Has the bad-date grapevine withered?

Most of Canada and about eleven persons in the rest of the world know we now have a Canadian media-personality sex scandal.

You can read all kinds of opinion about the CBC radio host and the women involved, so I will leave that aside and say, the scandal made me think of my old days as a single, early-thirties woman in the same city, Toronto.

The pubs where I met my friends for after-work drinks are mostly gone now, but others have taken their place, and I wonder whether the informal, reciprocal caretaking that I remember still operates. 

In the early '80s, before the internet, if a woman asked around she could learn quite a bit about a man she was thinking of dating, or maybe just starting to see. You would not believe the details I heard in those years; if a man about town thought his preferences were private, hah! There were no really blind dates. 

Sometimes the information came unbidden; a woman I knew and trusted phoned to tell me someone I had begun to date had, in another city, recently been charged with uttering violent threats to women via phone calls. 

Sometimes a girlfriend's partner would weigh in on a prospect's reputation. I remember my pal Bob telling me, "He's a pretty good bloke, but don't think of him as someone you'd settle down with." 

There might have been some false negatives (you discounted the bitter ex or unfounded gossip), but overall, the system worked. 

Back then, a girlfriend agreed to a tryst at a hotel with a man (strangely, he had the same occupation as Ghomeshi). They had met before, and she was interested in things progressing. When they were alone in the room, he suddenly began to hit her, an act she had no idea would happen. She had the equanimity to tell him his presence in the hotel was known to others, and he backed off. She hadn't asked about him; because she heard him on the radio, she felt as if she knew him.

I'm not blaming or shaming the alleged victims. Rather, I wonder whether in the age of Facebook (which Ghomeshi used to contact several women he'd met at events), we have forgotten the old, reliable grapevine, and whether "friending" has usurped reputation. 

Are women more vulnerable because social media have replaced word of mouth?

Facebook leapfrogs the tentative introduction process, Tweets replace community connections, and the nature of fear (always present for women in such situations) has changed: after the alleged assaults, several women said they did not lay charges because of fear of reprisal—and especially chilling—fear of being harassed on the internet by the man's fans.


Changing up a chain

I'm thinking continually about jewelry value and how to make the most of what's in our wardrobes. Le Duc gave me a heavy gold chain years ago; lately, since I no longer dress in business attire, it felt formal. To change the mood and use a lustrous 14mm freshwater pearl just longing to be worn, I decided to reno.

The jeweler, Pam Chandler, sent me a shot of the pearl without the pin attached, wanting to know what I thought. It did not raise my pulse: just too plain

I asked for a more detail and (I think) mentioned India. Pam added faceted Sri Lankan moonstones to add interest without competing with that pearl. I was happy, and within budget.

 And worn:

My friend Kate, who has a similar chain, showed me another way to dress it down. One day, she was sifting through her jewelry box and found a ca. 1900 pin of her grandmother's. She pinned it to the chain, and voilà, a pendant.

Kate attached the pin through one link, but it's not necessary; you need a vertically-oriented pin sturdy enough not to strain when closed over the chain or a horizontal pin that is fine enough to thread through two or more links.

Here I am trying Kate's trick with my antique bee pin:

Play with your pins and brooches; button shapes hang well because the weight is balanced. If you don't wear it as a pin, a conversion to a pendant is not a compicated matter and well worth it if you like the design. (Several readers have also converted pins to necklace clasps.)

If scouting a new piece, look for a vintage pendant (or pin that can double as one); a little apparent age is part of the nostalgia, but make sure the pin or hook is secure.  

I'm smitten by an Edwardian flower pin, with its gentle patina and whimsey; price, $22 from Etsy seller Glasscreekstuio.

A Victorian seed pearl, opal and enamel pin/pendant; price, $179:


But we could go more modern, too. Here's a David-Anderson "snow crystal" brooch that coverts to a pendant, set with a native, rose-coloured Norwegian mineral, thulite, named for the mystical isle of Thule. BIN price on eBay was $199 and though it may be sold by now, I wanted to show this honey!

A vintage pendant makes a distinctive layering piece, and evokes a time when workmanship was several notches higher. Though I am showing pieces from online vendors, readers have scored treasures at vintage shops, church rummage sales or thrifts.

Keep your eyes open, stash a few twenties for the right moment, and tell us what you find!

