A Shallow View of Olympic Uniforms

When I see a yellow blouse or dress, I always think of the warning a former work colleague received from her grandmother, a descendant of Old Mobile society: “Just remembuh, you’ve gotta be ray-ully pretty to weah yellah.”

I’ve decided this subtle advice against wearing yellow is well-founded, at least for me, failing the requisite olive complexion or Coppertone tan (all before even considering the danger of appearing under any fluourescent lighting source). But as I watch the Olympics I think of the Mobile matron’s dictum in a whole new way, as in:

You’ve got to be really (pretty/fit/tall/animated) to wear (a giant helmet/unitard/ear flap/beanie cap/Aboriginal ice dancing costume), etc. And Jackie O would not be caught dead in one of the plaid jackets sported by the U.S. snowboarding team, which are worse than any basement man-cave couch.

My hat’s off to the Olympic athletes who have overcome injuries, disappointments, disasterous falls, and being forced into fashion victimhood to still take their medals. Gold, silver and bronze flatter anyone, as do the green endorsement checks that follow.

You don’t want your moment on the Wheaties box to be anything less than glorious. Unfortunately, orange isn’t everybody’s color either…