Reviews
of some maternity clothiers
As a 33-year-old woman who still stubbornly refuses to act
like a grown-up, I am finding some aspects of pregnancy unnerving.
You might assume that I'm referring to the commitment I've
made, which promises to profoundly alter my daily life for
the next. (By the way, that's not me on the left.)
The aesthetics of maternity wear have always been worrisome
to me. It seems as if deciding to have a child means agreeing
to dress like Janet Reno or Little Bo Peep for nine months.
What's with the giant Peter Pan collars, the prim dresses
and the Miami Vice color scheme? Are pregnant women
simply expected to turn the other cheek and endure these
indignities?
Not if you're ridiculously vain about clothing, as I am.
Pre-pregnancy, I might have suspected that I was a tad picky
about fashion, but there's nothing like a trip to the Target
maternity department to let you know just what a snob you
really are. Teal? Not if you paid me. Pre-faded jeans? Not
in this decade. Floral-printed overall shorts? Never. Ever.
Ever.
Like many women before me, I figured that the only way
to maintain my dignity while knocked up is to avoid maternity
wear at all costs. But at only three months gestation, a
highly disturbing run-in with a pair of size-16 Old Navy
drawstring pants convinced me that maternity clothes exist
for a reason.
This frightened me on many levels: Not only would I have
to start dressing as if I was the Iowa State Fair pie-contest
winner, I would also have to enter "mommy merchandise" departments,
places where salespeople oooh and aaah over you and touch
your belly without asking. Though I was not yet psychologically
ready for this, my burgeoning body was telling me otherwise.
So I drank the Kool-Aid, and into the loving arms of Mimi
Maternity I fell.
In terms of prices, I was definitely starting at the top.
There aren't a ton of maternity-wear options in Portland,
and if you add "affordable" to that phrase, you're basically
stuck with Target. But if you are wealthy, or foolishly
vain, like me, you will purchase expensive clothes at places
like Mimi, where most fashions of the day (capri pants,
Chinese dresses) are magically converted into $98 garments
that somehow accommodate your newfound girth.
The classic staple of maternity wear is the "panel" pant,
an otherwise normal pair of pants with a huge, stretchy,
marsupial pouch attached to the front. At first, that gaping
pouch horrified me, looming like a harbinger of my inevitable
fate. Would I ever really fill that whole thing? Of course
not! But with the gentle guidance of a Mimi saleswoman,
I tried on a pair. Thus began my love affair with the maternity
pant.
I should explain that I've always had somewhat of a beer
gut and could rarely find pants that would accommodate this
feature and still fit well everywhere else. Why the hell
didn't I think of it before? Maternity pants are the answer.
Endlessly forgiving in the waist, yet svelte and tailored
everywhere else, they are my dream jeans.
This discovery brought me to even greater heights of joy
when I wore my preggy pants out to dinner for the first
time. Imagine eating obscene amounts of food and feeling
absolutely no resistance from your pants. No buttons or
zippers chastising you, no clingy waistband punishing you
for your excesses, just endless acceptance of your decision
to eat more and more and more. It's beer-gut heaven.
Once I embraced the pouch, my conversion was swift, and
soon I was trotting around to every maternity store in town,
snapping up their merchandise. No longer apprehensive about
pregnant culture, I found myself having endless conversations
with eager-to-pamper salespeople who seemed genuinely fascinated
with my due date, my name ideas, my symptoms.
Now that I've been around the block a bit, I'm here to
tell you that you don't have to look like Ms. Reno when
you're preggers. With a lot of ingenuity and a little chunk
of cash, you can look at least as good as, say, Sandra Day
O'Connor. Maternity-clothing companies are finally shaking
off the notion that pregnant women should have to wear prissy
frocks to offset the fact that their very condition is like
wearing a badge that says, "I've had sex!"
But there is such a thing as swinging too far in the other
direction. On a recent evening (I'm now at seven months),
I decided to let my pregnant flag fly; I borrowed a clingy,
floral Vivienne Tam dress to wear to a party. I figured
if Jada Pinkett Smith could do it and look darling, then
dammit, why couldn't I? Of course, everyone told me I looked
sexy and great, but when I saw the photos a few days later,
I found out the awful truth: I looked like a couch. My friends
tried to console me: "No! No! More like a love seat!" This
was very sweet of them, but I've retreated back into the
safe, flattering realm of maternity wear once again, and
this time I promise not to stray.
Here's
a rundown of the places I visited and what they have to offer:
MIMI MATERNITY
Top of the heap, but you pay for it.
Almost anything you pluck off the rack will cost either
88 or 98 bucks. I do recommend buying one pair of high-quality
panel pants here--they'll save your life.
Pioneer Place, 700 SW 5th Ave., 241-1536.
MOTHERHOOD MATERNITY
http://www.motherhood.com/home.asp
A great discovery once you've drunk the Kool-Aid. It's
the same company that owns Mimi, but the prices are more
in the Target range. You'll have to pick through some Reno
and Bo Peep gear, but you will find some cute, cheap stuff.
The Washington Square store is the
better of the two.
Lloyd Center, Northeast 9th Avenue and Multnomah Street,
249-0373;
Washington Square, 9585 SW Washington Square Road, Tigard,
639-0400.
GENERATIONS
The selection is good, the prices are
moderate to expensive, and there's a great rack of resale
stuff in the back. A super place to start if you're still
squeamish, because you can distract yourself by fixating
on the absolutely adorable baby clothes.
4029 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 233-8130.
TARGET
http://www.target.com/
Conventional wisdom says Target's the best place for
affordable maternity duds, but I beg to differ. The selection
is small, and the styles are pretty weak. Good for T-shirts,
bras and leggings, though.
Various locations
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Willamette Week | originally
published May 5, 1999
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