Rock the Silver

The Flomax guys hit on me

Have you ever read a headline when you are in a hurry, and you think it says one thing, but it actually says another? For example, a few weeks ago I saw a headline that read “Kerri Walsh Becomes a Man.”  Kerri is the überbuff bikini-clad beach volleyball player, and I thought, wow, now this is interesting.

But it turns out the headline was “Kerri Walsh Becomes a Mom.” 

Well, either way, congrats to Kerri. While we are on the subject of beach volleyball, I would like to know if men play this game. This is an Olympic sport, right? So, why is it always hot women in bikinis? Could they not get pole-dancing past the network censors? 

I’m rambling today. Sports, beach, wrinkles. I’ve been thinking about my skin ever since I saw Beth Daniel during the Solheim Cup, a women’s golf event. Beth captained the U.S. team. As a professional woman golfer, she would have spent a lot of time in the sun. I believe she is a year younger than me.

I'm wondering if she smoked as well. You know how old men, particularly old smokeys, get kind of a plaid pattern on the backs of their necks? I’m not saying her neck is old man plaid, but skin-wise, it just isn’t looking good for Beth. I am extra-motivated to take care of my neck.

I’ve been using Patricia Wexler skin care products for almost two years now, and I like the results. It’s not the most expensive product on the shelves, but it’s not free either. I am somewhat stingy with it – trying to make it last longer. Right after the Solheim Cup, I started slathering it on, making sure I got the neck, too. I thought I saw some plaid, so I’m back to wearing my bonnet for walking in the sun.

  

Today, while walking, I got one you go girl from a guy running past me, one honk from what looked to be stoned teenagers in a beat up Mazda and a looking good from a cluster of old men on bicycles who looked like the guys in the Flomax ads. I felt bad that I characterized my legs as tree stumps, when clearly they are shapely perv magnets. 

I learned a new term this week -- butter face -- it means everything looks good but her face. 

It kind of perked me up to get hit on by the Flomax guys. Strangers can make life interesting if you pay attention. I was at Neiman’s shopping for bras when a woman struck up a conversation with me. I’m standing there holding the little hanger with the bra and she is asking which one is that?  Do you like it?  Does it hold the girls up?  I tried to hide in the fitting room, but she was in the next one over, continuing to yak it up. There are worse places to hide than the Neiman’s fitting room, I mean, it’s like a country club in there. Still. 

Finally, I will end this Sunday ramble with an observation about the young. I’ve been reading How Not to Act Old by Pamela Redmond Satran. It’s hilarious. She said if you don’t want to act old, stop reading the Sunday paper. Young people don’t read the paper. If it’s that important, she says, the universe will text them the news.

I mentioned this to a smart 20-something of my acquaintance, and she said, “That’s so true.  “If something big happens, my mom will tell me.” 

So scared of leggings

I'm scared of leggings. I like how they look for the most part but have been unable to make a commitment. I thought they would go away, and I wouldn't have to worry about this anymore, but it looks like they are here to stay. In fact, I received an unsolicited email that describes them as a fall essential. Crap.

At first, I thought it was a body thing. Like only really skinny women who are six feet tall can get away with this look. But I have seen cute chunky young women wearing them, and they look great. I went to Nordstrom in search of answers and took this picture of their display:

  

This kind of supports my theory that leggings are designed for ageless anorexic mannequins with no ass. The chunky one in the middle is kind of cute, don't you think?  Still, those legs are like sticks! My legs are muscular, and I would say they look more like tree stumps than sticks. I Google "leggings and tree stumps for legs." The results are disappointing. Then I Google "women over 50 in leggings." It goes downhill from there. I had no success finding examples of older women rocking this look!

I poked around some at Nordstrom, but the other problem is that all the stuff to put the legging look together is not in one place. You actually have to know what you are doing. I saw this great display, but I never found the sign -- hey dumb ass, over here! The leggings stuff is over here! It was hard to imagine what I would look like, so that evening I crudely experimented with a look for me through the miracle of technology:

Am I hot, or what? Unfortunately, I have meaty legs, as well as hips built for childbirth. Also, I think this is a cute casual look but where would I wear it? I go to bed at 8:30.

Bottom line -- I am still scared of leggings, and I do not see them in my future.

Kinder, gentler exercise

New evidence suggests exercise will not make you thin. That would have been nice to know say, 30 years ago. I wonder where I might be in life if had, oh, I don’t know, finished Moby Dick instead of grinding it out in the gym. 

