To be fair, would any of us (who were alive then) want to be remembered for what we wore in the ‘70s? The whole decade was a sartorial disaster, blending from hippie to disco.
A decade or so ago, bell bottoms made a brief fad comeback. I said not just no, but hell, no. I survived that once, and I’m not going back there, man. Because, to paraphrase Yoda, bell bottoms lead to open shirts with gold medallions. Medallions lead to leisure suits. Leisure suits lead to suffering. So take your desert boots and Hush Puppies down the road. We’ve done that here, and we’re long since over it.
Your picture of Bill and Hill doesn’t look all that dissimilar from pics I have of my mom and dad. Though they were shorter than the Clintons. If you didn’t experience the 1970s on the ground, you don’t know what it was like. It was hell, I’m telling you. HELL! For the love of God, you have no idea how wide the lapels were! Oh, and the mirror balls. And the gimmicks — the Limelight, Atlanta’s answer to Studio 54, had a plexiglass dance floor with live sharks circling beneath.
The horror ... the horror ...