It started last winter, casually enough, as an occasional thing -- like a Bigfoot sighting or a boil -- that invoked nostalgia and curiosity. Since then, it has mushroomed into a full-blown outbreak bigger than the 1998 Asian flu.
You know what I'm talking about.
Those extremely comfortable yet always unflattering items called "car coats" by the folks at J. Crew or "long sweaters" according to The Gap.
The companies peddling these babies have certainly covered all their bases because they can be had in every conceivable form: from the smoothly draped silk knits that close with a single silver clasp to nubby boucle numbers that belt shut. You can get them with a collar or without; with buttons, Velcro or a zipper; and in lengths to your hip, to the knee or the ankle. Some even have a faux-fur collar that scurries its way from your naval to your hairline and back down the other side.
It highlights the lack of originality prevalent on the part of these mass merchandisers. Seventh Avenue hucksters simply dusted off their 1975 catalogs, and faxed the pages to their overseas factories with a sticky note saying, "do this."
Originally marketed to the post-hippie, roller-skating pre-teen generation of the mid-to-late 1970s, they've now been re-introduced to a new group of working women as a "casual" alternative to a suit jacket. A panacea to stiff collars and fitted seams. But the fact is they don't project a powerful image. They often look like a dog's tug-of-war toy left out in the yard. And wearing one to the next shareholders meeting would ensure that at next year's meeting, you will be banished to being in charge of name tags rather than sitting at the CEO's table.
But wouldn't it be great if they did? If one could wear something as soft and unrestricting as your grandmother's afghan throw, yet projects that you are a woman who means business -- it would be worth getting out of bed every morning on the first sound of the alarm rather than three snooze-button slaps.
But my biggest beef with this item of clothing is not the variety of incarnations or way its been marketed, but the fact that so many otherwise sensible women have taken to them ... and won't take them off.
A massive Mister Rogers' Sweater Effect.
{INSERT_RELATED}It's being kept on a hook in the office, put on immediately upon arrival (to take the chill off) and worn unabashedly the rest of day. An item of such comfort and so psychologically reassuring that they're willing to overlook the fact that they are just not flattering.
Does it need to be said? Okay, in answer to that time-worn question -- yes, it makes your butt look big!
But if you insist on hanging onto these things like Linus to a blanket, ladies, let's at least come to one consensus -- its name. They didn't have one in the '70s and they still don't.
So I'm proposing an official name, under which all other descriptions would umbrella: The Bertinelli. Named in honor of Valerie Bertinelli, who, as Barbara Cooper on TV's "One Day at a Time," often sported a Bertinelli, in addition to tube socks and V-necked T's. Barbara was the spunky and dependable daughter who was always unflappable and fresh, despite being surrounded by a perpetually pissed-off mother; a misfit, drugged-out older sister; and a warm-hearted but sleazy building super.
Iconic!
I'm also proposing we officially name the crack-showing, low-slung jeans-with-tool-belt look "The Schneider." Are you with me?
