tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45730991435323983012024-03-17T16:24:20.652-05:00AllWays in Fashionallwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.comBlogger735125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-64074514518023763822024-03-17T13:36:00.004-05:002024-03-17T13:54:29.865-05:00Fashion Magazines Have Lost Their Minds<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinzjvkzsD-NkskqDNc52bvte09HQmj_h7nJzdFxH9hLTApFMaI062PHeLxo5QxyMdm0VfkdagvTTk0JlTKGpUTVKfyW-d_AlEFjUkHTNhjN39u6XMWxk9cD99ztPIDYah1Mf_SDOieAYtv4TZrDGBeMTSrMnA5t9LJggR5asyOC_xNX5T2PiTm2M0Ejpty" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="1368" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinzjvkzsD-NkskqDNc52bvte09HQmj_h7nJzdFxH9hLTApFMaI062PHeLxo5QxyMdm0VfkdagvTTk0JlTKGpUTVKfyW-d_AlEFjUkHTNhjN39u6XMWxk9cD99ztPIDYah1Mf_SDOieAYtv4TZrDGBeMTSrMnA5t9LJggR5asyOC_xNX5T2PiTm2M0Ejpty=w265-h320" width="265" /></a></div><br />It's official. With so little left of print publications, the few major remaining (Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and Elle in the United States) have been teetering on the absurd for ages. They've now toppled.<p></p><p>Of the three Elle, with Nina Garcia at the helm, seemed the most reasonable. It celebrated the fun that is the fantasy of fashion along with some stuff you could really wear. The March issue, at 216 pages and healthier than usual, is both silly and sad.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjboDYPfQzCmY7TZ9vesy8V0ER9NwG41zt3q1XfbtpekpV-aSTf_yxgdw7NBBcvMpQMpcBXyrFZhOIdG1nLt5f99Upi-KJ7R6ZSeRQMniklhyTeFRw_WkZVp8AtNc9wUvHXdbLNs0pukdkBImSQH4-tqRuSCY5ioP9EP-OV0MyKHyW2umnyr97UlROTP0hA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2044" data-original-width="1540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjboDYPfQzCmY7TZ9vesy8V0ER9NwG41zt3q1XfbtpekpV-aSTf_yxgdw7NBBcvMpQMpcBXyrFZhOIdG1nLt5f99Upi-KJ7R6ZSeRQMniklhyTeFRw_WkZVp8AtNc9wUvHXdbLNs0pukdkBImSQH4-tqRuSCY5ioP9EP-OV0MyKHyW2umnyr97UlROTP0hA=w241-h320" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Really?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjBMhSUNotI5E7FPUqRhCCVXvgzvhuoGOi__nR7yjZVaan06-scuGJLps0c7CxGGNaVv2qKaYhphhohQVuIuBwg6uj_TPRpImBUF0aWlb-hz6nh52iexPN1o7n6t0iujRSwjrE-Rb3_gkJRgxnN7TcVyCgt04SY7T4stZ1Di3y_htbqL1Qzc8b1pG50et0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2058" data-original-width="1630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjBMhSUNotI5E7FPUqRhCCVXvgzvhuoGOi__nR7yjZVaan06-scuGJLps0c7CxGGNaVv2qKaYhphhohQVuIuBwg6uj_TPRpImBUF0aWlb-hz6nh52iexPN1o7n6t0iujRSwjrE-Rb3_gkJRgxnN7TcVyCgt04SY7T4stZ1Di3y_htbqL1Qzc8b1pG50et0=w253-h320" width="253" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Really?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZb2_jaKf7q7tJgESAe_tz5kOrIm4XS9t6mSJiIdly4sMpXTyb2LKb2HXq3tUgYsYwjcPK5SSu3tor_z8UwUcueWu9C6oxaE_0mkzjQ0vgjwW_A2ifOtq-d9NlxCaRWeSQxVlyPyl3rLU48yPc64OUppnRi8M-bMZcK2gFLup1EbHlp8EOTrrMXfmPlFuh" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2064" data-original-width="1654" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZb2_jaKf7q7tJgESAe_tz5kOrIm4XS9t6mSJiIdly4sMpXTyb2LKb2HXq3tUgYsYwjcPK5SSu3tor_z8UwUcueWu9C6oxaE_0mkzjQ0vgjwW_A2ifOtq-d9NlxCaRWeSQxVlyPyl3rLU48yPc64OUppnRi8M-bMZcK2gFLup1EbHlp8EOTrrMXfmPlFuh=w256-h320" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Really?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVI6o4eaFIGX7hva7qoAux30y283v7BjmOROEEuaA06y2cWsnWzRus5wc9LTgYX9j3SBYqb6uMcuWpg1l1go0LCoAES3NkN_SGvbT-26BCImn6TwdWMZ9WkeIwZYhB3-c9VP2Ne5KQYP1USye4u_UsdZi5Fx0OCOZSKmeyAa-IU-NvN0ArgkQir3l6p8VT" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2064" data-original-width="1678" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVI6o4eaFIGX7hva7qoAux30y283v7BjmOROEEuaA06y2cWsnWzRus5wc9LTgYX9j3SBYqb6uMcuWpg1l1go0LCoAES3NkN_SGvbT-26BCImn6TwdWMZ9WkeIwZYhB3-c9VP2Ne5KQYP1USye4u_UsdZi5Fx0OCOZSKmeyAa-IU-NvN0ArgkQir3l6p8VT=w260-h320" width="260" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Really?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS1KQgkUQYpgiQYAK4r8gc3tGHyF4Pb0isICp3n1tsgJvriQ7mteCh6NbB5ora3xNoqCjF_kXSyM5nsywznt7W8J62hDngUsxLSNGOs-19mlppwtp8OSaMPefQYPVf17lw1WXN0g2ak59lvN8j6_wQe1ZwXtukuI0KWNWB0W50Tc0eQr5nWiXAmu7ZBzIn" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS1KQgkUQYpgiQYAK4r8gc3tGHyF4Pb0isICp3n1tsgJvriQ7mteCh6NbB5ora3xNoqCjF_kXSyM5nsywznt7W8J62hDngUsxLSNGOs-19mlppwtp8OSaMPefQYPVf17lw1WXN0g2ak59lvN8j6_wQe1ZwXtukuI0KWNWB0W50Tc0eQr5nWiXAmu7ZBzIn=w255-h320" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I have a sheet...<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjJV5hKQfmEvj1Yn_EXFs7CdeyzA4m5Th_Maw3lslBXJMLTwZCrViq4Lq9KasxyLzgMH_n3P9GFR0AyiEC2deff5i82VmzzmRo5kjfBt5L4ZNJYFSWxMrM0qeqg8Jj89WiWb6hUrbY3zHJkRur0-K2up2yg4fPVauNQTnLNL5DTYyAF-VHPKbakS6RObC_" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2066" data-original-width="1604" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjJV5hKQfmEvj1Yn_EXFs7CdeyzA4m5Th_Maw3lslBXJMLTwZCrViq4Lq9KasxyLzgMH_n3P9GFR0AyiEC2deff5i82VmzzmRo5kjfBt5L4ZNJYFSWxMrM0qeqg8Jj89WiWb6hUrbY3zHJkRur0-K2up2yg4fPVauNQTnLNL5DTYyAF-VHPKbakS6RObC_=w248-h320" width="248" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Really?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3bezKXhqh7S-__J6keSfJ1xUEEx9QdhYGgPb8HKKMzjmljLzxQkZI13iiT--pyeP7wjFyt2cU06hiOj2cMBoq95UoD_Sk_N8lNKcl0V5eUK3i_-tZZemK0ZGlfT6QQkiQdtdP8Jgwr1ZY1RUqUO3dL0K-0BLFtIfd8bRF2_CPkdbqtJ1bkIzp5NCS_5MJ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2078" data-original-width="1640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3bezKXhqh7S-__J6keSfJ1xUEEx9QdhYGgPb8HKKMzjmljLzxQkZI13iiT--pyeP7wjFyt2cU06hiOj2cMBoq95UoD_Sk_N8lNKcl0V5eUK3i_-tZZemK0ZGlfT6QQkiQdtdP8Jgwr1ZY1RUqUO3dL0K-0BLFtIfd8bRF2_CPkdbqtJ1bkIzp5NCS_5MJ=w252-h320" width="252" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Really?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiub1RJN3F2A5whQli-zD2IAs0EDreH_N8jfj1z0__P__ZoMoeRsXr6zjybhQpC94OUIwmwiLRtSUBEedeRq6TqsBJpgWyih1YaB-mpfPseKJuKyyIMA95RTK5U1XYyLlkZxr3_0hsTAsa6JRQsQjgaWMfRp9vb8j52OyX7W-gHaCBrkFBAbgZibwX7pZhu" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="1682" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiub1RJN3F2A5whQli-zD2IAs0EDreH_N8jfj1z0__P__ZoMoeRsXr6zjybhQpC94OUIwmwiLRtSUBEedeRq6TqsBJpgWyih1YaB-mpfPseKJuKyyIMA95RTK5U1XYyLlkZxr3_0hsTAsa6JRQsQjgaWMfRp9vb8j52OyX7W-gHaCBrkFBAbgZibwX7pZhu=w259-h320" width="259" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What even is this anyway?</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Gone are the days when a magazine had the hubris to tell you what to wear. Once upon a time Glamour even published a "What to Wear With What" chart twice a year that I <i>looked forward to</i>. A blessing! Yes, it can be a relief not to be restricted as to "what's in/what's out" today. On the other hand... Some love rules and feel comforted by them. Others like rules in order to flaunt them. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhYO7ejUcLCQ0n4u4VSv-oYjWZrIW1O-NrlI9s3dQO1UnE31lMy4FRpQ4OPV8-NtcY-TZsdSKZ-wjU62SPENbHtFidD527O4Qb0Gkzpv5i_rfjzziN7VJKAtHiJIZ00XuwjlsVIIAFm3bkwfJ98SjdXxDsQ42mIakxZpESNGSnSGFkDzcV33WMS5fFELRx" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2046" data-original-width="2542" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhYO7ejUcLCQ0n4u4VSv-oYjWZrIW1O-NrlI9s3dQO1UnE31lMy4FRpQ4OPV8-NtcY-TZsdSKZ-wjU62SPENbHtFidD527O4Qb0Gkzpv5i_rfjzziN7VJKAtHiJIZ00XuwjlsVIIAFm3bkwfJ98SjdXxDsQ42mIakxZpESNGSnSGFkDzcV33WMS5fFELRx" width="298" /></a></div> <br />So no rules today (other than those of decency and your own preferences). But what about inspiration? Where are we getting that from? There are a few good authorities—Jess Cartner-Morley, Alyson Walsh and Trinny Woodall—but none of them are based in the States. Vanessa Friedman is a terrific reporter for the NY Times, but she's largely not an advisor. Celebrities? How many red carpet events do <i>you</i> attend?<p></p><p>I will troll the stores to see if I can get excited. There are less of them, and I have better things to do. Once upon a time my path from work to home took me onto Fifth or Madison Avenues; lunch break meant I could run down to 34th Street or up to 59th. I don't live there anymore. Even in those halcyon days, I loved fashion magazines. I can only imagine their many thousands of readers outside metropolitan areas loved them too.</p><p>Depending where you were on your life's journey, the fashion magazines spoke to you like a wise young aunt, a hip big sister or a smart, chic girlfriend. You might not always take her advice, but you loved hearing what she had to say. Today's magazines may be amusing themselves. but they are delighting—and enlightening—no one else. <br /></p><p><br /></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-77808243401547676472024-02-27T09:55:00.001-06:002024-02-27T09:55:33.307-06:00Life's Lost Little Luxuries #10: The Car Coat<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrEGWfkh0MyYd_SvxjLhs6QLalk_2i-SbaY7bHl28jDLoGt8-L34-t4up2Lb7ipQ9_sIngB-niQiYYCxAlXzEsWza-GHy8mb2-nmU3wDUY-K6r7gLbQstlvUSWdnV_q42U6zF_GXGgAVw7FJ1gso1cTWYG0VNCYt6LamUiF-RHM_LK1nE2js7uK9KAesci" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="1104" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrEGWfkh0MyYd_SvxjLhs6QLalk_2i-SbaY7bHl28jDLoGt8-L34-t4up2Lb7ipQ9_sIngB-niQiYYCxAlXzEsWza-GHy8mb2-nmU3wDUY-K6r7gLbQstlvUSWdnV_q42U6zF_GXGgAVw7FJ1gso1cTWYG0VNCYt6LamUiF-RHM_LK1nE2js7uK9KAesci=w400-h258" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lady, you need a car coat!</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <br />Longer than a jacket, shorter than a coat and sporty first cousin to a topper, the car coat as a fashion piece appeared in the 1950s. There were car coats much earlier of course—long, protective "dusters" for both men and women in the early days of automobiling. With a post war economy that saw more cars in driveways, more errands run in them by the lady of the house and more young women behind the wheel, the car coat was not a fad but a necessity—a coat that would be comfortable and not bulky while driving a car.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgs1QDSRLGGDen1CcsQnsiv7LLCJMp0jS3DPVXFvOKg-csvdJUwrCaM3R40X6sq8aBRbg0NzTMwNEb_XFOPA3e89hX01hRZ3403MX3Vr4kMF2mmk5lflBXKxCR3_eKCHvKC4dUOFw9yVYZAG7zkzxDfEjXYMhKG-dhUjJvgye3H5lm2g3nQqkUdYuuo1-WI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgs1QDSRLGGDen1CcsQnsiv7LLCJMp0jS3DPVXFvOKg-csvdJUwrCaM3R40X6sq8aBRbg0NzTMwNEb_XFOPA3e89hX01hRZ3403MX3Vr4kMF2mmk5lflBXKxCR3_eKCHvKC4dUOFw9yVYZAG7zkzxDfEjXYMhKG-dhUjJvgye3H5lm2g3nQqkUdYuuo1-WI=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><p> <br />I first had a car coat when I was in junior high. I had no driver's license, but a car coat was the thing to have. It was easy to throw on, looked right with casual clothing and could span the seasons. Made of less expensive fabrics than wool (typically gabardine, poplin or duck), it was a style that lived on for many years. We may still wear them, but hardly anyone calls it a car coat.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1gUj97bURXeeFLV_VHrdabL5HeApHf8WJiyudlN6ksPQ_EwQvGQFB0vw601TNGpqxUD-rdYYkXUGAlwtHoh267W682HbXakjW03YxaRsavSLTn6ijw6bFcSRjd22ORwEbYIK8ZwKt0FDKuFf5zZdk3jp9C0eh27hg89KiaFiKD1QXa6Yf_LHl_GSLjM9Y" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="812" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1gUj97bURXeeFLV_VHrdabL5HeApHf8WJiyudlN6ksPQ_EwQvGQFB0vw601TNGpqxUD-rdYYkXUGAlwtHoh267W682HbXakjW03YxaRsavSLTn6ijw6bFcSRjd22ORwEbYIK8ZwKt0FDKuFf5zZdk3jp9C0eh27hg89KiaFiKD1QXa6Yf_LHl_GSLjM9Y=w232-h320" width="232" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Classic vintage car coat</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p>Not all car coats were deemed as such. A car coat could also be a barn
