How Direct Mail Can Make You Feel Like Crap

There are many ways that you can tell you're getting old. You can't drink and carouse until the wee hours, for example, and still drag yourself to work the next day (or at least be any kind of useful when you get there). You hear yourself saying things that a) your parents used to say and b) you remember making a mental note never to say. And sometimes you are just going about your day, and you'll see something that makes crushingly, maddeningly clear the immensity of the gap between you and The Kids Today. Yesterday morning, for example, I watched a young girl, maybe 16 or 17, walk past me in shorts, and I could not stop staring at her legs. They looked like they were airbrushed, but in real life: perfectly smooth, perfectly unblemished and uniform in color, long and slender and perfectly formed. I felt a mixture of awe and regret--my legs used to look like that, dammit. Of course, probably like her, I was not under the impression when I was 16 (or 24, or 32) that there was anything about my body to be especially proud of. So I watched (hoping no one was watching me ogle this poor girl), wishing that I had had the good sense to appreciate my 16-year old legs when I had them. But of course that's not how it works. And I will sitting here in 10 years wishing I had better appreciated my 39-year-old body. And knowing that also makes me feel a kind of anticipatory regret, because of course I am not happy unless I am inventing new ways to make myself miserable. But I digress.

Another sign that Miss Karen is getting on in years is a new collection of catalogs that have been showing up at the homestead. Caftans feature prominently in these catalogs, as do orthopedic shoes. The titles are familiar to me from the coffee tables of elderly relatives. I do not know how these catalogs found me, or what I bought that made the great marketing forces in the sky determine that my address should be added to these mailing lists. Maybe it was that case of liniment. At any rate, I think the catalog deluge started with Norm Thompson.

The blinding hideousness of that jacket pretty much says it all. The designers of clothes for women of a certain age often seem to be asserting that wearing a garment with pictures on it--in this case pictures that look like they were drawn by a three-year-old--will make one appear youthful. Pictures of puppies, kitties, or duckies will apparently serve the same purpose, as will artists' renditions of international landmarks:

And of course it doesn't hurt that the models in these catalogs are youthful and attractive, giving the impression that if you buy these clothes you will be in the company of these sassy, smiling young women, who, I promise you, do not ever ask to take any of these clothes home from the shoot.

Among the other catalogs that have shown up lately is something called Soft Surroundings, which is Norm Thompson-esque in its approach but with a weird and obsessive focus on, as the name suggests, softness. All of these retailers seem to think softness is a selling point--along with "slimming," the word "soft" appears on practically every page of these catalogs. But Soft Surroundings takes it to a new level, with a softness rating for every item, from "(1) So Soft" to "(2) Heavenly Soft" to "(3) Ultimate Softness." For example, the Grecian Caftan (in which you will "summon your inner goddess") rates a 2, while the Amelia Island Pant ("subtle cargo styling with ruffled pockets...in a supple blend of linen and cotton gauze [that] gives them a hint of sway") rates only a 1. And then there's FootSmart, which is not just a purveyor of sensible shoes and sandals, but a source for overall "lower body health." Ew. Here are a few choice options:



And yes, everything comes in beige. Some things come in other colors too, but beige is almost always an option. Do you see why I can't help but feel a little bit concerned that somewhere, somehow, someone thinks that there is some chance that I might find myself in need of a pair of Propet Women's Mary Lou Washable Walkers Slip Ons, or maybe some support hose? How did this happen?

But the absolute best catalog of all--the one that almost makes me glad I somehow got on these mailing lists--is from The Vermont Country Store. That wondrous document is so rich with fabulous items in which young and old alike (but mostly old) can delight, I think it deserves its own post. But here's a teaser: they sell Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific. In its original packaging.

For serious. So stay tuned.