Ask Dr. Ding

[Ed note: Out of concern for the retinas of my readership, I have deleted certain more harrowing visual images from Ms Claiborne's email. Please view with caution.]

Oh Dearest Dr Ding,

I just received this email with some fabulous 1977 retro haute couture.

Please do enjoy this trip down fashion don’t lane…….

Love, Liz Claiborne

Last weekend I put an exhaust fan in the ceiling for my wife’s grandfather. While my wife’s brother and I were fitting the fan in between the joists, we found something under the insulation. What we found was this:

A JC Penney catalog from 1977. It’s not often blog fodder just falls in my lap, but this was two solid inches of it, right there for the taking. I thumbed through it quickly and found my next dining room set, which is apparently made by adding upholstery to old barrels:

Also, I am totally getting this for my bathroom:

There’s plenty more home furnishings where those came from, however I’m not going to bore you with that. Instead, I’m going to bore you with something else. The clothes.

The clothes are fantastic.

Here’s how to get your ass kicked in High School:

This kid looks like he’s pretending to be David Soul, who is pretending to be a cop who is pretending to be a pimp that everyone knows is really an undercover cop. Who is pretending to be 15.

If you look at that picture quickly, it looks like Mr. Bob “No-pants” Saget has his hand in the other guy’s pocket. In this case, he doesn’t, although you can tell just by looking at them that it’s happened - or if it hasn’t happened it will. Oh yes. It will. As soon as he puts down his matching coffee cup.

If you wear this suit and don’t sell used cars for a living, I believe you can be fined and face serious repercussions, up to and including termination. Or imprisonment, in which case you’d be forced to wear that orange jumpsuit.

Also, judging by the sheer amount of matching his/hers outfits, I’m guessing that in 1977 it was considered pretty stylish for couples to dress alike. These couples look happy, don’t they?

I am especially fond of this one, which I have entitled “Cowboy Chachi Loves You Best.”

And nothing showcases your everlasting love more than the commitment of matching bathing suits. That, and a blonde girl with a look on her face that says “I love the way your junk fights against that fabric.”

Then, after the lovin’, you can relax in your one-piece matching terry cloth jumpsuits:

I could go on, but I’m tired, and my eyes hurt from this trip back in time. I think it’s the colors. That said, I will leave you with these tasteful little numbers:

Man, that’s sexy.

Dear Liz:

Dr. Ding is agog. Aghast, even. Thanks to you I’ll be visited by horrific apparitions of day-glo housemaid outfits and Shirts That Are Unspeakable. Great. I was just barely getting over the great Moon Boots Fiasco of 1982 when you had to go and send me this. Now I’ll be up all night reliving my dealings with the Hamill Camel hairdo my mother made me wear for something like 5 consecutive years. And Mrs. Roper’s caftans. And my glittery Disco Bug t-shirt that I once wore un-ironically.

I have pretty much no witty responses I might crudely fashion into some sort of bludgeon with which I could better attack the heinous, near-unnameable contents your missive and beat them into amnestic oblivion. Alas. That’s the price I pay for being Dr. Ding: I’m sensitive.