This post is perhaps a little passé, considering this is the second summer in a row skirts went from just above the knee to microscopic butt covers. The question posed is this: When is One Too Old to Wear a Mini Skirt? I ask this because I pondered this question last summer while I wore my practical knee length skirts. (I have so many that I have actually made a pact with myself to stop buying skirts all together). However, now that we’ve embarked on the second summer with everyone and their Mom wearing micro-minis, I broke down: I bought myself a mini-skirt. A pleated, denim, little number made by Levi–my most trusted jean maker. To hell with it, I figured, I haven’t danced for twenty-one years to have one of my favorite assets covered–I have great legs! Sure they’re kinda white and pasty, but all that aside, I’ve worked hard for my calf muscle definition. One of the best compliments I’ve ever been given was a fellow, straight, dancer of mine named Efrem: “Mara, you have the best legs I’ve ever seen…and I’ve watched a lot of porn.”
Sure, when gravity hits, my varicose veins pop out, and my legs no longer look nice, well then: Mini-skirt it’s been great but good-bye! I mention this because my hesitation with buying a new mini is that, well, you know, we’ve all seen cases of various women who have not retired their mini-skirts in a timely fashion. Ok, ok, not all of us have the body of a 16-year-old, and according to my observation at Westlake Mall every single girl under the age of 16 has a mini-skirt. (Ok, so a few of them were wearing those ridiculous, bulky, peasant skirts that look like a pleated bed ruffle). Granted the mini marketing campaign is aimed at the cute. So what, right? Can’t those of us hang onto this recent trend while we can?
The mini skirt has surfaced several times in my life. We all know it began in the 60’s, but the first time I was hell bent on a mini-skirt was in the late 1980’s. I finally talked my Dad into buying me one at Ross, it was light blue and had these weird little floating ducks on it. Paired with an oversized, v-neck, tee and a pair of white Keds and I was SET. Sixth grade, here I come! Scrunchy socks? They look great with my cotton/lycra, purple, ribbed mini, thank you very much. I continued to rock the mini in middle school, and I have to say it may have assisted in my short lived popularity in 7th grade. Sure, there was the sudden realization that while walking up three flights of steps at Shumway Middle School, anyone could look right up my skirt. Sure, my thighs stuck to plastic seats. Ok, I had to cross my legs all the time and that was kinda uncomfortable. Typically I braved the cold and wore the mini solo, legs shivering and bare. My legs became immune to the cold and as long as I had on a sweater I was set, my legs be dammed. It was worth it, man. The mini-skirt commanded a lot of power back then.
A surge of self-consciousness eliminated my mini-skirt wearing until 11th grade. I started wearing little shorts, and than boxers, under my enormous, billowing, baby-doll dresses. We wore those little slip dresses with Dr. Martins, year round. Occasionally, when it dipped below 35 degrees, we were known to pair a mini with long underwear–God forbid! (Hey, it was grunge, it worked…) Than I got a boyfriend and stopped caring about how my legs looked in a micro-mini. Entering college I was wearing size 38, ancient, hole-in-the-crotch, denim bought at Value Village. Everything was oversized and ill-fitting. I stopped dancing between the ages of 17 and 19 and my self-image went to pot.
But, around my 19th birthday I bought myself a black mini-skirt. I had a new boyfriend who was extremely exploitive and really celebrated my legs. I felt very certain that in order to embark on my new clubbing lifestyle I had to arm myself with a tiny skirt. This was right around the time when my one-woman show premiered at the Fringe Festival, and I rocked the crowd with various tiny skirts. An entire monologue was based on seducing a rock star using my “napkin-sized mini.” How great was the mini-skirt? It provided so much ventilation while navigating through hot, heavy, gay dance clubs. By the time I was 21 and attending the Miss. Cherry Bomb Drag Queen contest every Wednesday night at the now defunct Aerospace, my black mini was thoroughly broken in. Than, at 22, I moved to Colorado.
No one wore mini-skirts in Colorado. I don’t know if this was because they went out of style during the time I lived there…it’s quite a possibility. I just know that I replaced most of my cute, clubbing, night-on-the-town clothing with polar fleece. It’s sad how that happens…perhaps I was just getting old. Suddenly, my legs seemed goofy and cold hanging out in the breeze. Luckily, the skirt trend was accommodating and, like I previously mentioned, I bought a lot of long skirts.
Now, years later I am faced with the whole quandary: Is it too late? Sure, I’m no match for the 60-something woman with spider veins crawling blue and purple up her legs, skirt hiked up around her armpits while waiting for the #5. These days, the only minis I see are on adolescent girls and the occasional prostitute trolling Aurora Blvd. But, I admit I am terribly susceptible: Old Navy has been marketing mini-skirts and it’s hard to resist. Should I abandon what was once a fashion staple of mine just because I’m 28? No, right? I caved in.