you've seen the clothes we wore.
this, this, 1000x times this. to this day the only 2word phrase that scares me as much as "atomic bomb" or "erectile dysfunction" is "qiana separates"
qiana is the silky, clingy synthetic disco material. tell you how creepy this was with a Winnie Beasley story.
Winnie was sum'n - Blue Book Register, Cafe Society in NYC in the 30s, she & her hubby did the Georgia OKeefe thang in the 50s and bought half of a beautiful town called Tesuque, just N of Santa Fe. The old man died & that just set Winnie free - long past her dotage, she could regularly be seen tooling around town on her '27 Indian motorcycle and the ultimate birthday gift was to get Winnie to take someone up in her Cessna Cherokee, highlighted by her full-out dive-bombing the SF plaza til you wet yourself. The first time i met her, i was playing b-ball with her sons and she came out da house asking if "one of you would walk Butchie - he's not feeling right". When her son agreed, she walked up to us til i could see that the pet she wanted walked was a bull snake (oddly, they have enough of a neck to put a leash on). Always sumn like that at the Beasley Ranch. She hosted two ginormous parties each year - a grand New Year's gala that she wore a gold lame miniskirt to well into her 70s and a Halloween party that people really put themselves out to costume themselves for. Everybody loveloveloved Winnie.
I had won a prize for my Ayatollah outfit the Halloween before (a week before the hostages were taken), but i had no ideas for a followup. My best pal was a photographer and he said, "Make your scariest face" (Kiss tongue pose) and he took a picture of it front, back, each side & top view and we put each picture on a mask-size box so i could go as kind of a Bizzaro wikkid. But what to wear? Had to be spectacular. An army of friends scoured every thrift shop in central NM and came up with the perfect 70s horrorshow - white patent leather loafers with so many cracks they looked like alligator, a bold maroon & white zigzag qiana disco shirt (got some righteous pawn shop medallions & the same girl who'd made my sheepkskin Ayatollah beard the year before fashioned me a bounteous chest merkin), a fuzzy angora-ish pink & blue jacket so heavily worn that the fuzz was hanging like leather fringes and the greatest pair of trousers i ever seen. So thick with polyester they almost said "boing" when they stretched, brightest kelly green in creation, with a pattern of tiny white squash/tennis rackets & balls throughout and so perfectly too short & flared that i was able to flash a generous portion of my Indian/Irish hairless white leg between the bellbottom and the saggyass black socks & white shoes. I was the living embodiment of 70s Bizarro.
Had to get mega-loaded just to keep the courage of my self-convictions long enough to enter the party, but i was a hit right away & won 2nd place, only behind a couple who'd built the Brooklyn Bridge between them. I didn't appreciate folks screaming again when i took my "mask" off, but you take the bad with the good. The Seventies!!!!!!!