“The author Ilene had hit on this universal truth about women, which is if you ask them about their clothes, they tell you about their lives.” – Delia Ephron
I just closed a performance in the play “Love, Loss, and What I Wore.” I played the role of Gingy, who is the lead voice of the show—the entire play is based on Gingy’s story. Other women chime in throughout the production with their memories—triggered by Gingy’s comments. Even without a fully staged, Broadway-style production, this readers’ theater version elicited tears from audience members each of the four nights. Who would have thought that a play focused on clothes I (Gingy) wore, could elicit such an emotional response. Clearly Norah Ephron and her sister, Delia, knew what they were doing when they wrote it.
I remember when my mother, well-known speaker and author Florence Littauer, went to speak somewhere for a return engagement, and she labored over her wardrobe selection. My father often said to her, “Do you think they will remember what you wore the last time?” They always did!
For women, our clothes are inextricably tied to the events in our lives. It is true, if you ask us about our clothes, we will tell you about our lives.
Hearing the carefully crafted lines of the play brought out, as the author intended, powerful memories for both me, other cast members, and the audience.
As the play was in my hometown, many of my friends attended. Following the play, I shared with them my clothing memories evoked by the play—written like a journal entry throughout the weeks of rehearsal.
Here are the memories the play evoked for me. Some good, some not so good. But all tied to the clothes I wore.
I was lying in bed late one night and couldn’t sleep. I thought of the dress I was wearing as a four-year-old in the play Pajama Game. I remembered scaring my mother, who was in the audience, half to death because I missed my entrance—no one could find my ballet slippers and I wouldn’t go on stage without them.
I thought about the tropical muumuu I was wearing when I sang, “Dites Moi” as Ngana in South Pacific.
I remember wearing snow pants to go outside and play, the hand knit mittens my mother knit that were always clipped together through the sleeves of my parka by elastic. I hated putting it all on, because as soon as I went outside to play, and the cold air hit me, I needed to go back in, get undressed and use the bathroom.
I thought about the baby blue knit “outfit” I wore to a photo shoot for my modeling portfolio.
I remembered the matching purple wool coats with brown fur collars that my mother bought for Marita and me from G. Fox Department Store in Hartford Connecticut.
I thought about my yellow Dr. Denton’s, footed pajamas, complete with a drop seat, that my dad made me leave at home when I married, because “they didn’t belong in a marriage bed.”
I remembered the matching white bikinis my girlfriend and I wore in my 1972 Corvette with the top down to drive onto Norton Air Force base to go to the pool at the BOQ. (Security never really stopped us.)
I remembered my caramel suede boots and matching camel’s hair coat I wore to walk through the wind on my college campus. The wind was so great that it literally picked up my girlfriend and landed her in the bushes outside our library building. From that time on, she always held on to me in the wind, because I was that much bigger than she was.
I could see the holes in my plaid wool pants that happened when I jumped out of my moving car when I wanted to keep some momentum because my car had run out of gas and I would need to push it. I landed in the street on my knees as I watched my car roll forward, leaving me lying on the ground.
I thought about—and in fact, still own—the black, slimming, halter dress I wore to my college graduation, where no family attended, except my husband and my brother, even though they were all very much alive.
I remembered the long gown I wore to my wedding rehearsal dinner, 49 years ago, with a beaded, yet bare midriff.
I thought about the burgundy velour three-quarter-zip bathrobe I purchased to nurse my second son—and the warm nightie I wore under it. He was born in mid-November.
I remembered the black, two-piece dress with turquoise and purple leaf designed embroidered at the hem, that I wore to have dinner with the publisher of Harvest House Publishing, who published my first book, “What You Can Say, When You Don’t Know What to Say.”
Along with the post-play email I sent to my friends, I asked: “Do you have some vivid memories of clothes and events from your life? They really do tell a story.”
The concept of the play, and my memories, stirred up recollections for them as well. I was surprised by their responses. Here’s a peek at them.
Sandee Stumreiter: A very powerful memory I have is the dress I wore to my grandmother’s funeral. She was a very classy and proper lady, but not stuffy at all. She was warm and gentle and wore the most beautiful clothes. After all, she owned a department store. But more importantly, she was a beautiful seamstress. She could sew anything and make it look gorgeous. When she passed away, I was 19 years old and a newlywed. I chose a blue and white dress with a slightly ruffled skirt. A classy mature look for someone my age and that says something for this was in 1979. I chose blue because she always said it was my color. And I remember thinking, what shoes do I wear? What would grandmother choose? I found a pair of shimmery black patent leather pumps. I finished the outfit with a classic pearl necklace. This was how I chose to honor my grandmother.
