Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

For a little while now, I've been receiving a catalogue I never requested from anyone. It's called Midnight Velvet, and I'm not quite sure how I got on their list. Looking at the clothes inside, I'm guessing that long ago, when I was on the list to receive the Lane Bryant catalogue, my name got picked up as someone who might be interested in this one. I no longer get the Lane Bryant catalogue, but this one keeps coming. Considering I have never ordered anything from it, I take this as an act of desperation.

The catalogue contains clothing and household goods, some of which are not tacky. Some of the clothes aren't hideous, especially if you close your eyes. Or if you've been heavily sedated.

I'll give you some examples.

First, we have the Dyslexic Jungle look, which was apparently designed by a 5-year-old as part of a craft project that involved cutting shapes out of construction paper.

I especially find it amusing that these fashions are modeled by skinny white chicks who would never, ever wear them unless they were getting paid. And in fine print next to the photo it says, "Plus sizes also available." Who are we kidding here? Do you honestly think anybody with a beach body is going to wear this outfit? Or, actually, anybody at all? I mean, unless it was actually designed by their 5-year-old, and then only on Mother's Day.

Midnight Velvet specializes in garish suits, such as this one I've nicknamed the Mop Dress.

"It's a dress!"

"It's a floor mop!"

"It's a dress!"

"It's a floor mop!"

"It's a dress and a floor mop!"

The intended demographic is made clear by some of the household goods, including some figurines featuring African-American women. But I don't think it's fair that the figurines get better clothes than are available in the catalogue.

Even the African-American models seem uncomfortable in these clothes, such as this dress I call the Dolly Doily. It looks like a life-sized version of a doll outfit made out of lace. You know, the sort of thing you see at craft fairs. Except, generally speaking, the ones made for dolls fit better.

Midnight Velvet specializes in suits with matching hats. I call them Church Lady outfits, not after the Dana Carvey character but after the women who show up at the diner after church every Sunday in my neighborhood.

One such Church Lady outfit is the Leopard Marshmallow ensemble.

"Your marshmallow fell on my leopard!"

"No, your leopard fell in my marshmallow!"

Two awful looks that look awful together.

Even those outfits which would otherwise look nice have strange features. For example, a pants outfit I call the Emergency Suit. This is clearly the suit you want to be wearing if you plan to get into a car accident, because the ER doctors won't have to cut your pants to remove them. They can use the handy buttons instead!

I think that whoever designs clothes for Midnight Velvet has a quota. Otherwise, I can't explain how they came up with the Static Confection. I imagine a designer who thought she was destined for great things, but she didn't have the money to start up her own line, so she found employment with the good people at Midnight Velvet.

At first, she tried to design some classier ensembles, but her boss kept picking up a marking pen and adding extra design quirks "for flair." Every time she turned in a sleek, sophisticated dress, her boss demanded, "Add more buttons. The hemline is too straight. Add some leopard print."

She was under pressure to complete the designs for the spring catalogue, and she had lost her creative spark. She knew that no matter what she came up with, her boss would find a way to make it look hideous. While she was taking a break to do some laundry, she pulled her favorite white dress out of the laundry. Scarves and handkerchiefs stuck to the dress through the miracle of static cling.

She was instantly inspired. She sat down at the table and began to draw. The boss loved it. "Don't change a thing," he said. "I think you're finally getting it."

You know how people say, "It's not how you look, it's how you present yourself"? Well, proof of that comes in an ensemble I call Porcelain Periwinkle, because it looks like the sort of dress you find on a porcelain doll. Yes, you too can look like a middle-aged Church Lady!

I especially love the expression on the model's face, as if she's saying, "Oh, my God! I can't believe I'm wearing this!"

The catalogue truly has something for everyone, including Barbie. I swear I had an outfit just like the Barbie Pantsuit for my Malibu Barbie doll. Except I think the pants were pink. It was one of those outfits you could get for $2.99 in those days. I could never afford the more expensive Barbie outfits. My Barbies must have shopped at Midnight Velvet.

Also, my Barbie dolls never wore shoes, but if they had, I'm fairly sure they would have been pink, too.

That gets us only about halfway through the catalogue, but it's all I can take right now. Look for more selections from Midnight Velvet at a future time. Or go to the local diner after church on Sunday.

More from Midnight Velvet:

April 1, 2005 - Return of Midnight Velvet

Copyright 2005 by Alyce Wilson

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