I Changed My Mind About: Cozy Mocs

About a year ago, Hannah, Jeremy and I arrived at Frank Sinatra School of the Arts for her first Parent Teacher conferences.

Parent Teacher conferences involve a great deal of waiting around. Waiting for the extroverted student volunteers to call our name from the sign up sheet. Waiting for other parents to finish talking to teachers. Waiting for teachers to read the riot act to underperforming students and their parents.

So we're sitting in the hallway waiting, and I started looking around at the other parents, especially the moms. Some of them were in business attire because they came directly from their business type jobs. Some moms were dressed in sweatpants and sweatshirts with the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts logo on them. These clothes are called Spirit Wear.

I was wearing stuff I'd describe as crisp-casual with an artistic flair. After the conferences I did buy some Spirit Wear for myself from the PTA. Of course, I also let Hannah choose some, too.

One mom in particular was sporting a sort of modified Joan Jett rocker look. Others looked distinctly theatrical or artsy. This is to be expected from parents whose children attend an arts intensive high school.

I felt like nothing there could really surprise me. Until I noticed one mom who was dressed perfectly normally except for the fact for the fact that she was wearing bedroom slippers.

Now, god only knows I like to dress for comfort. I'm a stickler for comfort. But I think there are limits. The least one can do is wear shoes when it is time to meet your child's teachers. You need to show them some respect. You need to show yourself some respect.

Less than a week later I was wearing the exact same footwear. I was wearing the shoes I formerly referred to as bedroom slippers everywhere and in public. Here is how it happened. Here is why it happened.

I started to see women younger than myself wearing the shoes formerly referred to as bedroom slippers on the subway, out to dinner, in hip independent coffee shops and at Trader Joe’s. The slow realization came that these might not actually be bedroom slippers. They might be actual shoes.

I discovered that these women looked casual-fashion forward if they happened to be wearing the shows formally known as bedroom slippers with cute, contemporary clothes that were not sweatpants. Wearing them with sweatpants makes you look like you just got out of bed. But wearing them with a skirt and nubby sweater tights looked very city chic meets après ski. Wearing them with dark skinny jeans with cool socks looked very updated preppy in a good way.

The tide really turned when I went to Payless. I am a person who does love clothes. I am a person who does love shoes. I am a person who does love accessories.  I am a person who does not love spending a lot of money on these things. So I go to a lot of discount places. Most of what I see is crap or not my style. I'm looking for the diamond in the rough. I love it when I find this.

I was at Payless looking for some flats to go with a sheath dress I'd bought for an upcoming event.

I didn't like any of the flats. Some were too glitzy and tacky. The plainer ones looked very 1998 but in a bad way. But then I noticed the shoes formerly known as bedroom slippers not in the slipper section, but in with the shoes. I also looked at them in the window display. That is when I realized unequivocally that these were shoes. These shoes were called Cozy Mocs. That is short for Cozy Moccasins.

Just to be sure I double-checked with the salesgirl. These are shoes, right? Yes.

The next thing I know, I'm trying on some of the Cozy Mocs in my size. They had a fleecy material inside that did not spill to the outside of the shoe. My God. These shoes are like walking on air! I realized it was perfectly acceptable to wear a slipper-like shoe in public. I also realized that wearing a slipper like shoe in public might only be acceptable for a limited time. This cozy shoe style had a limited shelf life.

These are the Cozy Mocs I purchased
 during the legendary trip to Payless.

In other words, I immediately bought myself some Cozy Mocs. I got a fetching and practical pair in black. They looked like a reinvented moccasin. I felt like the black on black sequins elevated them.

In addition to the black ones, I also purchased a pair inspired by camouflage but not slavishly so. In addition to the moccasin/slipper like design these had a little extra bling in the form of camouflage inspired sequins. I wanted something a little unexpected because I like to mix pattern on pattern in an ironic/textured/still tasteful way. Also, Payless was having a BOGO event.

I found the flats I wanted at Marshall's.

Just because I wear the Cozy Mocs in public does not mean I have thrown all caution to the wind. I've got rules.

There are clothes that I don't allow myself to wear with Cozy Mocs.

Aren't these Cozy Mocs nice?

I have a pair of sweatpants. They're navy blue and say Camp Sunshine on them. When we go to camp for the bereavement retreat there, we sometimes buy clothes from their gift shop, either as souvenirs or because we forgot to pack something. Clothes with the Camp Sunshine logo on them are called Camp Sunshine Duds.

I also bought a Frank Sinatra School of the Arts sweatshirt from the PTA. As I mentioned earlier, this is called Spirit Wear. I am not allowed to create an ensemble consisting of Spirit Wear, Camp Sunshine Duds and Cozy Mocs. This is out of the question.

I am not allowed to wear Cozy Mocs with clothes that even mildly evoke cowboys, the wild west, native Americans or Americana in general. I may not wear them with anything referencing a kimono. I will not wear them with a camisole peeking out from a button down shirt. I refuse to wear them with anything silky. If clothing reminds me of lounging or sleep, I cannot wear the Cozy Mocs.

Obviously, Cozy Mocs are not advisable footwear in the summer. They are also passé come spring. Consider them a two-season option.

All other times, I may wear my Cozy Mocs with abandon.

This is not my first experience with slipper type footwear. A few years back, I was not at all interested in fashion. Comfort was my only criteria. This was understandable. I had given birth to three children in four years. One of them had gone through cancer treatment, I was either pregnant, breast feeding or both. Don't flame me for combining these things. I was being followed closely by a top OB/GYN.

The first time I saw Uggs in a window display, I felt a sense of deep affinity. Winter boots and slippers in one seemed like an excellent idea to me. When I saw the price of these boots, I experienced some sticker shock. But soon enough, I had my solution because other companies started making knockoff Uggs at a much lower price point.

