The Closet of My Life

“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.  

Good evening and welcome to Ripple Theater.
I’m going to tell you some things about our authors. Then we are going to tell you things about women. The profound and poignant and precious. The painful and pure.
We are gathered to share with you the words of womanhood. Collected and honed by two prolific female writers, Nora and Delia Ephron.
They are the eldest two of four girls born to Phoebe and Henry Ephron, both playwrights and screenwriters. Phoebe was Dorothy Parker’s brain in Katherine Hepburn’s body, and really only cared to be the latter. She named her girls after headstrong women in literature and was relentless in exposing her daughters to books. She once told Nora that “everything is copy,” and imparted her habit of always carrying a notebook so she could capture the really good bits.
So, it’s no surprise that her daughters all ended up accomplished writers. You know Nora and Delia best from their smash hit romantic comedies and the words they gave to some very famous female characters:
“It would be easy to say that the pants changed everything that summer.”
And
“I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”
And
“I was listening to him talk about how much he loved his wife, and suddenly I was crying.”
And of course
“YES! YES! YES!”
As much as we love Carmen, Kathleen, Annie, and Sally, the collection of words we are here to share is drawn from real women.
Like Ilene Beckerman, who wrote the novel Love, Loss, and What I Wore at age 60 so she could tell the story of her life and what she wore while living it. It was to be proof for her children that she had a life before them – and a reminder to herself of the same.
You may have already noticed that some of Ilene’s favorite pieces are on your tables. If you keep your ears peeled, you might just learn some more about each of them throughout the rest of the night.  
Delia Ephron once explained that Ilene had “hit on this universal truth about women, which is if you ask them about their clothes, they tell you about their lives.”
The Ephron sisters, moved by that truth, decided to build on Beckerman’s work by reaching out to the women in their lives to help them collect more stories of life and fashion. They even wrote down a few of their own, and this play is the result.
You are about to meet no fewer than 25 women, from all over the place, with all kinds of stories. We thank you for letting us share them with you, and we hope you feel inspired to write down a few of your own.
Please enjoy Love, Loss, and What I Wore.

Amanda Nelson

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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.