Wear your attitude

What women politicians tell us with their fashion choices

Fashion is often dismissed as frivolous. Not the kind of thing that a 'serious ' woman should concern herself with. Not for her the needless obsessing with hemlines and necklines; not for her a seasonal update of her wardrobe; not for her a closet full of high-heeled shoes.

No, the 'serious' woman is not supposed to pay much attention to her clothes. She should ideally have a utilitarian 'uniform', the kind she can step into every morning with the minimum of fuss and then go out and conquer the world.

But what of the women who have, in effect, conquered their world? How much attention do they pay to clothes? And what do their fashion choices tell us about them?

This is an interesting question to ask at this time when the world is teeming with women leaders, all of them with a distinctive style of their own. A style that has been honed over the years to project an image. This image may portray anything from power to humility, femininity to feminism, style to practicality. But every image sends forth a strong message about the women behind it.

Let's take a quick trip around this picture gallery to see what it tells us about  those featured?

Hillary Clinton

It makes sense to start with the woman who will soon (fingers crossed!) be the leader of the free world. At the Democratic convention, where Hillary accepted the party's nomination to run for President of the United States, she appeared in a dazzlingly-bright white suit, set off by blonde hair blow-dried to within an inch of its life. This was an image calculated to send out subliminal messages of power, control, perfection. This was a woman confident enough to find her style -- pant suits in a single block of color, set off with a discreet neckpiece -- and stick to it. Yes, it was a uniform, but it was entirely of her own making. A nod to fashion and yet a complete repudiation of it. Very Hillary, in other words.

Theresa May

Reams of newsprint have been dedicated to May's love of shoes, which takes in every style from thigh-high PVC boots to animal print kitten heels. And now that she is Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, her shoes attract more attention than ever before, signaling -- as the media never tire of pointing out - the fun and frivolous side of this otherwise 'serious' person. But it is her tightly-structured and perfectly-tailored jackets that tell us about the essential woman: always poised, always in control, the grown up in any room. And just when you think you have figured her out, May throws you off balance yet again: with a statement necklace that hints at hidden depths behind that icy exterior.


Angela Merkel

Frau Merkel doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. And nothing says that more clearly and loudly than her wardrobe choices -- or more accurately, the lack of them. She is always dressed in an ill-fitting suit, which makes no concessions to the German Chancellor's figure. The message is clear: this woman has more important things to think about than the fit of her clothes. And that is, in itself, a style statement of sorts.

Sonia Gandhi

From the time she entered politics, Sonia has based her look on that of her famous mother-in-law. It probably helps that she inherited Indira Gandhi's amazing collection of saris, a veritable treasure trove of handlooms accessed from all parts of India. And Sonia wears them well, always well starched and pinned into place, loose enough around the pleats so that she can take the same long strides that were an Indira trademark, head covered by her pallu when she heads into rural parts. She is the Gandhi bahu, the repository of the family legacy, and there is never a moment when she doesn't look the part.

Mayawati

In her person, she embodies the dream of Dalit empowerment. So, it is no accident that Mayawati is the only female Indian politician who is seen in public carrying a designer handbag; or that she sports diamonds in her ears that look straight out of J. Jayalalitha's collection. Or even, that she wears smart salwar kameez ensembles of the kind that upper middle class urban women live in. Her image conveys a strong message to her followers: expensive tastes are no longer a preserve of the upper castes. Dalits have as much right to them as anyone else.

Mamata Banerjee

Her crumpled cotton saris and flip-flops have become her signature style ever since she descended on the streets of Calcutta to fight the Communists. And now that she is chief minister of the state, it serves to signal that Mamatadi is the same as ever: power has not gone to her head, or indeed infiltrated her wardrobe. She remains the same simple woman who lives in a one-bedroom apartment and devotes her life to her 'peepul'. A woman like that has no time for an ironing board, even if someone else is doing the ironing.