jacket, stadium coat or a loden coat (preferably with toggles) . It was really about
the length—From hip to 3/4 length, just not so long as to get in the way when you were behind the wheel. <br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfgptD3EaOLO7bRT21ZGZLmZ9saQ2azhhNjn3SfD4rhSe-OaadscetG7gtuytyBHTDgChNUqbcuLMJeHxL7m_zmrWaO2crgxwL-BEtSvQ8CSmwaY-1L4TWDxy4vpBKYMwrsznVSSE45f2G7srWQMCcVGWkdnC24lDp3Gm2XNG49WXq5mh5cqjfhfiUq5T0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="670" data-original-width="712" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfgptD3EaOLO7bRT21ZGZLmZ9saQ2azhhNjn3SfD4rhSe-OaadscetG7gtuytyBHTDgChNUqbcuLMJeHxL7m_zmrWaO2crgxwL-BEtSvQ8CSmwaY-1L4TWDxy4vpBKYMwrsznVSSE45f2G7srWQMCcVGWkdnC24lDp3Gm2XNG49WXq5mh5cqjfhfiUq5T0" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>1965 car coats</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMwjNpsNosTDpD3x1HaQEJe5U4nC-Exzy2PCRSnKnB7tzm9fw1xFW7uWVeG1olBjk_76mZ1auk6em0pjJ2x9-0zLz8jNE3YoRuHDrHKNEtLherv42lm5Xt6FKgpQ4hOgMa6Pi2nKTxUBmp_ZdLIjhoDugtKmpOSv4qG78fgt6Z_jhBTRZ8v5TFgwChMPh5" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1258" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMwjNpsNosTDpD3x1HaQEJe5U4nC-Exzy2PCRSnKnB7tzm9fw1xFW7uWVeG1olBjk_76mZ1auk6em0pjJ2x9-0zLz8jNE3YoRuHDrHKNEtLherv42lm5Xt6FKgpQ4hOgMa6Pi2nKTxUBmp_ZdLIjhoDugtKmpOSv4qG78fgt6Z_jhBTRZ8v5TFgwChMPh5=w211-h320" width="211" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The classic barn jacket</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Car coats were modern. When she got hers my middle aged mother suddenly looked kind of hip. It was so unlike anything she had worn before. Hers was a beige chino Balmacan that was (shockingly) a little masculine. <p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNN6UeicS2iZBJXVAPGfurSvtfVyjdWj7jEXv2re-sm_filtxAR0ntkxhH4QXHMuk0f7YwBkVmhH0y5wZP34tBKFpyMwafqKAakkHdiNWo71xlYrsB36XzWUk_XOOIDN9rUNEUQFGPxSuSajysikty4Ljkgm3vag5abfs9-_mgs97o82u5lIjY_GU8a8d1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNN6UeicS2iZBJXVAPGfurSvtfVyjdWj7jEXv2re-sm_filtxAR0ntkxhH4QXHMuk0f7YwBkVmhH0y5wZP34tBKFpyMwafqKAakkHdiNWo71xlYrsB36XzWUk_XOOIDN9rUNEUQFGPxSuSajysikty4Ljkgm3vag5abfs9-_mgs97o82u5lIjY_GU8a8d1=w209-h320" width="209" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Today's Ralph Lauren version</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />So what have we learned? Sometimes a fad can become a staple after a name change. "Car coat" does sound a bit dated /fuddy-duddy. But that coat—casual and unrestrictive—is still going everywhere.</p><p><i>Thanks to DG for reminding me even a coat can have nine lives.<br /></i></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br />allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-92171471034149276022024-02-24T10:32:00.000-06:002024-02-24T10:32:56.917-06:00Stylish Streaming: "New Look"<p><span><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvwTkekZ6Lx_qGx9pD5ypekGYi5QH2kY3nc4eQMPNQzojzz0ywQPqPVXPH_2yfeKyk9KgM-XFLB35rxl-GpJQ76j-xkTplWtB5KiU9rAeISSLLNEcpau5SHYQRnVftFzC_e8tXoOIql6UBc0yn8sFKgHjXZ-DclTYT9__dTYPlcGcyFNEz-5D5PysI3sUK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="352" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvwTkekZ6Lx_qGx9pD5ypekGYi5QH2kY3nc4eQMPNQzojzz0ywQPqPVXPH_2yfeKyk9KgM-XFLB35rxl-GpJQ76j-xkTplWtB5KiU9rAeISSLLNEcpau5SHYQRnVftFzC_e8tXoOIql6UBc0yn8sFKgHjXZ-DclTYT9__dTYPlcGcyFNEz-5D5PysI3sUK" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span><span> <br />If you expect a lovely romp through fashion, be
warned. "New Look" (in 4 of the 10 episodes released at this writing) is
about war. Not the war between competing fashion houses for the acclaim
and the business, but WWII, that one. </span></span> <br /><p></p><p>Spoiler alert not needed as we are dealing with real people and real events. The disclaimer "inspired by true events" should be warning enough that all we are about to see is not historically accurate. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXfaqlgJLLJe8roH0DW5CtXBt31us6_cJNo4ZmZaRRwHQZljQR_burYcnVvJJkOyhGetWp-COuIx55pBVFtXCXIM9xtC2l8Vak3jcQSRMtRPACQ4qPkcDy0dq0Y4mzV7LLsd6ecsxPlbZjPfLWpwlSl1FOhOmxvE2dTN6YTpYe2YDwSVNCS47ErrjrMvQ-" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1226" data-original-width="792" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXfaqlgJLLJe8roH0DW5CtXBt31us6_cJNo4ZmZaRRwHQZljQR_burYcnVvJJkOyhGetWp-COuIx55pBVFtXCXIM9xtC2l8Vak3jcQSRMtRPACQ4qPkcDy0dq0Y4mzV7LLsd6ecsxPlbZjPfLWpwlSl1FOhOmxvE2dTN6YTpYe2YDwSVNCS47ErrjrMvQ-=w207-h320" width="207" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>1930s Chanel designs<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1iG2A4IftaYBsJxhMQNACsBA4pw5G4DT2qVHAqiPx_1BeIzGaqJ6Mqslc92bWID9vYvpqMvQulIbUVDWM89JYpT2NFLZiIZTIbLgNl9ILToYyURi6xoeYzK9sWMU1QH_NofwJB-_Qx3IXT8AToMN1k3494TlzlV5OLduk0Qmiq56GvGxDevlpOfeYKon0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="307" data-original-width="220" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1iG2A4IftaYBsJxhMQNACsBA4pw5G4DT2qVHAqiPx_1BeIzGaqJ6Mqslc92bWID9vYvpqMvQulIbUVDWM89JYpT2NFLZiIZTIbLgNl9ILToYyURi6xoeYzK9sWMU1QH_NofwJB-_Qx3IXT8AToMN1k3494TlzlV5OLduk0Qmiq56GvGxDevlpOfeYKon0" width="172" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Chanel, 1930s</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> I'm not a scholar of Chanel or Dior but have read enough on both of them to sense that sometimes in "New Look" inspiration went into the cornfield. No doubt two of the most recent books served as jumping off spots—Justine Picardie's "Miss Dior: A Story About Courage and Couture" on Christian and his sister Catherine, a member of the French resistance who paid a hefty price, and <span><span>"Sleeping with the Enemy: Coco Chanel's Secret War" by Hal Vaughan.</span></span><p></p><p><span><span></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCgjuz_5MFM43buIydGtBivRj_nVqyXbDxLQsGcpbJSAxLgEXqE2XMOIXwK2JqS4u6JvKO-wlyaBoJeI0da4_4QvyadkcLqSRc2wt5pYlBxdVrcM01CAa2nFDTxvRBgFMDa9BE59vcV9XMJdSIqXnWWi65RLww4wvuWc_-VNKxc4BGoU6JEtnwbhFwfsnz" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1184" data-original-width="862" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCgjuz_5MFM43buIydGtBivRj_nVqyXbDxLQsGcpbJSAxLgEXqE2XMOIXwK2JqS4u6JvKO-wlyaBoJeI0da4_4QvyadkcLqSRc2wt5pYlBxdVrcM01CAa2nFDTxvRBgFMDa9BE59vcV9XMJdSIqXnWWi65RLww4wvuWc_-VNKxc4BGoU6JEtnwbhFwfsnz=w233-h320" width="233" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The "New Look" of 1947</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGdEuJh_Wu712WSagmOlB9Gr74G4Y6xDhSckRH3LP91eNnsKEC_pLGNeCV2TjhzlytgLaSlTHYNcRPgIlwhF3FEWJMk1r4BKVXTqhpaGDZLjajM_DRWGBIK3-JLKkUVZqZiBRjLSNPvBy7TJluLgjXFCziIurvh1dVUOcux9oMdlHvVgdA4trbEk6hsSLa" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="952" data-original-width="832" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGdEuJh_Wu712WSagmOlB9Gr74G4Y6xDhSckRH3LP91eNnsKEC_pLGNeCV2TjhzlytgLaSlTHYNcRPgIlwhF3FEWJMk1r4BKVXTqhpaGDZLjajM_DRWGBIK3-JLKkUVZqZiBRjLSNPvBy7TJluLgjXFCziIurvh1dVUOcux9oMdlHvVgdA4trbEk6hsSLa=w175-h200" width="175" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Christian Dior, same year</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span><span><br /></span></span>I might quibble that Chanel and Dior would appear in greater clarity if some effort had been made to give us background. Dior's family was comfortably well-off. His father had made it big in fertilizer. Chanel led a hardscrabble life to get where we see her here, a tale familiar to some but perhaps not all.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDnoP2ItdK_yliWOsH5Eq5zQjr2PC-Jh3Aldx97I2Mb-w8aj63zzEZguCLOk-8Ed3_vHG6S57rdCVYQTbeZjhS3AJvF3H-oTV_hc529Qr6snmukaiFIISWUwLE01qk0DwlxPT5gYGxKO8rQKZX1rr8YcWRBoGmH8AsNP-CY8mEMqVi8Papx08T6M-05bZj" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1044" data-original-width="620" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDnoP2ItdK_yliWOsH5Eq5zQjr2PC-Jh3Aldx97I2Mb-w8aj63zzEZguCLOk-8Ed3_vHG6S57rdCVYQTbeZjhS3AJvF3H-oTV_hc529Qr6snmukaiFIISWUwLE01qk0DwlxPT5gYGxKO8rQKZX1rr8YcWRBoGmH8AsNP-CY8mEMqVi8Papx08T6M-05bZj=w191-h320" width="191" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>1930s Lelong designs</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPCqC2wTZn9q-crjHLWiq72UbtZLF6WPLXUhqV99z1cyBP67vVOLf-MdlwJ3YXOWGJSI3rqQHM57uRtAvCmPWL7-lv0ZYyUwqTeSg7O8g3TCnwaNDUzL02bJxaxkL44d5njqhI9q7Ize_N5zS8lnwj6jyCayQ725TjsvcalwpA7BsmNA1upIbdiRpBEo51" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="670" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPCqC2wTZn9q-crjHLWiq72UbtZLF6WPLXUhqV99z1cyBP67vVOLf-MdlwJ3YXOWGJSI3rqQHM57uRtAvCmPWL7-lv0ZYyUwqTeSg7O8g3TCnwaNDUzL02bJxaxkL44d5njqhI9q7Ize_N5zS8lnwj6jyCayQ725TjsvcalwpA7BsmNA1upIbdiRpBEo51=w229-h320" width="229" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lucien Lelong</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />More backstory on Lucien Lelong, Dior's employer, would have helped. Lelong was Chanel's rival as the premier French couturier in the 1930s. It's not entirely clear in "New Look" that he really was a good guy. When the Nazis threatened to move all the couture houses to Berlin, Lelong negotiated to keep them open and in Paris, saving hundreds of jobs. On the other hand Chanel had decided to shutter her business in 1939 (not mentioned in "New Look") and spent the rest of WWII living in the Ritz hotel.<p></p><p>Chanel's character is the most unclear. The story begins in 1943 when she is 60. She might have been a great coquette in her youth, yet she is treated here as a femme fatale, especially by a much younger looking Nazi general. She also seems flummoxed by what is happening to her. What I've read is that if anything Chanel was determined, egotistical and above all a survivor. Wishy washy she was not.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkapjUe5Srhmuo3GQ64gYkIVr8w6Po2K6qjyIa8Zk20VrCJdLkHFC7Bl7wRAjTR_pSV2nxWBNE6HX-wUW_aMlosU4-fxD-Jim3dgjB1J50QOey5hTwLhWHPspeOLyRR-a6qJG4N-uljitgoxRknYkd6KL7CWYpLAVCJeBdwe2BU7ZDzXLh-RAUqXWjS3MW" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkapjUe5Srhmuo3GQ64gYkIVr8w6Po2K6qjyIa8Zk20VrCJdLkHFC7Bl7wRAjTR_pSV2nxWBNE6HX-wUW_aMlosU4-fxD-Jim3dgjB1J50QOey5hTwLhWHPspeOLyRR-a6qJG4N-uljitgoxRknYkd6KL7CWYpLAVCJeBdwe2BU7ZDzXLh-RAUqXWjS3MW=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ben Mendelsohn as Dior, Juliette Binoche as Chanel</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <br />Early on we see Chanel grousing that her business partners, the Wertheimers, had run off to New York ahead of the Nazi invasion of France and "stolen" her company. She lobbied with the Nazis to get it back by agreeing to visit her old friend Winston Churchill in Madrid with a plan to end the war. In an earlier subplot Chanel has paid the Nazis a hefty ransom to release her captured nephew.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJg9Ux2Ieloy0BQ7IbjGizfTB9GdUB09RjAYAF3ajrWpgjGE__ai6Q_C3PxoCUqUiSSYcW1Dxij714NLkpS1g4AgmOk9mTN12pcSI0hzZo_HlrllXVQumS6KWPkeK5xXGRxouXFSv00BGlixLB9rdPSwlOEZN1KX2Iyeslw_WyWTsorPaP7Om2feUkIkSS" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="692" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJg9Ux2Ieloy0BQ7IbjGizfTB9GdUB09RjAYAF3ajrWpgjGE__ai6Q_C3PxoCUqUiSSYcW1Dxij714NLkpS1g4AgmOk9mTN12pcSI0hzZo_HlrllXVQumS6KWPkeK5xXGRxouXFSv00BGlixLB9rdPSwlOEZN1KX2Iyeslw_WyWTsorPaP7Om2feUkIkSS=w287-h320" width="287" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Churchill with Chanel, 1920s</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <br />In reality when they took over, Chanel asked the Nazis, who were seizing Jewish-owned companies and property, to give the company to her as it had been "abandoned by the Wertheimers". Unbeknown to Chanel, however, the Wertheimers had sold the company to a French Christian on the condition it would be sold back to them after the war, which it was. She was not pleased to learn this, but—believe it or not—the Wertheimers still own Chanel to this day.