Menocore style because they're not menopausal

A woman turns 50 and she suddenly turns into a confident potato with waistless pants, at least that seems to be the view of menocore, the hot flash style trend among 20- and 30-something women who love dressing up (in this case, dressing down) as menopausal women. How flattering - a style that looks so good it's simply named after our reproductive life cycle. And by the way, you have the face for radio!

When I found the word menocore in a New York Times article, The New Mom Uniform of Park Slope, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, like a detective who smells blood - or not. The writer called it a "a hateful takeoff on normcore." I followed the link to the source: the blog Man Repeller, a June 2018 post called Menocore is the New Normcore, and It's a Lot More Comfortable. Now I know who dunnit.

This coat is a men's XXL - solid menopausal style.
photos by @vancouverbarbara, edits by moi

I learned that menocore celebrates baggy clothing, hair scrunchies, exposed bra straps, neutrals, and a host of other fun stuff we wear. And we are lauded for not caring how we look to other people. It's because we're so frigging confident. Ross writes that with the menocore trend, we middle-agers are finally getting our time in the spotlight, meaning, presumably, baggy neutrals have never looked so good because now they are on young bods?

Don't get me wrong. Menocore has certainly empowered me. That's why I'm excited to announce here, for the first time, a new trend for us of the baggy-pants set: Fertilcore (or Menstrucore, your call), named after the reproductive life cycle of women in their 20s and 30s. How freeing to feel insecure enough that we can finally care how we look! Hooray! If my friends raise an eyebrow and say, Gee, Mel, you're looking very Fertilcore today, I can blame it on those frisky fertiles.

New fab Fertilcore look: gold lycra catsuit, platform runners, neon yellow wig, white brows you can't see here. This outfit is not my fault!

So rip up those What Not to Wear Over 30 lists, my menopausal friends. Hello mini skirts, stilettos, and hoop earrings! And don't miss my soon-to-be-released list of What Not to Wear in Your Reproductive Years. I mean, if you want to dress as mutton, you better do it right!

Fertilcore - here we come! 
See my attempts at super-tight leather pants here and here if you haven't already.

I have to say, I won't hold menocore against its adherents. I am satisfied knowing that hopefully some day they will all experience the special secret surprises that accompany menopause and middle age.

And I get it: comfortable clothing feels good and can look great. But why not have the vagina (because balls are for juggling) to just own it all on its own? I think that's what menocore is about anyway - confidence, period, or not. My fertile-free-ness should not be an excuse for someone's neutrals any more than someone's fertility should be an excuse for my platform shoes. 

I thought women's style had progressed beyond an us/them issue. We are all in this together, for the whole ride. So how about we forget about ageist labels altogether and enjoy what we all bring to the table? (Like Pao's comment - womanocore?)

As Jessica at Warning: Curves Ahead concluded in her famous viral blog post in response to a list about what women shouldn't wear over 30: "24 Things Women Over 30 Should Wear: Whatever the f*ck they want." Words we can all live by any time.

Cool sparkly owl pendant from Patti, Not Dead Yet Style.

Edit: I'm linking up to Catherine's #Share All Linkup at Not Dressed as Lamb. And later to her #iwillwearwhatilike. I'll also link to the next Visible Monday at Patti's Not Dead Yet Style.

Fifty and Other F-Words: Reflections in the Review Mirror

I occasionally allude to the menopause here on Bag and a Beret - it's hard not to. Mostly I feel majorly ripped off by the whole thing. "Pause" it is not! More like high-speed skidding on hairpin turns in the Alps (not in a good way) with a smile on my face that says I'm on a jolly holiday - "Tra-la, having a grand time!" - just playing my role in what must be the biggest brainwash of all time.

So when Margot Potter asked if I'd like an advance copy of her new book on the Pause and other life challenges, which she called Fifty and Other F-Words: Reflections from the Rearview Mirror, I thought, hell, yeah. I've known her online for years and she always cracks me up. We are the same age and she has pink hair, I mean, really, really pink. Those are Qualifications in my world.

