My mother's main passion was and still is clothes.
Whenever she received her salary, she would spend half of it on new clothes that same day. Closing the wardrobes in our house took a lot of effort — there were so many of my mother's things in them. But when she opened them, she would get lost in thought. She had the famous “I have nothing to wear” moment, which amused my dad and surprised me because I'm a minimalist.
I have a few things for every occasion and that's enough for me, but my mom's head works differently. No matter how many clothes she had, they were never enough for her. At the same time, these clothes, in my opinion, were all of the same type. No wonder, because my mom had a dress code at work. She could only wear clothes in certain styles and colors. She could only wear something different on weekends, and even then not always. For example, she simply couldn't go out in a light dress for a walk in the forest, which my dad loved.
That's why my mother's closet didn't have many of these things. When I asked her about things she needed for work, why so many of them, since they were almost indistinguishable from each other, my mother would start proving that there were differences. She even showed me these differences. In a word, she's a shopaholic!
Now my mother is retired, but she still has a weakness for shopping and new clothes. But if she used to choose things with taste, now it seems that it has disappeared. You can't look at my mother without laughing. Of course, I'm not very close to the fashion world, but I still understand something of it. I have no idea what happened to my mother, but she started dressing like a teenager or like some kind of burlesque dancer.
My mother can wear baggy sweatshirts with the same oversized pants and sneakers with huge soles. Youth is a time of rebellion and experimentation, so it can be forgiven. But my mother looks ridiculous in these sweatshirts. As they say, in the back of the high school, in front of the museum. And the next day she goes to the other extreme and swaps the oversized bags for shiny rags with lots of sequins.
She wears all kinds of tops, short skirts and dresses, often complemented by high heels. In addition, on such days my mother wears heavier makeup. And honestly, these outfits look even worse than hoodies. Normal clothes have completely disappeared from my mother's wardrobe. I can't remember a moment when I wasn't shocked by her appearance. And it's all because when I visited my parents, the neighbors would ask me if Mom was okay.
My mother doesn't care. She walks around with her head held high and doesn't notice anyone. At first I tried to resolve the issue more or less peacefully. I shared my concerns with my father about my mother's experiments with her appearance, and then I suggested that we both talk to her about it gently. I realized that I wouldn't be able to convince my mother on my own.
Dad, however, doesn't care about my mom's image games. He thinks it's ridiculous. The most important thing for him is that my mom doesn't force him to do anything. So I tried to talk to my mom myself. Unfortunately, a gentle conversation about how such things don't really suit my mom didn't lead anywhere. One day I told her straight out that she looked ridiculous and ridiculous in those hoodies and thigh-baring sequined skirts. Those rags should be thrown out or given to those in need.
I also explained that I was willing to give my mom other clothes in exchange – more discreet ones. This conversation enraged my mother: “First school with uniforms and my mother who wouldn't let me wear anything nice on weekends. Then work with a dress code: lots of things, but nothing to wear. Can't I at least dress the way I want when I retire?” – she replied.
My mother also accused me of trying to squeeze her into my grandmother's gray sweaters and scarf. But no! I, not being an expert, read articles about current fashion, and there are not only hoodies, but also quite restrained and elegant things. I showed my mother the pictures from these articles and said that I would like to give her clothes like that. But my mother rejected my idea. She said it was too boring. I tried to approach her from the other side, asking if it bothered her that many people thought she was crazy. “They can think whatever they want. I don't care about those little gray mice!” she declared proudly.
I realized that there was no point in arguing any further. It seems that my mom's teenage rebellion is very late. I hope it will pass in a year, but I'm keeping an eye on it. I'm watching to see if my mom has any other strange symptoms.
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