BEA’S TAKE
There is a scene from the 1993 film Addams Family Values where Morticia (Angelica Huston) faces off with Uncle Fester’s scheming new wife Debbie Jelinsky (Joan Cusack). Morticia accuses Debbie of alienating Fester from his family and forcing him to assimilate with the mainstream American society and aesthetic. Then Morticia drops this devastating line:
“You have gone too far. You have married Fester, you have destroyed his spirit, you have taken him from all of us. But Debbie…pastels?”
I mention this exchange because it pretty much summarises my mother’s sense of personal style and interior decoration from the 1980s to the present. My mother has a strong European look, with a dark bob and dramatic features, quite reminiscent of Angelica Huston or Paloma Picasso. She even wears the Paloma Picasso fragrance, although back in the early 80s she wore a fragrance from Paloma’s own friend Yves: Opium. She never wears pastels or florals and often likes a bit of sharp tailoring with narrow shoulders and fitted black cigarette leg pants. My Mum has never been into high end designer gear – too expensive- but if she was I think she would like Rick Owens.
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When I was about 5 I asked my mother what her favourite colour was and she said “ummm…black?” I never questioned this and assumed that black must be a very fine colour indeed. So convinced was my Mum in the very rightness of her look she often dressed me exactly like her. There are lots of old photos of me looking like my Mum’s ventriloquist doll, with the same blunt bob and stripy black and white Breton tops. When I finally dressed myself I did not rebel or deviate, I wore a lot of black too, with the odd splash of burgundy. I was not like Michael J. Fox’s Alex P. Keaton in ‘Family Ties,’ becoming a Republican to confound my hippie parents.
I am proud of my Mum because from the 80s to now she has existed as living proof that you don’t have to look like Kirstie Alley in ‘Look Who’s Talking’ or Diane Keaton in ‘Baby Boom’ (after she got sacked) to be a good Mum. Of course Mums who dress in Laura Ashley and wear floppy bows can be good Mums too, but that was not my mother’s thing. Not looking traditionally mumsy was not as common then as it is now. Not in the Aussie suburbs where we lived anyway.
My Mum has kept the look and the scent pretty tight and consistent for a few decades. This year she is getting married to her partner of 15 or so years. She says she is sick of saying partner because it sounds wanky. Looking around for a wedding outfit my Mum rang me up and said “I’m in Hugo Boss, do you think a black tulle wraparound skirt and a charcoal tailored jacket would be OK?” At this I had to draw the line. I said no and suggested a ‘softer’ colour. Envisioning my Mum as a Morticia bride was just a bit too unconventional for me. So maybe there’s a bit of Alex P. Keaton in me after all.
LEE’S TAKE
I was quite girly up until I started school. I was a living doll for my mother to gleefully dress up in colourful outfits that would not be out of place in Marc by Marc Jacobs or Miu Miu collections today. My mother had a magnificent walk-in closet that I often played in, 
brushing my hands against the velvets and silks, becoming hypnotised with shiny embellishments. It was here that I learned fashion was God and the closet was temple. At the age of 4 I developed my own strong tastes. I liked polka dots and stripes and demand rainbow print wallpaper and violet clothes so I could emulate my first style icon, the bookish Shy Violet from Rainbow Brite.
I started to become self conscious about what I wore relative to others when I entered the brutal world of suburban primary school. It became evident that I was out of place at a grade 3 birthday party when I was the only girl wearing an overly frilly dress with puffy sleeves, while the others wore more casual dresses or culottes. I was so embarrassed and furious but my mother insisted that I was the best dressed there and said that all the other mothers when gaga over me looking like a doll. I was over looking like a doll. The constant adoration made me sick. “I’m not a baby anymore!” I cried. Being the youngest and shortest in my class did not help matters. I wanted to dress like my classmates. I ditched my dresses and skirts in favour of casual and plainer pants, shorts and t-shirts so I wouldn’t stand out. This was the worst thing I’ve done to my mother up until that point. She continued to buy dresses for me and forced me in them on special occasions up until I was nine, but I made sure to display my grumpiness in photos.
My mother always took at least an hour to get ready, which made me late for school every day. As her vanity was impacting my life, I shunned glamour and makeup, only becoming interested in lipstick in my mid-20s. In my early teens I wore plain Esprit and Benneton t-shirts while she was wearing leopard print and sequins. I preferred black while she complained about black being the colour of mourning, and that black clothes pilled and collected fluff. She constantly repeated that Chinese people should wear red as it looks better on our skin and is good luck. I don’t think I bought any red clothes until I was 26. Every outfit I put on would not escape comment about how I had no style and that I should take her advice rather than follow trends, while my comeback was always that she had garish taste and dressed like a drag queen. After all, her style icon in the 90s was Fran Fine from The Nanny and favourite fashion designer was Gianni Versace (it was a sad day in my house when he died). To my mother, no outfit was complete without sequins, metallics, embroidery, embellishments, bold colours, shoulder pads, animal print or sheer fabric. It was not worth wearing if you couldn’t see your reflection in your clothes.
In my mid-teens my body began to sprout massive lumps all over the place. My boobs and belly were like tumours to me. While most 16 year old girls opt for tighter and shorter skirts, I kept the spirit of Kurt Cobain alive 4 years after his death with my baggy and tattered t-shirts and jeans. This was probably the worst thing I could have ever done to my mother and we would have heated arguments about my clothes more than anything else. I didn’t drink, smoke or take drugs and was a good student, but my cargo pants would probably generate more anger than if she found a bong in my room. Oddly, I still maintained an interest in fashion by religiously watching Style with Elsa Klensch on CNN every week with her and drawing fashion illustrations in the hope of one day becoming a fashion designer.
Nothing particularly triggered the end of my tomboy phase at 21. I gradually built up a collection of colourful dresses and skirts. My closet now resembles a more restrained version of my mother’s. There are glimmers of sequins and gems, bold floral prints, polka dot dresses and skirts in every pantone, studded and embroidered bags. And red. Lots of red.
Fashion Frauds 