Breaking the ugly Christmas sweater tradition
Maybe I had too much eggnog. Maybe someone gave me a gift I felt obligated to wear. Or maybe there was an airing of A Christmas Story on TLC instead of What Not To Wear.
To my defense, it was 2006 -- a particularly crazy time. We were all experimenting with mind-altering sequins. I mean, it was a time for free holiday love, man!
I come from a long lineage of sparkly holiday sweater wearers. My mother was the queen of the North Pole catwalk -- we, her princesses. She had some doozies, but instead of being embarrassed by them, I remember being proud of her festiveness.
Fast forward to now, and I fear that I have not inherited a sense of fashion, but rather a madness that overtakes my mind, judgment and closet this time of year.
Last week while unpacking the annual decorations, I pulled out my December wardrobe specials. At first, I thought I might have been rifling through Elton John’s dresser drawers. If Sir Elton moonlighted as a Rockette. A Rockette who did an earlier stint in Branson from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. Hopped up on candy cane martinis and old Alvin and The Chipmunks records.
Although a few of the bulbs had burned out and some of the tinsel had faded, I could still appreciate the sweater’s awfulness. Despite it’s designer label --Clark W. Griswold -- it was a definite fashion don’t. It should have come with its own black bar to place over my eyes for the inevitable paparazzi photos. Stacy and Clinton would throw this under the garbage can.
This Yule time epiphany was sobering. I suddenly realized that I was either much too old or too young to wear such a thing. During the month of December, I go from being a hip Momma to a Momma that needs a hip replacement. And that’s not a good look for me.
So sorry rhinestone miners and faux Santa fringe seamstresses, you will have to find a new doll to deck this year (unless I need you for a cool Momma's night out). It looks like this is one of those holiday traditions that I’m going to have to hang up for a while.