter when buying an outfit. A woman would feel like a perfect ass if she appeared out of season. I suppose the best way to tell is to go outside on a cold November day. If madam’s bum turns blue, she is a winter. If it turns red or gold, she’s a fall, all three colours; she should see her dermatologist right away.
Finally there is one more cost that is an absolutely necessity. One must buy a good quality fan. Why, because Karl Lagerfeld carried one and when Karl croaked he was worth $300 Million. Not that much in the fashion industry maybe, but it would keep me in single malts for a week or two.
(Image Supplied)
