Thursday
Aug042011
How To Dress For A High School Reunion
Thursday, August 4, 2011 at 3:56PM
“You have to look hot without trying.” Hot without trying. Effortless hotness. This was the good advise that Sally received from a very good friend, on how to present oneself at a high school reunion.
Scene from "The Virgin Suicides", Sophia Coppola, photo courtesy of www.toutlecine.com
Sally could not believe how much time had passed. She was chugging along, living her life, working in the fashion biz in The Big Apple, keeping her nose to the grindstone, and then whammo, out of the blue she got the invitation to her high school reunion in Small Town, Maine. Sally had not been back to Small Town in years. Back in high school, they used to call Sally, The Individual, which of course pissed Sally off. “Everyone is an individual!!”, Sally hotly complained to her husband at dinner. “And what made me such an individual? Because I read Vogue magazine and sometimes wore something other than jeans to school? C’mon!”. “It could be fun.”, her husband calmly replied.
Sally wondered if her first kiss would be there: Sean. Oh no, that’s right…he was an underclassman--the new kid from Detroit. Sean from Detroit could dance just like Bobby Brown. At the YMCA dance, Sally wore a swingy black and white polka dot skirt that her mom made. Sean held Sally’s hand. She was his girl. Awwwwwww!!!
Scene from "The Virgin Suicides", Sophia Coppola, photo courtesy of www.mixion.wordpress.com
“Is Sharon going?”, asked Sally’s brother on the phone the next day. No. Sharon wouldn’t be making it to the reunion. “How about Molly?” No. “Linda? Alley?” No. And no. “So none of your close friends from high school will be going to the reunion? Why are you going again?”. “I don’t know.”, said Sally. “Well, you have to look good.”, said her brother. No one knew why Sally was going to this thing but everyone agreed that she needed to look good.
It was decided. Sally would go. And so in the blink of an eye, Sally found herself checking into a quiet little Inn in Small Town, Maine, with the reunion party scheduled in only a few more hours. Sally was grateful that she had some time to relax and then get ready. Get ready for effortless hotness.
Imagine Sally’s horror when she unpacked her suitcase to find that the white drapey knit top that she planned on wearing was soaking wet with fancy green facial toner purchased at Barneys! And what’s that? Could it be? Oh my god! NO!! A big green stain? Right in front?? Shit!!!
Ok, calm down. They have a cutsie bar of soap wrapped up in paper—scrub a dub dub, get that damned green Barneys toner out! After some scrubbing and some frantic efforts involving a dinky hotel hairdryer, Sally had her outfit under control, just in time for the party. Phew.
Sally rode the elevator down one stop. Ding! She entered a sterile Conference Room with one lonely disco ball floating in the center of the room. They called it the Blue Room but it should have been called the Bland Room. “Hi, Sallllllll---yyyy!!”, mewed lady unknown. Shit. Ok, so relax. There are name tags. Everything will be fine.
And everything was fine…in fact, it was better than fine! Sally started to have a great time. “I think Josh likes your outfit”, said Mark. “Yeah?” said Sally, “He likes skinny jeans?” Mark didn’t answer. He switched gears. “The shoes are nice.”, said Mark, “They look complicated.” Sally looked down at her shoes. “Cage heels.”, she said. My work is done here, thought Sally. She could go home happy.
Scene from "The Virgin Suicides", Sophia Coppola, photo courtesy of www.fanpop.com
But Sally decided to stay anyway, she was having fun. “A bunch of us are going to the pub downtown after, you want to come?”, asked Kathy. What the hell. Sally decided to go to the pub downtown.
Albert drove her. Albert was known as The Genius. The Genius now works for NASA, over at the Jet Propulsion Lab. He recently made a significant discovery on Pluto, based on his observations from NASA’s Pluto Reconnaissance Orbitor. The discovery is still hush hush but between you and me it has to do with some little green martians. On the car ride over Albert spoke proudly of his greatest acheivement—his five month old cherub daughter. As Albert drove downtown and spoke of his cherub, Sally looked out the window.