Normcore and the grown woman

On a post showing the real women of Montréal, Dr. V.O. commented,
"On the topic of style, I'm wondering what you think of fall's continued elaborations of "normcore" looks (which you touched on in June) and the so-called "mom chic" that one sees at COS, Emerson Fry, and other hip brands. I find it interesting anthropologically b/c of its play with generation-bending versus other kinds of boundary crossing."

Dr. V.O. finds many things anthropologically interesting because she is an anthropologist, and she kindly encourages my interest in her field.

Normcore is the appropriation of classic, functional items by people of an age group more commonly associated with trend-driven buying: teens and young adults. Those items are worn to convey a non-consumerist position or at least preferences toward the low-key and lasting; what one trend-forecasting company called "the desire to be blank", while the Gap's current ads urge customers to "Dress Normal".

A fifty year old woman in an L.L. Bean Bayside twill skirt with its hidden comfort waist is not deliberately normcore, but her 20 year old niece in the same skirt is. 

Many young adults have no desire to own separate wardrobes for work and leisure. Normcare items are flexible and androgenous: fleece tops, cotton turtlenecks, sweat pants, oxford cloth button-downs. The cut is American ample; this is not APC. Barring a wedding, a normcore devotée has it covered with only a few dozen items.

Normcore over 50 

On a mature woman with an eye for colour and proportion, selected normcore pieces can blend with a preppy, snappy wardrobe, but she has certain shoals to navigate if she wants to look put-together rather than merely dressed.

Above: Inès de la Fressagne in rolled Levis, a white shirt, brown loafers: many old friends but— check the wide gold cuff and bracelet, the dark bra (which personally I would not do, but she's the icon here). C'est la manière, ma chère. Apparently she also carries a personalized L.L. Bean tote.

In the Gap's campaign, Anjelica Huston wears a more generic white shirt, wisely tarted up with assertive makeup, a dramatic brunette bob, what looks like a big emerald, and Michael K. Williams:

Man, I feel like a camper

I always enjoy Lands' End's Apostrophe quarterly, which tweaks normcore so much I have actually bought a few pieces (though certain items are just hopeless.) With any normcore vendor (typically a supplier to outdoor enthusiasts: Bean, Eddie Bauer, Woolrich, Orvis), you have to be very selective and eschew an adjustée fit, or have them tailored.

But here be dragons. Despite the appeal of a cabled sweater or duffle coat, I categorically reject the most egregious normcore signifiers, usually anything in which you could portage a canoe: Tilley rain hats, Crocs clogs, pants that zip off to shorts, and one-size fits all, except on expeditions

Also: woman of 50+ must not sleep in an athletic department t-shirt. Even alone. Especially if alone.

Why? Because such choices decrease your splendid, wholly-lived, majestic feminine mojo.  

An entire ensemble built of normcore sturditude moves into the territory my friend Beth, quoting one of her friends, calls "L.L. Bean dumpywear".  

So my Bean marinière gets a diamond and silver cuff and a big ring. I'd enjoy hearing how you move normal into more original expressions.

Bereavement: Julian Barnes and my old friend

One of our longtime friends, Donald, has lost his wife to an aggressive form of brain cancer, which took her in barely three months. 

I was reading Julian Barnes' latest book, "Levels of Life", when I got the news. Barnes' book explores, among other themes, his grief following the sudden death of his wife, the editor Pat Kavanaugh, from the same illness. 

That unstinting yet poetic exploration deeply influenced how I spoke to Don, when I learned what happened.

I had already underlined this observation:

"Early in life, the world divides crudely into those who have had sex and those who haven't. Later, into those who have known love, and those who haven't. Later still—at least, if we are lucky (or on the other hand, unlucky)—it divides into those who have endured grief and those who haven't. These divisions are absolute, they are the tropics we cross."

Don and I spoke at length one evening, on the phone, and I recalled this passage vividly:

"I swiftly realized how grief sorts out and realigns those around the griefstruck; how friends are tested; how some pass, some fail. Old friendships may deepen through shared sorrow, or suddenly appear lightweight. The young do better than the middle-aged, women do better than men... 

I remember a 'dinner-table conversation' in a restaurant with three married friends of roughly my age. Each had known her for many years...and each would have said, if asked, that they loved her. I mentioned her name; no one picked it up. I did it again, and again nothing. Perhaps the third time I was deliberately trying to provoke, being pissed off at what struck me not as good manners but as cowardice. Afraid to touch her name, they denied her thrice, and I thought the worse of them for it."

