The Purple Caftan

Fashion can be transformative. Slip into a designer gown, and you may instantly feel glamorous, carry yourself differently, straighten your spine, walk with care and grace.

That vintage leather bomber jacket may make you feel confident, tough, a little badass.

That black lace bustier can cause you to feel sexy, provocative, possibly naughty.

For as long as I can remember, I have been a social chameleon. My skill has never been hiding or going unnoticed. I’m far too loud for that. But I’ve always been good at adapting my look and my behavior to “fit in” with many different groups. I’ve been a suburban PTA mom, a rabid sports fan, a formally attired performer, a FetLife kinky karaoke star, a cosplaying gamer nerd, a semi-conservative church choir leader, a crisply pressed professional, and casually relaxed in t-shirt and capris. I feel comfortable hanging out with saints and sinners, loud weirdos, and quiet introverts. In most cases, the clothes that I wear also adjust to fit the social situation.

I first saw the purple caftan at Goodwill. (Naturally!) I was searching for a dress to wear to my niece’s upcoming wedding when I spied the vintage, batik beauty. It stood out amid the other dresses. Beautiful artistry had created patterns of variegated purple, blue, and grey shades on flawless rayon. It was a stunner, and my size.

I laughed to myself, imagining a 70’s Mumu-clad “auntie” in her vintage avocado kitchen, leaning over a pan of eggs, cigarette dangling from her lip, flip-flop “slippas” on her feet. I thought of my great Aunt Joan, with her warm beer secreted under the kitchen sink, window boxes full of strawberries and marigolds, her nasal New Jersey accent, and a long ash from her smoke threatening to fall at any moment. She’s been gone for decades, but I could imagine her wearing something like this dress.

I pulled the caftan from the rack, and took a photo, sending it to a friend from Hawaii who grew up amid such women. I said that I was thinking of going “full auntie” for my niece’s wedding – that all I needed was a paper fan, and a gigantic hat. We sent each other pictures of absurdly huge sun hats, and suggested that the look could be completed with a wad of tissue stored in my cleavage, lipstick on my teeth, and a rascal scooter for getting around. I already had Birkenstock sandals.

Wheezing with laughter, I put the dress in my cart so that I could share the “joke” with my spouse, who was browsing in the book section. As I resumed my shopping, the purple caftan continued to charm me. It was actually quite pretty.

When I shared the dress with my ever-practical spouse, he didn’t quite have the same humorous response that my Hawaiian friend and I had experienced, but shrugged, saying “if you like it, get it.” I explained that I wasn’t actually going to wear it to my niece’s wedding, but that thinking of a midday, outdoor event, in August, in the hot, humid Midwest, had me considering extreme measures.

Ultimately, I decided that for its thrift shop price, the caftan could be a good “house dress” to wear around my place during the summer months. I brought it home.

I washed it on the delicate cycle, and put it on a hanger to dry. For the next several weeks, it hung there, like a pretty tapestry, on the door of my bedroom closet.

This morning, I had trouble sleeping. I tossed and turned from about 3:30 until nearly 6am, when I decided to get up, go outside, and smoke some marijuana to try to help me fall back asleep. I was wearing a short, spaghetti-strapped nightie, and didn’t feel that it was appropriate to wander my house and yard wearing so little. Spying the caftan, I threw it on over my nightie like a robe. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I marveled at the transformation.

When I slipped the caftan on, I instantly became that “auntie” that my friend and I had joked about a few weeks ago. My hair was twisted up in a messy bun, I wore bold turquoise glasses, and yes, Birkenstock sandals. The shapeless garment hid any hint of my figure – I could be 150 pounds, or 510 pounds under the formless folds of fabric – nobody could tell!

My formerly hot pink hair (which had made me feel funky, confident, bold, and cheerful,) had faded to blonde a couple of months ago, and I decided to leave it that way for the family wedding. What I didn’t realize, was that the white blonde would add to my “old, wizened crone” look. It was fascinating. I’m someone who has friends of all ages and am often thought to be in my 30s rather than in my early 50s. With the purple caftan, I instantly look my age or much older.

I decided that I will take this dress with me when we travel for the wedding. I will wear it as a robe while staying with my family, and embrace my “elder auntie” status, at least over breakfast.

It’s not always comfortable transitioning to “senior” status, but it should at least be fun. At 51 I’m not ready to permanently embrace clothing and culture of the AARP crowd, but it’s fun to visit the look when the mood strikes!

And when I am an old woman, I will wear purple.

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