The Parade of the Deplorables

All hail the rise of the schlubs. Along with the fat biscuit-faced folks. And the hinters of our hinterland. And the frumps of Frumptown.

That is my reaction to the recent nasty attacks by celebrities on Sarah Huckabee Sanders, the White House press secretary whose job requires her to spend a lot of time on television.

Recently, Cher tweeted an order to those around Sarah: “Would someone please tell Sarah Huckabee Sanders to stop dressing like a sister wife.” This was not only a dig at Sanders’ style of dress. “Sister wives” is a derogatory term for women in polygamist families, as some Mormon women are.

Cher included a photo of two women who many would call “plain.” No make up. No hair-styling. Frocked from neck to toe in simple shapeless dresses …that looked home-stitched. Lace-up shoes. Long sleeves. You get the picture.

Comedienne-writer Chelsea Handler piled on. She re-tweeted a Sarah Sanders parody that many consider to be vulgar. It mocked Sarah’s weight and physical appearance. It had a comedienne playing Sarah say, “My face is a big, fat biscuit.” It insinuated she looks like a man.

Interesting that Cher should criticize a woman’s fashions. She appeared at last year’s Billboard Awards dressed like a pole-dancer. Or more like a stripper who is down to the last skimpy pieces before her finale. And wasn’t she at the big women’s march? And isn’t one of the goals of feminists and other women to end the judging of women by their clothes, shapes, and sizes?

The New York Times questioned Sarah’s choice of fashions at length. It reckoned she “offers visual reference points of Main Street (the Fox version.).” Notice the little dig at Fox News? Sorry, but the New York Times has no clue where the Main Streets of America are.

Hollywood Reporter called Sanders “a real-world figure, dressing on a budget.”

Meanwhile, Sanders defends herself. She says she prefers to focus on relating the president’s message to the country. She says she simply wishes to convey honesty and transparency.

And meanwhile, back at the Handler Ranch, Chelsea says, “This woman deserves to be taken down. She is pure evil.”

Tell me Trump Derangement Syndrome isn’t real.

Now, I don’t deserve a say in all this. But, to me Sanders looks like, well, a soccer mom. A PTA member. A local council woman. A neighbor. A checkout clerk. A friend. A woman. A person.

I know, I know. The elite regards them as frumpy denizens of Frumptown. And ghoulish hinters of the hinterland. And schlubs. Maybe even deplorables.

I am here to stand up for them. I reckon women can do what they want. They can dress for comfort or for however they want to. They can come in various sizes and shapes. 

We have had an endless parade of face-lifted, chest-enhanced, butt-tightened, hair-styled women on the national scene. Hey, whatever turns them on. But it is kind of nice to have Sarah on the national stage. Because she looks a little like 75 percent of the women I meet.

If they will let me, I would love to be the drum major of their parade. The frumps, hinters, schlubs, deplorables, and fat biscuit-faced women.

I qualify. Since forever I have looked like an unmade double bed. My suits sag. My tux laughs at me. Natty? I am gnatty. Tailored? Call me upholstered. My bulges have their own bulges.

There used to be custom tailors near Rockefeller Center in the Big Apple. They would only let me in their back door after business hours. And they sewed labels into what they created for me: “Sam Blatz. Self-taught tailor. Hoboken. Cheap.”

If I ever find Sam, I will ask him if he would like to join me in that parade. He could carry my custom-made cape.

From Tom…as in Morgan.              

Tom Morgan writes about political, financial, and other subjects from his home near Oneonta. Write to Tom at tomasinmorgan@yahoo.com. You can read more of his writing at tomasinmorgan.com