Grooming by GrandmaEssay in Harper's Bazaar

Grooming by Grandma
November, 1999

Jancee Dunn discovers that her vintage wardrobe is not only comforting, it helps her grandmother deal with Marilyn Manson.

I used to wonder why older ladies would go out of their way to talk to me. They chat with me in elevators. They stop me on street corners. They sidle up in the supermarket-checkout line. "Well, I'll be," a lady of a certain age will say, inspecting my purchases. "Is it pear season already?"

Was it because I looked friendly? Or perhaps I reminded them of someone? The real reason became clear last fall when I got into a curbside conversation in my Manhattan neighborhood with a lady named Lillian, who homed in on me while she was walking her poodle. As we chatted away (something about the merits of cats versus dogs), it dawned on me that we were wearing the same damn outfit: slightly ratty leopard-print coat, red lipstick and square vintage handbag. Lillian, apparently, saw a kindred spirit.

I have a closet full of those handbags, shoes and coats. Not to mention gloves, antique compacts and all manner of sequined sweaters. I attribute my deep love of vintage to my grandmother, heretofore known as Ma. ("'Grandma' sounds so old," says Ma, who is 84.) For years, Ma has saved and archived all of her outfits in a huge walk-in closet, which is arranged by color: coral, turquoise, tan, pink. And, because she has kept her svelte figure, all of her ensembles remain in regular rotation.

Not only has Ma always been beautiful, she has always been beautifully groomed. She is part of a rapidly disappearing generation of seniors who wouldn't dream of leaving the house without full makeup, stockings, earrings and a tasteful color-coordinated outfit. The patron saint of the groomed lady is the inimitable Virginia Graham, who died about a year ago. Once the host of Girl Talk, a '60s chat show, this was a woman who got her hair done at Eva of New York and had a full manicure and pedicure right before a trip to the hospital to get a face-lift.

Ma has no interest in plastic surgery, but you won't catch her in Reeboks and a WORLD'S GREATEST GRANDMA T-shirt either. The sweatpants and hip-packs of her generational sisters who have "let themselves go" are not for her. Even my grandmother's neighborhood is well groomed. She lives in Sun City, AZ, a retirement community near Phoenix that boasts neatly laid out tracts of land with carefully tended rock gardens and pristine cream-colored driveways, about which some of the residents get a tad obsessive. Marianne McConahy, one of Ma's closest friends, has been known to wash her driveway with soap when her LTD leaves tire marks. Even though Sun City is worlds away from my none-too-fragrant New York City neighborhood, I feel right at home in her environment. Not too long ago, my mother and I visited Ma for a few days. In honor of our trip, she invited over "the girls" - Great Aunt Lucile, Great Aunt Connie and Marianne McConahy. I wore a pencil skirt and a vintage cashmere sweater with hand-embroidered flowers. I carried a brown bag that was once a camera case from Best & Co., a grand old New York department store. I also took 45 minutes to apply my makeup.

Let me tell you, I was glad I made the effort, because I immediately felt at home when Ma emerged from her bedroom in a symphony of peach: shoulder-padded sweater, slacks, subtle low heels (always, always with knee-high stockings), accompanied by a fabulous coral necklace-earrings-bracelet-ring ensemble and, of course, full makeup, including her trademark blush-lipstick rubbed into a smooth circle on each cheek. Every auburn hair was flawlessly in place. ("It's natural, by the way," says Ma. She goes to the beauty parlor merely for touch-ups.)

Great Aunt Lucile, dressed in an autumnal palette of beautifully assembled separates, arrived with Marianne in tow. Tall and straight-backed, Marianne was wearing a knife-crisp robin's-egg-blue A-line skirt and an opal ring the size of a satellite dish. These gals believe in big jewelry.

When the girls meet (and sometimes they have seen each other only hours earlier), they engage in a long-standing ritual of commenting on the outfits, paying particular attention to jewelry. They'll surround the chosen one, bending their fragile heads, clucking and murmuring. "Lovely," says Marianne, nodding solemnly as she inspects a bracelet.

I happily joined in that day, clutching Marianne's hand and complimenting her ring. Our initial conversation was followed by glasses of sweet wine ("I love this rose," Lucile declared) and sandwiches. At first it took a while to get used to the vernacular. Pants are called slacks, dieting is reducing, cheek blush is rouge. But I easily slipped into their ways.

