Her little black dress signaled adulthood

The color black has been used to portray many thoughts and feelings. Black clouds foretell imminent rainfall. Black thoughts suggest sadness and losses. For me, a black dress indicated my entry into the adult world. I never questioned the concept, nor do I know the origin.

Through the age of 16, my wardrobe included items in green, red, dark brown and even navy blue; but no garment was the color black. It is difficult for me to recall who or what set this standard, and, more importantly, I do not understand what impelled me to conform.

In high school, I had friends whom I encouraged to autograph my saddle shoes, despite the pressure at home to "clean the white leather with shoe polish." I wore my cardigan sweaters backward, fastening the white pearl buttons down the back of my body, despite the difficulty of the task. My ankle length skirts gathered dirt and grime from the New York City subway steps as I hurriedly raced to catch an incoming train. Never did I take heed of the critical remarks from adult relatives regarding my choice of modern styling. I made other fashion decisions independent of family opinions.

However, I never wore a black dress until my brother Ken's 13th birthday and his bar mitzvah party. One Saturday afternoon, I boarded the Third Avenue elevated train to shop at the S. Klein's 14th Street department store with the simple goal of buying a special dress for the upcoming festivities.

A photograph on a wall in my home records my entry into the adult world. The smiling picture of a 17-year-old wearing a black crepe dress with a square neckline and cuffed white short sleeves captures my entry into maturity. I do remember feeling attractive and eager to cross the boundaries.

My brother had his biblical right of passage and, evidently, I had created one for myself.

The time and setting may have been circumstantial for me. But I think, one chooses the time or event to recognize the transition . . . one black dress to maturity. -- Selma Wallach, Sea Cliff

Relaxed fashion's in eye of the beholder
I've been through the stockings-and-girdles years. The years when men and women wore hats everywhere. When women wore housedresses and covered them with aprons. The years of "Leave It to Beaver" and "Father Knows Best." The years of dress codes and uncomfortable clothes.

When I went to all-female Hunter College in the early 1960s, we were not allowed to wear pants to class. If we wore pants to school, we changed into a skirt in the locker room. When Hunter went coed, we protested the dress code and won the right to wear trousers to class if the outside temperature was below freezing. It was considered a great victory.

As a teacher in New York City, I had to wear a skirt, or dress, slip, stockings and heels to work every day. Because our rooms were not air-conditioned, during June we could omit the slip and stockings and wear sandals.

No way do I want to return to those days!

However, I don't like what I see today either. Fashion rules have relaxed too much. Pants drooping around the ankles forcing young men to waddle. Inseams around their knees. Skirts made of napkin sized pieces of material exposing everything. While bathing trunks have gotten baggier and longer, female swimsuits cover less territory.

As a society, we cannot agree on what is appropriate in social situations (weddings and funerals excepted). Taste is individual. We cannot agree on what exactly good taste is. If we can't set standards, how can we have dress codes? Who decides who the final authority is? Is Big Brother watching? Will the pendulum swing too far back the other way? I hope not.

Today, I choose comfort and convenience over the restrictions of the past. I'm glad girdles and corsets are museum pieces. I prefer pants or shorts with a T-shirt, blouse or sweater. I wear sneakers or loafers. I rarely wear dress-up clothes, and can't wait until I can change out of them.

Comfort and common sense should prevail when we dress ourselves. -- Reeva Brooks, Westbury