Priyanka Gandhi

She is the chameleon of Indian politics. And just as she keeps the country guessing about her political intentions, she also tends to mix it up as far as her sartorial choices are concerned. In the city, she dresses like any other 40-something mother of two (albeit one with a better figure than most) in jeans and T-shirts. When she heads for the family constituencies of Amethi and Rae Bareli, she drapes herself in a handloom sari, just like her mother and grandmother before her. In that, she is like Superman or Batman, changing into costume before charging into battle. I guess the Uttar Pradesh elections will show if she really is Wonder Woman!

Mirror, mirror, on the wall...

Instead of focusing on our flaws, how about we appreciate our bodies for all that they do for us?

What do you see when you look into a mirror? Dark circles under your eyes, a legacy of too many late nights followed by early mornings? Laugh lines that bear testimony to the good times you have had? The first flash of grey at the temples that strikes terror in your heart? A slimmer waist, the results of a no-carb diet regime? Or middle-age spread that no number of abdominal crunches can banish? Do you see your father (or your mother) staring back at you? Or do you see the features of your first-born in your own crumpling face?

Speaking for myself, I must confess that I don’t dare look too closely. Well, not first thing in the morning anyway. And even after a shower and lavish applications of moisturizer, it is best to maintain a safe distance till the kajal and lipstick are in place. Only then, with a mask of make-up (okay, minimal make-up I grant you, but you’d be surprised by the difference it makes) to hide behind can I bring myself to look my reflection straight in the eye and not wince. And even so, I never allow my eyes to wander below my chin; yes, like Nora Ephron, I too feel bad about my neck.

These days, of course, the mirror has been replaced by the camera phone, as the absolute deluge of selfies on social media makes clear. The world seems to be full of people staring at themselves in their phone screens, making the requisite duck face (chin down and elongated, cheeks sucked in to create hollows, and lips pushed forward in a trout pout) and going ‘click’. The judicious application of a few filters on Instagram, and voila, you have a new image to send out into the ether that is the virtual world.

But while camera phones have their uses, there is nothing quite like a mirror to get to grips with your own image. Donna Karan, for instance, famously designs while seated naked in front of a mirror. According to her, this brings into focus all the many flaws that her body – and by extension, the body of every woman – possesses so that she can work around it.

Because let’s face it: that’s what we see when we look in the mirror, don’t we? All our many flaws, some real, some that exist only in our own imagination. And then, we duly beat ourselves up about it. If only I had bigger eyes, better teeth, a trimmer waist, longer legs, bigger (or smaller) breasts, life would be so much better.

But here’s a novel idea. How about we get naked in front of the mirror. And instead of focusing on all the flaws that our bodies possess – and in our minds, there are hundreds of them – we try and see the beauty instead. That instead of beating our bodies up for being fat, flabby and flat-out useless, we treasure them for all the value they add to our life.

Let’s start from the top, shall we? Never mind the thinning hair; people start losing hair from their 20s onwards. And if the grey really bothers you, there’s always hair dye. It’s what lies underneath that you should be grateful for. The brain that helps you remember both the big stuff and the minutia of your life: the first time you fell in love; the date of your wedding anniversary; the moment your baby thrust its way into the world; the last day to file tax returns; where you left the car keys. Imagine, for a second, that it didn’t work. Yes, you’re not worrying about your receding hairline now, are you?

And then, there’s your face; what the world judges you by. But no matter what you think, nobody else is focusing that much on the wobbly double chin or even the lines on your forehead. It’s the expression in your eyes that matters; and whether your lips are drooping down in a scowl or curved upwards in a smile.

But you know what? Never mind what the world sees and makes of you. There’s plenty here to be grateful for. The eyes that allow you to appreciate the beauty of a flowering rose; the nose that lets you take in the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen as your mom cooks your favourite dish; the mouth that makes it possible for you to appreciate fine wines, good food, and the fruits of the season.

Instead of obsessing about how your breasts don’t look like that French lingerie model, just be grateful that they work well enough to make food for your baby. That while your stomach may not have washboard abs holding it in, it can take all the junk you throw at it and still keep you healthy (well, okay, kind of healthy). Never mind the bingo wings they have acquired of late, your arms can swing the ball a long way on the golf links. Your legs may sport a bit of cellulite but they can still take you up that mountain top to witness a sunset like no other. And your feet may not look pretty but they can soak up the warmth of a beach and make you sigh with contentment when you soak them in a hot tub.

