This past Saturday morning, my 6 year old daughter woke up, and decided that her and I should match our fashion statements for the day. We decided we were going to take a little drive to our local farmers market for a outing and purchase of veggies and flowers. Northern California right now is in the low 70’s this time of the year. So you really don’t need a coat.
After comparing wardrobes, she decided the only way we could absolutely match, would be to both wear black. I offered for both of us to wear jeans and a colorful shirt. Nope, wearing jeans is against every thing she stands for. So that was out the window. I tried offering leggings and yoga pants. You know, my usual daily uniform. Nope! We had to be “fancy”. So the only thing that would work would be both of us in head to toe black.
So she put on a black dress and I put on a flowy black shirt. And of course I needed to put on a black shirt so it looked like a dress. And because I haven’t shaved my legs in a about a month, I wore black leggings under my skirt. Sue me it is winter time. And who has sex when you have a 1 year old anyway? Since I wore leggings, she wanted to wear black tights under her dress. Lastly she settled on both of us wearing our black leather Mary Jane shoes.
She was so proud. Mommy and daughter, matching so fancy. And shit, for once I was cool for a split second. You better believe I was soaking in all that attention.
Before arrived to the farmers market, my sister-in-law stopped by pick up my husband for a run. Immediately she looked us up and down and asked in a very sincere tone, “Who’s funeral are you going to?”
After that, I started to get a little concerned that we didn’t look as cool as I thought. But oh well, off to the farmers market, mother and daughter, hand in hand. Walking around the farmers market, we received various interesting looks. People staring at us with concern, or smiles, or mixed emotions. I imagined their thoughts ranging from, “who died?” to “what commune did they belong to?” to “Poor child, her mother must be raising her to be a devil worshiper?” to “Do you think they have electricity where they live? Or just light candles at night and get up to milk the cows in the morning”.
The funny thing about all this, is that back in the day, I rocked the goth look. In high school, I was all about the black clothes, the dark make-up, the big army boots. My dark fashion statements represented my tormented misunderstood soul. I figured anyone who flashed a concerning look at my clothing choices, could just fuck off and go drink their yuppy wheat grass. Now that I am an adult, I have to say, I no longer feel I am a suffering soul. And quite frankly, feel more comfortable in brightest of colors. And I have to say, there is a level of comfort I find in wearing clothes that are the “norm”, even if it is yoga pants and a fitted tee. But at the same time, I think everyone should let their freak flag fly. More power to you! (ok off my soap box)
Back to my story. We rocked my commune/goth look. And my daughter was stoked that we looked the same. She was proud that her mom wanted to match her fashion suggestion. And proud that we belonged together in a public crowd. If she wanted us to go to the farmers market in clown outfits, I would wear a red nose and rainbow wig with pride. Cause these days are few and far between. Pretty soon, she will “just die” if we wear the same color underwear, let alone the same color shirt or pants. I have to soak up these little precious moments as much as I can. They grow up way too fast.