<p></p><p>And the Winston Churchill plot? Yes, it happened, but the trade off was in order to free her nephew. She went; Churchill wasn't there, but the nephew was released.<br /></p><p>The viewer with only a passing interest may take "New Look"'s plot as gospel. I've no idea what we will see in upcoming episodes, but I think it's important to remember the difference between historical fiction and fictitious history. <br /></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-25602285299165618762024-02-16T10:34:00.001-06:002024-02-16T22:29:09.065-06:00Suits are No Longer Fitting<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9k5LAPVw84VxjSWNlnjS63dcbfp806QDqjpWrPuAouwTAP8D-mndrVZSxwf8vyQ8ITo1GBbq9iHUcZpr30qLK2nSwY79jld8RWGLiKVJ-t-DtGW20H1SZhEm_xAPUU9MzC9MGAHZwjsa_AsbRJMTTTcAq3IwIcXji2SiP26RXfPGTsIsCarg-I_m_ar5O" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="1200" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9k5LAPVw84VxjSWNlnjS63dcbfp806QDqjpWrPuAouwTAP8D-mndrVZSxwf8vyQ8ITo1GBbq9iHUcZpr30qLK2nSwY79jld8RWGLiKVJ-t-DtGW20H1SZhEm_xAPUU9MzC9MGAHZwjsa_AsbRJMTTTcAq3IwIcXji2SiP26RXfPGTsIsCarg-I_m_ar5O=w400-h248" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When was the last time you saw a suit for sale? Was it back when department stores were still reliably profitable and "Suits" was its own department? What was the last suit you owned/wore? For some it may be "none". I think my last was brown tweed with a pencil skirt and faux fur collar that I bought at very deep discount in the mid '90s. <br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">By suit I mean two pieces that match, top and bottom. I wear a lot of jackets because A) I am always cold and B) a jacket can hide a multitude of flaws. Besides, three pieces make an outfit. If you're a service professional, you probably wear a suit as do most politicians. But the rest of us? It would seem suits no longer fit our lifestyles.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwmrpx0GWD7Aonhuv0q0ZDZqkxZc_lHUdrN0sK2e-Ao9r27qX8LTbeAwh_WNhBpCTFrCAI4yhMn2vKyF1qkfLcaxC7LsGU3nFbeXshTqCSduI48pX-IoTJ05wnYNMA4HqIdvtKibnL9RM3jhjBjam8ZQ9v_GEOPQw-gU5jFgspsBLzYfYgfUOLvxbsd7pK" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="683" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwmrpx0GWD7Aonhuv0q0ZDZqkxZc_lHUdrN0sK2e-Ao9r27qX8LTbeAwh_WNhBpCTFrCAI4yhMn2vKyF1qkfLcaxC7LsGU3nFbeXshTqCSduI48pX-IoTJ05wnYNMA4HqIdvtKibnL9RM3jhjBjam8ZQ9v_GEOPQw-gU5jFgspsBLzYfYgfUOLvxbsd7pK=w213-h320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>VP with gravitas and killer heels</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <br />Suits took a while to become part of a woman's wardrobe. The Victorians had outfits for tennis, golf, riding, etc. as those activities became accepted pursuits for women. Sarah Bernhardt shocked the world in 1870 with her pantsuit (she also played Hamlet in tights), but it didn't catch on. Amazingly, one could practically wear this today...<p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0u3nbAeEXIrCFbUfxzjuTD0grxxu46uGnUgcXFAxCieJFwCUbaOr4h6G8zvRzmgzE5-YauMCN3fRNkB5tQ4cDtoad4Vo928Hkj3rrCuL1J3SMJVUhl6BvEu-1cb2PIOKTdURZh8WhvknP-Z7ZdDu3g9rnOtvR5epQRtWMJoTG1O77yLvS36rIkde2Kpu9" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1695" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0u3nbAeEXIrCFbUfxzjuTD0grxxu46uGnUgcXFAxCieJFwCUbaOr4h6G8zvRzmgzE5-YauMCN3fRNkB5tQ4cDtoad4Vo928Hkj3rrCuL1J3SMJVUhl6BvEu-1cb2PIOKTdURZh8WhvknP-Z7ZdDu3g9rnOtvR5epQRtWMJoTG1O77yLvS36rIkde2Kpu9=w227-h320" width="227" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I could; would you?</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />A suit was reliable. My mother sewed and always had two or three in her wardrobe, usually worn with a printed blouse that matched the jacket lining. She rarely wore a dress. A suit could be made to work for almost any occasion short of a wedding. Although I remember my last suit I don't remember the first, but I recall feeling very grown up.*<p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgq0_L250Tf1EEN8nsaHkEpixXtUJrTd2SMpplLpS-IAoEqyFLpyLd45_-7-IpDfpktomo0GhyyYt4rtXCiK8WMQIt8XzUNfhfyk9kToag28atHg7A54Pz5xb5dtLpMtp94X6G-Ikai0V5uW89ZAfC8EOjWK4iZqjm41rAAv_FxvMyqEOos72y8IjAAiJra" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="770" data-original-width="1012" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgq0_L250Tf1EEN8nsaHkEpixXtUJrTd2SMpplLpS-IAoEqyFLpyLd45_-7-IpDfpktomo0GhyyYt4rtXCiK8WMQIt8XzUNfhfyk9kToag28atHg7A54Pz5xb5dtLpMtp94X6G-Ikai0V5uW89ZAfC8EOjWK4iZqjm41rAAv_FxvMyqEOos72y8IjAAiJra=w320-h244" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Diana knew how to be taken seriously<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table> <br />So what has happened?<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Obviously we lead less formal, more relaxed lives. We aren't so inclined to "dress up" for certain roles as long as we appear presentable. Some would say we are into expressing our true selves 24/7. Others would say standards have slipped.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinbyCnpQNLt9txhMKgTdOTRWVKOs8WiBTS1QdOqC30Rlyp_LkLSKCeAo1jN6eaZ0H4ncwTgQOQPftpMAgNnuWy6k3WdGznNJnsHG8mgpl_sCovNQ1-DD8153vpHAEW2NCSZqkBare7ZVRG0G4kzBXXaZMCPSMGrjw_Yb6snquieXgbej8DNEhFuNVgL-5c" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1324" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinbyCnpQNLt9txhMKgTdOTRWVKOs8WiBTS1QdOqC30Rlyp_LkLSKCeAo1jN6eaZ0H4ncwTgQOQPftpMAgNnuWy6k3WdGznNJnsHG8mgpl_sCovNQ1-DD8153vpHAEW2NCSZqkBare7ZVRG0G4kzBXXaZMCPSMGrjw_Yb6snquieXgbej8DNEhFuNVgL-5c=w152-h400" width="152" /></a></div><br />I volunteer with Dress for Success, where step one is outfitting a
client with a professional looking outfit. The other day I looked at that room of carefully hung pants suits and skirt suits and wondered if they were not all a bit out of sync. Then as usual, when my client saw herself for the first time in a well fitting suit of her choice, I realized how a suit adds polish
and gives confidence. When you show up for an interview looking business-like, you look like you mean business. <p></p><p style="text-align: left;">That said we tell clients her new job may be "business casual" so don't be afraid to break that suit up and wear the jacket as a blazer and the pants/skirt with other tops. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Will the suit return in force? Doubtful. Of course as soon as something is declared dead, someone resurrects it. Fashion is one planet where one never says never...</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdlVQ6bgLFH9Nyv1yhmGUKEQtlqys80HxEGh14L_HW8eiWMQKgNmZWTOYuaqSZldfgnT3IaXYwSgipMIUiRezMHb5PlpwErsD6t2btblJHLr1GfrE5dQFWIza9kbT4hT_z3JslW0OnwZRSFVBB6pSm2lmv7CyTFhEyN_gVLtu5zXT0KO0UhjNl1m5G7rRg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="804" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdlVQ6bgLFH9Nyv1yhmGUKEQtlqys80HxEGh14L_HW8eiWMQKgNmZWTOYuaqSZldfgnT3IaXYwSgipMIUiRezMHb5PlpwErsD6t2btblJHLr1GfrE5dQFWIza9kbT4hT_z3JslW0OnwZRSFVBB6pSm2lmv7CyTFhEyN_gVLtu5zXT0KO0UhjNl1m5G7rRg" width="216" /></a></div></div><p>* Slight addenda here. I may not have remembered that first suit, but I did recall the photograph. Age 5-ish and looking tres chic. Thanks, Mom!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu1_FjaBFVLBSEBPjDURI3TYozC8uB_eN_dKZnzj9-MIlsr2645QG327wkZZPJfioZD6MC2VLX-TanFUiYUiQCyPFcpbzF01OkNkRJsWOlJdCCPtkQ2NTS52EoLpgzF_EOLzP-IEq309waI-5Dyf_40U9rVryUSZgYOjeY6qPs9Az3O7KopHZiUaFpYxdX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2060" data-original-width="932" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgu1_FjaBFVLBSEBPjDURI3TYozC8uB_eN_dKZnzj9-MIlsr2645QG327wkZZPJfioZD6MC2VLX-TanFUiYUiQCyPFcpbzF01OkNkRJsWOlJdCCPtkQ2NTS52EoLpgzF_EOLzP-IEq309waI-5Dyf_40U9rVryUSZgYOjeY6qPs9Az3O7KopHZiUaFpYxdX=w145-h320" width="145" /></a></div><br /><br /> <p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"> </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-4032851273490954062024-01-15T18:22:00.007-06:002024-01-15T21:12:49.835-06:00The Girl in the Picture<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh--jKmhgTMh4eXPbhiqKVfMp8FOTUgwTOpZOhFSHKpV-NY0yxo5lYEUA31ZNoP8Rtzlxwzb07RAg1PNSHPiQSouBmsREj82VlY2VJyxhYgzTx2Xi0UY7_0WoWg7cg5CTfHLht2xmoALszfuj-riOZjuIdEs3rOeurCijth1CspBSON9BgmP-TpfhaBoq7a" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="834" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh--jKmhgTMh4eXPbhiqKVfMp8FOTUgwTOpZOhFSHKpV-NY0yxo5lYEUA31ZNoP8Rtzlxwzb07RAg1PNSHPiQSouBmsREj82VlY2VJyxhYgzTx2Xi0UY7_0WoWg7cg5CTfHLht2xmoALszfuj-riOZjuIdEs3rOeurCijth1CspBSON9BgmP-TpfhaBoq7a=w309-h320" width="309" /></a></div><br />It feels like I've been looking at this picture my whole life, but it's only been 69 years. <p></p><p>Once my parents divorced in 1953, my mother traded her subscription to Good Housekeeping for Vogue. She sold every stick of furniture in the house, sent herself to secretarial school and began her new life (along with two daughters to raise). I hold my mother responsible for my early and never-ending fascination with fashion as well as a great cache of midcentury modern furniture in my house today.</p><p>My sister, Lonnie, was nine years older, so in 1955 she was still living at home (barely), working for an advertising agency and engaged to be married. I was 13; her life seemed as if from another planet.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-htWzaj8VDBp5JUUO0ZVyBPEsadTvVrd6TAGgAq61uJjbnvqYlStrTngwghdjMlCzT9ftSC5fvkacoohVrpESqweGA55JNJfvLxcKCe942IRkVP_jhnjaoVW_x40hBR2I0GHF2m5B4ceQhjmLHMl7sds08fLuD0Um_8Cs94NHUDKAqrDwWm-ojfhteoRY" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2030" data-original-width="1548" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-htWzaj8VDBp5JUUO0ZVyBPEsadTvVrd6TAGgAq61uJjbnvqYlStrTngwghdjMlCzT9ftSC5fvkacoohVrpESqweGA55JNJfvLxcKCe942IRkVP_jhnjaoVW_x40hBR2I0GHF2m5B4ceQhjmLHMl7sds08fLuD0Um_8Cs94NHUDKAqrDwWm-ojfhteoRY=w244-h320" width="244" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lonnie's 1955 engagement photo</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I do remember my mother cutting out a photo from Vogue, mounting it on cardboard and tacking it to the wall, above the sewing machine, in the hall outside the kitchen. She said it looked like Lonnie, and it did. A glamorous and effortlessly thin Lonnie at an exotic locale in a very chic outfit*, but Lonnie nonetheless.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7CFXn0a3RjX2tZS4yxy9_Pl7mSKEuFPIULsCbCUkEOFEirobC_wxsFiPaYEURj9YIV9z9L1tBAyCcbSsBXu2SjcZChCZ_L1IDE4h9ilQ3tVrTuxat3i7MtFuGfroHqye2VrRKYE14yPlvpPRL9OTc2y5ptBQ8uqabduBOzICL-UWTpe_wi1RVB2bd-hK2" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2066" data-original-width="2030" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7CFXn0a3RjX2tZS4yxy9_Pl7mSKEuFPIULsCbCUkEOFEirobC_wxsFiPaYEURj9YIV9z9L1tBAyCcbSsBXu2SjcZChCZ_L1IDE4h9ilQ3tVrTuxat3i7MtFuGfroHqye2VrRKYE14yPlvpPRL9OTc2y5ptBQ8uqabduBOzICL-UWTpe_wi1RVB2bd-hK2" width="236" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The pin-up on the wall</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />That photo followed my mother ever after, from apartments in Cleveland to her eventual apartments in New York City, ending up in a big box of miscellaneous photos I will never ever sort through. The jumble of people and years as they exit from that box is half the fascination.