Rebel Yell
My world is under attack. I know with all that's going on in the bigger world - elections to determine the new leader of the free world, a war in Iraq, the ending of the Friends dynasty - that this is no real news. However, I have to say it is. Somehow, the trend waves of fashion and culture have turned tidal and I find myself lost as I watch the world with which I was so comfortable wash away.

It all started with the news that my favorite bread store is going out of business. Citing the recent national fixation with Dr. Atkins and all things low-carb as primary reasons for his demise, Stanley is shutting his doors. And while I'm fighting for them carb, calorie and pound via excessive English muffin and bagel consumption - the new world and its anti-carb trends seem destined to say "no" to bread.

This tragic news coupled with the thought of living in a breadless society sent me into a tailspin. As I spun downward into a carb-depraved abyss, images of other life nuggets of goodness on their way 'out' flashed before me. Case in point: wearing a pashmina, possibly the most useful of all fashion accessories released in the last 10 years, is practically style death and has been since only 9 months after it was declared 'in'. By next year, I'll have to import bread from France and eat it in my basement for fear of societal rejection.

Depressed, dejected and otherwise devoid of glee, I couldn't help wonder...if our society continues to insist on changing, on embracing newness, on constantly slimming down everything from waistlines to laptops to clutter, and on constantly looking forward, aren't we going to miss all the things right here with us? I mean, I fully understand the need to let go of my platform loafers. (There are some things that are best thinner - heel shape being one of them.) But what's the rush in letting go of things like Levi's, Air Supply, and bread. Can you imagine a bagel-less existence? I think I might cry.

The problem is that if you're bucking newness and enough time hasn't passed for the word "vintage" to be applied, how is a girl to remain with-it, chic and otherwise cosmopolitan? We need a title. "Old-fashioned" sounds too grandmother, "retro" is too cool, plus I don't want to go that far back - I don't want to be 50's. I just don't want to rush away from the last couple of years. It's like software: as soon as I get comfortable with my current version - they make me change. "Dated"? No, that has negative connotations. Makes me think of Guess jeans with zippers on the bottom.

I was quite lost in my conundrum when a forever chic and perennially wise friend crossed my path. She was just in town for a night, but she stopped by my office and we had a coffee. She was, of course, decked in a very eclectically stylish mix of preppy. V-neck boyfriend sweater, little boy oxford, pearls, faded PDCs with engineering cuffs, Newbies with no socks. (No socks is key to achieve chic vs. geek.) If I had tried the outfit on my own, the result would have been dorky/sorority girl freak, but she looked decidely downtown chic. Like she dated a rock star. She's one of those people you take cool notes on. She doesn't even try. It just happens.

So I told her about my woefulness at losing my English muffins with extra-deep crevices for melted butter, and I bemoaned the fact that I didn't want to race into the future. I explained how I really liked that show Jack&Jill and don't understand why it was cancelled and how I don't understand reality TV. If that's reality, perhaps I should become an astronaut-ess so I could go live with aliens whose reality may be more like mine. (I bet martians would embrace bagels.) By the end of it, I was a blubbering mess. And I was wearing socks. Knee socks, if you must know. Pulled all the way up with a denim mini. A big loser all the way around as both are reportedly OUT, despite the fact that the mags were touting them as 'in' just a month or so ago. See what I mean? Racing into the future. I'm not ready to change styles again. It's frigid outside. I need knee socks. And bagels.

She laughed and said a number of things that I didn't hear because I was too worried about having snot on my face from my mucus-inducing breakdown. I'm sure they were all very insightful, and I'm sad I missed them. But when I was sure my face was clear of snot, I did hear this: "We have to live with our eyes open. We're not kids anymore. So we look and listen and learn. And then we live according to that wisdom. Who cares what's in Vogue? "

'Who cares what's in Vogue?' Shocking and revolutionary rhetoric, if you ask me. But I must admit that it stuck. Really, who cares? If English muffins with crevices filled with melted butter make my heart sing, do I really care that it's 'out'? As a matter of fact, is it possible that by being so "out", we are actually "in" again. Think of the charming old man. His coolness and charm are deeply rooted in the fact that he is not trying to be cool. He is just wearing and eating and doing what makes him feel comfortable. And the result is a wonderful hybrid of real.

And so, I have a new resolve. No more resolutions about changing, improving and thinning. Instead of pushing, pushing, pushing, to be cooler, hipper and more cutting edge, I'm just going to be. Even if it is my nerdy brand of be. And so, my friends, I'm sounding the Rebel Yell against the trendy tidal wave of cool. I'm going to call my own shots, wear dorky clothes if they make me happy, eat bread and take time to smell the icicles. After all, they won't be here forever.

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