Margot has also been in a rock band, auditioned for real Hollywood TV shows, has regularly appeared on stage and TV locally and nationally, and she was an on-camera shopping channel product expert for 11 years. As you know, I've misted my toes (doesn't qualify as a full-on dip) in some of those waters too, but Margot has plunged full cannonball! And she has authored seven DIY design/craft books and an e-book on personal branding.

So to the book.

The Outside: Excellent bright blue jacket with glittery bits, bubble-gum pink hard cover under it, satisfying heft at 220 pages, published by Sterling Publishing New York. And the colour age-progression shots of Margot on the facing paper are the perfect intro to what's to come.

The Insides: When I sat down to read, I kept turning pages and turning pages until there were none left. It was like a cleansing, invigorating shower, and I sighed with contentment when I was done.

I tagged all the places I laughed out loud or considered vital bits for backup during a harrowing hairpin turn.

Each chapter is a unique riff on an F word - fearless, frazzled, flabby, fashionable, feminist, et cetera - essays, poems, and other wry takes on life, from the highs and lows, to the sideways and side-eyes.

There were many Vulcan mind-meld* moments, like when Margot writes about her life path as a creative. I'm sure many bloggers and artists can relate: a company/buyer says, if you donate this amazing thing to us, we'll reward you, not with money, but something waaaay better - with amazing exposure! She laughs, if you're a knitter, try paying your landlord with yarn. Bwahaha!

I steamed and nodded my head at some of the off-the-cuff remarks she (we all) has fielded as a woman with visible life lines: aren't you a bit long of tooth for that? to be wearing that? to think that? Particularly remarks from men. Ouch. But Margot lobs her ripostes like scoops of ice cream, sweet, sticky, sometimes tooth-crushingly cold, which we catch joyfully in a crunchy sugar cone - decadent, calorie-free. Truly badge-worthy humour.

The top of page 41, bwahahaha! It's in Frazzled. You'll have to get the book. Heh.

Botox, high heels, chiskers, slutty pilgrim costumes, the Cheez-It problem/solution, private investigators, the unmiraculous powers of kale, muffin tops and Bundt cake, it's all in there, with lots of sprinkles and glitter on top, but no kale, definitely no kale.

The take-aways? We are not alone. Any time is a good time for reinvention, but especially after 50. She writes, if Julia Child can do it, so can we! Margot celebrates, cheers, cries, and high-fives us forward, buoyed by everyday magic. I recommend Fifty and Other F-Words: Reflections in a Rearview Mirror. I hope this becomes a bestseller. I do.

Margot's Webpage, FB, YouTube (book trailer) 

IG, The Lady Party (Margot a.k.a. "Madge")

Also, Margot interviewed me as part of her book launch. 

It's HERE, Mel Kobayashi: Fearless Fashion.

*reference to Star Trek sci-fi TV series, a telepathic mind convergence
I was not paid for this review. And Margot didn't give me yarn either. I'm not sure if she knits.

For this shoot at Vancouver Art Gallery, I wore beige tan caramel butterscotch light brown Missoni pants from My Sister's Closet, a striped silk blouse by Scotch and Soda, a felt coat by Yuzhe Studio, and Italian ankle boots from MSC.

The plaza is a very public place to use my tripod, but pffft, I'm such a pro these days. One kind woman stopped and asked if I'd like her to take my photo. Dick was doing a good job (my remote control) so I thanked her and declined. 

Those banners are advertising the Takashi Murakami Exhibit at the gallery, almost over. If you want to see it, you better hurry! Below is Turnip Head in my outfit, reading this book.

I'm linking this outfit up with Visible Monday at Patti's place at Not Dead Yet Style, and #iwillwearwhatilike at Catherine's place at Not Dressed as Lamb. I also linked this up to Catherine's #SaturdayShareLinkUp, where you can share links to any topic. Thanks for that, Catherine.