<p></p><p>I was never quite sure what issue of Vogue it had been. I now know, thanks to Beth, the proprietress over at Midcentury Fashion on Facebook. Beth is a prolific poster, covering everything fashion from ads to catalogs to vintage treasures. Her own description of her page is <span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">"for fans of '40s-'60s fashion, everything from couture to kitsch". She has a great eye, so whatever she chooses to post has interest. </span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">Monday is Magazine Mondays over at Midcentury Fashion. Beth posts pretty much a whole magazine, vintage copies of Vogue, Glamour, Mademoiselle, Seventeen, etc. These issues are hard (and expensive) to come by nowadays, so I love Magazine Mondays.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2BOtqA8bcCD_SeCz6_tpRKvnzB8wlWlBUjIZApcGEYUA716N__rQ0VU01zxJlSoHijkv3MIVLa4mM-cjfwKOAL5fOdILGY4xq7NdQhQNnOwaFZ52kgq14UVS-zmJANe6BMPPBIRchSIgYRU50HcR4LW2pwrpCxHxYYs397mRZPO0iuvz7thuETZ4wuzH5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="902" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2BOtqA8bcCD_SeCz6_tpRKvnzB8wlWlBUjIZApcGEYUA716N__rQ0VU01zxJlSoHijkv3MIVLa4mM-cjfwKOAL5fOdILGY4xq7NdQhQNnOwaFZ52kgq14UVS-zmJANe6BMPPBIRchSIgYRU50HcR4LW2pwrpCxHxYYs397mRZPO0iuvz7thuETZ4wuzH5=w244-h320" width="244" /></a></div> <br />Today's issue was Vogue, January, 1955, one of the few months that only published once. Back then Vogue usually came out every two weeks. Can you imagine? This part of the editorial was shot in Sicily at "Villa Igiea, Palermo harbour". If that sounds exotic today, imagine its being 1955. The past year's hit movie, "Three Coins in the Fountain" took place in Rome, an impossibly faraway place.<p></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhozFoJHQb33MhNoCLjDpeSPMRUe5PCVvorrMukFyerXb6iQ_KLBtdArzNPhBrutBjlV6j_bUnN8WI7mN2MWBXSte2Plk3rKZ1h9QPrLnkv1VWtXAFy_Rr3znIlPruNVeSMwCCxMKwxzLFFhiyEttlKfIzhfAmx0xgxdvDwlYZJiCQqnHlFsBTADPCcZMKQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="978" data-original-width="1280" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhozFoJHQb33MhNoCLjDpeSPMRUe5PCVvorrMukFyerXb6iQ_KLBtdArzNPhBrutBjlV6j_bUnN8WI7mN2MWBXSte2Plk3rKZ1h9QPrLnkv1VWtXAFy_Rr3znIlPruNVeSMwCCxMKwxzLFFhiyEttlKfIzhfAmx0xgxdvDwlYZJiCQqnHlFsBTADPCcZMKQ=w320-h245" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Would I ever get</i> there<i>? P.S. Yes</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"> <br />When I saw that girl leaning against a wall, looking out to the ocean, you can be sure I didn't see a model. I saw my sister Lonnie, looking to a future she could only guess at. That marriage would not be a happy one, but there were two sons and a second, happier marriage. She couldn't sustain the dieting that for her was a Herculean task and eventually settled into a weight that was less fashion model and more Lonnie. She was such a creative dresser, she makes my efforts look paltry (but she couldn't sew on a button to save her soul).</span><p></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpHhsyAdx1stfMhIJZxDI9yYWDbVMbYliDRjW8ARY42jxBTMMUIOct9jqNAiPWNZIHs3NOGhnbhXCPwPdUUtQt_qcMT_3jW1iomfevMuxWlvsw8tB_NQSO0dw2YP3DAYQab7yaq5fHI6nbRtdMZ568c5RUy1d-1pvER6ZfBR_T8D0_F6Nao29HZJnXF6ml" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1878" data-original-width="1294" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpHhsyAdx1stfMhIJZxDI9yYWDbVMbYliDRjW8ARY42jxBTMMUIOct9jqNAiPWNZIHs3NOGhnbhXCPwPdUUtQt_qcMT_3jW1iomfevMuxWlvsw8tB_NQSO0dw2YP3DAYQab7yaq5fHI6nbRtdMZ568c5RUy1d-1pvER6ZfBR_T8D0_F6Nao29HZJnXF6ml=w220-h320" width="220" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"> Lonnie passed away in 2015 at age 82. I don't think she ever took that photo seriously. I know my mother did, and because looking at it reminds me of both of them, so do I.</span><p></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">________________</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><i>*The white twill jacket with black knitted cuffs and collar was $18, the corduroy shorts $8.<br /></i></span></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-10652378886042080892023-12-26T14:39:00.003-06:002023-12-26T15:00:25.760-06:00Resolved at Last: How to Dress Your Age<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJJMLH7NSKoGuIl_2K3hggN6uPN8nodUBVz4dHrQ91cQZmTjQ9Qa0tEsApBnNkXegdUs6AFLTAEwZWCz9XMSmNaAMatb1TV2Tw1CJXURaJYn3EF4vsfInEvdJ6w3k88BgI2Tmr65U47SErVdi1IU08JlZQNAhsjl0z33ahCroV4ABj2-W-wxbzEI921h8F" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1076" data-original-width="776" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJJMLH7NSKoGuIl_2K3hggN6uPN8nodUBVz4dHrQ91cQZmTjQ9Qa0tEsApBnNkXegdUs6AFLTAEwZWCz9XMSmNaAMatb1TV2Tw1CJXURaJYn3EF4vsfInEvdJ6w3k88BgI2Tmr65U47SErVdi1IU08JlZQNAhsjl0z33ahCroV4ABj2-W-wxbzEI921h8F=w231-h320" width="231" /></a></div> <br />Vanessa Friedman had such a good piece recently in the New York Times. She answered a reader’s question about what to wear as you age. Vanessa is a crackerjack reporter/writer and chief fashion correspondent for the Times, yet when needed responds personally to let you know she has thought about that too. <p></p><p>We spend a lot of our fashion lives on age appropriateness. For me that
started in early adolescence when I really really wanted to wear a
sleeveless black sheath dress. The appropriate age, according to my
mother and reluctantly at that, was fifteen. It did no good to argue
that the models in "Seventeen", the teen fashion bible, were wearing black sheaths. Eventually I turned 15 and haven't been without a little black
dress since, although it's now not sleeveless and not a sheath. <br /></p><p>I’ve a temptation to just cut and paste Vanessa’s piece. Her words certainly have more weight than mine, but as I’ve often had similar thoughts I'll use her reply to treat this as The Fashion Resolution You Really Have to Keep.<br /></p><p>W H A T W E F E A R<br /></p><p>Quoted directly from Vanessa and heard so many times before, "just because you <i>can</i> wear something doesn't mean you should." Sure, the rules aren't as strict (or as clear) today about what society dictates we wear. </p><p>Rightfully fear being called "mutton dressed as lamb". I always picture the John Tenniel illustration from "Through the Looking Glass", (scary enough), but really it means too obviously dressing yourself to appear younger. Fails every time.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJyROQJQ_VIMGzgVsvh2tI3KlpOlBJBuWoONIFU9X276Zjmvu0nd8WCjOmoTA7UMYONO1ZczU8B05X86sRab5J-W_7_6UJPhKVEVasmqan4kvlCnUTW7qx9se1b_GptpwdDuIK5pScl-G0uEvGTw9jKqejY0W1406rCbKwvem0aZAtrG5HYXNOKLWpywc9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1388" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJyROQJQ_VIMGzgVsvh2tI3KlpOlBJBuWoONIFU9X276Zjmvu0nd8WCjOmoTA7UMYONO1ZczU8B05X86sRab5J-W_7_6UJPhKVEVasmqan4kvlCnUTW7qx9se1b_GptpwdDuIK5pScl-G0uEvGTw9jKqejY0W1406rCbKwvem0aZAtrG5HYXNOKLWpywc9=w260-h320" width="260" /></a></div><br />Own it. If you're going to slink about in gold-coated denim jeans don't wear them. Believe in what you wear and wear them like you mean it. Be prepared for comments, though, usually sounding like compliments because most people are nothing if not polite. How you reply depends on how quick witted you are, but "thank you" and a smile will always do.<p></p><p>S O W H A T 'S T H E A N S W E R ?</p><p>We know that what you wear tells people who you are or how you want to be perceived and that it changes. It's never a Eureka! moment; for some it's never a moment at all. But we all know the feeling when you look at something in your closet and are sure you are never ever going to wear that thing again. </p><p>The wisest (and Vanessa is surely one) counsel not to be afraid of
letting go of the past, what you might have been happy wearing when you
were someone else or just not the far more experienced person you are
today. </p><p>There is also no expiration date on style. Just because
Fashion shows everything on 20-some-year-olds doesn't mean they are the
only ones allowed to wear them.</p><p>She has her own list of women she admires as they "look as if they know who they are and are comfortable telegraphing that to the world." Sigourney Weaver, Isabelle Huppert, Michelle Yeoh, Angela Bassett are on her list. </p><p>Mine skews a little older as I that's where I look for inspiration these days: Vanessa Redgrave, Helen Mirren, Iris Apfel, Bette Midler, Mary Berry. And yes, it's hard to separate how these women look from all their many accomplishments. That could be why the classic society clothes horse is so very much <i>out</i> of fashion these days.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm7jLdctkRW89frX2jD9aCzAsRwE_L-4S9em1lljlkoXmUP502Bt1khCmys-ZBydspuvuzfBflN6VnnaOcEvmK3YFEyFhIpkcIo5Gv_1cfc1GSfTZuVg6b22UByJPF6fdDydLc1bpabm6HdKwm0d1k0THE-FT-DG_41eHxBGVAQZ-7ar4oK-Kel85tRnwy" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="1052" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm7jLdctkRW89frX2jD9aCzAsRwE_L-4S9em1lljlkoXmUP502Bt1khCmys-ZBydspuvuzfBflN6VnnaOcEvmK3YFEyFhIpkcIo5Gv_1cfc1GSfTZuVg6b22UByJPF6fdDydLc1bpabm6HdKwm0d1k0THE-FT-DG_41eHxBGVAQZ-7ar4oK-Kel85tRnwy=w400-h136" width="400" /></a></div> <br />You will have your own list. Maybe make that instead of a lot of resolutions you won't keep. <p></p><p>The answer to dressing your age? Vanessa ends with: "...making your own decisions about what makes you feel good...Which is, really, the ultimate grown-up way to dress."</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhU-AOE8eoKXwIlcd0ILzHqc4GYEsyNEvZ5f6-nfTW_vm6NIRVmeHaLSJ4vJd1hU8yMjfJgkGP5cF9ENiPWUYJtxunQEFtX3qCe-yFvpE5VrCoZanj9dUwqzmrGoMndrV-i9aDak3702EodFMhj0eZHqKu05Ae8aqqDkN9wDlmSrMqwCnfUzACq1Uy2-5ZN" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="714" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhU-AOE8eoKXwIlcd0ILzHqc4GYEsyNEvZ5f6-nfTW_vm6NIRVmeHaLSJ4vJd1hU8yMjfJgkGP5cF9ENiPWUYJtxunQEFtX3qCe-yFvpE5VrCoZanj9dUwqzmrGoMndrV-i9aDak3702EodFMhj0eZHqKu05Ae8aqqDkN9wDlmSrMqwCnfUzACq1Uy2-5ZN=w315-h320" width="315" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Iris and Vanessa—two of the best</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-7615980881597223412023-12-16T10:07:00.003-06:002023-12-16T14:31:30.141-06:00"Not Tonight, Josephine"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhz9MTv39qYwDPMUi5IK_-XSe7T86Oe4J35FHV6q8flKEXj-YLYVDDFC2w6LueyKATgJf1HuU1PIBXTpOrh2JVJiGwr7ut_oXPrN0oAhxxMo5FB4mjL-Ro7aUefm-3STV6wzOO_KocuEaPPMbNYmrZBSmosfrD149d0n7aDnXtvQywQFlnxhO85Pz0I7HMa" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhz9MTv39qYwDPMUi5IK_-XSe7T86Oe4J35FHV6q8flKEXj-YLYVDDFC2w6LueyKATgJf1HuU1PIBXTpOrh2JVJiGwr7ut_oXPrN0oAhxxMo5FB4mjL-Ro7aUefm-3STV6wzOO_KocuEaPPMbNYmrZBSmosfrD149d0n7aDnXtvQywQFlnxhO85Pz0I7HMa" width="320" /></a></div><br />Napoleon didn't say that in the Ridley Scott film. According to this version of his life he was besotted with Josephine and would never say never. She appeared to be less fond of him. <p></p><p>There is little to like in "Napoleon", and that was the problem—no one to root for. Napoleon, as portrayed by Joaquim Phoenix, was slightly less creepy than Marlon Brando playing at playing Napoleon in 1954's "Desiree". Phoenix seemed both inscrutable and deranged, more so as the film wore on. </p><p>There are plenty of well-executed gory battle scenes, but too much of anything is, well, too much.</p><p>When things got tedious I found myself drinking in the costumes, which reflect the tumultuous fashions from 1789 to 1815. One bit of fashion history I find fascinating was underplayed. </p><p>As the film begins, Marie Antoinette is being marched through the streets to her death, sporting a ramshackle but full head of hair, a bit of a flub on Scott's part. As per every other beheaded royal, her hair was actually shorn before execution so as not to impede the path of the guillotine. Marie's hair at one time was her crowning glory, so this would have been a memorable part of her come-down.