Every couple of years, I'd buy a new version of fake Uggs after the old ones sprang a leak. Of course, they felt good. I sort of negotiated with myself about how they looked. On a good day, I felt they looked vaguely Scandinavian. On a not so good day they looked like the damp, dirty footwear version of a Snuggy.

So I instituted a new personal policy. No more fake Uggs. I've stopped wearing them. My standards aren't sky high. But I do have them.

This post is part of a series about things I have changed my mind about. You can read my other writing on this theme here.

What's Good For Us Now

The salmon I'm eating

Once swam upstream, strong and barely stoppable

He died for my sins

Cleaning my arteries, basting my brain

The kale, flax seeds and walnuts faced a similar fate

Their higher purpose realized in my Runner's lunge,

my beating heart, my pliable and beautiful mind

The lush Mediterranean warms my pantry

Rogue cells that don't belong in this temple

Are obliterated with a gentle artillery

Of berries, greenery and roots

The clock doesn't stand a chance

With all this olive oil around

I'll die one way or another, whatever I do

But in the meantime, this midlife creature

Scales flight after flight unassisted

Stepping lithe as a dancer and spritely

If I get any lighter I'll grow wings

And flit about, ageless and barely visible

Soft as a whisper yet almost immortal

You won't have to bury me

I'll just evaporate

There are times when I miss the days

When kids drank their milk

And meat made strong muscles

We'd run in, hot and breathless from playing outside

Gulp our Kool- Aid in a gorgeous haze of laughter and cigarette smoke

Flawed, like tiny chips in fine bone china

Nothing that a little St. Joseph's Baby Aspirin couldn't fix

I Changed My Mind About: It Was A Very Good Year

I was two years old when Frank Sinatra's comeback album September of My Years was released. I was not old enough to watch the Grammys in 1966 when Sinatra won Best Song by a Male Artist for It Was a Very Good Year.

It Was a Very Good Year made a frequent appearance on the radio throughout my childhood. For me, it was an easy listening tune by an old guy. Whenever it came on, my friends and I made fun of it. We didn't know the lyrics so we just kept repeating, "it was a very good year" to the rhythm of the song. Even my parents were too young to listen to it.

I continued to feel the same way about the song through my adulthood. Then one day, Jeremy put on the album September of My Years. We were eating dinner.

Jeremy never liked the song either. You may then wonder why he decided to play this particular album. In a nutshell, Jeremy is a musical scholar. He doesn't just listen to music. He thinks about it, reads about it, and writes about it all the time. My guess is that Jeremy read something about this album and wanted to give it a listen for historical purposes.

I knew what song was on there. I prepared to dislike it.

Except I didn't. It literally stopped me in my tracks. I put my fork down and stopped eating. It was no longer possible to eat while listening to It Was a Very Good Year.

I was 45 years old.

Oh my God. I said to Jeremy. I love this song. It's beautiful. It's poignant.  I was almost crying.

Jeremy nodded. Not bad. He said. Not bad at all. I could see Jeremy listening closely. I could see the wheels turning there with Jeremy changing his mind.

Jeremy was 44 years old.

We listened to the album straight through. Then I asked Jeremy to play that one song again. I recall him playing it several times.

After spending approximately 40 years disliking this song, I was now in love with it. At moments like these, it is especially serendipitous to be married to Jeremy. If you are going to become obsessed with a song, then want to discuss it for the rest of the evening, listening again and again, Jeremy is your man.

We talked about the innocence of the first two stanzas of the song. At 35, it's still a very good year, but perhaps the bloom is off the rose a bit. During the "autumn of my years" as Frank sings, the song goes in for the emotional kill.

We talk about the over the top orchestration and production, being so baroque and romantic, yet Sinatra's performance being understated and sophisticated. He makes it sound effortless.

It seems so authentic I said. It feels like he's talking right to me.

I did some math. I wanted to see how seasons aligned with a human lifespan. I decided to pick an 80-year survival and divide that into four seasons. Using this paradigm, ages birth to 20 represented spring, 21 - 40 summer, 41-60 autumn, and 61 and above winter.

You could question this way of organizing it. What if someone lived to be 100? Then would spring be birth to 25 and so on? The math gets tricky when a person lives to be an age not divisible by four. For instance if you were to live to be 75, then your spring would have only lasted until you were 18 years and 9 months.

In the end I decided that if a person lived to be older than 80, then they were just having an extra long winter. I'm satisfied with that explanation.

I pointed out to Jeremy that we were firmly in the autumn of our years. Jeremy did not agree. He felt we were still in the summer period. The numbers don't lie, I said. There's no use pretending. This is autumn.

I was being realistic, but certainly not all doom and gloom. Just because we're in the autumn of our years, does not mean that we have to look, act or feel like vintage wine from fine old kegs.  We could still have our soft summer nights, even as the days grow short.

I did a little bit of reading about this song before writing about it. It was written in 1961 by somebody else. As Frank Sinatra was nearing his 50th birthday, it had a deep resonance with him. It makes sense that I changed my mind when I did. I was too young to understand it before.

I threw myself a 50th birthday party. Jeremy made a beautiful musical playlist to put on at the party. I gave him a lot of artistic freedom in setting the atmosphere.  I did request that he put the song in the mix. Thinking back on it, I imagine he would have done it even if I didn't ask.

Most people couldn't really hear the song very well at the party. There was so much conversation that the music took a back seat. But when the song came on I could hear it, soft, yet persistent like a transistor radio in the distance. The perfect song to herald in my half-century mark. You'll be happy to know it's been a very good year.