Frumpy mom: my children laughed when I said I was sophisticated

What does it mean to be sophisticated? The first person who comes to mind is James Bond, with his tuxedo and his inevitable Martini – of course, shaken, not stirred.

I do not remember precisely why it happened in a conversation with my young adult children, but I remember saying to them firmly: “I am sophisticated.”

They laughed. “You, mom? You are not sophisticated!

As you can guess, it annoyed me, to the point that I am always obsessed on this subject today. But then, I lowered my Ratty t -shirt and my mom’s jeans – my normal outfit at home.

I realized that my children simply did not understand the concept, at least as I see it.

In their non -sophisticated minds, it meant being dressed in creative clothes that did not come from the shopping center and to go to Gstaad to go ski at any time. (Of course, they have no idea Where is GSTAAD.)

This means being rich, with a sumptuous lifestyle filled with backyard pools, private leaders, elegant parties, private jets and heavy gold jewelry.

But I know people who live like that who are not at all sophisticated because they ignore the world. They exist in their own small bubbles of privilege, surrounded by acolytes equally without any idea that cling to each of their words, in the hope that some of these generosity will fall.

Now, the Merriam-Webster dictionary describes the sophisticated word as “having a refined knowledge of the cultivated worlds of the world in particular by a wide experience”.

Gee, I have that. I know which fork to use when I go to a fantasy restaurant, although I almost never do it, because I can only go when someone else pays.

I know how to use this strange little machine to spray snails shells cooked in a French saucepan, so you can dig its bowels. (Perhaps one of you Smarty Pantala can tell me what it is called.) I learned to do it at high school, when our French teacher led us to 30 miles from the only French restaurant in Utah to live real gallic culture. I also learned that coffee was supposed to be consumed after dinner – not during – that rocked the whole world that I knew.

On a later occasion, I ate the snail soup in Jemaa El Fnaa Square in Marrakesh, Morocco, although I am not sure that it makes me sophisticated. You probably make a belly sound in your throat right now, but it was actually quite tasty. I even had a few seconds.

The dictionary also defines sophistication as “devoid of rudeness”, which could say that some people are denied by the snail soup.

I also had good table manners, but then I became a journalist in the newspaper. Forty years old at dinner at my office, leaning on my computer, ending stories on time, putting food in my mouth with one hand and interviewing people on the phone with the other, destroys any restoration label that I have ever had.

Now, my table manners are so bad that when we go out to eat, my children often say to me: “Mom, we cannot take you anywhere”, when I drop my food in an inappropriate place.

It was a time in my life, before becoming a journalist in the newspaper, when I worked in the entertainment industry and wore beautiful silk dresses, high heels and makeup every day. I had Beverly Hills style. And then I entered the poorly paid world of newspaper journalism and I started buying my clothes in thrift stores. And wear flat shoes that wouldn’t bother me when I covered a brush fire. Make up? Ha. Don’t launch me. On the rare occasions when I was carrying lipstick in the editorial room, the colleagues asked me if I had a job interview.

I have never regretted this decision – this is the reason why I am writing to you at the moment. I exchanged money and a class against the possibility of informing people of the things they had to know. Ok, and sometimes get on fire trucks.

The small amount of disposable income that I scratch goes for traveling on a budget, as much as possible. It is difficult to appear elegant when you wear freight shorts and more size sneakers.

When you look elegant and sophisticated, people certainly treat you better wherever you go. You are planning an aura of confidence to which everyone responds.

Not so much when you wear wal-Mart wilted jeans and need a haircut. But, hey, I know that I am sophisticated – even if I don’t like Martinis. I just keep a secret.

California Daily Newspapers