Sid and I were on a short car trip recently, and he was playing some country music on the drive… songs I hadn't heard before, or if I had, I hadn't paid attention to the words. Either Johnny Cash or Waylon Jennings was singing about a favored mode of travel: hitchhiking. I had almost forgotten about this phenomenon as it has been years and years since I've spotted anyone with their thumb out on the side of the road. But I remember seeing it often growing up.
I was far too careful a kid to have tried thumbing a ride myself, but knowing Sid was not a careful kid — and with a few miles ahead of us for conversation — I asked him about his own experience. "Oh yeah… for sure… I would hitchhike to Robinhood Lake for parties all the time." I knew exactly the type of party he was talking about. Innocent by today's standards, but imagine a bunch of 15-year-olds hanging out in a park after dark… or, in Sid's case, around a suburban lake named after a medieval legend. A nearby — but also very faraway — place from his own house on Louis Wilson Drive.
But I was a teenager once, too, and my imagination can fill the gaps… even if my own memories have a more Midwestern flavor. On whichever summer evening that Sid found his way to, there would be beer. Some contraband smoking… cigarettes and perhaps some mild-by-today's-standards marijuana. But mostly kids wanting to hang out with each other. For me, this sort of scene played itself out in the suburbs of Indianapolis or Chicago. I moved every two years, so all the parks and hangout spots sort of run together… but what I remember more than the geography (although the scent of cigarettes and leather seats of my brother's Volkswagen hatchback is pretty unforgettable) was the thrill of getting ready for an evening like that. And this must be a uniquely girl thing, an experience Sid almost certainly does not share.
Home from a day at the neighborhood pool — or in my later years, after a shift at whatever waitressing job I had that summer — I would shower, admire my tan, and choose a "top" to go with my Levi's. That was it. There were not a great many in my rotation. A yellow one with crafty, hippie-style embroidery around the neckline comes to mind. My point is that the preparation for the night was often more thrilling than the night itself, although the getting-dressed part was actually pretty simple. What I felt when I'd look at myself in the mirror before I "went out" was a sense of promise for the evening. Knowing I looked pretty enough and believing that anything could happen.
I still feel that way when I get dressed for the evening in the summertime. It feels different from any other time of year… maybe because it stays light so much later. I am lucky enough to have a pool, and at the end of most Saturdays I jump in and swim a few laps… hop in the bath to rinse off the chlorine… and then, just as I did fifty years ago, I find a "top" to put on with my jeans. The act of getting wet and doing a quick change for the night, mixed with the beautiful dusky summer light, gives me that same sense of promise. It is not quite the same as trying to find a boyfriend or whatever I had in mind in 1976… but just feeling ready for… something.
We sell shirts and tops all year round, of course. And my go-to look is usually more of a man's style: proper collar, cuffs, buttons down the front. But in the hottest months of the year, there is a style that I especially love that is a bit of a departure. It's more feminine but not fussy. Airy, loose, feels like summer. This season's iteration is called the Estee. Last year we made it with pretty lace trim, but this year's is simpler. A tent-like shape, a popover placket, full sleeves with a crisp edge, and almost nothing else. There is a plain white version coming in July, but the one I am wearing right now is made up in a very French-feeling check that I just love. It looks a bit like a dish-towel print that you might find in a chic country house you are renting, although the cotton is far more luxurious than anything you would dry your hands on. It doesn't need anything more than a pair of jeans to look sensational. (Although I tucked it into a skirt last week for work… it would be great with this one.) It is exactly the kind of thing I wear on repeat in the summer.
In fact, I did it this weekend. On Saturday night, Sid and I grabbed our great friend Kelly to go hear some live music… and you already know what I wore. We were seeing the band of a guy who works in our Atlanta shop… there are quite a few musicians in our stores; often the love of music and clothes intersect. They were fantastic. We had the best time.
I pulled it on again the next evening for our typical Sunday-night dinner with my daughters, son-in-law, and grandson. Same routine. Pool, bath, jeans, my new summer top (with the addition of an apron since I was cooking). Two nights in a row: clean, pretty enough, and optimistic for the night ahead. No hitchhiking required.
