Read Online Happy Birthday or Whatever by Annie Choi - Free Book Online

the pocket.”
    She rolled her eyes and took out her wallet. Even if she bought me a tweed suit or a wedding dress, there was no way I would wear it to school, or anywhere else for that matter. I was too oldfor her to dress me, and she was too tired to argue with me about clothes.
    In high school, a petite button-nosed girl named Alyson Spilker introduced me to vintage stores. Alyson had blue hair, a nose ring, and a quirky sense of style that I admired. She wore outlandish pants, colorful hats, and big silver boots. She made her own shirts out of tights and created her own jewelry from wires and beads. Alyson was charismatic and charming, and as we became closer, Aardvark’s Odd Ark and Hidden Treasures replaced my mother’s cavernous, cloned department stores. I discovered that shopping could actually be pleasant, and I realized that used clothing from other people—as long as they weren’t my cousins—could actually look good. Alyson and I would paw through dusty clothes, and she would always find the most misshapen dress or the most chaotic sweater in the store and laugh.
    â€œOh my God, can you even imagine wearing this?” She held up a purple sweater-dress. “It’s like someone was knitting a sweater and said, hey, I wonder what’ll happen if I just keep going?”
    â€œI’ve worn worse things.”
    Through Alyson, I developed a style of my own—sequined sweaters from the fifties, geometric scarves from the sixties, coats from the seventies, and select pieces from the eighties. Hiding in plain shirts, pants, and tennis shoes wasn’t necessary as I gained more confidence. I never wore anything too eccentric, only clothes with just enough inventiveness to make me feel comfortable and noticed without feeling out of place. The clothes were unique and affordable—sophistication at a sensible price. I guess I did learn a little from my mother.
    â€œAnne, why you always wear old clothes? Why not buy new?”
    â€œBecause the old stuff is cool.”
    â€œBut it old, you look like homeless!”
    â€œNo, I don’t. Homeless people wear trash bags.”
    I foraged in my mother’s deep closets for her old clothes, finding blazers with patches on the elbows, macramé belts, and printed blouses with long sleeves that I had my grandmother shorten so they’d fit better. I found daring mini-skirts, fuzzy cardigans, and even a leather trench coat with a faux fur collar.
    â€œI don’t like you clothes, Anne. We go shopping more. You look so silly.”
    â€œBut these are your clothes. So are you saying that you look silly?”
    â€œAnne, I tell you, I wear those many, many year ago. Before you born and give me headache.”
    â€œThen why did you keep them around?”
    â€œI don’t know. I should have throw away but I think so much waste.”
    â€œOK, so now I’m not wasting them, what’s the big deal.”
    â€œBig deal? You look silly—that big deal. People think ‘Oh Annie mommy not dress her only daughter so Annie have to find old clothes.’”
    â€œThey so totally do not think that. They think, ‘Oh Annie’s so cool. Look at her awesome clothes. I wish I was wearing that.’”
    My mother couldn’t help smiling. It is a strange compliment, that someone could appreciate the sense of style you had decades past instead of the one you had at the moment. But fashion changes, and as trite as it may sound, people change, too. And people’s fashions change. And sometimes this leads to crimes of fashion.
    When I started college, my mother started golfing. With no kids in the house to obsess over, she quickly settled into a routine. Every morning, she practiced at the range with friends from church, and got lessons from a pro every Thursday. At least three times a week she played eighteen holes, sometimes thirty-six if shecould squeeze it into her day. Within three months, she