Fashion Unconscious
By Heather Reid
f clothes make the man, then I live with a rainbow dragon and superhero ninja who are in firm opposition to the premise that socks come in matching pairs. I’m not sure what sort of men I’m raising, but they certainly are colorful.
I think I was first aware of fashion as a concept when we moved from rural Pennsylvania to Florida when I was ten years old. The culture shock was as overwhelming as the heat. My exposure to style up to that point was full-on Preppy couture: Bermuda bags, khaki pants, and ribbon belts ruled the day, and I knew nothing else.
The dress
code at my
new school
was
completely
foreign to
me. The cool
girls did not
wear straight
skirts with tiny embroidered whales or pleated chino shorts, but instead sported varying shades of jewel-toned Dolfin shorts. For the uninitiated, Dolfins are satin running shorts with an underwear-covering liner and slits up the sides. Think Richard Simmons, or for a more regional example, Hooters.
I