It was autumn of my sophomore year that my mother told us that she'd scheduled to have "formal portraits" taken of my sister and me with some photographer. My sister had just started at my school as a freshman, along with her friend, Pam. The photo session was scheduled for a Saturday early in October. I woke up that Saturday morning, another of those grey, chilly October days. I had no idea what my sister would be wearing, but for me it was an easy call. My mother had already taken off with my sister to get her hair done for the photos. I got showered and all cleaned up, then started getting dressed. I wore my nicest suit, which was a solid navy blue three-piece suit - my favorite - along with a VERY heavily starched white shirt, fresh out of the dry cleaner. When I had everything but my jacket on, I picked up the bow tie I'd laid on my dresser, my most completely navy blue bow tie, my favorite. Then an idea struck me. I went to my mother's bedroom, to her closet. There, among her conservative suits and well-pressed, starched blouses, she had a bunch of these sort of bow ties she often wore, typical of the "power dressing" that went on in the early to mid-1980s. The blouses with which she wore these bow ties had stiffly-starched pleats running up the front, sort of like a tuxedo shirt. The bow ties that she'd expertly tie were tied sort of like the ones I wore, only they'd form more of a fuller, poofier bow at the collar compared to mine. There was one I'd seen her wear many times, one that was almost entirely navy blue with a slight geometric print. I took it off the rack on which it hung and headed back to my room. It must have just been brought back from the dry cleaner, since it felt stiff and crisp.
Stepping in front of my mirror, I buttoned up my vest, then slipped the narrow center of the bow tie way up under my collar. I took a breath, then buttoned my stiff, white collar nice and high and tight on my throat. I proceeded to tie the bow tie. Although a bit different, it tied very similarly to my own bow ties, and it wasn't long before I had a perfectly-tied fuller, poofier bow tie knotted nice and snug against my collar, more perfectly than even my mother had ever done. I did some final adjustments, making sure that the bow and my stiffly-starched collar was riding as high and tight up my throat and neck as possible. I slipped on my jacket, buttoning the top button, and inspected the final product in the mirror.It was fuller and poofier than my usual bow ties, conspicuously so, but I was enjoying the feeling of "more bow at the collar" pressed tightly against the front of my throat. Minutes later I heard my mother and sister return home. A few minutes later, my mother knocked on my bedroom door.
"Are you getting ready?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied, "I'm already done." She said that she was going to help my sister get dressed.
A little while later, I heard a door open and someone going down the stairs, accompanied by what I swore sounded like a rustling noise. My mother knocked on my door.
"Come on down," she said. "We're just about ready to leave."
I looked once more in my mirror, checking my suit and bow tie. Bow tie perfect, stiff white collar buttoned up nice and high and tight around my throat, suit perfect. I left my room and headed down the stairs, feeling a little self-conscious wearing the fuller, poofier bow tie.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs, my mother and sister were there in the living room. My mother, wearing an ivory suit, one of her dressiest suits, and an off-white frilly-collared blouse, was putting the final touches on my sister's hairdo. My sister's dress, however, brought me up short.
There she stood in what I guess would best be described as a very "Victorian" dress. It was VERY white, with a high, lacy collar riding up my sister's throat, long, poofy sleeves with lace-trimmed cuffs. There was a lacy "frill" descending from each shoulder down the bustline. It was ankle-length, apparently worn over a slip or crinoline that poofed out the bottom part. The whole effect was EXTREMELY white, lacy, ruffly, and frilly. Anyone seeing it would think "bridal gown," even with the lack of a veil. Part of her hairdo, however, included babys breath in her hair. When my mother said "formal portrait," she wasn't kidding!
"Wow!" was all I could say, gulping deeply behind my stiff white collar and bow tie. My sister went slightly red. Then she and my mother looked at me.
"Is that my bow tie?" my mother asked, and I felt my face flush red.
"Yeah," I said, "I just thought I'd see how it would look."
"It looks great!" she exclaimed, smiling. "You tied that even better than I do!"
My sister, meanwhile, was giggling.
"Let me see you two together," my mother said. My sister came over, rustling the whole way, to where I stood on the bottom of the stairs and slipped her right arm through my left.
Feeling her lacy arm slipping through my arm and closing on it, I felt suddenly breathless.
"You two look beautiful!" my mother said, obviously pleased. "Well, we'd better get going."
"Give me a minute to put on my bow tie," I said.
