There are a few men out there, sure, their dirty noses pressed up against the window, trying to find an entree into this strange emporium of sewing and satire, drag and dolls that is Male Pattern Boldness.
I am proud that in my own small way, I can try -- with your assistance of course -- to challenge some of the gender stereotypes that oppress us all. Yet just as I'm congratulating myself for subverting old cliches, an experience like this one quite literally knocks me off balance:
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| From PR Day in NYC - Feb 15, 2010 |
Yesterday I spent five hours shopping for fabric on a Pattern Review outing in the Garment District here in New York City. Catherine, Emory, Cynthia, Ann, Sarah, Mikhaela, and the two Elizabeths -- they are women, much like yourselves; you may even know a few of them personally.
And what fun they are, full of energy, warmth, and good humor! I felt utterly at ease in their company whether we were discussing maternity wear or full bust adjustments. The gender boundaries just melted away and I was reminded once again that we are all more alike than different.
Then we started shopping and the regression kicked in almost immediately. I was transformed into Fred Mertz watching Lucy and Ethel shop for Paris Originals, spitting tobacco bits out of the corner of my mouth, disdainfully.
My eight companions didn't shop for fabric so much as inhale it. After an hour in Metro Textiles, the place was pretty well cleaned out, aside from a few forlorn footprinty yards of stonewashed denim.
The owner, Kashi, lay collapsed in a corner, a stream of spittle winding its way down his chin, eyes eerily unfocused.
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| From PR Day in NYC - Feb 15, 2010 |
I wouldn't say we hit Greenberg and Hammer, the famous notions store, but rather we moved in, tossing our bags and coats wherever we pleased, parking ourselves hither and yon, completely oblivious to the needs of staff and other shoppers.
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| From PR Day in NYC - Feb 15, 2010 |
With shopping baskets filled to overflowing, this PR team stormed through the narrow aisles like they were in one of those three-minutes-in-the-supermarket TV game shows. If it was on the shelf, they grabbed it. We only left when we heard police sirens in the distance.
After a restorative lunch, just when I thought the worst might be over, the troops aimed their sights on 38th Street. At the famed fabric dive H&M, bedlam ensued, as these not-to-reckoned-with PR shoppers unfurled bolts of polyester jersey every which way, wrapped themselves up in heavy wool crepe, and ran their fingers over...everything. A frantic tug-of-war over the last three yards of stretch poplin turned into a bloody brawl complete with kicking, screaming, and hair-pulling until finally at 2:45 pm an anonymous call was placed to 911.
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| From PR Day in NYC - Feb 15, 2010 |
How did I respond to this sordid spectacle of estrogenic enthusiasm? I mainly stood stone silent, making mental notes as the orgy unfolded, and choking down the bitter bile that burned my esophagus.
After nearly five hours, dark circles ringing my sunken eyes, I excused myself. Oh, I won't lie; I'd made my little purchase: 1 1/2 yards of black polyester fleece for a jacket for my Mom and 1 yard of pink knit jersey for some T shirts. I doubt anyone even noticed.
I'd spent my $6. It was time to go home, crawl into bed, take a few aspirin, and sleep it off.
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| From PR Day in NYC - Feb 15, 2010 |
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