1972: The Year of the Maxi?

In case anyone needs proof, I have to believe that 1972 was the exact year of the maxiskirt.

My mother is in the plaid one. My sister, pouting in her shocking pink. Great Aunt Rose is way to the left. Great Aunt Angelica is way to the right. The woman looking down is Aunt Joanne. And the woman in her prime, looking straight ahead, hair parted in the middle, is Cousin Mickey.

Every year that my great grandmother lived (she died in 1973), there would be a huge birthday celebration at Don's 21 in Jersey down on Route 17. Everyone would dress up. I remember my sister hating that dress. And I remember how freakish it was that every single woman had to wear the same mandated style. "Who," I wondered, "is telling everyone what to do? And why do they do it? It feels so big-hand-in-the-sky-reaching-down." I think my poor sister was feeling the pain of conformity. Also, I thought I would have liked to try one on, if only because everyone was so excited about their maxi and couldn't wait to show it off. I wanted something to show off. But, frankly, and calmly, I was happy that boy's clothes didn't change much over the years. I didn't like huge surprises as a kid. And some huge maxi skirt thrust upon me might have been more than I could bear.

More pictures to follow. Though it is hard to imagine anything will beat this maximum impression. Click on the photo to get the bigger version.

And get ready. Maxis are coming back.