Sue McClure: I got my sister’s hand me down clothes. I always liked that. My parents struggled financially so I rarely saw new clothes. Later, when my siblings were out of the house, my father was making more money. My mom would take me to the mall, I think it was called Fashion Square, and she would buy me whatever I wanted for school. I liked midi skirts and boots. I was never into short skirts. But I did have some cut-off jean shorts my mom would throw away and I would rescue them—I finally made them into a purse! My biggest memory was spending time shopping with my mom. Going out for lunch. That meant a lot to me. When I was in college, I thought I was fat. I felt like I never measured up. I finally came to the conclusion, that if I didn’t like the way I looked, I’d stop looking. I look back at old videos and, my goodness, I was beautiful. Since I was more of a Tomboy, I measured myself by being lean, mean, and fit. After my mom died, I got some of her jewelry. One necklace is made of some sort of rocks. About five years later I pulled it out of the box, and I could smell her perfume on it. I put it back. Every now and then I take it out and smell it.
Janet Thorson: My mother was really fashionable. I had to have patent leather shoes and nice dresses to go to church and events.
Dr. Sharen Jeffries: Enjoyed last night and your own version of “What I Wore.” Very special peek into “the closet of your life.”
Even men were impacted.
Joseph Praner: Thanks for the story of stages of life and the clothing memories relating to people’s lives. It is a very interesting concept to draw us back to certain phases of our lives. I am looking forward to discussing with my mother.
John Oliver: Loved your own clothing experiences. Yes, what we wear may be a huge part of our lives, while it may not be center stage at the time, it becomes more important as time goes on. BTW, I still have the shirt I wore on my first date with Karen. I don’t have to reimagine it.
It isn’t just the play, or my stories. It is true. Ask a woman about her clothes, she’ll tell you about her life. With this experience fresh on my mind, Facebook brought this memory from Naveed Anjum to my attention. It is said to be from Passover 2019. “This elegant lady of 95 walked in to the seder tonight in a beautiful rich blue sweater. When I commented on how lovely it was, she was quick to tell me its story. Helena survived three concentration camps and when the last one was liberated she was flown by the Red Cross to a hospital in Sweden. She was 5’4″ and weighed 52 lbs. Her roommate in the hospital, a fellow survivor, knit the sweater for her while they were there. It was 1945. She told me she has worn that sweater every Passover since then. Everyone has a story but very few have the power of that blue sweater.”
The power of a story. Next time you visit with family and friends, comment on their clothing. You will likely learn something new about them by offering to look inside their closets. What stories do “the closet of your life” tell? Please share them here. I look forward to reading them.
Through her speaking and writing, Lauren encourages people with her heartfelt messages and practical presentations. She is the author of The Art of Helping – What to say and Do When Someone is Hurting. Lauren and her family are active in both church and community choral groups. She lives in Redlands, CA.
This is incredibly lovely. Thank you for sharing it. One day I will get my hands on another pink paisley blouse-but it will never be the same.
Isn’t it funny how those memories linger? We have such a vivid picture in our minds. Thanks for commenting.
Matching peach dresses my momma, sister and I wore…they were long with tiered skirts and were covered in raised white daisies. My mother loves white daisies…so much so that she had us all in these beautiful dresses the day we married the only man big enough to fill the shoes of becoming her husband and dad to two little girls. You see we matched because when, after only a couple of dates, he asked her to marry him. She quickly reminded him she was a package deal. His response was “I’m asking for the whole package.” April 28, 1979 was not only their anniversary, but ours as well, and for 41 years until he passed away he made it a point to acknowledge it was our familyversary when I would wish them a Happy Anniversary. I love fashion and have a great appreciation for vintage couture and just overwhelmingly beautiful fashion creations, on top of the fact I would rather die than match with any one. But these simple, dated, matching dresses stand in my memory as the single most beautiful piece of clothing I have ever experienced.
Ah yes! My mother used to say my sister and I looked like matching lampshades in our fancy dresses. I can so relate! Thank you for commenting.
This was Beautiful.
When I was sixteen, I wanted a sweater coat so badly that I could taste it. Even on clearance we could not afford one. My mommy sewed, knit and crocheted. She had a gift of recreating things that she saw. In August of 1978, my mother took me shopping to get an idea of what style of coat I would like. On September 15, 1978 (my 16th birthday) I opened a box that contained a BEAUTIFUL baby blue cable knit sweater coat!! (She knitted it without using a pattern) 💙💙💙It had a hood and pockets and was prettier than any I had seen in the store. It hit mid calf and fit like a dream. On the inside neck, she had sewn a floral label that read “Made with Love by Mommy”. It hangs over 2 hangers in my closet to this day. I lost my mommy to Pancreatic cancer in December of 1996 and will ALWAYS cherish that coat.