The night before Sally had been stuck in traffic in the middle of Times Square, car horns blaring, and now she found herself in somewhere completely different, as foreign as Pluto. Small Town was miniscule, quiet, and abandoned. The town was struggling. The paper mill that employed so many back when Sally was in high school was now barely employed by only a handful of workers. So many workers had lost their jobs with no other skills and no where to go.
Albert pulled over, and as the car engine idled Albert and Sally tried to remember where the pub was exactly. Hmm. “Oh, it’s over there, by the river.”, said Albert. “Why don’t you park here?”, asked Sally. “I don’t want you to have to walk that far in those heels. I’ll drive closer.”, said Albert.
Once inside the Pub, Sally pushed her way through the dense crowd and ordered herself up a mammouth tumbler of cranberry with vodka. After a few sips, Sally boldly sidled right next to Brent: The Quarterback. In his day, The Quarterback played the field well, blazed past defenders with ease, avoided the Blitz all while making the cheerleaders scream, “Go Brent, Go!” He now runs a successful trust fund company in Pennsylvania.
Sally and Brent fondly reminisced about growing up in Small Town. “Remember First Grade with Mrs. Bray?”, Sally asked. “Remember the time I threw up?”, she added. (Sally was pretty tipsy by now.) “I totally remember that!” said The Quarterback, his eyes wide. Lightbulb moment. Then his face grew calm. He said, “You know, a lot of kids threw up that year because Mrs. Bray made us finish our milk.”
Ah, Mrs. Bray, bless her heart. She was the last of an era of teachers—the kind who wear cat eye classes and bouffant updos. She lined up the kids every morning to check fingernails. She pulled the boys by the ears into the coat room when they were naughty. She had a treasure box full of colored pencils for which kids would strive to earn. Silver was the top pencil. If you got to silver, you were special--you had achieved something!
First grade was a pivitol developmental moment. It marked the time when the kids started walking home from school on their own. Six year olds walking home a quarter of a mile by themselves. In the snow.
Sally said, “You know, shit happens…..but we had freedom has children.” Small Town was a true community. Neighboors were always there for each other. There were no “play dates”. It was “Mom, I’m going over to Jane’s house ok?”. “Be home for dinner.”, says mom. The Quarterback understood exactly what The Individual was talking about. Even the “shit happens” part.
“It means a lot when people make it back home. It’s very easy to go on with your life and forget where you come from.”, said The Quarterback to The Individual. The Quarterback spoke about how he strove to teach his children about appreciating all that they have and not needing to stand out. “That is very Maine.”, said The Individual, “What I don’t like about Maine is that standing out isn’t accepted.”. The Individual looked down at her feet. “Yes, kids can be cruel.”, said The Quarterback, quietly.
The Genius joined them. The Individual said, “But what was great about Small Town was that no one had money. Money didn’t matter. We were all the same. That was wonderful.” And The Quarterback replied, “Yeah. Because the outside doesn’t matter.”
There was a pause. There they stood together in the pub: The Genius, The Quarterback, and The Individual. The outside doesn’t matter. Well, it kinda does….but not really. Sally understood exactly what Brent was talking about.
Scene from "The Virgin Suicides", Sophia Coppola, photo courtesy of www.toutlecine.comSally could not believe how much time had passed. She was chugging along, living her life, working in the fashion biz in The Big Apple, keeping her nose to the grindstone, and then whammo, out of the blue she got the invitation to her high school reunion in Small Town, Maine. Sally had not been back to Small Town in years. Back in high school, they used to call Sally, The Individual, which of course pissed Sally off. “Everyone is an individual!!”, Sally hotly complained to her husband at dinner. “And what made me such an individual? Because I read Vogue magazine and sometimes wore something other than jeans to school? C’mon!”. “It could be fun.”, her husband calmly replied.
Sally wondered if her first kiss would be there: Sean. Oh no, that’s right…he was an underclassman--the new kid from Detroit. Sean from Detroit could dance just like Bobby Brown. At the YMCA dance, Sally wore a swingy black and white polka dot skirt that her mom made. Sean held Sally’s hand. She was his girl. Awwwwwww!!!