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxZ0RGKNzCEPN8t4PdbPf8KgsPiaLHuorqODvKhJ0A2hl-3fGbukgTfWbVlOOnK4o69LHok-OsObtcZd6JR2M9Yv5HGLw92MbTvr7f97T-y4N1lI1aAxxuwUpXW-Amle6BPWAsjp2_qPREBLZGx_yQi3TmdzfVm0d1YNvtsQEUdyqFReNhqsN2Q62sutO3" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxZ0RGKNzCEPN8t4PdbPf8KgsPiaLHuorqODvKhJ0A2hl-3fGbukgTfWbVlOOnK4o69LHok-OsObtcZd6JR2M9Yv5HGLw92MbTvr7f97T-y4N1lI1aAxxuwUpXW-Amle6BPWAsjp2_qPREBLZGx_yQi3TmdzfVm0d1YNvtsQEUdyqFReNhqsN2Q62sutO3=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ready or not...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />When Napoleon first sets eyes on Josephine in 1795 she is sporting a cropped messy pixie and a narrow red velvet ribbon around her neck. This was all part of a niche movement after the Reign of Terror* known as Les Merveilleuses (The Wonderful) who did away with stiff, formal court dress in favor of loose silhouettes in cotton or flax. The short hair was called "coiffure a la victim", an homage to the condemned prisoners, as was the choker, for obvious reasons. <div><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0-D3IcG0R0xFY1M5cVbubl1vMuElgSrqEuGluh8W78bzD8zSr8Iet9mWfGb1Q4sTZY0yREY41HvvMT4615rN06F3sRtci5MgQ1v2Z-i2X149GSd6AVaJNuXxysc3U2VjD7We6biwKznzV-62124h8BDpvndS2Fa8Z4FE-wGpNX1f8ZCkGqU6qbKUEH3eL" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1004" data-original-width="1372" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0-D3IcG0R0xFY1M5cVbubl1vMuElgSrqEuGluh8W78bzD8zSr8Iet9mWfGb1Q4sTZY0yREY41HvvMT4615rN06F3sRtci5MgQ1v2Z-i2X149GSd6AVaJNuXxysc3U2VjD7We6biwKznzV-62124h8BDpvndS2Fa8Z4FE-wGpNX1f8ZCkGqU6qbKUEH3eL" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Vanessa Kirby as Josephine</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYCR_noxr4qFxA4SsXuxxMzxcirynScadulLGugIXpY-HGT6xzh65Is41CjfLh2iGo6HyDB03V9NkPHmyZqp29ajWd4ctNHSwRzDrWHtVhfg5ddgb8vUldQK57LFlPRthRcY6KxMcTKleV4_dgrvPbYKFP-WAcOEUnS2J-_fuOBu6pBq8Avu4uipL5lgnc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="757" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYCR_noxr4qFxA4SsXuxxMzxcirynScadulLGugIXpY-HGT6xzh65Is41CjfLh2iGo6HyDB03V9NkPHmyZqp29ajWd4ctNHSwRzDrWHtVhfg5ddgb8vUldQK57LFlPRthRcY6KxMcTKleV4_dgrvPbYKFP-WAcOEUnS2J-_fuOBu6pBq8Avu4uipL5lgnc=w263-h400" width="263" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>Mocking Les Merveilleuses </i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Josephine was supposedly quite the fashionista, and what she wore had a major influence among her set and in the fashion press. Her first husband had been executed, and she herself had been imprisoned for a time. In the scene where she meets Bonaparte at an evening soiree, she appears to be the only woman thus attired and coiffed. She stands out, for sure.<div><br /></div><div>If you haven't a keen grip on the timeline here follows u<i>ne brève historic:</i></div><div><b>1789</b> Storming of the Bastille; French Revolution begins</div><div><b>1792</b> Republic established</div><div><b>1793</b> Reign of Terror begins (lasts until 1794)</div><div><b>1795</b> The Directory takes over (and Napoleon starts winning wars)</div><div><b>1799</b> Napoleon becomes Consul</div><div><b>1804</b> Napoleon declares himself Emperor</div><div><b>1812</b> Not a good year for Napoleon</div><div><b>1814</b> Napoleon abdicates and is sent to Elba</div><div><b>1815</b> Tries to seize power again, then comes Waterloo; exiled to St.Helena</div><div><b>1821</b> Napoleon dies in exile</div><div><br /></div><div><div>According to Scott, Napoleon's Waterloo was his obsessive love for Josephine. And, no, "Waterloo" by ABBA was not on the soundtrack during that battle scene, but it played in my head.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhG5qEKnL7D_0t7hWF9mexzyV0QYH8uGuMW6COtIhB4qQTqxSgxTkoMcWV4lbkH4Lj2MC9x_aCWaTYLtvD1eapS9XsGIwbTr9dYL2ARx50nlN5N_AYWQxakmyZeWSEtqrw4MJeyoE67myd2TSIwpPCNroBvyFCgRWltBhTHwDDovKNQZWHp8dIyXLJmOuNL" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="2208" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhG5qEKnL7D_0t7hWF9mexzyV0QYH8uGuMW6COtIhB4qQTqxSgxTkoMcWV4lbkH4Lj2MC9x_aCWaTYLtvD1eapS9XsGIwbTr9dYL2ARx50nlN5N_AYWQxakmyZeWSEtqrw4MJeyoE67myd2TSIwpPCNroBvyFCgRWltBhTHwDDovKNQZWHp8dIyXLJmOuNL=w400-h224" width="400" /></a></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><i>* The Reign of Terror occurred after the Revolution during the government led by Robespierre. Besides nobles and clergy, any ordinary person considered suspicious was rounded up, imprisoned, possibly given a trial, often just executed.<br /></i><p></p><p><br /> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div></div></div>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-26036053805220040722023-11-08T10:25:00.000-06:002023-11-08T10:25:32.666-06:00Going to Hell in a Handbag<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgarkOuScAQ2LTiAEza6CgaRlQyBrM8euwKBl3Z9VcOCWJr4ImOSvse0NhL5oT_l00TIJHkjQI5CjFCUffFsWiH6oOOPwsyQzzCho6PdqcpeszVITQdLX1bcMBk3hiEaHPS4zQqcyoO4aPDYZhiwjyPSyHZbUtZ0rF0dIWTc8_DbUgsmKBdGy8Wz88pKnJj" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="762" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgarkOuScAQ2LTiAEza6CgaRlQyBrM8euwKBl3Z9VcOCWJr4ImOSvse0NhL5oT_l00TIJHkjQI5CjFCUffFsWiH6oOOPwsyQzzCho6PdqcpeszVITQdLX1bcMBk3hiEaHPS4zQqcyoO4aPDYZhiwjyPSyHZbUtZ0rF0dIWTc8_DbUgsmKBdGy8Wz88pKnJj=w316-h320" width="316" /></a></div></div></div><p></p><p>It's the end of the world as we know it. Like a very tardy Chicken Little I have only now discovered the $1790 Balenciaga trash bag. It popped up yesterday on my Facebook feed but has been collecting derision and debris since August 2022.</p><p>Perhaps that is even more astounding. This affront to good taste and raspberry to consumerism is still on the Saks Fifth Avenue website as well as others, including Balenciaga's own. In fact a <i>used</i> trash bag costs even more ($1980). Maybe it briefly carried a celebrity's trash. I didn't investigate.</p><p>I can be a fashion jokester. My favorite necklace is one I made from a copper elbow joint from the hardware store and a thick piece of cord. I love when it's admired and love even more when I'm asked, "Is that an elbow joint?"</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVxwVxWG0pXA1JW3-CyR2AounvmmzzV-EHbLTgrcCYoOhpYCpdsFU9VQ0OvOlRvGPAyenUELwT9ftnWDh8F8RdN6iAVTqBQApUC3k5WPMlgeHjnJchdrYuuXMQkArbhtAcu1K2N8r2peq2dWja43pP_ID-X1tE4ceZbXgwKdMF6RDIk_A2t4FwrPlh2hzK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1984" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVxwVxWG0pXA1JW3-CyR2AounvmmzzV-EHbLTgrcCYoOhpYCpdsFU9VQ0OvOlRvGPAyenUELwT9ftnWDh8F8RdN6iAVTqBQApUC3k5WPMlgeHjnJchdrYuuXMQkArbhtAcu1K2N8r2peq2dWja43pP_ID-X1tE4ceZbXgwKdMF6RDIk_A2t4FwrPlh2hzK" width="233" /></a></div><p></p><p>But a trash bag is different. It too closely resembles the homeless I see on the street carrying their worldly belongings. The next thing I think of is a former First Lady's "I really don't care, do you?" jacket. I'll never understand why she was not more pilloried for that, worn to a disaster site no less. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2dUppAPFBy10hcbgx5ROGLCBTk1JBlWGVV52vl4RTIrSLlr5OcNVs418ZyZxrb8jykqxKxppiOeuGtQJQC0IBMEeVP9XfAZeiNwxwth0XfKDzXoTmbdGZGROTz48tIAmuMBQcgEevkZRg9Emcj-0BF22bT_klKVPiMbomXsDoAoqJHei4JCOONEfHCe8Q" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img alt="" data-original-height="982" data-original-width="634" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2dUppAPFBy10hcbgx5ROGLCBTk1JBlWGVV52vl4RTIrSLlr5OcNVs418ZyZxrb8jykqxKxppiOeuGtQJQC0IBMEeVP9XfAZeiNwxwth0XfKDzXoTmbdGZGROTz48tIAmuMBQcgEevkZRg9Emcj-0BF22bT_klKVPiMbomXsDoAoqJHei4JCOONEfHCe8Q=w207-h320" width="207" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Unforgettable and unforgivable</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>This trash bag just isn't funny. Or wry. Or intended to make one think. It's listed as "in limited supply" and comes in black as well. </p><p>Don't even get me started what this does for the legacy of Balenciaga. Cristobal Balenciaga was an elegant, Spanish-born couturier, hailed by Dior as "the master of us all". Even the curmudgeonly Chanel sang his praises. His exquisitely fashioned designs were most prominent in the post-WWII years until he closed the House in 1968. He was not a splashy self-promoter, but it's pretty well acknowledged his work influenced everyone in how women dressed. When Balenciaga died in 1972 the headline in Women's Wear Daily read, "The King is Dead." The brand was revived in 1986, but I think it's fair to say "in name only."</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_hRQyHdChZ_a2L210_wWhterhoHXaHYaBw7O-EfQSgiwmy3_zJw2fb8yt3h2W2QTLJyR2yR9Xbe_PAPHdEO4S8-ZOC7TkbhRYGz8cmiaEIcE9lr0zfLdMVGTnHczx3c-8-6dPMSTcm_kuQB_TiN97_rPxB5PAyrWk3X8FlBVn2cPZtIyLiNW7Qu-TtblE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="438" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_hRQyHdChZ_a2L210_wWhterhoHXaHYaBw7O-EfQSgiwmy3_zJw2fb8yt3h2W2QTLJyR2yR9Xbe_PAPHdEO4S8-ZOC7TkbhRYGz8cmiaEIcE9lr0zfLdMVGTnHczx3c-8-6dPMSTcm_kuQB_TiN97_rPxB5PAyrWk3X8FlBVn2cPZtIyLiNW7Qu-TtblE" width="198" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiObxUCL_05dGzHfYkZzExpMUorzmkmbEgu54k-xuJ6ux39PpN0a639CCtBsb7ZmRTnE1KaF-w8djM_zdspMdiksWl2moo1RVITR-8z1rUkSEk1g7YUI-7CgpuiyNm5cfQwCdVSYtsDxcL4VYcFAcXXXBGtxd3CIz0Lce8QvdQK053JAw4KPLDAxFb59iBi" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="736" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiObxUCL_05dGzHfYkZzExpMUorzmkmbEgu54k-xuJ6ux39PpN0a639CCtBsb7ZmRTnE1KaF-w8djM_zdspMdiksWl2moo1RVITR-8z1rUkSEk1g7YUI-7CgpuiyNm5cfQwCdVSYtsDxcL4VYcFAcXXXBGtxd3CIz0Lce8QvdQK053JAw4KPLDAxFb59iBi" width="198" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cristobal + a 1951 Balenciaga</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Why this trash bag is still kicking around for real is a mystery. I will commend Saks Fifth Avenue for not removing the 4 and 5-star reviews from their website. They are clever and pithy and will give you a chuckle as you realize it's the end of the world as we know it. I do care; don't you?<p></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-9092058680149652722023-11-06T09:44:00.001-06:002023-11-06T09:44:18.215-06:00You've Got Mail!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxTs0xukwUAkCZ0vq2IXVnCPFfd21MAYskxXhfZNGGzNoSucXcfR7WyvtG4voy6G1X9HaSV2etpFk-0D-5cwRv5Y1YOCpoBVFy8y3wbW-Hr8HGDhKYWcCRY4wxw3nlvo2fEvGKuRXm0A1SJSLbVYy9bWsVfecGzPOuCbwdb0Ii35h1GxmO9LzP_rgVeaFf" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2025" data-original-width="2048" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxTs0xukwUAkCZ0vq2IXVnCPFfd21MAYskxXhfZNGGzNoSucXcfR7WyvtG4voy6G1X9HaSV2etpFk-0D-5cwRv5Y1YOCpoBVFy8y3wbW-Hr8HGDhKYWcCRY4wxw3nlvo2fEvGKuRXm0A1SJSLbVYy9bWsVfecGzPOuCbwdb0Ii35h1GxmO9LzP_rgVeaFf=w320-h316" width="320" /></a></div><br />When was the last time you found an actual letter in your mailbox? I can't even remember. There have been the occasional birthday cards from far-away friends (thank you!!!), but even those have dwindled. Forget about Christmas cards. Since the price of a "forever" stamp is now 66 cents, I doubt I can count on a festive display this year. I even get less bills. Not because I have less; many companies opted out of sending them as most are paid online.