He also finds the source for his pain, supplied in a letter from one of his friends, a widow:

"...she wrote to me, 'The thing is—nature is so exact, it hurts exactly as much as it is worth, so in a way one relishes the pain. I think if it didn't matter, it wouldn't matter.'"

And "it matters" because of how Barnes views love:

"Love may not lead where we think or hope, but regardless of its outcome it should be a call to seriousness and truth. If it is not that—if it is not moral in its effect—than love is no more than an exaggerated form of pleasure."

But grief, he says, "does not seem to occupy a moral space. The defensive, curled position it forces us into if we are to survive is more selfish. It is not a place of upper air; there are no views. You can no longer hear yourself living."

No surprise, then, that Barnes considers taking his life, but realizes, "insofar as she was alive at all, she was alive in my memory" and asks himself, "... how am I to live? I must live as she would have wanted me to."

Without Barnes' witness to the wildness and depth of his grief, I might have stumbled through a conversation focused on facts and details. But thanks to his magnificent writing, I was able to stay with my friend to reminisce about their love for one another, and the passage he had recently entered. 

Conversations with bereaved friends grow more frequent. I hope to be present to each as he or she wishes—to not avoid mentioning the absent partner, as Barnes' friends (and some of my mother's) did, perhaps in a misguided wish to "not bring it all back". 

It's a scary conversation when one is relieved of sure-fire comforts and clichés, but it's real, and it is just one of the ways we can take care of one another, as this generation faces its last decades.

The daughter of a frugal woman ponders her legacy

Among the handful of blogs I read regularly is that of Frugal Scholar, an articulate university prof who is (her term) "pathologically frugal". She's written a from-the-trenches post, "Is Frugality Fun?"  

Spoiler alert: it is for her.

Frugal (We have corresponded personally so I am privileged to use her first name) makes a bit of money re-selling thrift finds and scores nifty gifts for her young children and their friends. Very occasionally Frugal hints at the dark side of frugality, a tendency to buy just because something is such a deal. (She often spots this and resists.)

I am the child of a Depression-era, penny-pinching woman who had little of Frugal's zest, and heaps of the self-righteous judgment some uber-frugal can display. 

Every blessed time she saw me, Mom asked how much I paid my hairdresser and would then upbraid me; she never met a MagiCuts she didn't like. One day, I shot back, "But see what you get for $16?", which spun her into huffy silence. But, I felt, she asked for it.

I am dismayed when frugality tips from responsible, value-conscious consumption into anhedonic self-denial that sucks joy out of life. A childhood with just such a mother formed us. 

My brother lives large (and made sure he could fund that). My sister, who died years ago, married a man so cheap that he permitted them to own but one set of sheets at a time. My modus operandi has been to closely observe consumption—including its rationale and results—while rejecting frugality as a paramount principle. Dad's bon vivant genes mitigated Mom's. 

I'm especially annoyed about freeloading. The community agency where I take French class sometimes places bags of free bread on a bench for clients to take; one of their programs is food security for families in need. A classmate takes a bag each time, saying "I only eat bread when it's free." I know she has a very comfortable financial situation. (For that reason, Dad forbade Mom to shop at charity thrifts; we had to sneak as if visiting a shooting gallery.)

And yet, inside me is a frugal woman screaming to get out. Sometimes, I let her. As Frugal says, a Goodwill score is terrific fun, and you've rescued a garment (Frugal finds Chloe!) to live another day. But mostly I'm frugalish, reheeling shoes the second they begin to tilt, refusing overpriced, logo'd goods, avoiding out-of-season produce: the usual good habits, nothing fancy.

Mom's influence is never far, so when I buy something at full price—even if I urgently need it—I see her pursed lips and practically hide it from myself as I carry the bag home. 

Frugality relates to self-worth, security, and our reaction to the rapid running of life's hourglass. Like other virtues, it can't exist without its opposite pole, so let's splurge occasionally—a fine bar of soap? a box of ruby raspberries?—and enjoy every last morsel with vibrant, intense pleasure.

 Morning, Mom; call if you want to go to the Sally Ann.


Thanksgiving: Celebrating life's milestones

On (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend, our son Etienne and his sweetheart Tash became engaged, to everyone's delight.

Etienne planned the moment carefully, choosing to propose at her mother's country house. 

He prepared a thermos of hot chocolate, invited Tash for a walk, led her to the end of the dock, and asked the classic question-with-a-ring. 

He chose a vintage Art Deco three-stone sapphire:

We met for a shopping expedition a week before; associate Francine and owner Jeff of Daisy Antiques in Montréal had an enchanting collection. His budget went much farther, and buying vintage reflected the couple's values.