Scene from "The Virgin Suicides", Sophia Coppola, photo courtesy of www.mixion.wordpress.com“Is Sharon going?”, asked Sally’s brother on the phone the next day. No. Sharon wouldn’t be making it to the reunion. “How about Molly?” No. “Linda? Alley?” No. And no. “So none of your close friends from high school will be going to the reunion? Why are you going again?”. “I don’t know.”, said Sally. “Well, you have to look good.”, said her brother. No one knew why Sally was going to this thing but everyone agreed that she needed to look good.
It was decided. Sally would go. And so in the blink of an eye, Sally found herself checking into a quiet little Inn in Small Town, Maine, with the reunion party scheduled in only a few more hours. Sally was grateful that she had some time to relax and then get ready. Get ready for effortless hotness.
Imagine Sally’s horror when she unpacked her suitcase to find that the white drapey knit top that she planned on wearing was soaking wet with fancy green facial toner purchased at Barneys! And what’s that? Could it be? Oh my god! NO!! A big green stain? Right in front?? Shit!!!
Ok, calm down. They have a cutsie bar of soap wrapped up in paper—scrub a dub dub, get that damned green Barneys toner out! After some scrubbing and some frantic efforts involving a dinky hotel hairdryer, Sally had her outfit under control, just in time for the party. Phew.
Sally rode the elevator down one stop. Ding! She entered a sterile Conference Room with one lonely disco ball floating in the center of the room. They called it the Blue Room but it should have been called the Bland Room. “Hi, Sallllllll---yyyy!!”, mewed lady unknown. Shit. Ok, so relax. There are name tags. Everything will be fine.
And everything was fine…in fact, it was better than fine! Sally started to have a great time. “I think Josh likes your outfit”, said Mark. “Yeah?” said Sally, “He likes skinny jeans?” Mark didn’t answer. He switched gears. “The shoes are nice.”, said Mark, “They look complicated.” Sally looked down at her shoes. “Cage heels.”, she said. My work is done here, thought Sally. She could go home happy.
Scene from "The Virgin Suicides", Sophia Coppola, photo courtesy of www.fanpop.comBut Sally decided to stay anyway, she was having fun. “A bunch of us are going to the pub downtown after, you want to come?”, asked Kathy. What the hell. Sally decided to go to the pub downtown.
Albert drove her. Albert was known as The Genius. The Genius now works for NASA, over at the Jet Propulsion Lab. He recently made a significant discovery on Pluto, based on his observations from NASA’s Pluto Reconnaissance Orbitor. The discovery is still hush hush but between you and me it has to do with some little green martians. On the car ride over Albert spoke proudly of his greatest acheivement—his five month old cherub daughter. As Albert drove downtown and spoke of his cherub, Sally looked out the window.
The night before Sally had been stuck in traffic in the middle of Times Square, car horns blaring, and now she found herself in somewhere completely different, as foreign as Pluto. Small Town was miniscule, quiet, and abandoned. The town was struggling. The paper mill that employed so many back when Sally was in high school was now barely employed by only a handful of workers. So many workers had lost their jobs with no other skills and no where to go.
Albert pulled over, and as the car engine idled Albert and Sally tried to remember where the pub was exactly. Hmm. “Oh, it’s over there, by the river.”, said Albert. “Why don’t you park here?”, asked Sally. “I don’t want you to have to walk that far in those heels. I’ll drive closer.”, said Albert.
Once inside the Pub, Sally pushed her way through the dense crowd and ordered herself up a mammouth tumbler of cranberry with vodka. After a few sips, Sally boldly sidled right next to Brent: The Quarterback. In his day, The Quarterback played the field well, blazed past defenders with ease, avoided the Blitz all while making the cheerleaders scream, “Go Brent, Go!” He now runs a successful trust fund company in Pennsylvania.
Sally and Brent fondly reminisced about growing up in Small Town. “Remember First Grade with Mrs. Bray?”, Sally asked. “Remember the time I threw up?”, she added. (Sally was pretty tipsy by now.) “I totally remember that!” said The Quarterback, his eyes wide. Lightbulb moment. Then his face grew calm. He said, “You know, a lot of kids threw up that year because Mrs. Bray made us finish our milk.”
