Pantsuits are so eighties.
When i wrote about pantsuits in my other blog, i had this notion that they were a thing of the past. They still are.
I remember boarding an airplane on my first-ever pair - a Georges Marciano beige nylon-linen non-crease number that went over a plain white top and warm tights underneath for a New York destination in August.
It had the glorious might of keeping my on track, to go where i needed to go, even as i had kept my heart from ripping apart - having to leave my friends was the last thing i had in mind but it was a school thing, and had to be done. It was shiny, with a little shimmer in the detailing, and was structured, tailored to my (then) size 6 frame, and became my travel go-to for any brave plane ride - or scary uproot, in any case.
I was invincible. I sashayed in aisles of business class (where my travelling party had stayed), and economy (where they stashed me and my teen-pantsuit that wore me and my chic pixie cut well) - to staying on top of my leaving the airport, and my friends, who stayed from the night before to my early morning flight, quite attentively & might i say, very elegantly.
The situation was tantamount to the delicate crash of a pivot in a startup - to be manoeuvred ever so slightly to make up for the detail that time was of the essence, having not chosen the right college in the first place, and taken the liberty to adjust to the situation of having to transfer to a new one - and being slightly older as i get out of it. Sixteen going on seventeen wasn’t regular college for most, but in my case, shifting from an engineering course to a slightly more liberal arts one, was scary, and i was out of my territory - to even travel seventeen hours to a very different country was, suffice it to say, marks the spot of a sentiment quite effectively.
My friends had honoured me with a cool goodbye party, and send-off to a whole new world, in my long-haul two-stopover 747 flight. They sent me flowers, gifts, and very memorable goodbye letters - in case my pivot became a runway to a future that will take me permanently away from them, and that was inevitable for all of us young high-school gang of 10, but just not this soon. We knew we were destined for better, greater things, but as we had proclaimed it in many ways, we had to do what we had to do.
My pantsuit made me feel seriously dashing, in my chic teen way. And this helped calm me down and allay (mounting) fears of the immediate future:
1/ never been on a long flight plane ride before -what if i get bored?,
2/ wasn’t liking my haircut (leaving my nape bare and cold) and needed way too much product, 3/ having no car but moving to a bigger country with more space, drew my blatant attention to footwear - i had worn navy blue suede flats! 4/ my international driving licence passport didn’t allow me to drive big multi-cylindered cars, or trucks (what if all they had was a four by four?) 5/ i didn’t bring heaps of notebook diaries with me - who do i call on long-distance charges to keep my anxieties at bay now? 6/ breaking up with my two-semester boyfriend at the time didn’t seem as traumatic - it was an on-again, off-again relationship, as young people have on occasions of uncertainty, or not unlike bright british boys needing a tie for commencement, rash but dandy to the ready - so i was prepared for something shiny and new. Absolutely.
7/ i had nothing to lose. my friends sent me off with a fair warning, that they will be hounding me with letters, with proper gifts at christmas, and unexpected, and unwelcome visits. I had looked forward to all of these threats quite merrily. And with that my pantsuit and i gave everyone who drove to the airport with me a bright, firm, to-the-brink of slight tears squeeze and a hug, and off we went.
After a good seventeen hours of mulling, attempts at reading a book (no cabin movies yet then), writing back letters on monogrammed stationery (might as well hit that reply button early on), fiddling with blankets, adjusting to plane temperature and wishing i had a cashmere cardie or sweater on underneath instead of my satin-lined jacket (which i had settled in the overhead cabin with my carry-on instead of crushing it in economy) - and then getting on the second leg of the flight to read all of my friends very sentimental well-wishes on their letters, i gather myself to eat plane food, and did i mention my suit was scotch-guard stain-proof as well? This was seriously going to be my uniform for the rest of my life, obviously.
The letters were funny, and made me laugh, and it made me cry, and they made me think about life, and why i was escaping to a different country when life in a funny little university town was traumatic enough. Having to watch boy brawls in the corridors (called fraternity wars) every now and then, and having concerts, and organizations where you meet up and aspire to be the Bill Gates’ or Iaccoca’s of the nineties. It was horrendous. It made me quite needing a valium afterwards. I knew i was doing the right thing. But needed to quiet the nag that was the sting of moving the group to a faster change-pace than i think it was ever ready for. And i’m glad, it made us grow up more steadily, more mature to make & face decisions, and in our tiny steady group of 18-20 year-olds, actually forced us to take up places in our social strata than we ever needed to think about at that point. That no one in their age really had to, or should. But it became all good - we carried on, as if there was nothing to lose. Except sleep, another few good years, and an extra heaping teaspoon of fairy dust to keep all our flights a-keen, & steer us brightly ahead, with boats a-float.
(But I needed another coffee.)
Ah, there’s the flight attendant. Pour. Spill. Timing is impeccable. So were the drawbacks of a full cup, in the economy row that was too stingy with space, but trays bucking off the remains of the last meal, along with slipping a cup down my lap.
(And maybe another -this time, blue- pantsuit.)
Which i would most definitely wear well, through time & match my right-wristed dress watches, and let it never ever wear me.