Exercise has many other benefits – heart, muscles, cute new exercise clothes. But the results of some recent studies say too much of it just makes you hungrier and you eat more. It becomes a vicious cycle, and fat usually wins because one giant muffin more than compensates for one sweaty workout. You work out more because you ate the muffin, then you eat another muffin because you deserve it.

I was a fanatic about exercise when I was younger. That was because I was fat as a teenager and young adult. I didn’t lose the weight until I changed my lifestyle and included exercise. But the study didn’t study me. In my case, it took a couple of years to lose the weight, but I was able to change my eating habits over time and avoided the dreaded pitfalls of working out and eating more.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve taken a kinder, gentler approach to exercise. I’m still pretty religious about making sure I move around, but I’m less obsessive. I walk when I play golf. That's about once a week, and it counts. Even 10 years ago, I would have come home from golf and run or something because walking and playing golf is not aerobic. Now it counts. Driving range … counts.

I walk or run or jump on my mini-trampoline 20-40 minutes two or three days a week. More often than not I only do 20 minutes. I have a weight routine that takes me about 30 minutes and I do that twice a week. I stretch before I go to bed and do some Perfect Pushups. You may recall that I started with one. One. I am almost up to 30, but I confess they are the girly kind on the knees. Still. Baby steps.

That’s pretty much it. I’m careful about what I eat, but nothing is off limits. I mainly watch portions, and I don’t eat fast food. I feel good. I’m fit and trim, but I’m not killing myself out there. I have more time to read, hang out, eat a nice dinner, whatever. It’s a more balanced life, and I am actually more toned and wear a smaller size than I did at age 30. 

So, maybe they are right. Exercise is not the secret to being thin. Perhaps the secret is understanding that a little bit goes a long way. As we age, I think being reasonably fit is essential. At the same time, exercise should enhance your life not rule it.

In other matters:

White flops were declared not cool in a poll posted on this blog. The vote was 65.5% not cool compared to 35.5% cool. Thank you for participating. I'm not throwing them away but will wear them with caution and only when I want to make a statement.

Deconstructing style for a young Jedi

Dear Stylish Young Coworker,

The great white flop debate continues. The essential question remains: cool or not cool? Thank you for inspiring this important discussion. I’m hanging with cool. The poll will be up for another week or so. I vow to be gracious in my defeat.

I would also like to thank you publicly for the influence you have had on my personal style. You are a wonderful fashion consultant, proving that I can have gray hair and look cool, and I am forever grateful. As Yoda said, “Always two there are, no more, no less: a master and an apprentice.”  It is a pleasure being your apprentice.

But powerful you have become, and the dark side I sense in you (Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones). I said my white flops were so not cool that they’re cool. You found this “interesting” and that's where I detected the hint of snarkiness. But you are right again! It is interesting. You said you would like to know more. Help you I can, yes.

I will start with a comparison to language. We learn the rules of grammar and sentence structure in school, so that one day we can be confident enough to break the rules and write with our own voice.  But you kinda gotta know how to put words together first.

Same with fashion. There are certain fundamentals of style, and then there are trends. One can balance the two and find a hip look. But true style confidence shines from within – it’s a combination of fundamentals and trends mixed in with who you are and what you think and what you like and what you remember and how you felt when you heard a certain song.

It’s about saying I don’t give a damn if white flops are not cool because I like the aesthetic of white rubber on tanned skin and it reminds me of lazy summers on the beach in Southern California, greasing myself up with bain de soleil and rolling over the waves “feet first” and listening to Mungo Jerry sing In the Summertime.

Call me a contrarian, but the white flops are starting to gain a status equivalent to my Tomorrowland lapel pin from Disneyland. Or my red plaid Christmas kilt.  Among the clothing and accessories that are so not cool they’re cool. You will have to fight me for them.

So, young Jedi, you have already mastered the fashion fundamentals. What looks cool now will not look cool 20 years from now. Sadly, there will come a day when you will miss big hair, shiny gold Daniel Green slippers and animal print stirrup pants.

Say it to you, I do. Embrace style, but hold dearly to the things you love. Let your next 20 years be about living a rich life and discovering what rules are worth breaking.

May the force be with you.

White flops

The photo in my last post featured my newly pedicured foot wearing white flip flops, or flops as the younger folks call them. I want to reaffirm that I only wear them home from the salon when my toes are wet. OK, once to Target.

