Hi again,
I was driving home the other day, anticipating the delight of throwing on my comfort clothes. More than all of the pret-a-porter fashion that I purchased when I was working, my deepest affection and connection is to my flannel pants and a ‘Davidson’ sweatshirt. Large sizes are not necessarily my most flattering, but they are, without a doubt, my most soothing.
When I was in college, my comfort clothes included a torn football jersey that my boyfriend (at the time) wore…in fact that was a big thing for awhile – wearing the shirts and jerseys of guys who were taller, bigger, etc…I lived in that jersey, wearing it and washing it until it was as soft as satin. Yeah, you could say it was a weird badge of some sort; for me it was a hug. Much like my outfit is as I write this at 6:00 in the morning.
I have reached a point in my life where comfort has usurped style in the pecking order of fashion, No more heels (and those of you who knew me back in the day, remember me wearing them at every opportunity – anything to reach 5’2”). No more outfits tailored to perfection. Nope – I look more like one of Oz’s munchkins in Scarecrow-sized clothes. Don’t get me wrong – my retirement style has not devolved to the point of pity. Jeans, leggings, Vans…it works for now.
But what I crave are comfort clothes, much like I crave coffee in the morning. And there’s a reason why, of course. I watch the news and I toggle between fury and fear and heartache – so much heartache. I find myself on a trek in a medical wasteland, where tests require more tests – a medical Matroshka doll, with few doctors that seem to give a damn now that Medicare has kicked in and private insurance has been kicked out (a post for another day perhaps).
And so I stand before you – a little person in overly capacious attire, looking a bit clownish, if not extremely comfortable. I have a feeling that you identify with this need for solace. I want to house every fleeing Ukrainian family, I want to cook for the displaced, I want to heal every person struggling through these times of frailty and horror, I want to propel us to some gentler moment. Big wants, big clothes. And so, I sign off for now – sending you love and hugs. Oh, and if you want some good resources for baggy comfort clothes, let me know.
Waiting for the Karma Truck 
I wish to you all the comfort I can muster, Mimi.
Thank you Mark, thank you. These times are wearying and worrying and some items I feel guilty for all that I am grateful for, if that makes any sense…
I do know of how you feel, Mimi. Indeed.
I feel what you feel but could never put it so beautiful into words. This post is my Comfort Food.
Ah pal, if I can offer you even a little comfort, I am truly gratified. You offer comfort in your photos, your friendship, your humor…my contribution pales in comparison. Thank you…
Thank you, dear Mimi. You’ve succeeded in bringing me to ‘a gentler moment’ – enunciating so clearly why we’re in need of all things baggy just now; giving us the gift of words that help us voice so much that’s going on inside. I’m going to make coffee and grilled cheese and chat with you while I’m about it 🤗🙏💞xx
How I would LOVE to have that chat with you, Simon…and I’d make us a awesome grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee (and depending on the time of day, we may have to lace that java with a little Baileys)…sending much love…xx
I smiled as I read this, garbed in a soft, loose sweater and the most forgiving pair of jeans I own and scavenging the last bit of warmth from my rapidly cooling coffee cup. The desire to burrow into any place of comfort is so profound these days.
I was just listening to Zelensky’s address to Congress, my heart simultaneously swelling with admiration for this man’s bravery and spasming with grief for what Ukraine is enduring.
Baggy clothes, hot coffee, warm cheese sandwiches, good books, fabulous photos (lookin’ at you DK) beloved friends both near and far (you know who you are)…these are the things that sustain me in these fractious, uncertain times. Thank you for framing them so beautifully, sweet friend. xoxox
You caught me crying after watching Zelensky…we do find such solace from friends and photos and commiseration…and yet, my heart still feels so fragile
I know, dear friend, I know….
I gave up snug tight fitting clothes a long time ago. I haven’t gone to completely baggy but there is a nice comfy middle with pretty sweatshirts. I find a lot of my comfort transfers into what I eat. I haven’t gained any covid weight but I do eat more carbs than before. Maybe that’s just the winter but we’ll see.
As I read the comments to your post, it is clear that we all collectively agree about your ability to beautifully pen to paper what many of us are feeling. I, like you, have adopted what I call my post corporate uniform and agree that after many washings, the softness does become like a hug. It is 7:30 am on the west coast, you know how much I love my coffee and I wonder as I watch the Ukraine horror whether it is too early in the morning to add the Bailey’s to it. Thank you for gracing us with your musings. It is my favorite treat with my coffee first thing in the morning. Sending love and hugs across the miles. XOK.
Bunny, bunny…I miss you and can picture you drinking your coffee and wondering how you managed to keep that red lipstick from staining your teeth and the mug!! And we should admit that our interpretation of corporate uniform was always a bit on the left side of conservative. Sending you love and hugs, xom
As I sit here at work (shhhh) in my too-tight jeans (we are allowed and I had to buy a new pair that wasn’t so ratty, ergo not worn down to comfort – yet), sipping the last of my no-longer-hot coffee, I nod along with you. It takes me a tremendous amount of effort to dress smartly now. Covid relaxed the office attire so the thought of wearing snug appalls me now!
