Chinee Grandmaw Sweatah
I work in downtown Oakland, which means I spend quite a bit of time in the city’s version of the Pacific Rim. On the backside of places like the Convention Center and the Marriott is a village of Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean and Japanese businesses. Some have signs in English; some do not. One thing I have noticed is the grandmothers, bent, slow-moving dowagers usually dressed in an oversized sweater that defies description.
But I’m gonna try to describe them, anyway. The sweater tends to be a riot of color and pattern so outrageous it totally bypasses the category of “ugly” to this totally different sartorial space. Enormous flowers in peridot, pink and purple; mind-boggling geometric patterns normally seen only in psych tests; convoluted textures that would baffle the author of the Book of Kells. All of the sweaters moving along at a speed guaranteed to give you the maximum amount of time for them to permanently sear themselves into the retinas. The little old ladies, in their 60s, 70s and 80s, all sporting this air of “I’m old enough to wear this sweater.”
I want one. Even though I’m not old enough, yet, to really wear a Chinese Grandma Sweater, I want one. Oh well. Maybe I’ll just wear a Pink Hat instead.
