Heat Wave Fashion

MaDon'na, it’s brain cell boilingly hot today! It was 97 bleedin’ degrees in Boston today -- IN Boston -- and the AC at work is non compos mentis. OK, it worked a teensy bit until about two PM. If we can’t simulate winter in Yakutsk, Russia what the hell good is all this technology -- I ASK YOU!

Em, yeah -- heat makes me cranky.

I’m working in the very young and happening  Allston/Brighton section of the city now. A section of town where punk rockers live/hang/swarm. Do they still get called punkers? That’s was the appellation back in the day when my hair was purple (to match my lavender Doc Martins of course), my jeans were ALWAYS black and my leather jacket was, of course, never lighter than an inky shade of charcoal.

In any case, I’m sadly reminded that while Punks are often stunningly, grittily chic in late Autumn and all through the long New England winter, they’re not so much when it’s 90 degrees out.

Mostly the look swings to tired, sweaty, pale to the point of translucence (and not in a Byronesque hip way -- more in a you’ve-been-at-the-Monkey-Water-too-long style) and massively uncomfortable. Even the black cotton skull T with the sleeves cut off, (strategic rip over the abs), looks sad and wilted. Then there’s the poor schmuck wearing his leathers, hair egg yoked up, scuffed leather Docs.

I just want to pull them all aside and delicately whisper in their ears, ‘Dearies, leather is NOT a summer fabric unless you’re in Yellowknife.’

Me? What I want to wear in summer are those gorgeous, flowing, paisley cotton frocks with the halter tops. Nope, ain’t gonna work. My day would be one long series of wardrobe malfunctions.

Summer fashion is for the svelte and small breasted. Being blond might be a plus too as they look better in pastels. Me, I’m rockin’ the scraggly, baggy, Grateful Dead/Phish look this summer. Why? It’s my cloaking devise style -- I feature this when I’ve got pounds to drop.

Enough kvetching and whining from me though. Here, have a poem. The Amazing Bob gave me this when we were first courting. It’s by Jacques Prevert.

Alicante

Une orange sur la table
Ta robe sur le tapis
Et toi dans mon lit
Doux présent du présent
Fraîcheur de la nuit
Chaleur de ma vie

An orange on the table
Your dress on the rug
And you in my bed
Sweet gift of the present
Freshness of the night
Warmth of my life