What a beautiful memory! A treasure!
Such a treasured memory. Our clothes are a way to “hang on” to the memories. I think that is one aspect of Love, Loss, and What I Wore.
Thank you Lauren for sharing your personal stories and photos with us! I am so happy I was able to be a part of this play and have the opportunity to meet you and other amazing g women!
Thank you for your participation in such a great production. Our clothing really does hold all kinds of memories.
When I was 4 or 5, my mom crocheted matching pink ponchos for my sister Dianne and me. They were ombre, though no one knew that word to describe them – light pink at the top, cascading into darker pink at the bottom. These were the only things I ever remember her crocheting. Her greatest homemaking talents were in the areas of cooking, baking, and entertaining – she has always set a beautiful table. But this one year, over the course of months, she used all her free hours after working full-time, cooking us our nightly home made dinner, and taking care of her home to make us something warm and cozy, through trial and error. She did it because they were fashionable, yes, and kept us warm, but mostly for the love of us and the joy of doing something new. We would still have them were it not for the Panorama Fire of 1980.
Thank you for sharing your stories! We were all changed for the experience we shared and I’m grateful.
I remember the Panorama Fire of 1980 as if it were yesterday. I’m so sad to hear that you experienced such a loss. We’ll have to talk about that time when I see you again. I love the image of the Ombre poncho. Thank you for sharing your memories.
My Oma was a gifted seamstress. I love hearing my mom tell stories of how she would skillfully duplicate designer wedding gowns for girls who couldn’t afford the real thing. My mother’s wedding dress was no different. Handmade by Oma, 70’s style A-line with cloudlike balloon sleeve details and delicate little flowers. It was lovely. When I got married (for the second time, but to the man I now know God had truly intended for me), part of what sold me on the dress I chose was my mom’s love of the chantilly lace it had. I knew anything that made her gasp like that when I came out of the dressing room was exactly perfect. When I had my train bustled, I was so sad that the silver hooks the seamstress used were visible against the exactly perfect chantilly lace. My mom suggested taking a few of the flowers from her dress and adding them to hide the hooks. To say I was honored by this gesture is an understatement. She lovingly removed them from her dress and added them to mine by hand. She is also gifted with a needle and thread – a skill passed from Oma that I sadly did not pick up. They fit in with the lace as if they were meant to be there all along. And I believe they were. I got to carry Oma, my mom, and their legacies into my marriage and my future.
Thank you for being Gingy and you so very well! It was an absolute pleasure to tell these stories with you!
Oh my, such a touching story. My wedding dress was also handmade by a dress designer “for rich ladies.” She was German and lived with my family to learn to speak English so she could communicate better with her American clients. I selected a wedding gown that I loved, she went into the store and examined it, came back to our house and re-created it from memory. I had individual flowers that she sewed on by hand as well. Memories truly are part of the closet of our life.
OH MY GOODNESS LAUREN! This is amazing! I totally busted out laughing over the Footy pajama story . Since I knew your dad, it completely hit my funny bone. Since everyone seems to be sharing stories, here’s mine: I remember my first grade dress. It was blue and white check with an apron made in it that was white. It had a red apple on it with the saying, “apple for the teacher.” I loved that dress and ironically, my first grade teacher invited me to come and stay the night at her house the next summer with her and her husband. I had such a wonderful and magical time. throughout the school year, a students had a cardboard box that had our name on it, and I remember going to her basement and seeing all of our cardboard boxes stacked up with our names on it. That was overwhelming to six-year-old wondered why all of our boxes were at her house.
thank you for this absolutely beautiful post and I hope you all will take this play on the road and I will host you here in Louisville!
I can see your dress in my mind’s eye. How blessed you were to have such a wonderful teacher. Thank you for sharing.
About 3 years after becoming an image consultant, one of the first national Image conferences was held in Minneapolis. I planned on going and wrestled with what to wear. I had very little money, and resolved to find something second hand. My dear mother surprised me and said “Go and buy a COMPLETE outfit – get everything you need and I will pay for it.” I ended up having a dress made in a rich tobacco brown wool with a detachable cape that went over one shoulder, complete with the shoes and a hat. It was the best gift I ever got. To top it off, Carole Jackson, the author of “Color Me Beautiful” complemented me on my outfit — I felt like a million bucks! That was 40 years ago. I’m still working in the industry, and while the dress is long gone, the memory remains.
What a treasured memory! It is amazing how a particular outfit can take us right back to a specific place and time and fill us with those feelings and memories. Thank you for sharing! We’d love you to write for this blog as well.