Linen is a must in the warm weather. It’s large weave keeps us cool, and its texture and hand are very attractive. Even the word is evocative: linens are a generic term for bed linens, (or “sheets” in plain English). Linen dresses put me in the mind of garden parties at dusk. Champagne cocktails in the 20’s … in Newport, Rhode Island or a balcony in the South of France.
Romance aside, I was wearing a white linen sundress today as I bit into the freshly-baked blueberry muffin I helped bake last night. For a split second, a juicy berry fell onto my lap. That’s all it took for a purple stain to appear.
As George F. Franks III pointed out on our facebook page, ”We all have a love-hate relationship with linen.”
Indeed we do. Summer colors and fresh fruits do not mix well, and frankly, even here in Manhattan, I get sick of black all the time. I have a black linen skirt and a black linen shirt from Agnes B. circa the 1980s, but it’s nice to get out of that rut for a few months every year.
I once had pair of grey linen trousers with a stitched label promising, ‘Guaranteed to wrinkle.” The label could have added, “the moment you put them on.” In putting them on they were already saggy and baggy. You could look at those pants out of the side of your eye and they would wilt.
But they were dark grey, and I might have been able to have eaten my blueberry muffin and to have had it too. (Oh Grammar! You are a demanding mistress!)
Guaranteed to Wrinkle….
Oh yes, so are we. Or so were we. In the post-Botox, post-filler, post-Photoshop era, I really cannot discern anyone’s age. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe “age is just a number.” Blech. ”You’re only as young as you feel.” Double blech. (And I’m not saying that because I feel like I’m 81. Those euphemisms make me sad because they are so unoriginal and somewhat dishonest. And, yes, today I feel like a bouncy 81 year old.)
So I am still going it au naturelle, and I’m not sure why any more. Maybe I thought I’d win some kind of prize for letting nature take its course on my face, but the prize is to look middle aged. That’s some prize.
But then I bumped into an old friend who’s … you know…. had the work….. and I have to say though her forehead and cheeks didn’t move, she did not look more youthful.
Skin is no longer the “tell.” Yet, I know I will still read articles about the promising new advances in keeping our skin young and firm, waging war against the free-radicals — (Not to be confused with the Weathermen, though I always do)— , and eliminating 70% of our fine lines. That’s inevitable too.
To your health!