When I was a child, my clothes were made
from print feed sacks. No small wonder, then,
that the "Who are you wearing?" on the red
carpet leaves me askance. My poem today
addresses the issue.
Submitted to dVerse Open Link
June 1, 2017
DRESSING FOR SUCCESS
I think the fashion designers
Must laugh behind closed doors
At the way we dance to their music
As we go about our chores.
We clamor for Jordache
And line up for Calvin Kleins
When K-Mart specials could just as well
Cover our behinds.
Gloria Vanderbilt’s into sheets now
With colors so pretty and bright
She knows we’d sleep just as well
Beneath J.C. Penney white.
The measure of a man, they say,
Is the emblem on his sox.
What possible difference can it make
If it’s an alligator or running fox?
Some live in mortal terror
Of Blackwell’s worst-dressed list
When they could be just as happy
If it simply didn’t exist.
For the proper running wardrobe
The joggers fuss and fret
When an old sweat suit could do the job
Of soaking up the sweat.
We need one wardrobe for tennis
Another one for golf
If we wore tennis whites to the golf course
Do you think we could tee off?
Being well-dressed strains our budgets
But I guess it’s our own fault.
They play the tune, we pay the bucks
And they take them to their vault.
I picture them all in conference,--
Cassini, Bill Blass and Chaus
Coming up with the proper wardrobe
To wear while cleaning the house.
While Pierre Cardin and Christian Dior
Are thinking equally hard
What the well-dressed suburbanite
Should wear while mowing the yard.
I think we should all rebel
And stand firm and strong in our boots
And tell them henceforth we’ve decided
Just to wear our birthday suits.