"No!" my mother said. "Wear that! It looks great!"
Uh oh! I thought to myself. Now I've done it!
"But Mom," I argued, "I've got my nice navy blue bow tie that I was going to wear!"
"No!" she said with finality. "You wear your navy bow tie all the time, and you look so handsome and formal in this one! This will look perfect for the photos."
I knew that any further arguing would prove futile. Here I was, wearing this fuller, poofier bow tie, and about to go out in public, not to mention having it captured photographically for all eternity. When I'd put it on, I had no intention of keeping it on, but here I was walking out of the house wearing it.
My mother had left the car in the driveway. Fortunately, it was a very cool day. As we left the house, my mother locked the door. My sister still had my arm. I was looking around, hoping there'd be no neighbors around to see us. I tried walking quickly to the car, and helped my sister into the rear passenger side door.
"Watch your dress!" my mother cautioned my sister. "Sit in the back with your sister."
I slid in alongside her, and immediately she took my left arm again. As we drove off, my sister kind of squeezed my arm with her's and kind of snuggled against me, sighing, "Hmmm! It's our wedding day! We're a bride and groom on our way to our wedding!" My mother laughed. Like I wasn't already feeling nervous enough, my sister, sensing my nervousness, knew how to push my buttons.
The photographer was in the downtown area. My mother parked in a downtown parking space and we got out. We had to walk maybe a block or two from there, my sister still clutching my arm. Because of the mass of my sister's gown, I had no choice but to walk much more slowly than I'd have preferred. A passing car or two beeped, thinking we were a bride and groom on our wedding day, which was exactly how I was feeling.
As we approached the front door of the photography studio, a mother with three little girls, ranging in age from probably six or seven to about twelve, all of the girls dressed up, exited the studio. One of the girls spotted us immediately.
"Mommy!" she exclaimed, pointing. "A bride and groom!"
My sister beamed, my mother chuckled.
"Yes, dear," the mother answered her daughter, smiling at us. "Don't you two look just gorgeous!"
'Thank you!" my mother responded as I gulped nervously beneath my stiff collar and tightly-tied bow tie. We entered the studio.
After an hour or two, the photo session was over. The photographer was a lady who couldn't help gushing over how dressed up we were, especially my fuller, poofier bow tie. When my mother finally got the photos from the photographer, she couldn't be more pleased. The photos were as elegant looking as she could have hoped. I couldn't help thinking "wedding photos." She included wallet sized photos in the Christmas cards that year and she still has one of the larger photos framed on her wall.
Getting home, naturally I remained in my suit - and the fuller, poofier bow tie - the rest of that day. My sister, usually a little less dressy and a little more rebellious than myself, stayed in her "bridal gown," and every chance she got she'd take my arm and start humming The Wedding March or do something else to make me blush noticeably. Even for someone used to being all dressed up in a suit and bow tie, it was one of the more dressed-up, formal-feeling days I can remember.
Stepping in front of my mirror, I buttoned up my vest, then slipped the narrow center of the bow tie way up under my collar. I took a breath, then buttoned my stiff, white collar nice and high and tight on my throat. I proceeded to tie the bow tie. Although a bit different, it tied very similarly to my own bow ties, and it wasn't long before I had a perfectly-tied fuller, poofier bow tie knotted nice and snug against my collar, more perfectly than even my mother had ever done. I did some final adjustments, making sure that the bow and my stiffly-starched collar was riding as high and tight up my throat and neck as possible. I slipped on my jacket, buttoning the top button, and inspected the final product in the mirror.It was fuller and poofier than my usual bow ties, conspicuously so, but I was enjoying the feeling of "more bow at the collar" pressed tightly against the front of my throat. Minutes later I heard my mother and sister return home. A few minutes later, my mother knocked on my bedroom door.
"Are you getting ready?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied, "I'm already done." She said that she was going to help my sister get dressed.
A little while later, I heard a door open and someone going down the stairs, accompanied by what I swore sounded like a rustling noise. My mother knocked on my door.
"Come on down," she said. "We're just about ready to leave."
I looked once more in my mirror, checking my suit and bow tie. Bow tie perfect, stiff white collar buttoned up nice and high and tight around my throat, suit perfect. I left my room and headed down the stairs, feeling a little self-conscious wearing the fuller, poofier bow tie.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs, my mother and sister were there in the living room. My mother, wearing an ivory suit, one of her dressiest suits, and an off-white frilly-collared blouse, was putting the final touches on my sister's hairdo. My sister's dress, however, brought me up short.
