A Glamour DON'T

"Hey, that is me!"  I squeal, surprised to see myself in the pages of a magazine.  The photo is of me at a street fair in my long skirt covered with batik prints from Indonesia.  It is patchwork, but sophisticatedly pieced. The earrings I am wearing are the antique Afghanistan ones and my necklace sports a Tuareg medallion I had found in a store in Woodstock.  My black cami contrasts nicely with my Mexican embroidered scarf and jean jacket.  My 'Goddess figure' is exceptionally flattered by the photographer's choice of angle.  The only thing amiss is the black rectangle box over my eyes; not kinky, just added in some version of photoshop to save the magazine from getting my consent.

Then I saw the caption: "DON'T.  The sixties  wants their stuff back"

Noooooooooooooo........

For those of you who do not peruse Glamour magazine, the end page is typically a series of photos of women wearing a particular kind of style. Half the women and their garb are dubbed 'Do''; the other half are dubbed 'Don't'.  A page might show how women are wearing animal prints or pencil skirts or fur.  Celebrities tend to be the 'Dos' .  Unsuspecting women on the street are 'Don'ts', with only their eyes photoshopped out to 'protect' their identity.  After all, the Glamour editors need to sleep at night without any guilt.

I wasn't really on the Glamour end page, but I certainly could be.  I dress 'different '.  I live in long skirts and treasure the intricacy of ethnic handiwork; embroidery, batik,  Thai and Indonesia silver.  I appreciate the beauty of the 'not so polished, not so perfect'.  Perhaps I find comfort in garbing myself in something that reflects my nature. Or maybe I just want attention (as I have been accused); but looking different is a way I stay true to myself.  I do not follow a trend. I do not blend in.  I will not be what some magazine editor has the audacity to dictate.

Do I occasionally  hear giggles as I walk by? Sure.  Do I also receive compliments? Absolutely.  Do they matter?  No. I dress for me. I dress for me alone.

The sixties want their stuff back?  No way. This stuff is mine now.