I have a small waistline … relative to a land mass the size of Pangea just south of the belt border. With a gut in the front, and a very generous booty in the back, it’s hard to find a dress that doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief when it goes from the dressing room to the rack of shame. Let’s just say that I’m not a stranger to the sound of popping threads when I’m trying on clothes. I tend to be delusional overly optimistic when selecting a dress.
I love wearing sundresses in the summer. The feel of fabric swishing around my legs … the ventilation … the lack of discernible shape. I’m starting to see the benefits of the muumuu: a dress originated in Hawaii for women with the physique of a sumo wrester on steroids. I’m not alone in this regard.
Walking through the Uber-Mart the other day, I noted that the muumuu was a popular fashion decision. Uber-Mart has a strict dress code. Tuesdays are jeans skirt days, and for those of us who cannot find industrial strength double stitching, Thursdays are muumuu days. I didn’t get the memo, so it was quite by accident that I found myself in fashion compliance last week.
The advantages of a muumuu in Uber-Mart are obvious. You can scratch your back against a freezer door handle without attracting undue attention. (Those things are awesome back scratchers). Disadvantages: a very cold breeze on your lady parts when climbing up the shelves of said freezer to get the last stuffed portabllo Lean Cuisine.
Traditionally, a muumuu should have enough fabric to house a family of four. I’m proud to say that mine could only sleep two midgets and a wet golden retriever comfortably. (My apologies in advance to any Hawaiians for this unfortunate stereotype). I don’t wear leis, play the ukulele, or wail out songs that sound like there’s a gopher in heat nearby. My muumuus aren’t printed with flowers the size of mini-vans. Still, I want to thank the Hawaiians for this ugly yet functional piece of apparel.
I just wish they would call it something that doesn’t sound like a herd of holsteins. There’s no need to point out the correlation between cows and my figure.
Having lived in Hawaii and possessing a special and almost twisted affinity for the muumuu, I would like to take this opportunity to defend its honor. Firstly, the correct pronunciation of muumuu is “moo=ooh-moo-ooh”. Yep, you pronounce the u’s twice each. It kinda adds to the whole “cow tent” visual, doesn’t it? Two moo’s are better than one, right?
Maybe not.
Anywho, I love the muumuu and would much rather see the ‘normal’ Uber-Mart patron wearing one of those than the butt-crack apparel that seems to be so popular these days.
And I think men should wear muumuus as well. Brings the idea of “going commando” to a whole new level!
OK, I’m stuck on the visual of George Clooney in a muumuu. I might develop a liking for the garment.
“Littlepatti” is my pen name. A real misnomer and somewhat misleading. I used to be a little Patti at one time (ages 5-9) and then I remained a little Patti by starving myself from 1958 to 1988…just sayin…
Ah, the Muumuu has made a comeback has it? I seem to remember it back in the 70’s, along with it’s 1st cousin, the Caftan. We live near Montreal and there’s been a real commotion for the past 3 days when the temperature rose above 95. Summer arrived and then sped away. It’s elusive here, so women don’t wear much Muumuu. But I’ve seen a return of the sun dress. French women in Montreal dress up, with a born-in -“Beauty must suffer” or… expose oneself. I haven’t totally bought into that, but confess I’ve had my moments. Now I like my Capri’s which I (recently) understand are 4 inches too long vis-a-vis my calf size. Back to the “cow” terminology. Thanks, now I’ve got that all off my chest, I can get on with the day. Thanks-I love your blog!
My calves are muscular, but aptly named. Finding capris that can breach that wall is a difficult proposition.
Laughing hysterically because I have a character, (her name is Happy) in my manuscript who wears and makes Muumuus. She also gifts one to my main character who throws it over her shorts and puts her belt on the outside.
I’m sure you look adorable scratching your back in the freezer section.
Does Happy buy her fabric by the metric ton? Your main character sounds like a fashion maven.
Of course, one can just ask a taller person to come along and reach into the freezer for that portabilo…
It is a weird name for a piece of fabric.
That looks like a parachute.
A particularly hideous parachute.
…but particularly handy if you’re falling out of a plane.
Quite true, yes!
I’m headed out to try on some muumuu’s. Thanks for the fashion tip!
I give people bad advice because it’s funny. Wait, did I say that or think it?