Toward evening, revelers blew conch shells, a family tradition, as the sun dropped toward the lake and magnificent fall colours blazed behind them.

Etienne's brother Jules, a butcher, made the boar-and-pork charcuterie served for hors d'oeuvre.

He's also a pro oyster shucker, so shucked Choice Harbour oysters with Tash's youngest brother, while wearing what Canadians call "The Kenora Dinner Jacket", double flannel plaid, Blue Jays cap optional.

The engagement was not the only celebration. Tash's middle brother blew out his birthday candles and her niece, four months, made her first visit to the country, with her mother:

Sapphires are pretty; babies are precious!


Jewelry: Ornate, detailed, divine

As I pass through a busy street or other prime people-watching spots, I often see women in generic jewelry. Real, classic, but the jewelery equivalent of a bowl of oatmeal. Women buy this because it "goes with everything", and I too have a few passe-partout items.

Oatmeal is comforting, healthy and excellent value, but sometimes you crave a chocolate truffle or a little wedge of brie, a luscious bit of unctuous delight.

But women can seize up when considering a jewelry purchase beyond the classic, hence, today's stroll through the Passage.

Two guidelines for wearing an ornate piece:
1. Take it off-road: instead of pairing with a dressy outfit, wear it with a simple sweater or tee, and
2. Don't cut corners. If it's good quality you will wear it often, with joy, and if not, it sits in the drawer. As you increase the ornateness, fake gems and metals can look tacky, though some vintage costume pieces are magnificent.

I prefer ornate rings and earrings to necklaces; necklaces are the print dress of the jewelry world, very memorable—and they can be heavy. 

Nor does ornate equal blingy; I'm talking texture, richness of materials, saturation of colour, not massive, clanking scale.

Let's window shop!

Admittedly costly, but here to build the eye is the Blooming Daisy ring by the Turkish master jeweler Sevan, a three-dimensional intaglio carving inside a lemon quartz flanked by (low whistle) green diamonds. A showstopper with an accompanying price tag ($13,400). 

Whew! Let's try to drop some zeros, shall we?

Channeling Sevan's boho chic but much more affordable: earrings from Beladora, that trove of chic and unusual treasures: pink sapphires set in blackened silver. Price, $495. 

If longing for lush colour on your finger, spring for this garnet and turquoise ring from the '70s, rich gems set in 14k: the real thing, baby. From Beladora; price, $695.

Love gold hoops, but what if they had that something extra? These Georgian (ca. 1910) French earrings of 18k rose and green gold set with garnets, for example, from The Three Graces; price, $1,950:

Cathy Waterman Diamond Star Earrings: blackened 22k gold set with diamonds, a beautiful design from a renowned jeweler; price, $3,360.

The finale! A modern, nature-inspired necklace light enough to wear all day: London jeweler Roger Doyle's ruthenium (a material related to platinum) and gold-plated silver orchids set with diamonds. Price, £3,000.

Ornate jewellery costs more than simpler designs because of workmanship and use of more materials. Design and fabrication are critical elements; a badly-designed ornate piece looks fussy and busy. The vendors in this post, as well as First Dibs and auction house sites are free displays of the finest examples. 

It's worth saving for one standout—your signature—and that piece will, I predict, please you infinitely more than a safe classic that no one, including you, really notices after the first six months.

Hair: Give us a crack at current styles

Classic bobs, ponytails, pixies and the shoulder-length mane: popular styles for women past 50, and I'll head off defensive comments by saying these are beloved classics for a reason: cut well, they look current and pretty.

I also see the retiree buzz job, the the man's-cut-on-a-woman helmet. I'm more leery of this one; only the rare grown woman doesn't look like she's out on a day pass, but stylists dole it out anyway.

Some of the current looks seem off limits to clients who need bifocals to read the bill. I'd like to see them at least offered, even if we decide against them.

It's not always the stylist's fault; my friend Alice looked at her 8th grade graduation photo one day and realized that she had not changed her cut for 45 years. (She found a new salon and got a fab makeover.) 

The styles below are all riffs on classics; it's the little detail that updates the 'do. None may be for you, but just like window shopping, it's useful to see what's current.
1. Undone braids and twists

We were the genration to own the ponytail, and it still lends a crisp, classic vibe to long hair, which more of us are keeping. But there are some updated long styles that would look stunning with grey hair.

