And now for something completely different: An Ode to Spandex.
No, seriously. Even though I am completely out of physical energy at this time of night, I made myself put away laundry. I need to flip my dressing room over to its other use, as a guest room, so tidying was in order. I'm running out of drawer space, and I made a mature, honest decision: I will never go back to wearing underwire bras again. Until two years ago, when I let the pain of a tumor pierce my consciousness and change my behavior, I let those awful wires torture me for my whole adult life. I no longer feel the need to bruise the sides of my torso in the pursuit of arbitrarily-shaped breasts. I pulled fifteen years' worth of bras out of the drawer they've been stuffed in. There must have been six or more sizes in there. (I gained and lost a lot of weight in that time.) Each one I touched was a memory, and very few of them good. I haven't yet thrown them away. I need a few hours to convince myself that no one buys these at the thrift store I donate to regularly.
I get the feeling, based on tweets and the ads Facebook targets me with, that I am not the only one going through this life-altering change. For that matter, I suspect there will be a major pushback if retailers try to lure us back into non-stretchy clothes at all. We all had a chance to remember how good yoga pants and slouchy Henleys feel. How could we ever wear hard clothes again? Miss me with that nonsense.
I think I have voiced this before, but what did science fiction costumers know that we didn't? Think about it. Buck Rogers, Battlestar Galactica (the one from the 80s), Logan's Run... there were a lot of jumpsuits, tights, and flowy fabrics in that whole genre. Who needs flying cars? This is the future I needed.
I'm going to reuse a photo from Sunday. Think of it as the sun setting on an era.
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