Tag Archives: Fashion

Mantrap 101 (Grading on the Curve)

Mantrap 101
(Grading on the Curve)

What quantity of your allure
is due to a fine manicure?
What woman ever won a date
by means of being Latinate?
This tidbit I am drawn to share.
What guy was ever known to care
whether your purse matched your shoes?
No sane man has been known to cruise
shoe stores as a place to lure
a conquest, and you may be sure
that when he’s waiting at your gate,
no man is going to berate
the fact that you aren’t wearing Prada.
If your shape rates “Yadda yadda,”
I’d say that you will be successful,
and all the other stuff’s just stressful.
If you want to flummox him,
just skip the rest and hit the gym.

 

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Unsplash. Used with permission. Word prompts today are tidbit, berate, lure and quantity.

On Display

On Display

He’s so ostentatious. He turns up his nose
at other folks’ houses, vehicles and clothes.
He only wears Lagerfeld, Lauren or Kors.
His decor is elegant, but he hates yours!

Your neighborhood barbecue starting at twilight
will never be his calendar’s highlight.
Picnics to him are truly the pits.
He dines at Spagos. Slums it at the Ritz.

In his microcosm, he reigns as the king
of all refinement. Each exquisite thing
that resides in his house is an objet d’art,
but, concerning your taste? Darling, don’t start.

When it comes to decor you have no idea.
He buys antiques in Paris. You shop at IKEA.
Of his sense of design, you know not one iota.
Do you need further proof? You drive a Toyota!

 

The prompt words today are microcosm, barbecue, twilight, ostentatious and nose. Photo by Kevin Bhagat on Unsplash

Mistakes in Parenting 1: Teenage Fashionista

 

Teenage Fashionista

She layers on her makeup, gussies up her hair,
then faces indecision over what she is to wear.
It is an epic battle, trying to decide
inside which current fashion her body will reside.

She asks no one’s opinion. She’d rather try and pile
garment after garment, not quite today’s best style,
on bed and chair and carpet, in crumpled little heaps
until she finds the outfit that she will wear for keeps.

There is no dearth of choices of every hue and kind,
which makes it even harder—this making up her mind.
Crop tops, skirts or Levis ripped in the right places
are surveyed in the mirror as she strides off her paces.

Lip poochings and selfies help to make the choice.
When she finally picks her costume, all of us rejoice.
Into the car and speeding to get to school by nine,
both of the  kids delivered, back home I guzzle wine.

Raising a fashionista is something short of fun.
I swear I won’t go shopping with the younger one.
I’ll build her fascination with reptiles or bugs,
go hunting in swamp waters for snakes or frogs or slugs.

I won’t encourage fashion sense or darling little dresses.
I’ve had enough of posturing and daily costume messes.
Making mistakes in parenting is not part of the fun,
and for sure the next time, I’ll make a different one.

 

Prompt words today are help, dearth, epic and indecision.

Fertile Fashion

 

Yes, you can make the images larger by clicking on the photos!!

Fertile Fashion

She had a verdant sort of glamour unabated by machine.
Thus all of her garments were a vibrant shade of green.
Her bodice made of leaves and her skirts all made of branches
interwoven with fresh grass from her father’s ranches.

She knew she would inherit all his forest land and grass
which would be sufficient for covering her ass
for throughout her lifetime except for those long winters
when the grasses withered and the branches turned to splinters.

That’s how she came to following the sun to warmer places
where  grass was always greener and with no wintry traces.
She had a fleet of weavers and they developed followings
that started up a fashion trend based on nature wallowings:

women picking grass and leaves for home-woven duds.
Embellishing with tiny bees that burrowed in the buds
that they wore for earrings and the sheep and cattle that
followed them in twos and threes to feed on purse or hat

woven from green grasses and embellished with fresh leaves.
They nibbled on their hemlines and fed upon their sleeves.
And this is how the world came to accept the final crudity
of fashionistas who evolved from verdancy to nudity!!!

Today’s prompts are glamour, following, verdant and inherit. All illustrtions harvested from the internet.

Slashin’ Fashion

 

Slashin’ Fashion

We used to think that what we wore in public really mattered.
No one wanted to appear in clothing ripped and tattered.
But now it seems the custom is to vintage-up our fashion
like it has been ripped apart in the throes of passion.

Everywhere we go, bare skin is brashly popping out
as though we can’t afford new jeans and it’s a thing to flout.
When we gain weight we do not have to buy a bigger jean,
we simply use our scissors to augment the space between!