Wonderful post, Mimi.
Thank you so much! I’m so with you – snug clothes are just a non-starter for me now…And now worries – I’ll never tell that you’re hanging with me for a bit. The secret is safe here…
They just no longer appeal.
And thank you 😉
👍🏼
You are able to so beautifully capture a mood with your writing, Mimi. I agree that we’re all finding ways to soothe ourselves in these frightening times. My daughters gave me a loose flannel shirt for my birthday this year and I thought, “Oh, I’ll never wear that,” and now I find myself wearing it almost constantly! Thanks for putting words to our feelings. xo, Lisa
I am so happy you’re here, Lisa – and thank you for your gracious and kind friendship (especially since you knew the topic and had to read it regardless)…And I thunk your girls were prescient – bring on the flannel! Xo
I am glad I read this
Me too! 😉
Thank you for the love and hugs from exactly where you are 💝 From this space of natural comfort, perhaps we can all open our hearts and embrace the world with more ease. I have Il Divo playing in the background. Music helps so much these days. Thank you Mimi 💕🙏🏼💕
I could listen to Il Divo all day, and feel transported…it is this love for the world and its people which also propels me to worry and fret…Good music, good friends, and a big sweatshirt and I’ll always be grateful…💕🥰💕
Oh Mimi. You have no idea. I was so pleased with myself last fall; feeling better than I had in years, in a new community with an active social life again. So I did it. I bought a few new outfits. One pair of super cute purple jeans were (of course) too long and I decided to treat myself to new boots with a heel just high enough to take care of the jeans. I figured most of the time I’m sitting…so heels. Anywho I had everything folded, hung, etc. I had those new boots right out in front. Ready to go. Perfect for my new Active Senior life. Literally overnight that went out the window. As you know, at one point I was under hospice care and every time I passed my closet all the shiny new things were mocking me. Those boots! One morning I pulled them out and put them on with my pajamas and cried my eyes out that I was going to die and never get to wear the damn boots. Yep. That was what I was crying about. It was both nothing at all and absolutely everything. One night I cried for two hours because I had finally treated myself to a Le Creuset Dutch oven and never used it even once. Now I guess Dan’s second wife would be using it. I cried some more. Everything and nothing. You think, if they told me I only had a few months to live, I wouldn’t be crying over *stuff* right? Yet there I was. I somehow made your post all about me and I’m rambling. You’ll love me anyway cause you’re Mimi. Plus, I’m going somewhere with this. I had the LUXURY of being tended to in my own home. The promise of dying in my own warm bed, with my family and my
pets and a whole lot of dilaudid. Now I think about Ukrainian refugees and refugees everywhere, really. What is their stuff? What do they cry over having to leave behind? Were they able to hang on to their beloved pets? Did they have shiny new boots left behind? It’s all everything and nothing at all. The destruction and violence and horror and our feelings of helplessness. I have nowhere to go with that.
And your medical issues! At least I have answers and my lung clinic takes Medicare. I feel helpless for you too. Also, you have friends who leave really long, rambling comments. Sending you much love and telling you for a fact that you wear baggy comfort clothes incredibly well. How I wish I could meet you for a grilled cheese and a long rambling lunch.
Oh Jill!! You’re here!! And this response is everything! You’re feeling up to it, in your hot new boots or your fuzzy socks; your fashion statement jeans or flannels – I don’t care. You’re here. And your comments underscore why you need to start blogging again – and if not blogging, listen to your mom and write another book. There’s so much here – but let me make this about me for a minute – how much I miss you and grilled cheese and fries and slow walks to our cars because we weren’t done despite the speed with which we cleaned our plates. Your comments are so on point – no sweetheart, those fleeing from their homes care little about the new sweater, kitchen accoutrements, etc.. they are carrying far too much trauma to carry one more thing as they leave. You know the stories of my mom – I am carrying her tonnage as I watch this horror unfold.
There is so much more I want to say, but I swear I can’t see for the tears in my eyes. You’re here, your growing stronger, cook to your heart’s content, Dan wasn’t really psyched about the whole second wife thing, so he is thanking G-d for the medical miracle that you are. As are all of us who love you. Ramble on whenever you want, I’m always going to love what you’ve got to say….xo
The trauma carries from generation to generation. It’s quite literally in your DNA. And all we can do is all we can do. Dayenu. Sending you so much love 💗
Indeed – my strange, silly, sad, happy, confused, lucid oxymoronic DNA…I’m still on a happy high that you’re here with a renewed strength – my Jill, superwoman!!❤️
the older I have become, the more comfortable I’ve become with myself and the style of clothes I love to wear. like you, I seek the comfort and ease of them, more than the aesthetic, and they offer me an additional cocoon of a respite from the sadness and challenges in the world. they feel like a safe home.
Exactly, Beth! You articulate the feeling far better than I ever could. Flannel as a safe home – comfort to cocoon in…Thank you
Not at all, you just inspired me to reflect on it