I am cursed to be very short-waisted. This is probably inherited from my grandmother, who I recall lamenting this fact of her body every now and then as long as I can remember. What that means in case you don’t know is that my midriff is short. Think about the last old man you saw with his belt buckled up around his chest. That could be me if I’m not careful . (Goddess, forgive me for dissing old men here. However, the visual conjured up by this admittedly stereotypical reference does explain why I call this problem a curse.)
Due to this curse, I rarely wear anything that cinches visibly at the waist. I won’t tuck in shirts. I get rid of anything with a belt as a decorative accessory. The fashions of the late sixties and early seventies were kind to my body type. Empire-waisted and dropped-waisted dresses were my styles of choice. They moved my waistline up or down a few inches so no on-looker ever really knew where the real thing was in the equation.
Empire waists have been making their way back to the fashion scene the last couple of seasons. I was thrilled about this until I tried on a top last year in Banana Republic. I had two responses to the look. 1)Ugh. I feel pregnant; 2) Ugh. I feel 15, and not in a good way. Sooooo, I turned my hopes to a lower waist line and waited. Every few months, I’d google ‘drop waist’ to see if I got any hits that weren’t in some vintage clothing store/website. Finally, I got a bite. First, they appeared on websites where the going price for a simple frock was upwards of $600. But I was patient. The rich always get first dibs on everything. Sooner or later, I believed that the trend would filter down to the other 98%.
Which brings me to a Saturday afternoon a few weeks ago. I was in our local overwhelming mall where I ventured to return an impulsive on-line sale purchase that did not look as good in person as it had on my computer monitor. I returned my item and as I was leaving the store, I stopped dead in my tracks. There was the dress I’d been waiting for – a cute black and white knit DROP-WAIST dress. There was no way I was going to leave the store without trying it on. Inside the dressing room, I slipped it down over my head and let it fall. I was more excited than I like to admit over a piece of fabric, however, if you have an imperfect body part rendered tolerable by a particular fashion, you will understand. I surveyed myself critically in the mirror, loving what I saw -- until my eyes landed on my knees. I looked down in alarm. What happened to my knees?? When did they turn so ugly? Is that what they call “knobby”? Is that (gasp) fat above my knee cap? I was not a happy camper. Of all the body parts I have ever been obsessed over or even gave more than a second thought to, my knees were not one (or two) of them.
Several solutions flashed through my head…. If there was more of a hem, an inch or so would solve some of the problem. If I wore stockings with the dress, that would help. But alas, the hem was miniscule – and I had to acknowledge that this particular dress begged to be worn with sandals. I could also hear my daughter saying, “Nobody wears stockings any more, mom!” I reluctantly put the dress back on the rack and headed home to google “ugly knees” and find out if there is a remedy.
It turns out there is quite the literature on ugly knees. I found:
“Bad knees to sexy knees.”
“Knees are ugly.”
“I have ugly knees.”
“Extremely ugly knees.”
“Why are knees so ugly?”
“Ladies, do you have knees that, like, pop out?”
“Wrinkly, knobby, saggy….meet the celebs going weak at the knees.”
“Ugly knees and a cool summer breeze.”
“Ugly knees… the curse of the kninkles” (I think that means knee wrinkles)
“Knees are ugly.”
“I have ugly knees.”
“Extremely ugly knees.”
“Why are knees so ugly?”
“Ladies, do you have knees that, like, pop out?”
“Wrinkly, knobby, saggy….meet the celebs going weak at the knees.”
“Ugly knees and a cool summer breeze.”
“Ugly knees… the curse of the kninkles” (I think that means knee wrinkles)
I am not alone. People actually do undergo surgery to make their knees look better. One cosmetic surgeon reported about 10% of his clients are seeking knee-relief. However, one writer warned that trying to get rid of the fatty tissue just above the knee cap is tricky – removal of too much of it will cause the thigh to sag. Great. What a visual.
One blogger wrote that all women over 40 should send their knees under cover – permanently. This kind of made me mad. Why should we be sentenced to a life of long pants in hot weather? A contributor to “Bad knees to sexy knees” countered this advice, however, suggesting a little bit of exercise (i.e. lunges) to strengthen the muscle around the knee, a beauty product called “Body Glow” which gives legs and knees a “healthy glow”, a powerful moisturizer like La Mer, and an occasional scrub. After that, he said, “flaunt your knees”, whatever their condition.
I took a peak at the article about celebrity knees and came face to knee with photos of the ugly knees of Catherine Zeta-Jones, Angelina Jolie, Eva Longoria, Sharon Stone, Elle MacPherson, Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Aniston – even Katie Holmes who hasn’t even hit 40 yet! The writer of this bare-all even suggested that Demi Moore, who reportedly had an expensive knee lift a few years ago, should ask for her money back! As I gazed at their ugly knees, I felt my perspective shift gears. I reassessed my knee situation. I could try some lunges – that could only help, and I usually do go for some self-tanner in the summer. I still have a stash of LaMer from my daughter’s days at Estee Lauder. I’ll do what I can but I will not obsess about my knees for one second more.
And I think I’ll go back for that dress.
