Object-ives #30: J’Adore My Anorak of Armor
In 1990, I blew some grant money on a J.Crew anorak; 36 years later it’s still protecting me from all the elements
It’s August, 1990, Indiana University. College classes start in one week. I’ve already noticed that my clothes are not quite right. They’re cute, but it’s as if I missed some internal memo about Rugbys, Doc Martens, and rainbow belts. I was able to secure the belt at the college head shop, but the other items remained way beyond my budget. Plus, where to shop? The Indiana University coeds—at least those who seemed comfortable in their skin—and I didn’t seem to be shopping at the same mall. They were shopping from consignment stores or catalogs, glossy promises of afternoon sailings and playing catch football with their extended family, or hiking deep into the woods in all iterations of fleece.
A day before classes started, I called my older-by-two-years cousin to ask what she wore on her first day at Ball State. She laughed, said she didn’t remember and that it wouldn’t matter. “Just wear a cute pair of denim shorts and a tank, and you’ll look cute.” God love her. That wasn’t helpful. My shorts were too long and not casually cut off the right way. They lacked fray, and they were white. My rainbow-striped espadrilles (to match the belt) weren’t the proper footwear for at least six miles of walking. By midday, I was so cold in the air-conditioned lecture halls that I longed for the embroidered IU sweatshirt I’d spotted in the bookstore.
I couldn’t ask for more money. Mom, Mr. Pell Grant, one scholarship, and I were barely paying for college. The last Target trip, prompted by a “I NEED A CUTE MIRROR AND SHOWER BUCKET” meltdown, had exhausted my budget.
Alas, a loophole. At the beginning of each semester, I’d get a refund from the Pell Grant for the money left over from my classes. I’d run out and immediately get the must-have of the moment. I distinctly remember walking from the bursar’s office to the shoe store for Birkenstocks. I was buying my college uniform.
That first semester of that first year, I got hold of a J. Crew catalog and ordered an anorak, in lake blue and The Same Rugby Everyone Wore. Strategic, as an anorak can be worn daily. It transmits both preppy and peppy. It matched my eyes. It covered up my Greek-letter-free sweatshirts. It was warm, but not too warm. As soon as I put it on, I felt like I fit in a bit more, and hid happily in it.
The consignment store was super close to my dorm (as was the mall, ironically). During Mom’s first visit, we walked down there and had the time of our lives. I bought my witchy skirts and oversized sweaters. I got a pair of vintage Levis. Lots of black. I was learning a different look from the Goth kids, but didn’t want to ape their vibe either. But flannel was most certainly a friend. Oversized flannel shirts, anorak tied around my waist, and a pair of leggings—here I come, Finite Math.
By the end of my first semester of college, I’d lost 10 pounds, four pairs of acid wash jeans, and everything with shoulder pads. I’d also lost any hope of securing the true uniform of fitting in: Greek letters on my clothes. I rushed sorority after sorority (22 in total!), wearing my mall-fancy clothes and looking around every Tudor-inspired living room, wondering how the hell I could afford to keep up with the Kappas. I clocked lots of J.Crew.
I kept wearing the anorak, but I let go of trying to look like a sorority girl. The one place I successfully fit in: The gyms: the HPER (The School of Health, Physical Education and Recreation) gym, the townie gym for fancier cardio machines and, when I could afford it, the uber-popular, mildly sadistic fitness studio for step class. I purchased the athleisure uniform of the day, a white V-neck Hanes shirt over a sports bra and Lycra shorts. Fitting in while working out was my secret sauce, until it cost me more than an entire J. Crew collection: my health and happiness.
In 2017, I checked myself into a residential eating disorder treatment center, at age 45, wearing an Athleta hoodie I got at a consignment store, plus joggers from Target. I was sporting my armor, again. A week later, I was sharing memories of an intermittently tear-filled and violent childhood with the nurse, the only woman close to my age in the house, a hilarious Black woman and Army vet. She looked at me, slobbering in my paper gown during weekly weigh-ins, and said: “Girl, you had me fooled. You walked in here, with your Lululemon and your cute lil sneakers, and I thought you had it so good.”
Recently, when Indiana University made it to the college football playoffs, the anorak was tied around my waist at the airport en route to Miami. Not red and white, but definitely my college colors. I wore it to the parking lot of Hard Rock stadium, where I tailgated with my college boyfriend and his friends, whom I’d last seen 29 years ago when we broke up after one very sad year living together in Chicago.
I’d taken a Xanax, a weed gummy, a knee brace, and an Uber to meet up with my old crew. What would we say to one another after all these years? Would they see how I’d recovered? Note that I was actually eating the crudités and salsa, or my actual ass peeking out of my cut-offs? We hugged, laughed at all the Botox, and compared medical procedures. One friend asked about my husband, a Syracuse grad, cheering IU at home with our dog. When the temperature dropped, I pulled on my anorak.
“That’s the jacket, isn’t it, Mandy?” my ex said, calling me the name of my youth, immediately recognizing both the old and new me. I no longer needed it for protection, but it sure felt good to be seen.
Amanda Long is a nationally syndicated features writer and locally loved massage therapist who writes about what moves her, nostalgia, and her recovery from an eating disorder.
Object-ives features flash nonfiction essays of 500-999 words on the possessions we can’t stop thinking about.
Recommended reading on possessions:
“I Spent $2,000 on a Birthday Gift for My Boyfriend—His Face Fell When He Opened It” by Rachel Kramer Bussel, Newsweek
“I decluttered my dream and then this happened” by Dorena Kohrs, The Intentional Home
“Picking Up the Pieces After Mom’s Deportation” by Andrea González-Ramírez, The Cut
“Suleika Jaouad’s Love Letter to a Two-Hundred-Year-Old Farmhouse” by Suleika Jaouad, Garden & Gun
“I joined a decluttering challenge and got rid of 496 items in a month. I made a point to not throw anything in the trash.” as told to Lauren Finney Harden by Mesha Griffith, Business Insider
“How to Declutter Without Creating Waste—and Where Unwanted Items Should Really Go” by Rae Ford, Martha Stewart
“Maximalist Design Can Make It Harder to Sell. These Homeowners Don’t Care.” by Laura Hine, The Wall Street Journal
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How times changed. When I started college in 1958, preppy girls were supposed to have white blouses with peter pan collars. I didn't and went on in my well-established and lonely "difference." Some of us just are.