Losing My Fashion Mojo

I used to be a bit of a fashionista. Not of the Milan Fashion Week runway variety but put together in a way that was trendy but not too over-the-top.

In my previous life, long before living in rural Italy and years before I was a television writer and director, I co-hosted Canada’s first entertainment television show, Metro Café. Aside from hanging out with celebrities and drinking champagne at countless movie premieres, the biggest perk of the job was the gorgeous clothes I got to wear.

Every week, I worked with a stylist from a boutique designer shop in Vancouver and selected the outfits I would wear on the show and to the various events I had to attend. Then best of all, I got to keep the fabulous frocks and return them for another set at the end of each month. It was fantastic. I had an ever-changing wardrobe that I couldn’t afford to buy myself and I was always ‘on-trend’.

What’s a Cinderella fashionista without an amazing hair stylist? Nothing let me tell you. My wayward waves were whipped into shape every week by the fabulous Danny at Vancouver’s top-end salon,  Avante Garde. I surrendered myself to his expert hands for a few hours once a week and emerged onto the streets of Vancouver’s trendy Yaletown transformed. As a testament to Danny’s unparalleled skills, I was declared to have ‘the best hair in Canadian television’ by TV Guide one year. Yes, that was me, many moons ago.

I’m not sharing this with you to relive the glory days; I’m telling you so you can understand how far the fashion mighty have fallen in the year we have been living in some form of lockdown thanks to Covid-19.

Over the past year, I have written about the emotional toll Covid has taken on all of us; about how much our lives have changed and how we are coping.  We are all weary. We’ve all had enough. We are all tired of reading about the death toll and doom and gloom so I’m writing about something frivolous and fun this time.

I hope you can laugh along with me since I am more certainly laughing at myself. I’m talking about the complete 360 I’ve experienced in my fashion consciousness since BC (Before Covid). I’ve gone from a toned down version of me described above to a barely recognizable combination of bag lady meets Cindy Lauper.  It’s been a slippery slope.

First I stopped blow-drying my hair; well to be fair, I ceased to pick up a comb as well. Who was going to see me? Aside from my wonderful husband Piero who had the kindness and common sense not to comment. Next came the banishment of any jeans or trousers with a flattering, form-curving fit in favor of sweatpants and lounge wear that could accommodate my expanding waistline, thanks to all the meals I now had to cook at home. But I acknowledge one silver lining of lockdown, I’ve expanded my culinary repertoire to include recipes never before on my radar. But I digress.

Next on my fashion hit list, attractive tops and blouses. Anything snug, that required taking time to button or tuck in was left in the closet. I developed a ‘go-to’ handful of pullovers and sweaters that I cleverly coordinated with aforementioned sweatpants. At first, my outfits were unquestionably color coordinated e.g. my oversize green turtleneck sweater had to be combined with either my black or light blue sweatpants. This was my standard uniform for months.

Then over the winter, I dug out my flannel pajamas and it was game over. I’d forgotten how cozy and comfortable they are.  Why bother wearing sweatpants when I can stay in my flannel pajamas all day? I figured it wasn’t really pajamas if I kept the bottoms on but changed the top to a sweater. I told myself I was being creative and after all, who cared?

Then over the weeks and months of lockdown, there was a shift. I’m not sure how or when it happened it was so gradual. Until I came down one morning wearing my outfit for the day and Piero said, “I see we are mixing and matching again today.”

I looked down at my ensemble. I was wearing my husband’s blue and white checkered men’s pajamas top under my oversize green sweater combined with red paisley flannel pajama bottoms and to complete the look, fluffy brown and beige leopard print slippers. I was horrified. How had this happened?

My former on-air television persona was mortified.  I told Piero it was a one-off; that obviously I didn’t usually dress like this. To which he responded by giving me a long stare and then pulling me into a hug. “Honey, you’ve been dressing like this for a while now.”

Then it hit me, I’d allowed Covid to change me – to take away that spark that was part of who I am. My girlfriends joke I am a ‘girly-girl’ because I love my makeup (especially lipstick) and fashion and shoes. Where was this woman? It didn’t matter if the only other human I was going to see in a day was my husband or even if I was alone for the day, I should let my light shine and be and dress in a way that makes me feel good about myself. So in the past few weeks, there’s been a gradual shift in the opposite direction. I put away the sweatpants and dug out my trousers and jeans. Some of them still fit. Now when I dress in the morning, I reach for a shirt that somewhat goes with my trousers. I even switched out the chapstick for lipstick – baby steps.

Then the news came that finally, after weeks and months of lockdown, Italy is gradually re-opening. Restaurants and bars are able to serve people lunch and dinner outside. The piazzas will again be alive with tables and umbrellas and the melodic lilt of Italian as people greet each warmly after months of enforced hibernation.

The first day we were ‘going out’ I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. Piero had prepared for our day by getting our Vespa, affectionately named the ‘Road Runner’ insured and ready for a spring and summer of adventures. We knew our destination. We were going to ‘Angelina’s – a local, hole-in-the wall we’d been frequenting for 13 years. What it lacks in atmosphere it more than makes up for in personality and authentic Italian warmth and humor.

As I was getting ready, I took extra care with my makeup. I opened my jewelry box for the first time in months and grabbed a pair of sky blue earrings to match my light blue linen shirt. I came downstairs and said to Piero, “I feel like I’m going on a first date – with the world.” I was nervous and excited.

We jumped on the Road Runner and made our way down the winding hill from Panicale to San Fatucchio.  I opened my visor, closed my eyes and tilted my head back. Things just smell better on a Vespa. The scents of spring – wildflowers, rosemary, the acid sting of ozone from the storm clouds rolling in, the pungent earthiness of the soil newly turned over for planting. It was exhilarating.

We pulled into Angelina’s to see crowds of people, all masked, respectfully distanced and at tables of no more than four as per the rules. They had set up a new system of entering and exiting with only two people allowed at the bar to order at one time. All very organized. There were no complaints. Just lots of ‘Auguri!!’ (congratulations) and air kisses.

We saw a fellow Canadian we hadn’t seen since last summer. He joined us at our table. We raised our glasses of beer and Aperol Spritz and toasted to the re-opening of our favorite bar, of our adopted country, of our lives.

And after we took a sip of a drink we were finally able to share in a public place for the first time in months, he said, ‘Buon Anno’ or Happy New Year.

And that’s exactly how it feels. Like a new year, one full of hope for the future. Long may it be so.

A presto

Anna