My Old Pink Jacket; Or, Hipster, Dork or Middle-Aged Muffin?

My favorite jacket is this old, beat-up rag that I got at the Gap several years ago.  I bought it because it was super comfortable and I loved the color.

Let's review its current state.

• The cuffs were fraying to the point they looked fringed.  I couldn't cook without the edges dipping into the food, which was kind of gross.  I thought "This is it.  The jacket needs to go."  Then I had a flash.  I took my good fabric scissors and removed the fringe.  Good as... well, the jacket became functionable.
• There are holes where the cuff meets the sleeve.  I think of this now as a bonus feature, like a mitten sleeve that comes with those fancy exercise jackets sold at Lululemon or REI.
• The tag on the bottom zipper is broken.
• The pockets have holes.  I lose keys and kleenex.  No selling point here.
• The elbows have holes.  Ditto no selling point.
• There are grease stains from cooking.  Oy.  

My husband raises his eyebrows when I wear it around the house, surprised the jacket hasn't hit the rag bag. I raise my eyebrows right back at him.  When he gets rid of his ski jacket from 1996 that he still wears to ski, maybe my jacket will go.  Until then, this conversation is at a stalemate.

Does wearing this ratty old jacket make me a hipster, dork or a middle age muffin?  Hipsters like old clothes.  They buy things that have holes and have been washed in industrial chemicals to make them look aged.  I think most hipsters would draw the line at grease stains, though.  I am sure there are some stains that might be fashionable in some parts of the world, but I don't think dressing like a fry cook is popular anywhere, except for maybe Bikini Bottom.  To be clear, SpongeBob is a dork, not a hipster.

That rules out hipster.  Dork?  I could be a dork, but I don't think dorks wear pink very often.  Plus, this jacket is less than 10 years old.  I think it would have to be between 15 and 20 years to be considered dork wear.  Older than 20 or 25 years kicks into retro, which is hipster.  (You can do the math on my husband's ski jacket.)

Dorks are unaware and hipsters try too hard.  I don't fall into either category.  I guess that leaves me and my pink jacket in the "Middle-Aged Muffin" category, a term I just made up.  I could abbreviate it to Mam, as in "Will that be all, Ma'am?"  (Not to be confused with mammary.  We are not going there.)

Muffin comes from my muffin top belly and that muffins imply something cute.  I don't think I am cute compared to my daughter, let's say, but I do have countless middle age friends who look good for their age.  That is not meant to be a backhanded compliment.  Not one of us looks like a crone, which is good.  The other day, my husband said I don't look old.  I think he was trying to be sweet.  My friends (hello you reading my blog!) appropriately look their age and still look good.  These women don't try to dress like their daughters.  They dress like themselves, and have fun with it.

So where does my tattered pink jacket fit in?  It makes me happy.  I feel warm and lazy and relaxed wearing it.  It says "I am not leaving the house today, but isn't this a great color?"  This jacket means I am passed the painful stage where fitting is means so much.  I make my own decisions.  Like Goldilocks' search for a place to rest, this jacket is just right.

And maybe I am a little bit like my jacket.  I might not look old according to my husband, but cronehood is not so far away.  The gray streak in my hair expands, and I need more and more moisturizer each day to keep the wrinkles away.  I don't want to talk about the aches where there used to be none, or the slowing metabolism.  Just because it is a little worn doesn't mean I still don't love it.  I bought it because it was comfortable and I loved the color.  That's still true.  Old things need love, too--holes, wrinkles, gray hair and all.

Me, Fox and the pink jacket