Clothing compliments of Screaming Rags. Photo by Cindy Beal.

By Teresa Willis

Retro. Been hearing that work a lot lately. It’s the new craze. Everyone is dressing the way everyone used to. Articles of clothing that looked dated or just plain stupid a mere six months ago are now the cutting edge of cool… again. When you talk to people in the 30-plus age range about this retro thing, the overwhelming and amazingly common response is, “I just finally threw all that stuff out about a year ago.” Those in younger circles, who are embracing this phase with the enthusiasm of Hunter S. Thompson on acid, vaguely acknowledge that their parents used to dress this way, but they don’t want to talk about the “retro” aspect of retro. They are the new hippies (a word, they assume, that is some derivative of “yuppie”). Don’t tell them it’s a borrowed identity. They like to think they made it up.

Clothing compliments of Kathy’s Boutique. Photo by Cindy Beal

I’ve not been a slave to fashion since adolescence. About the time I had to start buying my own clothes, I conveniently developed the firm conviction to avoid manipulation by the fickle fashion industry -— ridiculous what they tried to foist upon my body anyway — and started to rely upon what I referred to as a “classic” look. For years I rarely purchased clothes. I never actually “shopped.” Shopping is something you do with someone else’s money. With your own money, you buy things you need. I simply “acquired” clothing. I’ve always been the sort of person to whom you give things you don’t want. Because I’ll take them from you, just take them, whether I want them or not. If I don’t want it, I give it to someone else. Or I reclaim it for my own. Or I let it sit another six or seven years. Sometimes I actually release it to some charitable organization. But if you’re giving it away, I’ll usually take it. My apartment is my own little thrift store. When I lived in New York I was part of a group of women who never cleaned out their closets without the other three present. We had sort of a pool of clothing that we drew from, one garment sometimes making it around to all four of us before it finally went to Goodwill. Another favorite place to “shop” was my mother’s closet. I come by it naturally, this thrift store mentality. My mother keeps everything. She actually kept a pair of spike-heeled shoes since 1943 just to remind herself how uncomfortable they were — so she would never be tempted to buy them again. I found them in 1978 and wore them out in six months.

The result of all this scrounging is an eclectic, hodge-podge wardrobe drawing from every decade available. I have made a game of counting up how much it actually cost me, whenever I get a compliment on an outfit. Many times, it’s under $10 — having only paid for my underwear (yes, I insist on new underwear) and socks.

Maria compliments of Eagles Coffee Pub. Photo by Cindy Beal.

Though this type of dressing is not exactly mainstream, it is also not uncommon. The combination of passion for clothing, lack of moola, and plain old vanity can result in design ingenuity hitherto unparalleled by Parisian couture queens. In fact, whenever a fashion magazine entered my line of vision in the past decade or so, I’d turn up my nose to the ridiculous prices and trendy gimmicks.

My friends and I do so much better on a budget of, like, $200 a year. Our closets burst at the hinges by availing such resources as thrift stores, sisters who gained weight, K-Mart, and each other. Layering is essential, funky shoes a must, scarves are our friends, and anything, that is, anything that creatively camouflages a butt that can no longer be described as “petite” is of great personal value. Tunics, jeans, I men’s vests, leotards, combat boots, high-top Converses, oversized June Cleaver dresses, flannel shirts, big men’s shirts — these are our survival clothes. They comprise a funky look that cost next to nothing. My gang of resourceful women has dressed like this since the early eighties. It’s extremely satisfying to turn a deaf ear to the fashion industry, spend no money, and look great anyway.

Then retro. I’m torn. In a way. I’m flattered. It almost feels as though I was part of creating a trend. Like the fashion designers have finally caught up with what my bohemian cohorts and I have been fine tuning all these years. But I’m also somewhat pissed. The kind of pissed you are when your white trash neighborhood suddenly becomes fashionable and rich people that snubbed you are buying up every spare lot. The kind of pissed that many of my poet friends were when MTV presented “spoken word” on Unplugged (like we were ever really “plugged”). Uh-oh. I feel a tangent coming on. Better stop before I start frothing.

But isn’t it infuriating the way com-mercialism can trivialize anything original by throwing money at it? Now combat boots from Army surplus aren’t enough. No — now you have to have Doc Martens at twice the price. Young women’s affinity for oversized June Cleaver dresses from the thrift store is responsible for the evolution of the “vintage” dress — those oversized, overpriced frocks made of sheer floral plastic, of which every boutique has eight racks. A leotard is now a body suit with those inane crotch snaps (ever have one of those de-snap at an inopportune moment? Not at all comfy. Downright painful if your jeans are snug). Vintage bell bottoms from the original era don’t fly. Now they gotta be Lycra bell bottoms. Didn’t have Lycra in the sixties.