<p></p><p>There we are. Very little reason to open the mailbox other than to relieve it of the few magazines still limping in and the deluge of junk mail touting hearing aids, burial plots and prime wasteland in mid- Texas. </p><p>I still get excited when I spot a catalog. Always have, even when I was a little girl and they were addressed to my mother. A favorite childhood pastime was to decide what to choose from each page. There had to be<i> one thing</i>, and some of those dresses from Lana Lobell were god-awful.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTbzk_7DY_DjSViBx69woJTmmTduehzsDmze6lyje5x4tgVnsJpRKPieOg0W5NzAwRKFMW1Gbkzw9LIarpN7Nbi9g6XlqTDJXy8NB5BneNsqTRRRSw2B0_o-fljyVH3xTSVM444ElFiofiW9oiIIOkrnEKfOFZcxHYU7cUh1KG-eVHWKpKwuIsc9xW8-xp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1918" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTbzk_7DY_DjSViBx69woJTmmTduehzsDmze6lyje5x4tgVnsJpRKPieOg0W5NzAwRKFMW1Gbkzw9LIarpN7Nbi9g6XlqTDJXy8NB5BneNsqTRRRSw2B0_o-fljyVH3xTSVM444ElFiofiW9oiIIOkrnEKfOFZcxHYU7cUh1KG-eVHWKpKwuIsc9xW8-xp=w213-h320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At times it was hard...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Although I grew up in a moderately-sized city, large enough to support several department stores and branches of a few New York specialty shops, it was still a thrill to order from a catalog. One in New Rochelle, just outside New York City, catered to my fashion-obsessed teen self. "The French Boot Shop" got the zeitgeist of the '50s-'60s. Long gone, it still has rabid fans, and the rare old catalog making it to Ebay gets snapped up fast.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicoEz-tNGRaXtoyjK1CdAiiUuaQVkhmdHvpRTjv1-HU01IaC-WG6hyQMYiCrw40kJHaMEcLtWI6P7OOvjWvx59GtPl5sOCDUcf9RYmRXV42Ni--t7F1LGW0A_fKfhem71xzjFY8kF1SMWCbQTxcYpFzgamiCZOEyE6yNfAUp4NnyHjVF61wIAiTJ-_4t75" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2066" data-original-width="1476" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicoEz-tNGRaXtoyjK1CdAiiUuaQVkhmdHvpRTjv1-HU01IaC-WG6hyQMYiCrw40kJHaMEcLtWI6P7OOvjWvx59GtPl5sOCDUcf9RYmRXV42Ni--t7F1LGW0A_fKfhem71xzjFY8kF1SMWCbQTxcYpFzgamiCZOEyE6yNfAUp4NnyHjVF61wIAiTJ-_4t75=w228-h320" width="228" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rare as hen's teeth...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Sears, Spiegel and Montgomery Ward were known as the "dream books" as they made delivery a reality throughout the country. I wonder what waiting for your order to arrive was like. Without other options it might have been bearable. We don't have patience for that today. Even a week seems like an eternity. Overnight is better.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9kSspb1ZzX-y_A3v3H-nwdjOUbFZoAvC4fM6GtpGW30iswVUVGWtclvc51kS_QXzL_jAPt5BFN7R4g5wWbYWGIzl4vRRTPuY8JEJngVjh128mhVtpJrASWBiVbkPAzTxXlrMQwXYLvAA9Sw-JNY1nA0436_1hJH_Z0YINA6wcoec803NdddwI9Z4ow2U7" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4144" data-original-width="3082" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9kSspb1ZzX-y_A3v3H-nwdjOUbFZoAvC4fM6GtpGW30iswVUVGWtclvc51kS_QXzL_jAPt5BFN7R4g5wWbYWGIzl4vRRTPuY8JEJngVjh128mhVtpJrASWBiVbkPAzTxXlrMQwXYLvAA9Sw-JNY1nA0436_1hJH_Z0YINA6wcoec803NdddwI9Z4ow2U7=w237-h320" width="237" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Slo-mazon...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The catalog morphed into an important promotional tool. The goal was not to sell you this or that from page xx or xx but to pull you into the store. J Crew pretty much became the success it did on the strength of its catalog, as did Anthropologie. Both created worlds to either emulate or envy. Either way, they brought you in.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP7Iak4Nha5JbGguINHK0jcaDBIAQgSb_DDyH12QlbxMNCuJQulXQF54NvU7K1e7muvbyb0x82PagfxTR7RzIKu1xtCBgrcAZvFsHJxNDa_Svmh6_q5fIlJNT_vTfxtxOUUQzX77H0UzdSZwE_4jZkLLJt91dzpkFPYZ2a5o-cOIN0eN6U6ebv4CsJaxuU" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2056" data-original-width="2846" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP7Iak4Nha5JbGguINHK0jcaDBIAQgSb_DDyH12QlbxMNCuJQulXQF54NvU7K1e7muvbyb0x82PagfxTR7RzIKu1xtCBgrcAZvFsHJxNDa_Svmh6_q5fIlJNT_vTfxtxOUUQzX77H0UzdSZwE_4jZkLLJt91dzpkFPYZ2a5o-cOIN0eN6U6ebv4CsJaxuU" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Anthro dreams by the dozen...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Sometimes it didn't work. J Peterman (yes the one from Seinfeld) publishes one of the most readable catalogs in direct mail history, but their foray into brick-and-mortar failed miserably. That white shirt was just another white shirt without the backstory that made it so irresistible on paper.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg33NVOCQjmWzZcVxRkw2OhcC3m7qlN01TjNkB0G3kBsQHvvt4lPzs1AvIoFHy41DsM-LvNKyx8B5-5760A83adLyMNq3PGUxP2pRlK78qF-Pu0uUAkyA_4hdcnglThvgEsrFlFPkjKVjeiFG18i5YOifE7WluguDRJfPYCdGDRaj4FcZHRcqn5m6qYWA9j" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2032" data-original-width="2754" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg33NVOCQjmWzZcVxRkw2OhcC3m7qlN01TjNkB0G3kBsQHvvt4lPzs1AvIoFHy41DsM-LvNKyx8B5-5760A83adLyMNq3PGUxP2pRlK78qF-Pu0uUAkyA_4hdcnglThvgEsrFlFPkjKVjeiFG18i5YOifE7WluguDRJfPYCdGDRaj4FcZHRcqn5m6qYWA9j" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The pleasures of J Peterman...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />We tend to save catalogs. I have a bunch from defunct stores that I loved looking through but never ordered from. Could be why they are defunct. Ann Taylor catalogs from the '90s were my guide to looking like a professional working woman. I can't throw them out, despite the giant shoulders and my long-standing retirement. <p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhT4bcZEX0GY22eF7nXSs0GtAfxRiKSwBr2FJaV24ULmWT34o9fOCwcVBL1TDVrFdsWK4CE2UBgPIR8IJ9DQdRoS0Dw8xpXfjby2ThOG9CQTlWeEtfOYgh4kjiywaAF8XQ9Fct2FzXrVlN_771zuDo9epqlj2sD1UezlLFG9POowsKAdl6Kue96Xg4JxkOU" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2052" data-original-width="2894" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhT4bcZEX0GY22eF7nXSs0GtAfxRiKSwBr2FJaV24ULmWT34o9fOCwcVBL1TDVrFdsWK4CE2UBgPIR8IJ9DQdRoS0Dw8xpXfjby2ThOG9CQTlWeEtfOYgh4kjiywaAF8XQ9Fct2FzXrVlN_771zuDo9epqlj2sD1UezlLFG9POowsKAdl6Kue96Xg4JxkOU" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tailored for the job...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Along the way I picked up some late 1920's (pre crash) catalogs from Marshall Field. What fun they are to read, all the while thinking how little anyone knew what lay ahead.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbcd80otkxqFLFT45lPVpjUED40QyOZKTf9_4vlTw8KjQqZSWjnC6v0OwF-3QeY7_JlXiCHjGW1-UXRv_wykOMpJ8LxFETufJxcU8GMP57k0rJWBvd6bYhH0j02IWXiKBpUShQoUg5npGM2E6vQzMxTN4Y3uI1uLxZ3tI8-BuSTXU8oZxOsUqbYISiaEqO" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2052" data-original-width="2730" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbcd80otkxqFLFT45lPVpjUED40QyOZKTf9_4vlTw8KjQqZSWjnC6v0OwF-3QeY7_JlXiCHjGW1-UXRv_wykOMpJ8LxFETufJxcU8GMP57k0rJWBvd6bYhH0j02IWXiKBpUShQoUg5npGM2E6vQzMxTN4Y3uI1uLxZ3tI8-BuSTXU8oZxOsUqbYISiaEqO" width="319" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Who could know...?</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p></p><p>Many catalogs I receive are on account of my having shopped there and would physically do so again. J Jill, Talbot's, Johnny Was and J McLaughlin have stores in town. Land's End and LL Bean do not. They all present the merchandise pretty clearly. </p><p>I recently read Boden is particularly successful in the US with its feminine/sporty/Princess Kate style. Boden has only one actual location (in London) so relies on its catalog for probably 99% of sales. Here is where I think that catalog misses the mark. The photographs are so lifestyle centric you can barely see the clothes. I would <i>need</i> to go online to do so. At the same time one must order online, where there are presumably many other items to choose from. Like my hybrid car, we have entered the age of multiple technologies. Get used to it.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju_F6txRWgN4x8xMFtqOIM9vl6HKIvgb6gu6XAnJG46VouvTQGza-iSXJn-LdZ_men6FbqpZzwUkEGmgVz-t9OyMvoqqKbaFv9mtLTnXKaLqDW6J36QfLFmAz_Jiv436fS2V7Y0xRIWKPBAZCm1mDLq4e9hFuzrtOn_PeP7uOVvemruLmFbw0RZpaResdg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2002" data-original-width="2738" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju_F6txRWgN4x8xMFtqOIM9vl6HKIvgb6gu6XAnJG46VouvTQGza-iSXJn-LdZ_men6FbqpZzwUkEGmgVz-t9OyMvoqqKbaFv9mtLTnXKaLqDW6J36QfLFmAz_Jiv436fS2V7Y0xRIWKPBAZCm1mDLq4e9hFuzrtOn_PeP7uOVvemruLmFbw0RZpaResdg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What am I buying?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I will look through any catalog you send me. The holidays are not the same without The Swiss Colony and The Vermont Country Store. I will admire the bounty of your pecans at Sunnyland Farms, marvel at your variety of fruit cakes on Collin Street and always wonder who exactly are Harry & David. But the fashion catalogs will always be the true stuff of dreams.<p></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-11278841043828482322023-10-11T10:59:00.000-05:002023-10-11T10:59:14.166-05:00Why I've Become a (Fashion) Vegan<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiR-V3G9z5OaFimuVXybvt8ZaU2_GK4GCswDJY--XxctNdIf1qyhpfaYKdebaZUqY4DwFisNvdnt9qWC2IGbeni_p5Y3ILGKplt160h-qFpTbFonoq06_zO4F0RWSwiUFgHHil0qC1BWUqm1Zxu1BJf3wxcMm4j9Beg-kiPUzZ3Q9Jx2lEcpHxZ7EWnb7TE" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="776" data-original-width="1392" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiR-V3G9z5OaFimuVXybvt8ZaU2_GK4GCswDJY--XxctNdIf1qyhpfaYKdebaZUqY4DwFisNvdnt9qWC2IGbeni_p5Y3ILGKplt160h-qFpTbFonoq06_zO4F0RWSwiUFgHHil0qC1BWUqm1Zxu1BJf3wxcMm4j9Beg-kiPUzZ3Q9Jx2lEcpHxZ7EWnb7TE=w400-h223" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Vegans are here to stay...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Becoming a Fashion Vegan has nothing to do with my love for animals or my choice of diet (kinda sorta vegetarian but for the occasional hamburger). I became a convert because Fashion is now doing such wonderful things with vegan leather.</p><p>I put down plastic leather in its early days, despite having a pair of black "pleather" pants. I felt rather risqué wearing them, as if they were some kind of bondage gear. They were also sweaty. No tears were shed when the material began to peel and they hit the trash.</p><p>I never minded impersonations, up to a point. I've long known that "patent leather" is no more leather than the apricot candy and "tortoise shell" accessories are honest-to-goodness plastic. But there was something about imitation leather shoes or handbags that seemed a poor substitute. But things that fool on purpose have always been fine (ie fake leopard anything).</p><p>When motorcycle jackets and black leather pants made it into my fashion stratosphere, I bought the real deal, a Schott leather jacket that weighed a ton and black leather pants I could hardly walk in. Evidently I was not meant to join that fashion gang. </p><p>When introduced in the early '70s who didn't love Ultrasuede? A Japanese invention, Ultrasuede was used by Halston in 1972 for his first couture show and both were immediate hits. More supple than suede, washable and able to be produced in any color, alas Ultrasuede was expensive.