I’m no fashionista. This truth is self evident. Most of my jeans are ripped. My favorite shoes are Converse, preferably the ones that don’t require tying. So knowing this about me, why did I nearly panic this morning thinking that after today, Labor Day, I wouldn’t be able to wear my favorite white jeans for months?
Call me old school.
Or simply call me old. I realize I’m showing every single one of my southern-fried fifty-four years.
Labor Day, which became a federal holiday in 1894, marked the end of summer. Folks who summered on the shore, packed up their beach and resort wear and returned to the city.
Doesn’t summering on the shore sound delightful? (Well, maybe not when there’s a hurricane threatening to come aboard.) But really, most any time you can use “summer” as a verb, the sentence is bound to sound heavenly.
But back to wearing white jeans after Labor Day.
Here in the South, the weather may still top out in the nineties well into the beginning of fall. Even so, wearing white after Labor Day has for the most part been viewed as a fashion faux pas. If I stop and think about it, it seems a bit silly to hold such a belief when a huge section of our society seems to hold nothing sacred at all.
Last month, I saw a group of women walking around in Times Square wearing only body paint. And the Naked Cowboy wears only tight whitey briefs. I wonder if he’ll switch to black boxers for autumn?
This year I’m loosening my ironclad grip on this whole wearing white after Labor Day rule. I plan to keep wearing my white jeans for a bit longer. Maybe until Halloween. Crazy, I know.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Jose Gonzalez, Step Out