Okay. I’m getting worked up again. This is supposed to be a simple report on the latest fashion craze. The editor took one look at me and figured I was qualified. I suppose he had no idea of my emotional involvement with the subject. The point is, one of the prices you pay for being an original is the risk of imitation. And if the people who hold the purse strings and manipulate the masses decide to imitate you, you may lose your status as an original. We’ ve all experienced that at one time or another. One of life’s little lessons. You just accept it and find something else to be original about, right? (Before I veer back to the matter at hand, though, I’d like to state here that, besides being hip before it was hip to he hip, I was nuts about Jerry Seinfeld before he ever got a series. Not that I would begrudge ol’ Jerry his success. He’s funny. He deserves it. But now that he’s a star, I have to share my private obsession with, like, people in trailer parks. I hate that.)

One of our models, Brent Wells, agrees with me. Not about Jerry Seinfeld (wel,. maybe we didn’t discuss that). He’s been dressing “retro” for years now, though he doesn’t want to be “lumped in with any kind of group or trend.” He does most of his shopping at vintage clothing stores, avoiding basic thrift stores and conventional boutiques. He finds it “very irritat-ing that it has become a fad. All the stuff the designers are putting out is overdone. Really lame, compared to the original stuff.” Brent’s favorite pieces are from the thirties and forties, but he moved it up a few decades and donned seventies togs for our photos.

I recently hit North Hollywood’s Iguana Cafe in search of retro (or is it Retro? Is it ingrained enough to be capitalized yet?) I thought the Iguana, being the supreme hangout for poets and acoustic musicians, would be a hotbed of retro devotees. I found that either no one there is a slave to fashion, or that maybe the trend is imperceptible to me because I’m part of it. Kind of like how nobody thinks they have an accent. I did count about five tie-dye shirts in a room of about forty people. One such shirt was found on the back (and front) of comedian/poet Honest John. He started wearing tie-dye shirts about three years ago and they have become a part of the Honest John “persona.” “I wear one every time I get on stage. I actually feel freer in the shirt. In the winter, when it’s too cold, I still wear it underneath the sweater or whatever I have on.” His clothing choice has nothing to do with a trend, he contends. He was actually surprised when I informed him that he was on the forefront of fashion funk.

But what is subtle at the Iguana is in your face if you go anywhere near the retail world. I have to be in the malls and boutiques for my job as a wardrobe assistant. So, for the first time in years, I am aware of what’s “in” — and I want it. All of it. I don’t like this about myself. Besides the negative financial ramifications, it plays havoc with my long-ingrained elitist resolution to avoid manipulation by the fashion industry. However, there are some advantages. For example, it is once again widely acceptable for women to wear clothes so loose that the shape of their body is imperceptible. Pajama pants and t-shirts are just as hip as last year’s ever-present crop tops and midriffs. This is. for me, personally, a boon, as I am suffering from just-quit-smoking weight gain. (Pajama pants, by the way, cannot be described as “retro.” Though bona-fide pajama pants have been rescued from oblivion and worn ad nauseam by urban bohemian babes for years now, this year marks the advent of their appearance in designer fabrics at Bullocks. Also, though it is widely perceived that retro draws from the late sixties, early seventies, if you look closely enough, you can see every decade since the twenties represented -— and even before, if you count the heeled, lace-up shoes and boots that are damn close replicas of the lace-ups of the nineteenth century. The platform shoes are, many times, a combination of forties uppers with a sixties or new nineties (less chunky) platform. The lacy, sheer, layered, drop-waist dresses with chokers recall the twenties. There are even gauzy, tiered, circular skirts on the racks, the likes of which we haven’t seen since “Disco Inferno” was in the top ten. Long sweaters with sheer skirts are a shallow fashion echo, harkening back to the late eighties. Add to these, obvious love beads, tight, horizontal-stripe tops, Juliet caps and clogs, crocheted, ankle-length vests (is Bea Arthur in heaven? One friend of mine said you could stop the trend dead in it’s tracks by telling young women, “Maude used to wear this stuff.”), and you have a “look” that has no rules. About the only thing that I’ve not seen revived is the polyester leisure suit (yes, there are still some limits in the nineties). The point is: almost everything is “in,” which makes retro quite affordable. None of the clothes of recent years have really gone out of style. You can still get away with your cowboy boots. You can thrive in your ripped jeans. If you can still wear crop-tops, wear them with those flat abdomens of yours and torture the rest of us. Never give up your leggings and tights. Grow your hair. Shave your head. It doesn’t matter. Keep your flannels, your thermals, your tattoos. Grunge your Stussy 8-ball caps right off your head, for God’s sake. It’s California, it’s 1993, and everyone’s original.