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvwH-oMzj9oyNLk_7TRcqcfrKwBGWJ4Vhkto2XdKhcfIpRDmEJv4G61ye9R1t-ll1loGKd3kU0Q14vYPjKzTqIZAT-1hQL6MMVpORDzUwP7rIyICQPk3JyFUx5iSSiCBWBx_eutZKzuDIe8NY8ZnECUztREqpHEg1K3tLvpa--yTnNMa40wsUy-ZaanOfW" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="1132" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvwH-oMzj9oyNLk_7TRcqcfrKwBGWJ4Vhkto2XdKhcfIpRDmEJv4G61ye9R1t-ll1loGKd3kU0Q14vYPjKzTqIZAT-1hQL6MMVpORDzUwP7rIyICQPk3JyFUx5iSSiCBWBx_eutZKzuDIe8NY8ZnECUztREqpHEg1K3tLvpa--yTnNMa40wsUy-ZaanOfW" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Halston and his first Ultrasuede creation</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmqIF7siTqvww-nXWXKwo_ZNC6OE-DyUBT9_7F-J-bICrMem6CLOTAp1vqO4k_sSfQhU0Cy4yGqfQKMt3pXdLloXBvMKwTofUXgE24-FtTpKtSnvSAUNkRSykc01HFcVa-OeDlRnQsP4oQtqwslwdRoXuvrML1-beU_GnPenWvlD3ErGvVUIxijOAPBV8N" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1106" data-original-width="636" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmqIF7siTqvww-nXWXKwo_ZNC6OE-DyUBT9_7F-J-bICrMem6CLOTAp1vqO4k_sSfQhU0Cy4yGqfQKMt3pXdLloXBvMKwTofUXgE24-FtTpKtSnvSAUNkRSykc01HFcVa-OeDlRnQsP4oQtqwslwdRoXuvrML1-beU_GnPenWvlD3ErGvVUIxijOAPBV8N=w184-h320" width="184" /></a></div><p>Fast forward a few decades and today you can find Ultrasued-ish garments in every price point. We just take it for granted now. This embrace of Vegan leather still feels newish. I only had to search "Vegan leather" on the Banana Republic Factory Store site to find myriad examples beyond pants of stylish Vegan leather and (because "Ultrasuede" is copywrighted) faux suede.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiltKfB3B1ylfsS1xgFS23HMPKQEeZWzfNs_X6mIiDjH2l2RHcL4tiU3WsR609J8s8uXXd3JONhBDw84vTAy8J0MWgPKPYhFCZjeyzQnBgEhy2jx-w7_-TKcpkE1vOJkhRsaQmTAqdyArhm3s4hvW7h9RidyQZ0Gzxij32UBrvFoIWTwBH40b5VMpY7N7i-" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGwu8HqxstiTIayBQhacdWJw6fGhh5hrO-MPWf8OS2oUAiA3jt2OJjG1sO0Hu4kubi4EX-zoEsS-VHk0iS9-B7Sv2LaY7S_r-mSz1z4ScpJ6pqaSTc8ig5yaOscPE8dPX8enD8HOPxpyvYDBB_e1MD1H8uAjuK2S0NBjRqBGOGsFlc-1pjp_Wg50-h1qSK" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="880" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGwu8HqxstiTIayBQhacdWJw6fGhh5hrO-MPWf8OS2oUAiA3jt2OJjG1sO0Hu4kubi4EX-zoEsS-VHk0iS9-B7Sv2LaY7S_r-mSz1z4ScpJ6pqaSTc8ig5yaOscPE8dPX8enD8HOPxpyvYDBB_e1MD1H8uAjuK2S0NBjRqBGOGsFlc-1pjp_Wg50-h1qSK=w188-h320" width="188" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Classic trench $150</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQzObsosIx7Mri3qBPSTz2jJowGM0tDs-stIzM0XV3pS_oM5DIrGZHGGztkf3O9JrE0quSiZ3nOKpd4q7g79bld9vvJTu99XkacKbWnFpSsC_qmQsNaWzJVrrQ2x_VPKvA2zWSe1pQai_DaNrK-gLwC4A-vpAnkvtwgUMdTLJ1bH5Vc_a-4Q8LrxIFe6OE" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="718" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQzObsosIx7Mri3qBPSTz2jJowGM0tDs-stIzM0XV3pS_oM5DIrGZHGGztkf3O9JrE0quSiZ3nOKpd4q7g79bld9vvJTu99XkacKbWnFpSsC_qmQsNaWzJVrrQ2x_VPKvA2zWSe1pQai_DaNrK-gLwC4A-vpAnkvtwgUMdTLJ1bH5Vc_a-4Q8LrxIFe6OE=w207-h320" width="207" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bermuda short $56<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwtZUXd5HScKJCSpjcXdWH2rsGaqr9jpHPZCl9ll5HX2uT7MlcnztBIVophQBv-WSFZ-oYuBIM67lInucn2EHabYiF4Vl35j_QoYAT7iEDzhKksth1VbX9v_leYwkQ8GHdP2czhJzJ0wnqvjE6HnpMLmdZ8PyY0p9ExpatMXAF4yLVBt8We-Pa_mszxVSF" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="686" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwtZUXd5HScKJCSpjcXdWH2rsGaqr9jpHPZCl9ll5HX2uT7MlcnztBIVophQBv-WSFZ-oYuBIM67lInucn2EHabYiF4Vl35j_QoYAT7iEDzhKksth1VbX9v_leYwkQ8GHdP2czhJzJ0wnqvjE6HnpMLmdZ8PyY0p9ExpatMXAF4yLVBt8We-Pa_mszxVSF=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oversized shirt $63</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_fpyG19RWVMYCdrs7kgSqhWgW-MahuKxJiEHDxCzG6wcxiLFZ7JVrX5vdeiHgT2-vN71AC68ecKE6GTpyErabvLr_hZbpaHPCFIjMLQO4M44-3xSWqW3DoWFmvAs0MTgj-92kE1HsXMTzy-AN-8IUudJdlWZItSxySF8P-GiuANT_wR0_5r7O23ioV3E4" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1668" data-original-width="1020" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_fpyG19RWVMYCdrs7kgSqhWgW-MahuKxJiEHDxCzG6wcxiLFZ7JVrX5vdeiHgT2-vN71AC68ecKE6GTpyErabvLr_hZbpaHPCFIjMLQO4M44-3xSWqW3DoWFmvAs0MTgj-92kE1HsXMTzy-AN-8IUudJdlWZItSxySF8P-GiuANT_wR0_5r7O23ioV3E4=w196-h320" width="196" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sleeveless coat $108</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4_H6RTQKd7q2BAlXXoPQgIEfU8WUJz5XrukMpNWIENkhqwWZmtvlEAzpZ5LGCWR0YFFv611WhA_Xad_deV8XDSbMrPgbia9dtZRsvm4PF0k9zPyqb7OGnvmy7fmFKHyoHM_XUvzUuOQpcFUKs1kQdzG4sJ-6QYAgsUaeBxf9RAv9I-JgyRDJGtvZJpAIr" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1586" data-original-width="902" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4_H6RTQKd7q2BAlXXoPQgIEfU8WUJz5XrukMpNWIENkhqwWZmtvlEAzpZ5LGCWR0YFFv611WhA_Xad_deV8XDSbMrPgbia9dtZRsvm4PF0k9zPyqb7OGnvmy7fmFKHyoHM_XUvzUuOQpcFUKs1kQdzG4sJ-6QYAgsUaeBxf9RAv9I-JgyRDJGtvZJpAIr=w181-h320" width="181" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Knee-length dress $48</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2Zdy84nWlEkqgB4rbg4k9FTB7z4eXdIJEreJ3Nm3O1Y2s0pG6rOur55uXrZ_YLBT0f1Buafe56VLjJt-0menK_zWi2LLM-5ARewJ7fGAy1uSXYv7A2WHQjantYkqxE0vFVeCH2ZoAMAZ4f6x8MxDeO5A4agqY-SdKhnfmDAJPCd3H9at8BvuVSXHaPh2J" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1716" data-original-width="1254" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2Zdy84nWlEkqgB4rbg4k9FTB7z4eXdIJEreJ3Nm3O1Y2s0pG6rOur55uXrZ_YLBT0f1Buafe56VLjJt-0menK_zWi2LLM-5ARewJ7fGAy1uSXYv7A2WHQjantYkqxE0vFVeCH2ZoAMAZ4f6x8MxDeO5A4agqY-SdKhnfmDAJPCd3H9at8BvuVSXHaPh2J=w233-h320" width="233" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Casale top $33.97</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Read the care labels of almost anything today, and the fabric is a chemist's cupboard of ingredients whipped into amazing replications of cashmere, silk or wool. Even the dreaded rayon seems to have been replaced by another, improved, rayon. And much of all this is sprinkled with a dusting of Spandex for good measure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While the plethora of pleather (couldn't help myself) hasn't entirely lifted the fashion malaise I'm feeling, I'm curious and willing to try. I better order that Casale top on final clearance before they're all gone. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p><br /></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-27254822915684020262023-09-24T14:13:00.004-05:002023-09-24T14:20:57.621-05:00Quiet Luxury Bores Me to Tears<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYovZekS5ZMEhVrAxpVzzOJ9C6VGNFPoP2Q0Vs6ZOM9lBPjmj1I9sUL8ruD8VolOEg9c8huD7NeNqUpNi9570Kuc0nsfYCebUps9cxL_LMXLMR0Fe0gdppqThqipYVjBRF57PY_cY4Vg5ABOw4g9rEzUDrkDH_IyrGs_AbVvkwAFrpmfkZVbexN6P-6QIE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="3024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYovZekS5ZMEhVrAxpVzzOJ9C6VGNFPoP2Q0Vs6ZOM9lBPjmj1I9sUL8ruD8VolOEg9c8huD7NeNqUpNi9570Kuc0nsfYCebUps9cxL_LMXLMR0Fe0gdppqThqipYVjBRF57PY_cY4Vg5ABOw4g9rEzUDrkDH_IyrGs_AbVvkwAFrpmfkZVbexN6P-6QIE=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br />"Quiet Luxury" is Fashion's latest buzz-word. This laid-back ode to neutrals, simple shapes and luxury fabrics harks to a time when simplicity ruled. These were the days of Donna Karan, Calvin Klein, Giorgio Armani and Helmut Lang in their prime and at their best. <div><br /></div><div><div>No surprise. Pared down looks often follow a period of over-the-top styles, be it the broad shoulders, sharp edges and brilliant jewel tones of the '80s or the silly-frilly "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" frocks of recent summers. </div><div><p></p><p>Luxury should be rare and/or look expensive—precious metals and jewels, exotic furs (once upon a time), hard-to-get (or hard to work with) fabrics, hand-sewn details. You should be able to see and feel what you've paid for.</p><p>Quiet Luxury is all that, but it whispers. Colors are soft and often neutral—camel, gray, beige, ecru. If there's color it's muted. Fabrics are soft too—jersey, cashmere, fine wool, silk—and the shapes less structured. One brand, Bruno Cuchinelli, has been doing this for a while. It's quiet luxury and not in any sense sense affordable. This cashmere sweater is $3,000. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP0m6g2N843TsdPtTMVIsEzKTlOl6v6dXQOYiORIAPuK0yn4ElfJackJdBEf9ixw_0If6vcIMlQbgo3YvcI8o3wfJpgkU4-5gAPfVM5HbEVCY-gJooqGB1_SnznlnZdS95UW49PT7eKNeI8AAm2x05b7--SYtSAnI5B9_JSMkUKZzZ5woidNH2wA-6wJGJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1380" data-original-width="1076" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP0m6g2N843TsdPtTMVIsEzKTlOl6v6dXQOYiORIAPuK0yn4ElfJackJdBEf9ixw_0If6vcIMlQbgo3YvcI8o3wfJpgkU4-5gAPfVM5HbEVCY-gJooqGB1_SnznlnZdS95UW49PT7eKNeI8AAm2x05b7--SYtSAnI5B9_JSMkUKZzZ5woidNH2wA-6wJGJ=w249-h320" width="249" /></a></div><br />One harbinger of the Quiet Luxury trend was the tv series "Succession" in Sarah Snook's character of Shiv Roy, who succeeds (or did she?). It may be an offshoot of last year's Coastal Grandma, retooled for any age or coast.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipuM5L3PhcnRrLYk2BlfKDp_iqlkZ-DhyPn76NYYy5eUWEiWX6G12RqZJPnSEwQWWa5C3FGXy3l1fG35jBV21GmwAvm1pBLEJMcZoGwds_qnuzgyhUXyg1hT4uAM0p-2gxN7TCeKPh6jIh8U6hw4CbP-bgx20c9huuFi5YvUggFk3ObYtxmi_i6sfcGbWK" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipuM5L3PhcnRrLYk2BlfKDp_iqlkZ-DhyPn76NYYy5eUWEiWX6G12RqZJPnSEwQWWa5C3FGXy3l1fG35jBV21GmwAvm1pBLEJMcZoGwds_qnuzgyhUXyg1hT4uAM0p-2gxN7TCeKPh6jIh8U6hw4CbP-bgx20c9huuFi5YvUggFk3ObYtxmi_i6sfcGbWK=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sarah as Shiv in "Succession"</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The problem with Quiet Luxury is it can be replicated down market. Today's fabric blends easily imitate cashmere and silk. Practically no one works with 100% wool anymore, even the so-called luxury brands. </div><div><br /></div><div>And therein lies the problem. Quiet Luxury is everywhere—on the high street in Britain or the mall here in the U.S. It's no longer the mark of a trust fund, executive position or sugar daddy. Anyone can afford it. What's more all that gray, ecru, taupe and camel is boring, boring, boring.</div><div><br /></div><div>I predict Quiet Luxury won't be around for long. But if you insist (and I understand that for some it's a welcome return to sanity) I can suggest the way</div><div><p></p><p>TO SHOP FOR IT: </p><p>> Everything should function. Avoid anything with purely decorative effects—fake pockets, extra trims, zippers for the heck of it. </p><p>> Think of color in candlelight. Neutrals show off this look best but you can add color. Like the cinnamon sweater above, colors are softer, toned down, as if you were in a room lit with candles.</p><p>> Avoid prints. Woven tweeds or plaids or stripes as part of a weave are fine. Avoid anything but the most subtle of prints (a woven paisley perhaps).</p><p>> Feel the fabric. Even though today's blends can be amazing, it doesn't mean they all are. Is it soft to the touch? Does it hang well? How do you take care of it? Are you willing to baby it with hand washing or dry cleaning? If you don't follow care instructions you may live to regret.</p><p>TO WEAR IT:</p><p>> Less is more. Chanel was famous for saying to take off the last thing you put on, but then she liked to wear a lot of accessories. Quiet luxury should be telling you <i>fuggedaboutit. </i>Don't even think about layering necklaces and bracelets. Take off your earrings if you dare. One golden or silvery bangle. It doesn't even have to be real.</p><p>> Tone down your makeup. It should whisper as well. If you like a red lip, keep it, but go easy on eye makeup. Throw away your hairspray.</p><p>> Oh and carry a big stick. You know what they say about speaking softly. </p></div></div>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-84816852249178713852023-07-30T17:58:00.000-05:002023-07-30T17:58:39.745-05:00What's "On 34th?"