Ah, Mrs. Bray, bless her heart. She was the last of an era of teachers—the kind who wear cat eye classes and bouffant updos. She lined up the kids every morning to check fingernails. She pulled the boys by the ears into the coat room when they were naughty. She had a treasure box full of colored pencils for which kids would strive to earn. Silver was the top pencil. If you got to silver, you were special--you had achieved something!
First grade was a pivitol developmental moment. It marked the time when the kids started walking home from school on their own. Six year olds walking home a quarter of a mile by themselves. In the snow.
Sally said, “You know, shit happens…..but we had freedom has children.” Small Town was a true community. Neighboors were always there for each other. There were no “play dates”. It was “Mom, I’m going over to Jane’s house ok?”. “Be home for dinner.”, says mom. The Quarterback understood exactly what The Individual was talking about. Even the “shit happens” part.
“It means a lot when people make it back home. It’s very easy to go on with your life and forget where you come from.”, said The Quarterback to The Individual. The Quarterback spoke about how he strove to teach his children about appreciating all that they have and not needing to stand out. “That is very Maine.”, said The Individual, “What I don’t like about Maine is that standing out isn’t accepted.”. The Individual looked down at her feet. “Yes, kids can be cruel.”, said The Quarterback, quietly.
The Genius joined them. The Individual said, “But what was great about Small Town was that no one had money. Money didn’t matter. We were all the same. That was wonderful.” And The Quarterback replied, “Yeah. Because the outside doesn’t matter.”
There was a pause. There they stood together in the pub: The Genius, The Quarterback, and The Individual. The outside doesn’t matter. Well, it kinda does….but not really. Sally understood exactly what Brent was talking about.
Reader Comments (14)
Marking this one with the silver pencil for sure, Kate! Effortless hotness, with a lovely warmth. Good old Small Town!
A SILVER pencil?? Now that means something!!!!! Thank you so much, Kellina!
Yes! Hot without trying. I'd love some visuals :)
http://www.instylation.blogspot.com" rel="nofollow">Instylation
You have to try hard to look like you aren't trying. ;D Thanks, Marie!
too brilliant, chapter next please ...
your language ... The Bland Room
you are some writer
Madeleine....thank you for making my day. :D
xo
I can say this with absolute certainty, the effortless hotness was ACHIEVED!! As evidenced quite clearly by someone's Facebook photos. I was always "The Individual" and in fact two boys in 10th grade once told me that I was thought of as "Untouchable." Seems that my attitude scared the boys away and I was supposed to think of "Untouchable" as some kind of a compliment. Needless to say, I haven't been back to any of my reunions, but when I do decide to go...I won't settle for anything less than EH!!!!!!!!!!!
LOVE YOU KATE!!!
You are on Sally's Facebook? I'm so jealous!! Ha ha ha ha!!!!
Sally says "EH!" :D
Love you Lisi!!!!
Touching and sweet Kate. I gasped in horror at your toner disaster, thankfully it was crisis averted! Going back is a reminder of what's really important in life. You can take the girl out of the town...
Cupcake
xo
Yeah, I gasped too when Sally told me about that....ha ha.
Thank you, Cupcake!!!
I am usually the first, the first, to diss my small town. You instantly made my realize all that was good about it again (long repressed thoughts). I remember thinking I was such the individual because my grandmother took me back to school shopping at Urban Outfitters (or lordy). I scoffed at everyone and their Gap. But that was that made it so brilliant, everyone wore it because there were no other options and no need to worry about designers. So simple.
While you were shopping at fancy Urban Outfitters with grandma, my mom and I were scouring the Benetton outlet....ooohhh yeeeeaaaah!!! Ha ha!!
Glad you could relate. Simple is good. :)
oh Kate you really need to start writing your EGC book!! Brilliant piece of writing.
www.styleonthecouch.com
Oh be still my beating heart....thank you for the kind compliment, SOTC!!!!! Makes my day. :D