And thanks for visiting!!

Wisecracking in High Heels

I can't believe what I've done! I've made (gulp) an "old" decision, old as in old age. Quick, get my fan and smelling salts on a black and white film set.

How could this have haaaappened? It's not too late to reverse my actions - probably. If I act fast. It's like my whole world has turned upside down. And it PISSES ME OFF!!

The catalyst? The Lourdes Embroidered Platform Heeled Sandals with 5.5-inch heel from Topshop, now 75% off. A mere year or two ago I would have leapt, paid, purred, and slunk home.

This time? I only made it as far as leapt. Then I PUT THEM BACK IN THE BOX!!!! But by god, we bonded in that short time together. I don't even know how I ended up in Topshop in the first place.

Clearly, I've been dipping my toes in -

LOW-HEEL SHOE TERRITORY!

It's a foreign, unfriendly land, full of, uh, low-heel shoes. Blast and damnation!! And why? Well, not because my feet are screaming at me, at least not loudly or daily. No.

I blame it on the season: fall, as in autumn. Insidious subliminal seasonal brainwashing. Fall, as in falling, as in down, as in fear of, as in slippery wet leaves.

Who decided to call it frickin' FALL anyway? I think I'll rename it HIGH HEELS.

Spring - Summer - HIGH HEELS - Winter 

Much better.

It's not too late to go back and buy my sweet Lourdes. These shoes are why we have training wheels. And skateboards with handsome young men who tow you with skipping ropes you so you don't even have to walk.

This has all been a horrific menopausal moment!

Oh, feck - that word menopause. Where do all of these ill-conceived words come from?

I ask you, who but a man would name a woman's life passage after his own gender? Men-o-pause, poor delicate creatures afraid of women blossoming into new-found wisdom and strength!!!! Yeah, it's all about how he feels. He pauses? Pffft.

At the very least it should be called women-o-freakout, although it doesn't exactly slide off the tongue.

Fine. How about this for a pause - from now on it shall be known as:

Wisecracking 

Wisdom breaking through the shells of self-sacrifice and self-denial

Heh. No more menopause! Blast that word!

I see doctors around the world now: "Yes, [insert name here], it appears you have hit your Wisecracking years," and then him/her running for cover under the gurney stirrups while [insert name here] screams with delight.

Where's my skateboard? Where's my skipping rope? (Where's O? Has anybody seen him? Oh, maybe that's his shaking toe sticking out from under the couch.)

Everything is a fog. Stumbling around on egregiously low heels. Stumbling towards that frickin' ecstasy, meanwhile praying to the Lourdes in their cardboard cradle for salvation.

At least I have my quintuple glasses to help see my way through. Well, in truth I only wear three pairs of glasses stacked (one regular, two reading glasses), not five, and only when I'm sewing with black thread at night. Works so well.

It's all about the focus.

Elevation not with the sole, but with thine eyes. Looking outwards, not at one's feet, to achieve a higher state of being, whilst eschewing the opportunity to grow up (at 75% off). Gaaaa!!

Quick! Bring more sequins before this ill-shod Wisecracker runs out of slipshod double-entendres.

And now clarity. Here's a sober view. That's an old low-rent hotel with the crosses of a local hospital and a long-armed crane across the block looking down on it. I couldn't get a better photo - there were people partying in the parking lot and I didn't think my kind of Wisecracking would be fully appreciated.

This view could definitely be enhanced with quintuple-self-elevating vision, with or without the black thread at night.

Speaking of black threads, I'm wearing my favourite (only) black blouse below. It has a weird stretchy fabric that feels borderline gross. And my train engineer pants with the saggy dropped crotch. The rear view is too special to share.