There she stood in what I guess would best be described as a very "Victorian" dress. It was VERY white, with a high, lacy collar riding up my sister's throat, long, poofy sleeves with lace-trimmed cuffs. There was a lacy "frill" descending from each shoulder down the bustline. It was ankle-length, apparently worn over a slip or crinoline that poofed out the bottom part. The whole effect was EXTREMELY white, lacy, ruffly, and frilly. Anyone seeing it would think "bridal gown," even with the lack of a veil. Part of her hairdo, however, included babys breath in her hair. When my mother said "formal portrait," she wasn't kidding!
"Wow!" was all I could say, gulping deeply behind my stiff white collar and bow tie. My sister went slightly red. Then she and my mother looked at me.
"Is that my bow tie?" my mother asked, and I felt my face flush red.
"Yeah," I said, "I just thought I'd see how it would look."
"It looks great!" she exclaimed, smiling. "You tied that even better than I do!"
My sister, meanwhile, was giggling.
"Let me see you two together," my mother said. My sister came over, rustling the whole way, to where I stood on the bottom of the stairs and slipped her right arm through my left.
Feeling her lacy arm slipping through my arm and closing on it, I felt suddenly breathless.
"You two look beautiful!" my mother said, obviously pleased. "Well, we'd better get going."
"Give me a minute to put on my bow tie," I said.
"No!" my mother said. "Wear that! It looks great!"
Uh oh! I thought to myself. Now I've done it!
"But Mom," I argued, "I've got my nice navy blue bow tie that I was going to wear!"
"No!" she said with finality. "You wear your navy bow tie all the time, and you look so handsome and formal in this one! This will look perfect for the photos."
I knew that any further arguing would prove futile. Here I was, wearing this fuller, poofier bow tie, and about to go out in public, not to mention having it captured photographically for all eternity. When I'd put it on, I had no intention of keeping it on, but here I was walking out of the house wearing it.
My mother had left the car in the driveway. Fortunately, it was a very cool day. As we left the house, my mother locked the door. My sister still had my arm. I was looking around, hoping there'd be no neighbors around to see us. I tried walking quickly to the car, and helped my sister into the rear passenger side door.
"Watch your dress!" my mother cautioned my sister. "Sit in the back with your sister."
I slid in alongside her, and immediately she took my left arm again. As we drove off, my sister kind of squeezed my arm with her's and kind of snuggled against me, sighing, "Hmmm! It's our wedding day! We're a bride and groom on our way to our wedding!" My mother laughed. Like I wasn't already feeling nervous enough, my sister, sensing my nervousness, knew how to push my buttons.
The photographer was in the downtown area. My mother parked in a downtown parking space and we got out. We had to walk maybe a block or two from there, my sister still clutching my arm. Because of the mass of my sister's gown, I had no choice but to walk much more slowly than I'd have preferred. A passing car or two beeped, thinking we were a bride and groom on our wedding day, which was exactly how I was feeling.
As we approached the front door of the photography studio, a mother with three little girls, ranging in age from probably six or seven to about twelve, all of the girls dressed up, exited the studio. One of the girls spotted us immediately.
"Mommy!" she exclaimed, pointing. "A bride and groom!"
My sister beamed, my mother chuckled.
"Yes, dear," the mother answered her daughter, smiling at us. "Don't you two look just gorgeous!"
'Thank you!" my mother responded as I gulped nervously beneath my stiff collar and tightly-tied bow tie. We entered the studio.
After an hour or two, the photo session was over. The photographer was a lady who couldn't help gushing over how dressed up we were, especially my fuller, poofier bow tie. When my mother finally got the photos from the photographer, she couldn't be more pleased. The photos were as elegant looking as she could have hoped. I couldn't help thinking "wedding photos." She included wallet sized photos in the Christmas cards that year and she still has one of the larger photos framed on her wall.
Getting home, naturally I remained in my suit - and the fuller, poofier bow tie - the rest of that day. My sister, usually a little less dressy and a little more rebellious than myself, stayed in her "bridal gown," and every chance she got she'd take my arm and start humming The Wedding March or do something else to make me blush noticeably. Even for someone used to being all dressed up in a suit and bow tie, it was one of the more dressed-up, formal-feeling days I can remember.