I love the insouciance, the wink of the fan of ends, and the fact that you can garden in this style and not have to keep pushing it back. Yes, you do need to essay a side French braid, but that's a fun life skill to acquire. 

Girl, if I never see a lank ponytail trussed with a banana clip again, it's too soon. The young'uns deconstruct the updo with twisted sections. Works well on medium to long hair, just taking sections and playing.

Here's a curly version with the twists moved to the nape:

Directions and ideas are here; and take a look at another romantic braid, the fishtail. If you are worried about the pins showing, get some good-looking "tortoise" ones  and they'll seem deliberate.

2. Po-mo pixies

A pixie shows off our eyes, and we love the carefree charm, but too many  hairdressers see you're past fifty and the next thing you know, every bit of softness can get sheared off.

The "relaxed pixie" with its longer top and nape updates this super-short cut. A good stylist can create your own variation.

Note too that the sweeping bangs start a little further back on the crown, a good trick for thinner hair.

Its downtown cousin, the undercut pixie, with a versatile long top layer, can be worn with that top tossed back or to to the side, as Garance Doré shows in a cheeky 30-second video of herself playing with her new cut:

3. New bits for a bob 

The classic side-swept bang, ubiquitous and practical, does avert the need for a precise trim every few weeks. But the asymmetrical bang, which works with any length of bob, is edgier. Why don't we get us some edge? 

We own classic bobs, but how often does a hairdresser suggest we try a half-up knot as a looser, lighter effect?

It comes down to a hairdresser's sensibility, which may not coincide with his or her technical skill. 

As wardrobe stylist and author Sherri Mathieson observed on her blog:
"I've met people over 80 that have more sense of real style than 20 year olds. So it has less to do with age than the more important—exposure (geography, family, friends, job), curiosity and interest. 

And then your true ace is—(drumroll please!)how you absorb the information of what you see."

Some stylists are not absorbing the information; they're wearing Gran Goggles when a client over 50 gets in the chair. 

And when they do, what an improvement! Here's an example, retrieved from Good Housekeeping's site. Maryellen is 60. Here's the "before" bob. As she herself said, "I look like a mushroom."

A new cut and colour (and more current clothes) take Maryellen from the '90s to now:  

(I'll bet some of you are hankering to offer suggestions for the glasses, too.)

Too often they let us drift along, asking "Same as usual, right?" If you've found the stylist who has both eyes that see and hands that create, you're a lucky woman! 


When mite is not right: Taking on moths

Call it hubris; moth-free for decades, I though that counted for something.
But one day in late September, I pulled out a fine wool shirt out of my closet, and saw a drowsy moth staggering down the front.

I freaked. Where did they come from?

Turns out, through the back door. We have a small storage locker off site, to warehouse items that our sons want but can't use right now—mostly furniture, but also several antique rugs. I failed to store them properly; we had simply rolled them in a corner. 

The unit has a wire mesh ceiling, so moths, hearing the siren call of old, undisturbed wool, set up shop, then likely jumped to something carried home

We visit the unit rarely and had never seen anything, but this time, we found a wild kingdom, from larvae to mature insects (ewww).

The carpets were destroyed beyond repair.

If you rent a storage locker, check their pest-protection practices. Our facility is sprayed regularly, but because of that open ceiling, moths (or their nasty friends, carpet beetles) carried in by someone else become free-range. We cleaned thoroughly and took all wool out. The unit now looks moth free.

The evening one fluttered by in our apartment, I knew they had breached our home. Searching frantically, I found a drawer full of wool berets, infested.

Several friends made their own discoveries after hearing my plight. Where their new pets were hiding:
- Vera's armoire, where she had sentimentally kept  (but never worn) her mother's old fur coat,
- Helen's daughter's closet; N. had long moved out, but kept some favourite old clothes there, and
- Natasha's spanking new apartment; they seem to have crashed the housewarming, arriving from somewhere. 

Natty's lavender
Natty asked me to buy her a kilo of lavender from the market; lavender or cedar sachets have some deterrent effect (depending on concentration) but do not vanquish an infestation according to this Guardian article
For a good tutorial on both prevention and dealing with the sons of bitches pests if they gain a winghold, see this article, and here is Martha Stewart's advice.

No free lunch!
The only guests I want are the kind who come over for a roast chicken dinner, not the type who say, "Hi, if you're not wearing that sweater, can I eat it?" But they are here.

I shall fight in the closets, I shall fight in the drawers, I shall fight around the baseboards; I shall never surrender.

Has anyone tried those pherome-emitting traps?