My Mom Has Sex Hair

Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Freedom .

My taste in clothes hasn’t changed, not really, since I was 19. I remember once in college, alone in my apartment with Roxy Music playing “Avalon” in the background, a glass of red wine in one hand, candles burning, and me barefoot and singing to the record and wearing a long burgundy velvet dress. And perfectly happy in that moment, alone and at peace. Then my best friend and a couple of guys showed up and my private party was over.

Those were the days when I had long velvet Genie-pants with cuffs that buttoned close to the ankles. And black velvet gauchos. And purple fairy dresses. Blouses with Medieval bell sleeves and short leather skirts and ankle boots and seamed stockings. And a long black cape. And black, lots of black. And satin sheets…oops, though I guess I didn’t wear those, but somehow they pop into my mind when I think of my wardrobe in those days.

How is it I gave all those up for bland business suits? My style of dressing was always a big expression of my creativity and individuality, but the conservative circle I married into sneered at anything other than button-downs and pinstripes and I hated fighting. So I ended up with brightly colored suits where possible, but suits nonetheless. So now I have a closet of professional clothes I tolerate.

But as of a few months ago, I decided that, from now on, I will purchase only clothes I love and I will wear what I want, even if it’s, ahem, inappropriate to the occasion. If I hang out with friends and I’m wearing a velvet burnout dress when everyone else is in jeans and T-shirts, so be it. If friends come over, and I’m feeling like a gypsy, so be it. If I want to wear Corporate Goth to work, so be it. Figure-wise, I’m not yet where I’d love to be to wear some of the clothes I adore, but I’m getting there. Meanwhile, I’ll wear what I enjoy.

My girls have always loved and encouraged my unusual tastes in clothes, even the clothes I’ve designed and made for myself. Shannon and I started experimenting with possible new author photos of me in various outfits and came up with some pics I really liked and some that were simply goof-balling fun.

“Do something different,” Shannon told me while balancing a camera in one hand.

So I mussed my hair and laughed, and she said, “Heh, my mom has sex hair.”

I had to laugh. It’s so much harder to have sex hair when you’re wearing bland, boring suits.