Routines are important to the girls, and during our trip we fell into a nice one. We'd visit, then go shopping. They love to thrift, just like me. They'd descend on church sales, moving swift and sure-footed in those Easy Spirit low-heeled pumps. Then we'd head to the mall. I marveled as I watched them rummage through racks of pantsuits. In their 80s, those women still felt the thrill of bagging the just-right quarry.

After the day's work was done, we'd head home and have double scotches. Then Ma would put on a little Sinatra and show us her things. The woman saves everything. Dolls. Guest soaps. Hundreds of lipsticks. The real showpiece, however, has always been the clothes and the jewelry. Ma would proudly roll out her swanky collection of knee-length skirts, and her show-stopping procession of large rings. Mom and I would exclaim over everything while we lounged on the bed, me in a dressing gown and slippers that Ma had discreetly lent me when she saw my T-shirt-and-boxers pajama ensemble.

When it was time to leave and a genial, Old Spice-scented, retiree cab driver came to pick me up, I cried. As I was wiping away tears, I coughed a little, so Ma slipped me an ancient piece of toffee from her handbag, which I still have. You could do carbon-14 dating on this candy, and I will treasure it always. Even now, a faint grandmother-purse smell clings to it.

Despite our different languages and lives - I write for Rolling Stone and occasionally veejay on MTV - my grandmother and I are linked by a common thread. One of the reasons why vintage clothes are so important to me is so I can hang on to my girly heritage no matter what I happen to be doing. When I am not visiting my grandmother, she and the girls read my articles aloud and watch my taped interviews. As you can imagine, they've encountered some doozies - interviews with Marilyn Manson, Orgy and Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots. "I know you meet some rough types," Ma told me once, "but I know you are my own sweet Jancee." It's true. In the face of full-body tattoos and pierced eyelids, my clothes comfort me.

I don't wear vintage exclusively - although my favorite new purchases usually look old. Recently I bought a gray cashmere head handkerchief from the very hip TG-170 on Ludlow Street in New York, to my friends' snorting amusement. "Nice babushka," said one.

I don't mind that my friends sometimes gently tease me about my proclivities. Actually, I embrace those tendencies. I'm not afraid to be that pear lovin' old lady in the supermarket line. And in the meantime, I have the girls.

Virginia Graham once wrote, "They say that beauty is only skin deep - but since none of my friends have X-ray vision, skin deep is good enough for me. I wasn't blessed with perfect looks, but I take great pride and delight in keeping myself looking the very best I can."

My grandmother and her friends second the motion. There is a self-respect in dressing up and a respect for others, plus a kind of comfort. Whenever I receive one of Ma's carefully written letters I wish more than anything that I lived near enough to accompany her to the movies. We could get a little ice cream beforehand, then find a place in the theater, putting our handbags on the same seat. Just us girls, having a nice visit.

COPYRIGHT 1999 © Hearst Communications, Inc. All Rights Reserved

This material is published under license from the publisher through the Gale Group, Farmington Hills, Michigan. All inquiries regarding rights should be directed to the Gale Group.

Comments

[Rachel Lockett]

I just finished you book, and have now been browsing your articles, just in need of more!! I was soooo disapointed to have finished my read because I truly did not want it to be over!
On any day it was sure to bring a smile to my face. I just wanted to express my appreciation to you for the many smiles you brought to me on any given day!

Thanks....I want more! Keep writing Girl! You rock!
Rachel Lockett
NYC via New Orleans

[mallory graf]

Hi Jancee... I loved your book "but enough about me..." and the best part is that I've read it twice, spaced between a couple of years of course but I really loved the way you wrote about your family. I am a huge fan of pop-culture and yet reading your book I was more interested in the interactions between you and your family, rather than the celebrities you interviewed. As much as I LOVE Madonna, it was your family and their ways that I was most interested in...Another good thing that came out from the fact that I read your book is that now when I see your by-line on a celebrity profile I know that it will be a good one and not one that is done by rote.

Anyway, I truly enjoyed the book, I live it San Francisco so therefore have seen quite a few celebrities around the city...but the strange thing is once I see one I freeze and then walk (if not run) in the opposite direction, it's like they are some form of kryptonite...which is odd as no one reads Us and the rest of the tabloids...online and on paper more than I...anyway loved your book...it made me laugh out loud several times!

someone who enjoys your writing!
mallory