Pam, Stacy, Clinton and Shmoo

This is a shmoo.

Last night we were invited to a wedding in what I would call a spontaneous method.  Our friend, Sadik*, had just returned from out of town and he was anxious to see us.  As we visited, he said that a friend’s son was getting married that evening and he would pick us up at 9 pm. 

John said, “As in tonight?” 

Sadik nodded yes.  

John told him that we had a guest coming but that 10 pm would work.  It was settled.  Well, the time was.

I was now left to figure out what to wear.  We were already planning on attending another wedding the next night so I had to save my abiya (like a zip-up robe) for that event.  They get too dirty in-between for it to last for two occasions.  I rummaged through my closet asking the usual list of questions:

1) Where are my blingin’ clothes?  (This is not an exasperated phrase, but actually wondering where my sparkly clothes are.  Egyptians LOVE bling.  “More is more, but even more is much better” is their motto.

2) Are the families hosting mostly from Cairo?  If they are, then I will need to lean toward brighter colors, extra jewelry and anything with a fashion logo on it.

3) Are the families conservative Muslims?  If so, then black is where it’s at.  Skirt to the ankles. Sleeves to the wrists. Neckline to the chin. No polyester, lest I burst into flames from the heat. (That last one is my personal requirement.)

4) Will we arrive in taxi or walk through a village?  The answer to this question determines which shoes I wear.  The ladies here love heels.  I guess they go with the idea “The higher the heels, the closer to God.”  However, mine is “The higher the heels, the louder my ankles snap on dirt roads.” I seriously don’t know how they do it.

5) Does the proposed outfit I have in my mind have any actual hint of fashion once I’ve met all the requirements?  Inevitably the answer is usually “no.”

I didn’t realize quite how bad my fashion sense had become until I went to Kenya.  I pulled out all my “out of country” clothes and began trying to create outfits.  Let’s see…how about this brown sweater with my jeans and a ever-so-hip scarf layered around me neck?  If I add my Toms knockoffs (I know…gasp!)…am I cool or trying to hard?  What about this skirt? Does anyone even wear skirts anymore?  Oh, no! Are these MOM JEANS? Sigh.

I know for a fact that the women in my village must shake their heads at my attempts to be “fashion-forward” here.  It is still very hard for me to consider purposely purchasing a bright pink abiya with rhinestones all over it…very hard.

On the other hand, when I can wear whatever I still struggle.  I just don’t know what looks good anymore.  When I look at a cute dress and say, “Oh, with pants underneath that and beaded sandals with a coordinated long-sleeved shirt, plus a scarf…perfect!” I know. I have no clue.

So here’s my proposal:  Next time I go somewhere where I am supposed to look like a 47-year-old American woman who has actually been to a mall within the last year…I’m calling on you.  Maybe I could have fashion sponsors who can put together outfits for me and label them with tags that would tell me what looks good together.  You know, Garanimals for Adults or Fashion Trading Cards pre-sorted.  I’m not kidding. 

However, I am requesting that any and all proposed clothes do not include things called, “Jeggings” or scenes reminiscent of RHONJ. Thank you in advance for your consideration in this matter. I really don't want the added pressure of having to have my lips botoxed. 

Until then, I shall struggle as a fashionable wannabe shmoo standing in the souq  (market) wondering if the highlighter-orange scarf really does look nice with my new fuschia-pink skirt.  Where are Stacy and Clinton when you need them?!

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* Not his real name

Editor's Note: As I was confirming the spelling of "Stacy" from "What Not to Wear," more unsettling news...There are no future shows scheduled...Now what am I supposed to do?!