Wisecracking during High Heels

See? I'm not advertising anything in this post, although it's too bad. Topshop shoes for free wouldn't inspire fear, guilt or remorse nearly as bad as paid shoes, in the same way that chocolates received on special occasions have no calories. 

I hope you're having a lovely season so far. Here, the leaves are the colour of pumpkins. And there's something magical about Wisecracking under a High Heels moon. 

I'm off now to see if that's O under the couch or a guest I've forgotten about. 

I'll link up with Patti at Not Dead Yet Style, Visible Monday, and Catherine at Not Dressed As Lamb, #iwillwearwhatilike when the time comes. BUT WAIT! - What's that?!! 

A big unexpected PS! 

Using a little magic, I granted myself these shoes on Halloween. I'm glad they didn't turn into pumpkins at midnight - they would be much harder to walk in than heels.

It's amazing what 48 hours, since I wrote the first part, can do to a person. Heat, time, and pressure create diamonds. My own heat, time, and pressure got me shoes. Sure diamonds are good, but for only 48 hours on the clock, shoes ain't bad. 

Look, I'm space-borne!

Not exactly Twinkle Toes - better than Twinkle Toes! 

I went to a Halloween Party at Vancouver Barbara's place. So much fun! I wore this gown for the first time, purchased maybe a year ago at My Sister's Closet. The lace of the skirt is super soft, not picky. Underneath I wore one of my two hoop skirts. Check out that jewelled breastplate. It weighs a ton!

Okay, now you can go! Hahaha!! Thanks for visiting. 

 P O O F !!

I hope you had a wonderful Halloween!

 I howled at that High Heels moon. Did you?

Code Pink sympto-maniacal

Wearing: elastic-waist polyester pants, fleece top, and baggy sweat socks under thrifted vintage kimono-style pink-patterned maxi "Loungewear" (label name) worn as an overjacket, and thrifted Miu Miu boots. So, yes, I did get the memo on pink and menopause. THANK YOU! I thought I was losing my mind, which would not be surprising as I have not cleaned out my belfry in ages and AGES.

I'm not knocking you if you DO in fact wear elastic-waist polyester pants, but one does feel so much more alive in pickled pink maxi Loungewear. Drinks, anyone? Meet me at the manhole cover.

I was curious about this "if you're menopausal-ish you start to wear pink" rule doing the blogger circuit, so I consulted the oracle, the Oxford Medical Dictionary of Physicality and Suchlike. I happened to be wearing my 3-D glasses at the time and there, under Menopausal-ish Symptoms, cleverly invisible to the naked eye, words started to materialize between the lines. Symptom 0.33(i): Irrepressible urge to wear pink. Of course! Then Symptom 1.52(c): Haphazard wearing of 3-D glasses. Then Symptom 3.7(gg): Spouting nonsense on your way to Nirvana (did not specify Cobain variety or Buddhal place).

I wore this symptomatic outfit on my inspiration walk today, flapping flamingo-like in the bracing morning breeze. Whap, whap, whap. Outta my way - there's a menopausal-ish woman coming through!! The kimono belt is lacking, which partially explains why this gem, luxuriously lined in silky healthy-gums pink, was only $20. Considering its pinkness is a soothing balm for the menopausal-ish mind, perhaps it is considered a medical aid and I could have paid with insurance. Nah, then the flap would be at the back.

The panoply of playful bold pink and patterned outfits in posts of late are clear indications that we're dealing with a contagion, spreading, oozing insidiously beyond age boundaries! I'm afraid there is no cure but time itself. Until then, brace, brace, brace in candy floss pink, cinderella-on-crack bubblegum, and Pepto-Bismol splendour. Show me how you suffer.

That's all.

Oh, I got a haircut. Next is colouring. I mean de-colouring.
Also, under this Loungewear I am wearing a warm camisole, a thrifted brown turtleneck, my skinny jeans, my Geisha socks, and a thrifted red maxi cardigan which you've seen in a hideous outfit in an earlier post. Gaaah.