I remember as a little girl playing among the handsome hanging pants in my father’s closet. They all felt so soft and were perfectly hung with an on-purpose crease. His closet was organized with his slacks coordinated by color on the bottom rod, followed by jeans and his ironed work coveralls. Up top were his work shirts, followed by his short sleeved casual shirts, dressy church shirts, sports coats and then his full suits. His wallet, watch and change sat atop a bank of drawers that held socks and underwear, belts and ties hung on the wall. Two rows of shoes on the floor. It was always neat, simple and effortless for him to put an attractive look together in minutes every morning.
My mother’s closet was a different story. No two pairs of pants were alike. Skirts varied from pencil thin to flouncy, muted colors to bright floral dresses. Blouses, sweaters, jackets, matching suits, not to mention the purses, scarves, hats, belts and shoes. Oh, the shoes. And of course pantyhose. Lots of pantyhose. There was so much to choose from and sometimes she had to put her wardrobe together the night before so that she could get herself together in time for carpool and then to the office.
It always took my mother three times as long to get dressed as my dad. Same for packing for trips. Dad had a lightweight hanging bag and a small weekender holding his undies, an extra pair of shoes and a dopp kit. My mother had to try to get everything she needed into one large suitcase, then carry her “face” in a hard carry-on cosmetic case.
The Dreaded Shopping Trips
Shopping seemed similar. Twice a year my father would go to his favorite men’s store that carried everything he needed for his fall/winter or spring/summer wardrobe. The store wasn’t large, but everything was very orderly with all of the pants in one section, jackets hung together, suits aligned by color and shirts according to style. My dad would always start with finding a pair of pants that he liked and the salesman would have him stand on a fitting podium while the tailor measured the hem. The salesman would show my dad all the colors that pant came in and he would choose two or three. Then they would pick out sports coats, shirts and ties. Sometimes the sports coats needed alterations, sometimes not. But suits always needed measuring and the tailor would take them to the back. All the pants and jackets had the same alterations because the measured sizes were all the same. Shoes were next and he usually bought a new dress lace up, a couple of work shoes and a loafer. Every other year or so he would buy a new nice trench coat or perhaps a casual suede zipped up jacket that would last for years. The clerk would add it all up, my father would pay and the salesman told us to give them about four hours to pick up the alterations. They would always give him boxes of new underwear just for shopping at their store.
My mother had to go to several stores to get all the items she needed for her wardrobe. Unless she went to a department store, she would need to go to different boutiques to finish out all the pieces needed for her closet to be complete. And even the more exclusive department stores seemed like a nightmare to shop for anything. Giant round carousels of dresses crammed against another giant round carousel of blouses. If she found a pair of pants she liked, that was the only color available. Forget about being able to buy it again the next year. It seemed that women’s designers changed everything every season. Even the sizes seemed to vary. She might be a 6 in one designer, but an 8 in another. The clothes just seemed to be made of much less quality than the fabric and clothing my father was buying for half the price.
My mother always dressed my little sister and me in matching outfits. I remember Staci flinging herself to the floor because she was going to have to wear a dress somewhere. While I was a tomboy like her, I didn’t mind dressing up like other little girls. It was a whole different story for her. She did not like dresses, she did not like bows, but she did not like being called a little boy either. She just didn’t understand why she couldn’t dress like the neighborhood boys or her daddy. Dresses inhibited her ability to be who she was.
As we grew older and began to shop for ourselves, the struggle became real for Staci. She always hated to shop and for years she would drive to the corner of the mall, sneak into the Dillard’s men’s department, grab some jeans, khakis, cargo shorts, polo shirts and sweaters that she thought might fit her, buy them and take them home. While they would almost fit, the armholes were always too big and the sleeves too long and wide. She would make do with what she could find and decline events that required her to “dress up” because that meant she was expected to wear a dressy suit or worse, a dress.
I’ve never been a big fan of shopping either. As teenagers mom would drag us from store to store to store to get clothes for the new school year. We would then have to follow her from store to store to store for her clothes. But shopping for my dad was always easy, because we could go to just about any men’s store and they would have my dad’s size because his size was universal in menswear. And I’m so envious shopping in men’s stores. I mean they always smell good, like leather and sandalwood. Some men’s stores have luxurious sofas and serve fancy coffee or fine whiskey while the client waits for his pants to be hemmed right there while they wait! I love the rich colors of cashmere sports coats and the elegant simplicity of styles offered, but there is an excruciatingly obvious difference in the way men’s clothing is made compared to women’s. From the incomplete linings and zero pockets to the stray threads hanging off buttons and uneven darts, women’s clothing dollar for dollar cannot compare to the quality of men’s clothing.
The idea behind The Habherdashery is to provide a shopping place for the woman who wants to dress and shop like a man does. Our sizing will be inches, just like men’s. Our styles will be available in slim, classic or full, and we will offer tailors in our brick and mortar stores. And while there are plenty of custom suit makers out there on the market, not all of us have the money, the time, or even the necessary eye it takes to pick out fabrics, colors and designs.
No more missing events because you’re not comfortable in your own clothes. It’s time to wear who you are.