Old men shake their heads in shock and nearly lose their dentures,
and yet these wanton ladies draw their looks as well as censures,
for when they rouge their cheeks, they do not deal with only two.

Now they have to prep  four cheeks for the world to view.

 

I worked on this poem for over an hour and when I tried to add an illustration, I lost it all!  Nowhere to be found. Nowhere in drafts.  Yes, a bit of cussing. I don’t know about you, but after I’ve written something, I forget it completely, so I had to start out again from scratch.  This time it went more quickly, though, and although it is generally the same idea, you know what they say about the one that got away!

This time I’m copying it into my sticky notes before I try to save and illustrate it.  This is the first time I haven’t done so in a long time and now I remember why I always did so! Image found on the internet.  No credits given.

The Daily Addictions prompt is augment.
The Ragtag prompt is vintage.

Highchair Fashionista

Enlarge all photos by clicking on any one.

 

Highchair Fashionista

Her mania for haute couture
came a little premature
when she first crawled across the floor,
wanting to see Grandma’s Dior.
When she took her first steps and fell,
it was reaching for Auntie’s Chanel.
The words she learned at Mama’s knee
were Calvin Klein and Givenchy.

Her alphabet from A to V

(from Armani up to Versace)
she learned in closets of her kin
dreaming of how she’d look in
Louis Vitton, Laurent, Bill Blass.
She’d be the best-dressed in her class
of other girls in cut-off jeans
and dresses made by mere machines.

Thus are fashionistas made.
As other children sell lemonade
or waste their days in hide-and-seek,
they are fingering La Fabrique
and looking at the fold and drape
of a model’s evening cape.
To each their own, we’re given to say,
and yet I’m prone to saying “Nay,
childhood might be better spent
in pastimes of another bent.”

I’d hope that kids from zero to twelve
might be more encouraged to delve
into comics or games or nature
with no stylish nomenclature.
Let kids be freakish, free and nerdy.
Let their clothes get torn and dirty.
Time enough for fashion cults
later, when they’re grown adults.

 

The prompt today was premature.

Personal Style

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Personal Style

I do not like to fall in line
with any style that isn’t mine.
I am the one bent to upend
each cookie-cutter styling trend.
Flaunting current fads is boring.
Predictable sets me to snoring.
The style that I most like to see
reflects one’s personality.
There’s magic in diversity.

The prompt word today was flaunt.

Fashionable

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Everything Old is New Again

To dress passé? A fashion sin,
yet everything old is new again.
So if your dress length’s out of date,
all you have to do is wait.
In twenty years, you’ll be in vogue,
in what last year marked you a rogue.

Who dictates fashion is beyond me,
as are those who wait to see
whether ankle, thigh or knee
is where a garment’s end should be
and whether cowl or boat or vee
is the right neckline for a tee

they tuck into their faded jeans—
now ripped and shredded like dumpster queens.
Following fashion’s every word?
I fear I find it most absurd.
I want the knees left in my jeans,
my butt well-covered, by all means.

What clothes you wear should be your passion,
not merely what’s okayed by fashion.
There should be no laws or rules
regarding clothes or hats or jewels
except what shows us who you are.
Each woman her own runway star.


Living up to its title, this poem is a rewrite of an earlier post. The prompt today was fashionable.

Richly Ragged

Richly Ragged

Youth today want to abolish
all the elegance and polish
that has received such veneration
from their parents’ generation.
Jeans with rips and shirts with holes
seem to be their fashion goals.
What is ironic is the tags.
They spend a fortune for these rags!

 

The prompt today is polish. Image taken from the internet.

Everything Old is New Again

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Everything Old is New Again

To dress passé? A fashion sin,
yet everything old is new again.
So if your dress length’s out of date
all you have to do is wait.
In twenty years, you’ll be in vogue,
in what last year marked you a rogue.

Who dictates fashion is beyond me.
As are those who wait to see
whether ankle, thigh or knee
is where a garment’s end should be
and whether cowl or boat or vee
is the right neckline for the tee

they tuck into their faded jeans—
now ripped and shredded like a dumpster queen’s.

Following fashion’s every word?
I fear I find it most absurd.
I want the knees left in my jeans,
my butt well-covered, by all means.

What clothes you wear should be your passion,
not merely what’s okayed by fashion.
There should be no laws or rules
regarding clothes or hats or jewels
except what shows us who you are.
Each woman her own runway star.

The prompt today is renewal.