YUM OR YUCK?

Visiting my daughter Sheila and her friend Beth, Huntsville Ontario
A few years ago, on a flight to Toronto to visit my daughter Sheila, I sat next to a woman who looked like someone I could know. Someone I would like to know. But apart from a cursory acknowledgement of my presence she busied herself with reading and making occasional notes on her laptop. I got it. My fear when travelling is being stuck beside an insufferable boor for the duration. It happened once on a flight from Vancouver to San Francisco with a seat mate whose views on women and almost everything else were diametrically opposite to mine and I was too polite in those days, to tell him to shut up.
I knew this wouldn’t be the case with this woman sitting beside me and I hoped we could chat; it was a long flight from Vancouver to Toronto and I hadn’t packed a good book.
What was it about her that assured me that I would feel at ease talking to her? It was partly the way she was dressed. She looked like many women I knew on Vancouver Island and especially in the Cowichan Valley. Her casual slacks, cotton plaid shirt topped with a lightweight V-neck spoke ‘no nonsense, I am comfortable in my skin.’ Good leather walking shoes, short-cropped hair, warm-open face, no make up. Genuine came to mind, someone who would be fun to know.
What did she see in me that prevented her from engaging in conversation? Older, grey hair? Did I look fussy? I hadn’t been sure what clothes to bring to my daughter’s lake front home in the Muskoka’s.

Sharing a moment with Sheila on her 60th birthday.
“People don’t dress up to travel anymore Mum,” my daughter had warned me.
What Sheila hadn’t factored in was that her casual would be my dress up. Casual on the free-wheeling west coast is a different genre to conservative Ontario. I chose a careful middle of the road wardrobe, and I must be giving off middle-class vibes.
Earlier this morning while awaiting my connector flight from Cassidy Airport on Vancouver Island to Vancouver Airport I had also made assumptions based on how someone was dressed, and I was reminded how quick we are to categorize others. I love watching people and speculating about their lives. This morning, the woman sitting across from me was, I was sure, on a business trip. I mean who else would be wearing make up, nylons and heels and a flowered polyester dress at seven in the morning? And she had a new looking carry bag at her side. But no laptop, hmm maybe not.
She saw me looking at her, “I’m so happy to be going home,” she said, “just spent ten days visiting my brother and wife on the island. How about you?”
Well, there go my brilliant detective skills.
“Off to Huntsville, Ontario for my daughter’s birthday,” I replied. “Her sixtieth.”
“Midlands, Ontario for me, I much prefer Ontario to here, especially where my brother lives, Crofton, its hardly even a town.”
“Crofton?” I exclaimed. “That’s where I live. Maybe I know them.”
With a quick glance from side to side, she leaned across the space between us and whispered. “You wouldn’t know them. They’re hippies. Older would-be hippies but still decent people. He volunteers at the food bank.” She paused, as though searching for the right words. Then nodding her head solemnly she added, “They dress differently.”

Liz hippie vibes 1969
I mulled over that comment as I sat quietly in my seat on the long flight to Toronto. ‘They dress differently.’ That’s a laugh. They probably look like me. And dress the way I do which I can only define as Vancouver Island style. Now if I hadn’t been trying rock the well healed sophisticated jet setter vibe on this trip, that woman would have never approached me.
About one hour before we landed at Pearson, my seat mate closed her laptop, tucked her book and papers into a carry all on the empty seat between us, and turned to me, saying “And what brings you to Toronto?”
Well, ask a talker a question like that when she’s had a sock in her mouth for two hours, you’ll get a story. She got it all, giving up my daughter for adoption, reuniting with her, the cancer diagnosis and now her 60th birthday party. She listened with her whole being. She knew of similar stories; in fact, she was a writer and taught creative writing in British Columbia and had lived part time in Victoria BC. We even knew some of the same people. Time ran out before we had finished our conversation, she apologized for not speaking up sooner, but she had a presentation to complete. I was glad I had not interrupted her while she was working.
She gave me her card when we parted ways.
She was Anne Fleming. The same Anne Fleming who was a runner up for last years Giller Prize for her book Curiosities. Anne Fleming- Author https://annefleming.ca
Would I have pegged Anne as a writer? No, I assumed she was an academic, a University Professor, which is exactly what she was. Pigeon holing people is not an exact science. I still think if I had been wearing my jeans and Birkenstocks when I took the seat beside Anne, she would have put her work away and talked.
Do we owe it to the people we meet to show an honest representation of ourselves and our values by the clothes we wear? By dressing like a chameleon was I being dishonest? Pretending to be someone I am not? Does it matter?
I think it does. Its somewhat like choosing a book. It’s the cover that is designed to catch one’s eye, followed by the title and if those two important pieces of information interest you, you’ll pull the book off the shelf and take a closer look. Its very much the way we instantly access the stranger who holds the door for you, and a quick word or a smile are exchanged. In that moment you’ve made a yum or yuck judgement. Based on clothing? Or?
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~ Island Crone by Liz Maxwell Forbes



