The arbitor of taste

Mom: Look at you. Go look at yourself in the big mirror. A dress should flatter you, and that dress does not flatter you.

That was about ten minutes ago. I came in, ready to go to sleep, but mom reminded me that I needed to blog.

***

Before the wedding, I came downstairs with a sweater on over my dress and attempted to sneak out, when mom saw me and asked me to take off the sweater.

Mom: It's an attractive dress, in theory... why is your stomach sticking out?
A.: Because it is?
Dad: Her stomach's not sticking out.
Mom: I like the dress, but it doesn't look great on you. And that necklace is too small.














Thirty seconds later

Mom: Your stomach is sticking out.
Mom: Let me find you another necklace.

We go upstairs, she offers me a number of necklaces, all of which I find horrific. I say no thank you and go downstairs, hearing mom say, "that necklace doesn't work at all, but I understood a long time ago that you have no taste."

In the car, Wendy asked whether my mom liked the dress.

Wendy: Doesn't she understand that people have different styles?
A.: No.
Wendy: Doesn't she also understand that you're of different cultures, and her sense of style isn't necessarily right for your generation.
A.: No.

Incidentally, there was another (Jewish) woman at the wedding whose mother had tried to get her to wear a bigger necklace. The one she had on complemented her outfit perfectly.

Rachel, to me, as she was making her rounds: That's a beautiful necklace.

***

The wedding was beautiful, but I'm tired. I came in, cold, tired, stuffed. Is it any surprise that at this moment, I don't look great in the dress? Is it really worth pointing out and going on about? And then she's surprised when I walk away (and head straight to the computer).