This is the premiere of our new column, which on its surface would appear to be about me, but is really meant to be by, for and about women -- our strengths, weaknesses, talents, fears, obsessions. For some reason, I wrote about clothes. Then I asked three other women to write pieces, and they also wanted to write about clothes. Do women care about clothes? Do you think? What else is on your mind? Let's hear from all you goddesses out there. Surely I'm not the only one.AGING was a horrible prospect when I was 10. By that time I had already surrendered to the inevitability of white hair, age spots and wrinkles, so these things did not frighten me. Instead, I was bothered by the poor examples set by adults I came into contact with. For one thing, the Lawrence Welk-meets-Muzak tunes they listened to on the radio offended my emerging musical sensibilities, which would later lean toward Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Beck. To dress:
perchance
to dreamThe other thing that bothered me in my youth was the way that older women seemed to uniformly don sack dresses (these days it's the oversized shirt and skinny pants phenomenon) while adopting mile-high hairdos. "Woe is me," I thought. Did advanced age lead to a sudden onset of bad taste? I was not going to succumb.
I was so sure all my high school teachers were 40- to 60 years old. I was shocked to realize at a high school reunion that many were actually in their mid- to late 20s, barely out of school themselves.
Now, here I am, another year closer to the big 4-0 and whaddya know, I did not succumb, and that's another scary prospect. I've met people 20 years younger than myself, who leave me shaking my head in sorrow, saying, "So young and such a fud." And people my age? Forget about it. To me, I'm hopelessly normal. To them, I'm subversive. As one of my friends told me, "It's scary how you can look so normal."
There are aspects of my condition I can hide. For instance, no one needs to know I rushed out to buy Marilyn Manson's and Beck's new CDs. Maybe if I feel rich this week or next, I'll pick up the Chemical Brothers' "Brothers Gonna Work It Out" compilation disc too.
ONE thing I cannot hide, however, is the clothes I wear. Like any nice local girl, I'm pretty quiet and don't like to draw attention to myself. But when it comes to clothes, I might as well be Madonna. I love feathers, boas, all kinds of faux fur, glittery rhinestones, mesh, lace, vinyl and Lucite.
My sisters often greet my wardrobe choices with an "ugh." They are all younger than me and seem to wish I would just be a respectable "office lady." (What do you mean zebra print is not a neutral?)
Instead, my style role models are Marilyn Manson and James Iha -- two male musicians. Sigh. The life of a female drag queen can be a lonely one, so for the most part, I try to fit in. My more costumey clothes never escape their closet prison.
But there's no taming this rebellious streak. At a recent Liberty House sale I picked up a fabulous black lace duster with a Mongolian wool collar. "Wow!" said the salesgirl. "Are you going to wear it to a party?"
"No, to work."
"I would love to be able to buy things like this, but I never go out," she said. "My husband and I just stay home."
"Well, make your own occasion," I advised. "If you buy it, then he'll have to take you out."
"No, I couldn't," she said, withwistfulness tempered by reality. Another one bites the dust. She looked 15 years younger than me.
I'll confess, the idea of getting to be 60 and wearing pink suede go-go boots doesn't appeal much to me, but if I feel good in them at 60, well, will we by then be such a right-leaning society that they'll be busting people for the clothes they wear? ... Say, officer, can I try on that hat? ...
Nadine Kam is the Star-Bulletin's Features Editor.
The Goddess Speaks is a column devoted to women's
thoughts, lifestyles and concerns. Submit writing to
the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, P.O. Box 3080, Honolulu,
96802, or send e-mail to features@starbulletin.com.