Style in the City

Susanne Seidman, Style Editor

In a climate where change is constant and the economy, the election, and our day to day lives are somewhat uncertain, those in the end stages of cancer are certain to need quality care, support, and services. So do their families.  Hospice seeks to prolong the life and quality of life for patients facing death from cancer through palliative care and mental health services for patients and families. Volunteers, nurses, and doctors make hospice care compassionate and comprehensive.  The community is a valued partner in this relationship.

In this week of tough news and tougher forecasts, it’s not too late to celebrate life and make a difference. Join the greater Washington community and our own LocalKicks Style Editor Susanne Seidman in supporting Capital Hospice at The Passion for Caring Gala Argentina and its Passions.  Kick up your heals and Tango down to the National Building Museum for an unforgettable night. Tickets are still available through Thursday, October 2.

Check back with Local Kicks to see more opportunities too support Capital Hospice and to learn about hospice services in our community.

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How often are we sucked in by a glossy before and after make over in a magazine or on a morning show? It’s oddly comforting to think a new hairstyle and a fresh outfit can make all the difference. 

So many of us have felt the after glow of compliments after finally succumbing to the costly highlights we put off or taming the roots we tried to ignore for just a few more weeks. Yes, it’s worth it. Or that extra bounce in your step when someone you see almost daily notices the new pair of shoes you just had to splurge on, a splurge even after they went on sale. There is an understanding.

Over the years it is easy to fall into a tried and true look. Preppy and polished, comfy and earthy, dressed for success, or dressed to survive crushed goldfish crackers and sticky lollipops. Whether unintentional and subconscious or by design, we can become creatures of habit.  The way we look can be a mirror to how we feel and what is happening in our lives or act like a wall put up to prevent those around us from seeing inside and also keep us from examining ourselves.

While still appearing stylish and current, for many years I was beyond predictable. It was more likely than not I would be wearing at least one garment in pink and or from Lilly Pulitzer. That look was a mark of my WASPy suburban youth, a natural extension of grosgrain hair ribbons and cable knit cardigans.  I’m not sure I consciously chose it after growing up as much as it was always a part of me.  That was my style.

Sure I mixed it up, sometimes with the ease of a great pair of Seven for all Mankind jeans other times with the calculated perfection in the of the moment Tory Burch shoe.  More times than I care to count that carefully researched, chosen and procured or impulsively snatched up trendy piece would languish unworn, tags attached next to all those Palm Beachy prints. Those untouched shirts, skirts and pants eventually became glaring reminders that my “uniform” of sorts represented safety, a shell to tuck myself into like a turtle. And a waste of money, my fashion failures.

One day in an equally carefully chosen and then favorite pair of Boden barely window pane plaid, brown wool pants and orange cardigan sweater (with contrast pink cuffs) my seemingly perfect fashion shell could no longer protect me from the worst realities of the outside world. I stood next to my mother listening to a surgeon say she almost certainly had pancreatic cancer. My sweater wouldn’t button if I tried; I was still nursing an infant. I think we both still smelled slightly of the homemade stuffing and turkey of Thanksgiving the day before. I felt like I was watching a health segment on one of those morning shows or even worse, a Lifetime made for television movie. You can dress for an interview, a wedding or even to fight in a war. You can dress down to change careers, undress to deliver a baby or not get dressed at all by staying in bed and giving up. There is no dressing to fight cancer or loose someone you love to it.

In the ten months that followed, I couldn’t tell you what I wore, although I guess it was likely pretty put together. Looking back, I wore my clothes like a mask or even body armor for the ensuing chaos of white coats and purple pancreatic cancer awareness icons that surrounded me. I took up ironing after months or even years of letting it pile up. I could smooth out those wrinkles. It gave me control over something small. 

I can’t begin to tell you how many fresh outfits in increasingly smaller sizes myself, my aunt and my sister-in-law lovingly purchased and helped my mom into until her last nightgown. Or how many black suits and dresses didn’t fit me by the time I needed one. About a month before my mom died, a wise and thoughtful member of our hospice care team warned me that if I didn’t return to some sense of normalcy in my life and allow myself to step back a bit before my mom was gone, I wouldn’t know how to return to life when she was. In other words, she gave me permission to be who I was before the cancer. There is living in dying and dying in living.

My struggle in helping my mom fight her cancer, eventually accept her journey and meet her peace resulted in a top to bottom makeover inside and out. The pink just wasn’t as rosy to me. It felt all wrong. I was tired, I was raw, and I was not put together on the inside.  I laughed off compliments about my longer hair and thinner frame. “Try my weight loss plan of round the clock care giving and skip haircuts for months,” I’d laugh. Then I’d cry.

The truth is my makeover was and is still brutal, painful and somewhat out of my control. Nothing, in fact, like a segment on “Today” or the pages of “InStyle” that used to mean make over to me. But after a lot of power yoga, some serious soul searching, a closet purge and yes, a decent haircut and highlights, I own my make over from the inside out. It’s not the increased amount of black, the warmer gold accessories or the killer shoes and knock out dresses that brought out my best sense of style. It was a decision to stop wearing the clothes to fit my life and my history, what I was known to be, and to start carving out a life and a style that will be my best me.  I don’t need to match or even coordinate. I can be put together just as I am. I can take a risk or play it safe. I can constantly change and my clothes change with me.  As it happens old habits do die hard…you can see the changes first through my wardrobe.  Still, there is one constant, the laundry.

In the best of times and the worst of times you can find Susanne Seidman shopping and you can reach her on her blackberry with a pink silicone cover at SSeidman@LocalKicks.com