50 Days 'Til 50 Day 16--Designer Genes

50 Days 'til 50Day 16Designer GenesI suppose the fashion genetics started with the joy of my parents finally being able to bring me home from the foster home where I had spent my first several years on this earth. They went through a grueling process to make me their son that took over a year. I was truly a lucky and blessed boy. They also were running a hotel at the same time but managed to get a little boy room ready for me, painted blue, animal prints on the walls, a bed, rocking horse, and clothes. Lots of clothes. I could make up some stuff here but frankly as a three year old I have little to no memory of most of this time. As I would later find out from my parents, I didn’t have it so easy in the first several years. I had been adopted by a couple prior to my parents adopting me and was returned back to the foster home. Can you actually return a baby? Like a dress that doesn’t quite fit right? It was claimed I had way to many ailments and they were completely overwhelmed as new parents. The State of NH linked me with my parents who after all that time were finally ready to come and get me when I had an accident in the foster home which left my right forefinger completely crushed under the mechanisms of a rocking chair. I now had to wait until I was completely healed before they would release me to my new parents. Not a day goes by when I don’t have some gratitude for what my parents went through to finally make me a Fuller and mainly for just not returning me. I now wasn’t the bouncing baby boy after all; I was now a 3 year old. Most probably having been coached by their families and friends just prior to my arrival, I would guess that both my mother and father over compensated to make sure I would feel like I had been reborn into a total fairy tale land family, complete with everything a 3 year old should have. They made sure I never would feel like I was going to be returned again.My Mother is a gorgeous beauty. Her Dutch background bestowed upon her strong cheekbones, gorgeous skin, pale blue eyes, and a tall statuesque frame. Her beauty radiates now at 85 as it did at 37. She was a towering 5 foot eleven with Marilyn Monroe blonde hair and when she was in heels and a beehive she had to dust the ceiling at six foot two. As I’ve seen many photos of her when she was younger she always seemed to be dressed smartly, whether summering on the Jersey Shore, or in the harsh Philadelphia winters. Her piercing blue eyes and tall lanky frame had to have turned heads of all the boys and girls. As hostess and lady of the hotel her duties were endless and always under appreciated. She could have her hair wrapped in a scarf, no makeup, and be on her knees scrubbing the floor and an hour later as the guests arrived for cocktails and dinner she was magically transformed into this Grace Kelly replica right before my young eyes. Dressed to the nines and commanding the stage as first lady of the hotel. My dad, as owner was always sharply dressed. Even on holidays and trips he always had his sport coat somewhere hidden that he would whip out in a second and pair it with madras shorts and penny loafers. He had flaming red hair always coiffed into place and black horned rim glasses. He looked like the man in charge but approachable at the same time.As we were the first children of the hotel, it became apparent to me early on that we had to look the part of the hotel owners’ children. No sloppy pants or raggy t-shirts for my sister and I inside the hotel. My sister always had a mod dress of some print or another, accessorized with jewelry and a ribbon in her hair. Our clothes would be laid out for the big Saturday night dinner with our parents and if mom and dad had already left the house our nanny would dress us. Like my father I always had a sport coat as part of my ensemble. It seemed from all the photos that knee socks were in fashion as I remember always having every colored ones and shorts that matched the sport coat. Whether it was the dead of winter or the heat of summer, I seemed to always be in shorts and those socks. I'm seeing the boys in the Sound of Music in my head so you get the idea. My fingernails had to clipped down to where you couldn’t see the whites. This was a big pet peeve of my dad who seemed to clip his fingernails every 12 hours. We looked like the perfect family always ready for a photo op that may or may not come.As I grew up I suppose I developed my moms sense of style, as I seemed to be drawn toward anything that was a bit different regardless of what the trends were. When we went shopping for school clothes, I didn’t want the Tough Skins brand, instead ending up finding that one odd pair of Calvin Klein Jeans,  fit me or not, I had to have them. My high school in the early 80’s was very preppy as it was in a college town. Wide wale corduroys, boat shoes with no socks, and anything with an alligator on the shirt were the norm. Of course I’d add my own flair and wear a tux jacket with my ripped jeans, or some odd colored pants clashing with my tops. As senior year rolled out and we had the senior superlatives written up in the yearbook, I was actually voted best dressed. I think that honor held about as much clout as “most likely to flunk out of school” but I accepted it. I wore an English tuxedo to my prom, long tailed jacket, and ascot, and top hat and posed for photos with my girlfriend on one arm and my boyfriend on the other. (This is a whole other story for another time.)When I arrived into Florida for the first time a few years later, living in Fort Lauderdale my best friends then were what we now call Club Kids. We lived to go out to the clubs as often as we could no matter the day of the week. It seemed every night was a good excuse to get dressed up and go out. The only problem was we didn’t have any money. We couldn’t afford to go to Saks in the mall and buy off the rack designer clothing. Two of my roommates worked for many high-end boutiques as window dressers and had access to amazing designer creations from the likes Stephen Sprouse, Anna Sui, Jean Paul Gaultier, and Fiorucci. They were so incredibly talented and I never felt like I had completely gotten their sense of style. Pointed toes shoes, long skirts (boys and girls), always great hair, and beautiful flowing blouses and shirts. I would always ask them “where did you get that?” and finally they took me with them to the local Salvation Army for an adventure they called “Thrifting.” This involved combing the aisles for anything black, paisley, shiny, and cheap. Shoes included. I wore many shoes that were either too tight or too lose and danced ‘til dawn feeling like a million bucks under the mirror ball. These were magical times where we would spend hours getting ready to go out for the reveal. Nothing was off limits. I think many times I had more fun getting ready than I did out at the club or the parties. My bestie at the time Jennifer was the Queen Bee. Her harem of boys was always around her and being good gay boys we always argued who was going to dress her, do her hair and her makeup. She was our muse. We would flock to the clubs and waft around her likes moths to a flame proud of are our collaborative creation for the night. As bad of a rap the 80s got for its fashions we sure came up with many badass ensembles. One of my favorites was using a paisley silk bathrobe stepping into the arms of the robe with your feet and pulling all the excess fabric up around your waist, you could tie it off with a belt and voila! It looked like wearing leggings with a diaper but we didn’t care. The more outlandish at times the better it was. I worked inside a Macys for a time at their hair salon and as an employee we figured out if you picked out something you liked, stuck it in the employee room long enough it would eventually get marked down to over 70 percent off, combined with our employee discounts and we basically stole the clothes. Oddly I think I wore those knee socks again that I wore when I was boy. This time though my father would be probably turning in his grave if he saw some of these getups.I would go home for the December holidays, lugging giant suitcases with me and parade around all my thrifting looks to a very entertained and sometimes mortified family. Everything was oversized and many times I would grab my grandmother and wrap her in the oversized jackets and stick a beret on her head, trying to convince the room that it looked amazing. They weren’t buying. The preppy boy of high school had turned into a Goth, dark version of my old self. We used to joke that we would “wear black, until something darker came along.” When my moms saw my hair dyed black they almost blew their lunches. As scary as I looked I was having fun. I don’t dye my hair anymore by the way. I think it’s been every color of the rainbow and as I wear my hair short today it’s easier just to go au natural. My clothes today consist of comfortable classic lines, fitted shirts, lots of jeans, t-shirts, and dozens of sneakers and a few pairs of leather boots and shoes. Boring if you compare it to my alter ego years back but it’s comfortable.Comfort is what I crave most now but I bet if I looked in my sock drawer I could probably produce a pair of those knee socks. Red, of course.jf