Mom in mink
Lester’s was the fancy children’s clothing store in my neighborhood. My mother, two sisters and I would shop there twice a year. Once at the beginning of the school term, and again just before Passover. The sales ladies were fashionable, authoritative, decisive and friendly. They each deftly applied their makeup and looked as if they had their hair styled weekly by Mr. Vincent, or Mr. Anthony…a mister somebody. They may now be the women that reach for the same shade of lipstick they wore in ‘64, and they may be those same ladies that search the aisles of dusty flea markets hoping to find the last box of the same Miss Clairol shade that erased their few gray hairs back then.
gray solution
They may be those ladies now, but back then they were my neighborhoods Jackie Kennedy’s, Elizabeth Taylor’s and Audrey Hepburn’s. And my mom was one of those neighborhood fashion icons. She could dress up better than anyone for a Bar Mitzvah at Leonard’s of Greatneck, and was always the mom that turned heads on open school night.
Ordinary neighborhood in Brooklyn
Our neighborhood shops included Thom McCann shoes, John’s Bargain store, a deli named Marty and Lloyd’s and a candy store owned by partners Sy and Moe. No one knew which one was which. Ubiquitous Italian bakeries dotted the streets I grew up on. There was a fish store, a butcher shop, a homey kind of bakery catering to Jews, and many other shops to fulfill the practical needs of the solidly middle class residents. But somehow there was Lester’s which sold European and American designer clothes. My mom was so proud that we could afford to shop there, but for my sisters and I the semi-annual shopping spree was an ordeal.
My older sister couldn’t care less about fashion, and my younger sister was relegated to the husky section, which back then was called just that. The politically correct age had not yet arrived and I can remember my poor sister Laura being made to feel as if they would make a solid and valiant attempt to find her something to wear. She was not the type to cry. Without emotion she tried on whatever they brought her and never said much. She chose law enforcement as a career and spent twenty years wearing a uniform, which was perfect for her.
Wearing velvet cap in childhood living room. Pattern behind me on wallpaper
One year my mother was determined to have us all wear “Spring Coats.” I was determined not to. The particular coat that caught my mother’s eye was off white with a navy plaid. It was a dangerous synthetic blend. I would have rather resorted to self-immolation than to be seen wearing that thing. My mother and I went ten rounds. I planted myself on the dressing room floor in staunch refusal, trying desperately to make her see my sartorial point of view. We left with the coat.
Yellow skirt
I was developing my sense of style separate and apart from my mother’s at a pivotal time in fashion history. Categories like “tween” and “pre-teen” were about to meet their demise as I was coming of age. Girls were just starting to not have to wear dresses to school. It was the incubation of girl’s fashion changing. Once radically different in both scale and design now children’s and young girls fashion seems nothing more than scaled down versions of adult silhouettes. Current style trends have blurred the lines between adult, teen and children’s fashion. Similar garments can be purchased for any one of those customers, age notwithstanding. My friend and next door neighbor Michelle was a pretty blond girl with no interest in fashion. Her mom rarely wore actual clothes; rather her wardrobe consisted mostly of cotton pique housecoats imprinted with tiny patterns of strawberries or birds. Not visually discernible until and unless you were standing inches away from Tessie.
Red Sweater-yellow pants
Michelle mixed patterns with seemingly no rhyme or reason. It wasn’t unusual to see her rocket out of her house to play wearing striped pants with a polka dot shirt. I am certain that Michelle never intended to be fashion pioneer. Rather I think she put on whatever article of clothing she happened to grab on any particular morning, and wore whatever was in her reach.
M is for master
Missoni, the masters of mixing pattern were as yet unknown in the United States, and certainly not known to anyone in Sheepshead Bay Brooklyn. The visionary style of young Asian women that so elegantly and effortlessly combine patterns hadn’t been seen in the mid sixties. While my sisters and I loved Michelle we thought her style was odd, and admittedly we made fun of her. I would have never imagined that as an adult I would seek to abandon the safety of wearing only solids together or that I would abandon the confines of wearing a print top with a solid bottom. I grew up to embrace a style which would more closely resemble Michelle’s creativity than I would have ever thought.
Mom, mom and girls
My first daughter was born in 1989. Fashion was once again at a critical juncture. For the first time layette wear showcased black. The gifts I unwrapped at my baby shower were various shades of black and gray. Subtle stripes and small dots imprinted the onesies my baby would be wearing. Hooray, black was the new pink. No frills, no ruffles, no bunnies, no flowers. My baby was going to be cool. No pastels for this expectant mama and her about to be born offspring. I dressed my baby to reflect the way I wanted her to look, as I did the two more daughters I gave birth to. I did what my mother did. Except I thought I was all that. No “Spring Coats” for my girls. My kids wore pattern on pattern from the get go.
Girls photographed in Santa Monica backyard
I am a knit wear designer and before my kids were even born I was thinking about the sweaters I would make for them. Knitted combinations of patters harmonized because of the color palette I selected. My kids were the envy of all the other mothers. I formed a small company to produce the sweaters so that other kids could wear them.
Zazu- age 3
J.Lucy and a stuffed bear
Dixie wearing bobbie pins
And then one day my kids told me they didn’t want to wear that stuff anymore. What do you know; it was the “Spring Coat” rebellion after all. My girls, ages 17, 19 and 21 each have beautiful individual clothing styles. We sometimes shop together, but I am there not to yeah or nay, more so to tell them how beautiful they look, regardless of what they are wearing. Lester’s now has six stores throughout the tri-state area. They continue to pride themselves on personalized service and a pleasurable shopping experience.
White dress with bow
Baby Jill and Mom
The Master, Where Jews Went for Celebrations, Shopping with My Mom – Knitwear by Jill Slaughter for Bendable Family Photos of Jill as a teenager – Julio Mitchel
Raw Candor 