by G.M. MallietI was fascinated to read that the new Newseum in D.C. features a pair of glamorous turquoise slippers worn by the Wonkette as she wrote her blog. Fascinated, and more than a little jealous. No one is ever going to ask me to donate my giant black furry writing slippers, which look like something one might wear to compete in the Iditarod. Still less, I imagine, would anyone, including me, want my yoga pants on display for posterity. But this, topped off with either a T-shirt or a sweater, is my writing uniform.
I also sometimes wear a baseball cap that says "Writer" across the front. This honestly helps when I get stuck for inspiration.
Since I can't find an image of the Wonkette's slippers, and I am not about to provide a photo of the real me at work, I will illustrate this blog with another interesting fashion statement - the Pope's red shoes, which are generating more press than any other aspect of his visit. (We saw him yesterday in his Popemobile [which is very cool], travelling down Pennsylvania Avenue.) I am trying to convince my husband that he really needs to own a pair of red shoes like these. Once seen, never forgotten.
Ok, the truth now. What stylish writerly apparel would you be forced to donate to the Newseum?
(Photo by Reuters)
12 comments:
My Lost Dog bomber hat, most likely.
I seldom write for long without a cat in my lap. Does that count?
During my post-divorce "dark period," spent living and working in an under-heated rented room, I wore an academic-looking (or so I thought) over-sized cardigan, found at Goodwill, with an Oxford shirt or T-shirt and jeans. Plus the obligatory lap cat.
I never, ever wear shoes while writing. When it's very cold, I'll wear some kind of sock or slipper that allows my toes to move. But I live as the barefoot kid, and I write that way, too.
Fun topic, Gin!
It seems to me the Pope should probably update his wardrobe to at least the 1970s--white leisure suit ala John Travolta? I'm not Catholic, but I'm just sayin'...
[And I've never gotten over a large scrawl of graffiti that was written on one of the I-75 overpasses when Pope John Paul II visited Detroit years ago. It said:
The Pope Is Inflatable.
One can only assume they meant infallible, although I wondered...]
I wear shoes in the 'tween season (like now) where it's too warm to wear slippers, but not warm enough to go barefoot (my office is in the basement, which is typically cold). I think my wife would consider donating my slippers, though. Alas, no turquois for me--navy blue slip-ons this year.
It's not exactly apparel but it does cover part of two fingers -- a Peet's tea cup. Sounds dainty, doesn't it?
In Ralph Keyes' "The Courage to Write" there is a chapter entitled "Should You Write in the Nude?" It's a wonderful chapter, not just about what writer's wear (or not) but about rituals and habits various writers have used to keep writing.
No, I don't write in the nude, but darn close to it, so my museum offering would be meager, maybe a ratty tee shirt or two. But no matter how hot or cold it is, I NEVER wear a bra when I write. Maybe that's why I generally don't write in public.
My pink sequined flip-flops-- I mean, heckfire, it's the craze down here in the sunny South :)
My clothes are comfortable when I write, though not particularly notable. What I do always have is a Spiderman dart (it's my son's) that I put in the corner of my mouth like a cigarette when I'm writing and frustrated or on to something good. Anyone have Freud's number?
I have a mug I "borrowed" from a bar in the Caribbean - Pussers. It's usually filled with coffee - but not always....
I drink from my grandfather's tea cup collection that came from post-war Japan (WWII, for youngsters who are wondering). When you look through the bottom of them, there are translucent images of very interesting geisha girls. I don't know why I find these so amusing, but they always make me laugh.
Having logged 43 hours of overtime so far this week, right now I'm lucky I can get myself dressed at all.
My "uniform" for the writing job is sweats, sweat socks, well-worn t-shirt, ratty sweater with the hole in it that is so attractive but oh so comfy, and slippers. The museum can have everything but the sweater.
I've been rising before dawn to finish the first book in my new series, so I leave my (very unglamorous) red sweatsuit folded on the (sporadically used) elliptical exercise machine beside my bed. So that I can dress in darkness and sneak out to my office without disturbing my husband or my aged mini-schnauzer. I would go barefoot, too, except for the South Texas scorpions. Yee haw!
A pair of flannel men's pajama bottoms, either a t-shirt or thermal shirt, depending on the weather, UG boots or slippers, and usually a cat or two draped across my arms. Which may explain my current case of tendonitis...
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