GROWING up everyone hates at least one outfit hanging in their mum’s wardrobe.
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Like the beige 1970s flares still doing the rounds in the early to even mid-1980s.
I remember my friend (ahem!) praying to the fashion gods to make sure that her mum never rocked up to the high school assembly in her high-waisted, flared pants.
All I can say is, the fashion gods have got a weird sense of humour!
Having decided to only ever be a “cool mum” in the style stakes, I was mortified when I realised this was actually an oxymoron.
While my bronze Havaianas, tan ankle boots and Infinity skinny black jeans have tween approval, there is a bunch of stuff hanging in my wardrobe that my daughters rate fair to middling at best.
They are convinced a pair of beige shorts I wear rarely over summer belong to their father.
“Are you wearing Dad’s shorts again, Mum?”
Then there was the pair of Country Road black and white, tweed wool culottes I got on sale a couple of years ago.
They were perfectly suited to the Border’s autumn or spring weather and fine with black tights for winter; they were both super smart and casual if need be.
That was until my tween daughter weighed in with her firm opinion on the tweed pants.
“You’re not wearing those Harry High Pants out of the house, are you?” she queries.
“Yes, girlfriend,” I say, “I am.”
Then I reminded her that “high-waisted” was bang on trend, her own two pairs of jeans were high-rise and someone had, in real life, complimented me on them.
She was incredulous: “But my jeans are not clown pants!”
“Enough,” I say, “I’m actually thinking they will be perfect for canteen duty.”
I decided to keep wearing the culottes to work but not necessarily to school pick-up.
When my school pick-up day changed at the last minute late last year, I found myself wearing the pants in the school yard. Fortunately, it was only my youngest I had to collect that day.
My sweet Grade One girl came straight out towards me before we walked out of the school, hand-in-hand.
“By the way, Mum,” she says, deadpan.
“I don’t like your pants.”
Deflated once again, those culottes got pushed to the side of the hanging space in my wardrobe.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Last Friday night I was scratching around for something vintage to wear in the Rutherglen Tweed Ride on Saturday. I had missed the Lifeline shop’s opening hours by 30 minutes.
I settled on a tweed jacket and cloche hat – my tween shot me a look when she saw me smuggling that hat out of the house – with skinny black jeans and runners.
When my husband and I arrived at Rutherglen Wine Experience we could not believe the top-notch tweed outfits on the 90-plus cyclists.
“You could have got away with your clown pants today,” my husband says.
“This is your tweed tribe!”
I now know that if my mum had only one pair of pants hanging in her wardrobe that I didn’t like, she’d probably done pretty well after all.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mums on Sunday.
Wear whatever makes you happy!
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