My stylish young co-worker is of the opinion that they are not cool. There’s a poll. I hope you will vote. I think white flops are so not cool that they’re cool, perhaps adding to a certain je ne sais quoi. But you be the judge! 

In other matters:

• Sonia Sotomayor is the new Supreme. I’m kind of neutral on her politically, but image-wise, I do think she needs a “wise gay guy” to find her some new clothes. Of course, maybe with the robe it doesn’t matter. By the way, she's 55 and her hair is looking awful dark ...

• My husband, who was shamed on my blog for wearing Hawaiian shirts with sneakers and running socks, purchased a really cool pair of Keen sandals. We were going out to eat last night and he came parading out of the bedroom in these funky news shoes, and I was like, baby, baby. He had a new haircut as well, and I was actually kind of proud to be seen with him. He said don’t put this on the blog, and I said OK.

• My hair is growing. I probably have a bob already, but it lacks shape and my appointment isn’t until later this month. I’ll post new pictures then. Remember I said it was dry and crunchy? I blame the blue shampoo. I recently discovered that it’s drying, so I’m using it a lot less frequently. The silver is really shiny now, and I'm playing it up with lots of gray and silver accessories. A guy stopped me in the hallway at work this week and said, "Wow, your hair matches your attire!

My pedi little problems

Gray hair is only about giving up if you actually give up. I, personally, have become a high-maintenance beauty junkie fashionista since I started to rock the silver. Proof? I just got back from The Container Store, where I purchased a cute acrylic holder for my assortment of makeup brushes. My husband is like, who in the hell are you, and why are you in my house?

He likes the toes, however. Getting regular pedicures now. While a well-groomed foot is not a substitute for intellect or compassion, I would rather think about my toes than why greedy scumbags on Wall Street are going to get billions of dollars in bonuses after driving the economy into the toilet.  I’m weak that way.

Sadly, my most recent pedi came undone while I was contributing to the bottom line at American Airlines and keeping the Mexican economy afloat after the Swine Flu scare. I found that bathing in Caribbean salt water for several hours a day is hard on a girl's toes. I was in bad need of a pedi by the time I got home, but I was feeling monied out, and I said, silly, just do it yourself!

It’s a long story, but let’s just say I spent the week wearing close-toed shoes, which came to the attention of my stylish young co-worker.

Her: Oh, where did those come from?

Me: They were my interview shoes.

(Awkward silence)

Me: I hardly wear them any more …

(Awkward silence)

Me: I know they’re not cute …

Her: They’re fine.

Me: I’m hiding my toes.

Her: I can see that.

Me: I need a pedi. 

Her: You can do it yourself.

Me: I tried that. Hence the shoes.

Her: Peep toes.

Me: Excuse me?

Her: Peep toe shoes. Less exposure, more forgiveness.

Peep toe pedi! She said my shoes exposed way too much of my toe, so a perfect pedi was almost mandatory (I wish I’d known that before I spent $700 on shoes). She said a peep toe shoe hid most of your toes, so all you see is a splash of color. How hard could that be?

That night, I did my toes again. The big toe and the one next to it looked OK, but the smaller ones – enough said. I went to bed. The next morning, I dug out some open-toes shoes that exposed less of my toes. Not quite peep-toe, but less exhibitionist that my normal footwear. And it was like magic. My toes looked great! A surge of energy came over me. I can do this!

First, I’ll make a list! This will be fun! I’ll need a footbath, for sure. An electric one that bubbles. Exfoliating lotion, Epsom salt, pumice stone, polish, cuticle stick, clippers … I was going to save a bunch of money. I'd get a special basket for all my stuff -- maybe even weave it myself from native grasses -- and find a special tranquil place for it in the bathroom.  

And then a voice said, whoa, cowboy, stop the stampede before somebody gets hurt. You? Sloshing a footbath around the house? Sanding dead skin without a critical injury?  Painting perfect strokes of bright lacquer toe by toe and patiently waiting for it to dry? Weaving anything but colorful tales? Cleaning up afterward? 

OK, it was just another crazy dream. Like when I was going to learn to make yogurt. Some things are just better left to a professional. I called a salon and was sitting in the special chair 40 minutes later.  In the hands of a master, where for $30, I could relax and think about the economy for a change.  

So, what do you think? Worth it? Or do you have better things to spend your money on?