Cars used to come in such pretty colors

Baby blue Bonneville convertible.
Black and white Buick Special with red leather interior.
Pink Cadillac.
Red Corvette.
Two tone blue Dodge.
Forest green MG with luggage interior.
Jaguar XKE in colors with the same names as above.

Same with clothing. I used to wear so many colors, powder blue being a favorite. I had a pale blue dress and coat ensemble by Luba for my trousseau. As well as a white coat and dress by Luba. A red Jonathan Logan dress with a bolero jacket. A gold silk Jonathan Logan shirtwaist with a wide belt. To name a few.

I wore gloves. Shoes and handbags to match. Jewelry. No hats after the age of 10 or so. Found it kind of funny that Jackie Kennedy wore them, but understood that it was part of her job.

Pretty blouses with colored embroidery. Gray Poodle skirt with a red cinch belt and white nylon blouse with a camisole underneath. Mint green, like the beautiful dress I wore to my confirmation party. A different dress for every bar mitzvah. White pique with forest green spaghetti straps and daisies embroidered that a friend borrowed to wear for the Cotton Ball. Yellow cotton sateen with white flowers embroidered that I wore to the senior prom. Emerald green satin to the big Key Club dance in my senior year. A purple knit dress that was clingy that I wore in my “biggest flirt” yearbook photo with a contradictory demure white bow in my hair. And Judy’s black Capezio flats, or were they Pappagallos? Judy and I wore the same size in everything except that my feet were a half size larger, but I squeezed because I didn’t actually own any Capezios (except ballet shoes) or Pappagallos. I would pick her up for school in the morning, we would trade outfits, and went to school in each other’s clothes.

We rolled up the skirts as soon as we left the house. We also had to roll our slips so they wouldn’t show. Slips! We wore slips! If we didn’t properly roll the slip, at some point in the day a female someone would tell me, sotto voce, “It’s snowing down south.” That bit of information - meaning that my slip was showing from under my skirt - would send me running to the Ladies’ Room. (Or was it still the Girls’ Room in high school?) I would return to place with restored dignity and carry on with my day.

Capri pants and tops in colors, checks, stripes. Then there was that one black bathing suit with the cap sleeves that I had when I was 13 that was so incredible – it made me look like I was 16. Or maybe I was 16 and it made me look like I was 19.

Aqua dress and jacket that I wore to my brother’s bar mitzvah. Gold embroidered dress to my sister’s bat mitzvah. Pale pink A-line dress that I wore to my engagement party.

Lilac linen dress with portrait neckline that I was wearing (with beige Louis heels) when I crossed against the light on East 57th Street and Madison Avenue for god’s sake and a cop signaled me over and told me he was going to cite me, but I was so sweet and innocent at 19 that he let it go. Did I mention that I had a thin lilac satin ribbon in my hair?

Such pretty happy colors. When did it all become black black black? Maybe I should decide that Colors Are The New Black. Maybe I would then feel happy all the time. Or maybe I would look better. Or just silly, like an old lady who was trying to look happy. That would be pathetic.

Or maybe everything a woman of my age does appears pathetic. Irrelevant, be it colorful or black. Maybe I should decide that Irrelevance is the New Black. Maybe that declaration would make me feel relevant and then I would be happy all the time and it wouldn’t matter what color I wore. Wouldn’t matter to anyone else of course, and more importantly, to me.