I always buy clothes for a specific occasion. I’m mostly delighted with my choice whether it’s colour or shape and always comfort. Too often I see a picture and think, “Who IS that person and what was she thinking?” And the the time I see the picture it’s too late. I’ve already enjoyed myself. ;->
Top marks Lou, for treating yourself to new clothes for a special occasion…that seems to give one confidence that they look great and then you carry through the day feeling gorgeous and giving off good vibes…and it doesn’t matter what you are wearing because it your inner self that makes them look great…I am rambling here, but you get my gist. I have a linen sack dress that i feel strong and beautiful in and i walk taller, but really it looks dreadful…but it works for me…
Each day when I dress, I imagine I am painting ..or maybe more like assembling a collage. Am I influenced by who I will be spending time with?..or where I will be going?..definitely..sometimes that connection leads to more daring combinations..lately I have even had people remark on ..the end result..I do have a mate who almost always shares a supportive, loving comment….makes me smile
I love your image of assembling a collage…or painting, how creative… I will think about that next time I am going out..usually I go by what colour i feel like wearing today, or the day tells me what feels right…sort of like painting…my clothes are hanging in blocks of colour…thank you Sharon. Grant thought it was sweet that Tom makes a loving compliment…
Interesting questions. Mmmm. Had to think about such an unusual query. I always dress up for special occasions, including travel. At social gatherings I consider it a sign of respect and acknowledgement that both the event and people are special to me. When I was still working I dressed appropriately to represent professionalism. When I’m home doing housework or just lounging around you will find me in jeans, tees, and sandals. I never leave the house, even to go grocery shopping, without hair and makeup done. Those are simply my lifelong standards. I do this for myself as much as others. It makes me feel good about myself when I’m looking my best. In generaI I observe the nicer people dress, the nicer they behave. Is it a coincidence that society’s dress code appears to mirror standards of social interaction? I probably sound rather judgemental, and maybe I am but if I am in a line up or waiting in an airport and looking to start a conversation, or even ask for direction, I gravitate towards someone dressed like me – because, as a general rule, I can expect similar levels of courtesy, respect, and friendliness.
I do not feel that dressing to suit an occasion is pretending to be someone different. Not at all. That is exactly who I am – respectful of the occasion, of others, and of myself.
Of course there are lots of contrary examples, and how lovely that you found one on the airplane, but the views of this old-fashioned woman stand.
Sylvia, i love your comments as always…you make an effort to do a good reply…you got my point…we do look for people who dress like us, because we can be reasonably sure that we will be well received…we will speak the same language in a way…like the book title and cover, we expect a certain genre…and I do agree it is respectful to dress our best at social gatherings…
This is so interesting! I am much more careless of my dress than I used to be, at my age I need to be comfortable. I haven’t bought anything new in years, though I do look at some things I would love to wear again. Then I look in the mirror, or struggle to get out of my chair and I say, what is the point, can’t get into those clothes anymore. But perhaps you are both right, We do generally dress as who we are. Once when I was young and pretty, I wore my green dress and beautiful pink hat to the the liberal convention and the wife of the leader of the party said it was the prettiest one there. Then in my arty years I wore my beloved blanket coat, and then somehow I morphed into haute couture again, (not, but I thought so at the time). Sadly, comfort rocks!
Love your blogs, Liz.