Once upon a time, the only occasion I heard the word “lawn” was when my Mother yelled her location to me in the late afternoons as she was gardening and sipping her tea. Now, it is what you wear when you brush shoulders with your fellow tea-sippers, God-forbid any gardening be involved.
I read this article once that mapped the digression of society by the way language evolved. The word “innit” had for long been used as slang and was never acceptable in formal – say, Scrabble – diction; in the same way “lawn” now symbolizes one outfit in your wardrobe that costs, oh, just minimum wage in our country. I have yet to sit through a conversation this spring/summer that doesn’t involve the question of how many new “lawn-joras” I got made and better yet, “whose” lawn I bought – because its not who wears it but who designed it, of course.
For my friends that don’t know what this is (never admit this loudly), it is basically soft, lightweight cloth that we use in our super-hot summers because it breathes easy and because it used to previously be affordable. The character of such material is such that after it is washed, say half a dozen times, it stretches out and fades into something that could only be used as a rag cloth; which would be fine if it cost bare minimum like lawn did back in the day. Now, you spend up to Rs. 6,000 (which is incidentally, minimum wage in Pakistan – which is usually what is paid to our daily workers in factories; domestic help is paid less) on an outfit that you will find several others wearing (in a different color if you’re lucky) real time. The upside: you instantly recognize which designer created this (generic) “work of art”.
Recently, I went to pick my mother up from one of her monthly luncheons. A room full of about sixty women, where I could spot the same outfit on at least 6 of them. That was just one outfit. The others were similarly replicated. Everyone looked like a blurry remnant of the next and, in the words of a classic “Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.” A river of jealousy.
Here I was thinking what I wore defined who I was and made me stand out from the rest – but I guess I want to be like everyone else just so I can prove I spent way too much on this one outfit. How rich must I be? All this in a country where 24% live below the poverty line. Great!
When I admit that I have not bought any “lawn this season” because I don’t like lawn generally, I am looked at strangely with an eye that says “sure, you cheap bastard.” Maybe I am cheap. Maybe I don’t like wearing something that is printed in a manner that it makes me feel like bed linen, or maybe, just maybe, I’d rather spend that money on a vacation. I’m not saying I’m more charitable than Ms. Lawn, but I’m saying that I’d rather spend that money on something more durable.
Someone said that the money I spend on food (approximately 60% of my paycheck) is money, quite literally, down the toilet. I think the same about your outfit that makes you look like just another Smurf.
Potato-potato-perspective.