There’s really a lot to be grateful for; so just take a moment and say thank you to your body. It’s the only one you’ll ever get, so make sure that you cherish it.

Face-off

What do you see when you look into the mirror?

Have you ever thought about what a baby sees when she looks at herself in the mirror? Does she wonder who this other little person is staring back at her? Does she puzzle over the fact that she can’t touch this person even when both of them are reaching for one another? Does she look down on her clothes and wonder why the baby in the mirror is wearing the same thing? Or does she, by some intuitive leap, understand that the face looking back at her so solemnly from the mirror is her own? And if she does, then at what stage does this understanding dawn?

I was trying to work this out as I idly watched my friend’s young daughter sitting transfixed in front of a full-length mirror. She smiled uncertainly at her reflection; she tapped experimentally on the glass to see if she could get to the other side; she pressed her nose against it and then snapped back looking startled at the distorted image reflected back at her; and finally she summoned me over with an imperious finger to help her solve this new mystery the world had presented to her.

I sat down next to her on the floor, pointed to my reflection in the mirror and then at myself. She looked back and forth, a glimmer of understanding in her eye. I pointed to her reflection and then back at her. Suddenly, her face lit up with the glow of recognition. That baby in the mirror. It was her. That was what she looked like. That was what the world saw when it looked at her.

We soon tired of this game and moved on to something else. But the little interlude got me thinking. As we grow older, what do we see in the mirror? Is that how the world sees us as well? And how accurate a reflection is it of how we feel inside?

As a child, the mirror was my best friend. I would spend hours preening in front of it, trying on my mother’s make-up, my elder sister’s grown-up clothes, my grandmother’s saris, my father’s clunky reading glasses. Every new item made me look a little bit different; it was almost like trying on personas for size before I decided on which one suited me best.

As I grew a little older, my relationship with the mirror evolved as well. The only child in a family of grown-ups, the mirror became almost a playmate. I would conjure up imaginary friends and set up a dialogue with them as I sat in front of the dressing table. I would try on expressions, a laugh here, a frown there, a giggle for punctuation and try and work out how I appeared to people I met in the real world.

Then, teenage struck and the mirror turned into my enemy. Suddenly, all I saw in the mirror were my flaws. My forehead was too short, my nose too stubby, my cheeks too fat, and was that a fresh pimple sprouting on my chin? It seemed to be growing larger every minute I stared at it.

No matter how hard I tried, I found it impossible to love the image reflected back at me. And even though now I marvel at the thin waist and pert bum of my teen years – and don’t even start me on my perfectly-toned arms – at the time I hated, just hated, what I saw in the mirror.

Did things change? Of course they did. The raging hormones of teenage calmed down and I began to see myself for what I was. Not great, but not absolutely vile either. And thinking back, I can faintly remember about a nanosecond in my late 20s when I was actually happy with what I saw in the mirror. It was as if I had finally grown into my face, all the bits and pieces had made peace with one another, and I could smile back at the mirror when I looked into it. And that self-confidence helped me through the next decade or so.

But now with incipient middle-age creeping through the lines on my face (and my neck, oh God, I’d hoped you’ve have the decency not to bring up my neck!) I think that equanimity is not long for my world. Of late, I find myself re-arranging my features before I risk a look in the mirror. Cheeks ever so slightly sucked in, neck held straight, jowls tightened, lips raised in a half-smile. And it seems safer to do my make-up one feature at a time – a quick fix of kohl pencil, a smudge of under-eye concealer, a dash of lipstick – and then risk a look at the sum of my parts. Aha, not so bad after all!

And no, I’m not really deluded. It’s just that Nature comes to the rescue of women like me. Your eyesight becomes a little less perfect to go with the general decline of your features. And all those flaws that are so apparent in the harsh light of day are softened just a bit as you gaze at the ever-so-slightly blurred image in the mirror. It’s a bit like looking at a picture shot through a soft-focus lens. It is real all right, but just a tiny bit better for being a tad diffused.

Take my advice. Accept it as the truth. In these matters, it’s best not to investigate too closely.