Upon further investigation, today, with the help of google images, I did understand Bobby comparing me to a flapper girl; my new short hairstyle is very similar to those hairstyles of the 20s and although my dress was not very flapper-ish, the scarf and stockings were. Someone else at the party did tell me I looked very “retro”. Another young girl complimented my whole outfit and finally, as I was leaving, even the coat check lady told me how much she loved my look. This all meant a lot to me as I come from a long line of vain women.
Back in those flapper days of the twenties, my Grandma Fanny was a “looker” herself. My mom told me Fanny would say men would stop their shaves in the barbershop when she walked by just to get a look at her. I don’t know if this really happened, but we would never doubt any of Grandma’s stories, especially those that gave credence to her beauty. After all, she is the root of our generational vanity.
My mother recently told me about when my Uncle Phil was getting married, my grandfather and one of my uncles accompanied Fanny to buy a gown for the wedding. She tried on the gown in the dressing room and the saleslady exclaimed, “Let’s show your sons how beautiful you look.” Fanny, quite taken aback, replied. “Only one is my son, the other is my husband.” The very next day, she went to the beauty parlor and had her graying hair dyed red.
Living with my grandma, as I was growing up, I will always recall how meticulously she would pick out her dress, how she would always weave her long gray-white hair into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and then come into my room for me to fasten the clasp on a set of beads to accessorize her outfit. She would do this each and every day even if she had nowhere to go. Even her last days in the hospital, I remember how the nurses’ aides took time to primp her hair, putting it in braids. Although she was dying, even they knew it was important for her to look her best.
That vanity carries on in my mother, Sylvia. Sylvia will tell you that when she got dressed for the day, when grandma lived with us, Fanny would say, “That- you’re wearing?” as if to imply she could do better. And so, mom made sure to get her hair done on Friday this week, rather than her usual Thursday, so it would be fresher for the Saturday event. “Try to sleep only on your back,” Allison, her hairdresser, told her before she left the salon, “then you won’t spoil the sides and you’ll just pick out the back of your hair in the morning.” When my mom woke up Saturday morning, I asked her if she was able to sleep just on her back. “I did,” my mom said, “and I really didn’t sleep at all. As a matter of fact, I felt like I was “laid out.” Her hair did stay in place, though. And she looked gorgeous. It was important to her, even at 87 years old, just like her mother before her.
Just recently my brother found a photograph of my mother, Grandma Fanny and my Aunt Dorothy. My mom must have been in her late twenties, Dorothy in her thirties and Grandma in her sixties. They were all dressed up, my mom in a stunning blue suit that accentuated her thin waistline, Aunt Dorothy in a cream colored dress with her fancy onyx pendant, and Grandma in a black lace frock. My aunt was recovering from a broken wrist, and as a gift, we framed the photo and sent it to her. My cousin, Liz, her granddaughter, was with her when she received it. Liz told me yesterday, she couldn’t help but laugh when Aunt Dorothy, now 94, looked at the photograph and said, “Who the (expletive) is this? I never looked like that. I was never that young and pretty.” Yes, we forget that younger version of ourselves, those beauties we used to be. But who says that beauty and vanity are meant only for youth? My aunt, like her mother, still remains attractive, even at 94; her smile still lights up a room, her stature still strong and straight and reminiscent of the lovely younger Dorothy, who used to show off her tap-dancing abilities to me.
A few weeks ago at the senior citizen center, my mother had a conversation with a very dumb old man. The dumb old man said, “I don’t know why women spend so much money on the beauty parlor. We don’t even look at their hair and their faces.” My mother asked, “What do you look at?” “Other parts,” he answered. To that, my mother walked away, thinking, “pig” to herself, “what makes him think we want to look good for them, anyway? We do it for ourselves.”
I admired all the female descendants of Fanny, yesterday- my cousin Regina, a young beautiful grandma, her beautiful daughter and granddaughters carrying on the tradition of vanity, while we carry on the tradition of our heritage. My beautiful cousin, Nancy, who complimented my hair and said she might copy my cut. And my own two daughters--Beautiful! I think of Grandma Fanny, who used to say that to me even when my hair was in bear-can curlers.
So here’s to all the ladies out there, young and old, tall and short, all shapes and sizes, who take the time to look their very best. And here’s to my 87-year old mom, who still obeys her mother and always takes the time to dress up and “make up” for a special event or just to be inside on a cold wintry day, like today.
And here’s to me, lady in red, who just might be bringing flapper back.