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbD6v-_CuZHwX5JLGIkphQRg0p7hGPrZpTMjweYj6O_xOF7wVEPZ7nbqdZd1yVloKmymN2T-nojkmHd3xTrDdKCd4Yvjk0XlVC1w1ASOn97SC2va1fG-fT3EwsTfBe-oND-BrjScWwX_h_tADhH7d-P5DWLGSv18PC_CnwYt3sKjUf7SNk3ABXRSkN6DfF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbD6v-_CuZHwX5JLGIkphQRg0p7hGPrZpTMjweYj6O_xOF7wVEPZ7nbqdZd1yVloKmymN2T-nojkmHd3xTrDdKCd4Yvjk0XlVC1w1ASOn97SC2va1fG-fT3EwsTfBe-oND-BrjScWwX_h_tADhH7d-P5DWLGSv18PC_CnwYt3sKjUf7SNk3ABXRSkN6DfF=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Macy's flagship store in Manhattan is on 34th Street between 6th and 7th avenues. There are 503 others across the country since Macy's has been gobbling up ailing department stores and rebranding them as their own. Suffice to say there's probably "a Macy's near you". </div></span></div><p></p><p>There's one near me too, in the Houston Galleria. I always park near the Macy's entrance and loop through the main floor just to see what's on offer. It's usually middle-of-the-road and not very exciting. There's Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, Vince Camuto, Anne Klein, DKNY, Calvin Klein, Michael Kors, etc. These are not high-end offerings from the familiar names, just what the average woman might like.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSeZUoHBj6ZJ0AfHJZJs6pLMrLFHBWNRzUe44hnAtcQtit0zrQIvMCazGpDhCihQQIHxuGzWjgKk-sniDqg4AT4K-FLWGS8tZPP3uBCUgYQ9XpMJUSiHrE3qV7ff5DLVwMk49roGsndZ0vCVVJhKMWuvMblbduBa6O7deICjrFYx_G3av477MXr5N3xwt2" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1256" data-original-width="1438" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSeZUoHBj6ZJ0AfHJZJs6pLMrLFHBWNRzUe44hnAtcQtit0zrQIvMCazGpDhCihQQIHxuGzWjgKk-sniDqg4AT4K-FLWGS8tZPP3uBCUgYQ9XpMJUSiHrE3qV7ff5DLVwMk49roGsndZ0vCVVJhKMWuvMblbduBa6O7deICjrFYx_G3av477MXr5N3xwt2=w320-h279" width="320" /></a></div><br />Macy's has had and continues to have "private brands". Once the I.N.C. line was trendy and fun, now it's tatty and cheesy. Others are Alfani, Bar III and Charter Club. Not impressed. But rounding the corner I saw a new "shop", On 34th. Right away I was transported to Herald Square (the slice of concrete on 34th Street facing Macy's). So, how was Macy's channeling their famous location for the rest of America? Reminding customers that Macy's is a shopping behemoth and has been around for ages at its iconic address is a very smart move indeed.<p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIUdL5fEOk-nW0J5516_cWRHsHUfr2eTDhAwtprkS3e1bQy-7aq2zPV734aVAcE_mMo0lJFrSsi7dZ07hUAb5wIej8N8_TIdr2nYV1y-s7CaDHtnLjUF7TZrAUakPDL9wa8434XNwtDdJk0RgbVMzpvjbniHreNMMeb3MtUsXZdpzKMgETh_W6_4rKcxH0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1704" data-original-width="1428" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIUdL5fEOk-nW0J5516_cWRHsHUfr2eTDhAwtprkS3e1bQy-7aq2zPV734aVAcE_mMo0lJFrSsi7dZ07hUAb5wIej8N8_TIdr2nYV1y-s7CaDHtnLjUF7TZrAUakPDL9wa8434XNwtDdJk0RgbVMzpvjbniHreNMMeb3MtUsXZdpzKMgETh_W6_4rKcxH0=w268-h320" width="268" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Basic basics, yes</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The offering are Basics, capital B intentional, but I was happy to find they were basics I understand, like a $49.50 leopard midi skirt (my kind of basic). There was nothing tricked out about the displays, just racks with some vague kind of story to tell. A 100% cotton striped boat-neck tee with wide 3/4 sleeves was $39.50 and available in many color combos. The most fashion forward item (and highest price I noticed) was a heavyweight polka dot trench coat. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEAOpDFLESMd__D8JHQTcTH8E6fDWEs1aoCvrrdUt6vXUoKdH9xdnzFclKeXCx3wwshWiiPBcbniD93xfEj2tY2C-StOqrQoBdNJbXPsnp7iU3KAYkZLMNh4Lu3Qx3ClgEvMN1WRb0KPDfw2GROO6RSvSVdsPxOZp0o3OivTACRk9b9nvmx93McMjHVlAK" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="580" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEAOpDFLESMd__D8JHQTcTH8E6fDWEs1aoCvrrdUt6vXUoKdH9xdnzFclKeXCx3wwshWiiPBcbniD93xfEj2tY2C-StOqrQoBdNJbXPsnp7iU3KAYkZLMNh4Lu3Qx3ClgEvMN1WRb0KPDfw2GROO6RSvSVdsPxOZp0o3OivTACRk9b9nvmx93McMjHVlAK=w259-h320" width="259" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>$39.50 tee with style</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF5LpH0fKGwVDiEELQxGxxiE4TV7Yjoh8z_DqKr3qCBT_3GDem8oXBPFhOOsQubaMN7HRlg53BeG-YObcHkI2YckeyJM2vzU7Ttrc64Ex89O5LBavnznvkl7LStv6DeSHzyxvQF7oZ2RPoPa6kshS6F4jlYv2fUDagGl4vS3dg5jjwpCi8SxrRoevWDkm0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="662" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF5LpH0fKGwVDiEELQxGxxiE4TV7Yjoh8z_DqKr3qCBT_3GDem8oXBPFhOOsQubaMN7HRlg53BeG-YObcHkI2YckeyJM2vzU7Ttrc64Ex89O5LBavnznvkl7LStv6DeSHzyxvQF7oZ2RPoPa6kshS6F4jlYv2fUDagGl4vS3dg5jjwpCi8SxrRoevWDkm0=w263-h320" width="263" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>$150 rain worthy trench</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />In this day and age of escalating clothing prices it's pretty refreshing to see this much quality at, shall I say, reasonable pricing. The fabric and composition is <i>good</i>. Things look well made with no (thank goodness) extraneous trims and gew-gaws. Plenty of offerings in plus-size too. I didn't see any petites.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJulcbiDoYGCA-tWyklg9SHYtZsFd5EelCyGvuz4H9lN754PqpS-sHnMkafv0efePdXfoDnJCucyGcNz3Laj4ooY_FBcZCJwMBMfpxq20qVI6HmclytWsF49gru1d7I1UhwBSvYv3WuhgBG1I0iGQHW78SFuqWJTUy_6YCKeYPi6t9NS5PROHzwUYm4lId" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1470" data-original-width="830" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJulcbiDoYGCA-tWyklg9SHYtZsFd5EelCyGvuz4H9lN754PqpS-sHnMkafv0efePdXfoDnJCucyGcNz3Laj4ooY_FBcZCJwMBMfpxq20qVI6HmclytWsF49gru1d7I1UhwBSvYv3WuhgBG1I0iGQHW78SFuqWJTUy_6YCKeYPi6t9NS5PROHzwUYm4lId=w226-h400" width="226" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>$59.50 rugby mini—impressive</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This has just hit the stores and maybe a little early in Houston as I did read about an August 17 launch date.</p><p>The only thing lacking might be a real <i>focus</i>. Who is this line for??? I think I figured that out too: everyone.</p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-38649562063946605762023-05-30T10:52:00.000-05:002023-05-30T10:52:23.960-05:002023: The Summer of Jackie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4ws04_CNj0NKhFUTJGnAXJNw39rKRGLqFZgYqh376cAoKnVjdiU54R2px3R6LjYS4tX3ql7cvy5FFCYLVRyrz5Yke8ZnTqApebCuw0L63s7N5YdOtvvOLxNl8hIo03MzKznFCyDXBuDhInMk-LFNVRsrdnCEiFcQzi5efOJNYKS0hoyHa0Rk88BBhA/s1110/Screen%20Shot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.19.52%20AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="1110" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4ws04_CNj0NKhFUTJGnAXJNw39rKRGLqFZgYqh376cAoKnVjdiU54R2px3R6LjYS4tX3ql7cvy5FFCYLVRyrz5Yke8ZnTqApebCuw0L63s7N5YdOtvvOLxNl8hIo03MzKznFCyDXBuDhInMk-LFNVRsrdnCEiFcQzi5efOJNYKS0hoyHa0Rk88BBhA/w400-h266/Screen%20Shot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.19.52%20AM.png" width="400" /></a></div><p>You could do worse than make Jackie Kennedy Onassis your Summer of 2023 Fashion Muse. She was always appropriately dressed with understated flair, but it's amazing how many of her looks are so right this year.</p><p>From my vantage point a lot of the fashions we see in magazines and on the red carpet are unwearable fantasies—fun to look at perhaps but totally impractical. Some trends do seem to be emerging as a mix of what the stores are offering and what is already in our closets. </p><p>If many of us are buying less these days it's a combination of decent clothes becoming so expensive, understanding fast fashion is bad for the environment and those who make it and less formality in dress overall. </p><p>Jackie's style was always a subtle nod to east coast Preppy, understated Boho or refined Ladylike. No logos on the Preppy, no far-out shapes on the Boho, no extraneous gewgaws on the Ladylike. For sure you can't go wrong with:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd1psKQ9_ob0WI1AyIWIP_vvcAPxv-foPYHb9QMZkBnjhEFWWj79iydCBzOByjlKQTqGmb1qV6LTP30EGocOVbz9BB2Bf_8PhkrJC4oQOjEkUlhjeeUj6FenWNFKu6QZ0xwZiR94BIVjDVMF8Rko70i6qymBboZ7tWL7B2Ts_Pglj7g4MPk73hdLHYjA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="681" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd1psKQ9_ob0WI1AyIWIP_vvcAPxv-foPYHb9QMZkBnjhEFWWj79iydCBzOByjlKQTqGmb1qV6LTP30EGocOVbz9BB2Bf_8PhkrJC4oQOjEkUlhjeeUj6FenWNFKu6QZ0xwZiR94BIVjDVMF8Rko70i6qymBboZ7tWL7B2Ts_Pglj7g4MPk73hdLHYjA=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><br />Preppy: The black t-shirt and white jeans with supporting players— sandals, tote bag, big sunglasses and head scarf. Leave off the scarf if you like. Make the pants skinny, wide legs, boot cut or flared. Choose the style that fits you best. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-5RipPxYObaxmDQbZGAiNA732KE13NvRBYStqsDFbJGfZm9eipokvsSzNejl1oN-vdidxd4KPDhZwgf0GzmOuglq2hI8Y4tVNzXId2dZ3YVC5Zo6iNKlIJHT8qSbJSGATBqXzl8LL_IwwwSUW8WZVjak3lTwlDNb65ZDMIT0H2an3Q1N4XAAbsYQvZg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="385" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-5RipPxYObaxmDQbZGAiNA732KE13NvRBYStqsDFbJGfZm9eipokvsSzNejl1oN-vdidxd4KPDhZwgf0GzmOuglq2hI8Y4tVNzXId2dZ3YVC5Zo6iNKlIJHT8qSbJSGATBqXzl8LL_IwwwSUW8WZVjak3lTwlDNb65ZDMIT0H2an3Q1N4XAAbsYQvZg=w275-h640" width="275" /></a></div><br />Boho: Black top tucked into a midi skirt with a ruffle, worn with a wide belt, sandals, tote and sunglasses. Here's where the skirt has to flatter you too—maybe not so full or no ruffle. Try a wrap or an A-line. This one has buttons for more swoosh. Although I have a full collection of belts I've avoided wearing them since I lost my 24" waist. I should snap out of it.<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimBMbDdp6FLVA34dstKTIG26fOmOVm1OJl6X5JYYYkldwtOx7IsJQy2-FBoUOHKWl2gJIHbcRTpdkGVig3SJ8s4aL2bzjq6MutfA4fCV0xquVp75IOsSRQObXQNGLbuZOpSgOHT5NNlwFH7ABM7FSwBvtTIz64402QggzM4cRpUVImxbo5ukWNdbVOvQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1262" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimBMbDdp6FLVA34dstKTIG26fOmOVm1OJl6X5JYYYkldwtOx7IsJQy2-FBoUOHKWl2gJIHbcRTpdkGVig3SJ8s4aL2bzjq6MutfA4fCV0xquVp75IOsSRQObXQNGLbuZOpSgOHT5NNlwFH7ABM7FSwBvtTIz64402QggzM4cRpUVImxbo5ukWNdbVOvQ=w315-h400" width="315" /></a></div><br />Boho with Preppy: The button down shirt with a colorful summer skirt is a classic. Yes, it's a hat or a hairdo, but the straw hat acts as the third piece to make this an outfit. Subtle, but notice how the shirt blends but doesn't match any of the colors in the skirt.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjznZ9kpj5CUcBuch2ACYe_zNbH-p4_dHPx1RZJjnGVhg463ubyGTGbjV38_2BMJHOiVVq4_3ilX2gfbdXU632O5xupLkivaX_ePjlA5h06wksurjQwRKD2BcRVCFHWdJklOw1NmKZ8NdpQmk7m7NlzjcyUwZ6kwilBLPw3pgd-u6H439NRjLYOH6bqGw/s1072/Screen%20Shot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.06.36%20AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="578" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjznZ9kpj5CUcBuch2ACYe_zNbH-p4_dHPx1RZJjnGVhg463ubyGTGbjV38_2BMJHOiVVq4_3ilX2gfbdXU632O5xupLkivaX_ePjlA5h06wksurjQwRKD2BcRVCFHWdJklOw1NmKZ8NdpQmk7m7NlzjcyUwZ6kwilBLPw3pgd-u6H439NRjLYOH6bqGw/w216-h400/Screen%20Shot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.06.36%20AM.png" width="216" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD31LLcx1j75a7kWF_dyp0if-5PS27iaA2mz_K9Axm28kJQnMCvIOS59AijJasu-BK1jfj3jBJmT2s1FBDM5De11_QuNzKW4zny4gmjTowy_aTcB-baMfn0RPoEeg01Uhj80H3moxxHnQHwCn2y5z4b_eI56QTlfIXV5RzBv2Vj-SfgBi8e65JutKYyA/s930/Screen%20Shot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.04.04%20AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="930" data-original-width="418" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD31LLcx1j75a7kWF_dyp0if-5PS27iaA2mz_K9Axm28kJQnMCvIOS59AijJasu-BK1jfj3jBJmT2s1FBDM5De11_QuNzKW4zny4gmjTowy_aTcB-baMfn0RPoEeg01Uhj80H3moxxHnQHwCn2y5z4b_eI56QTlfIXV5RzBv2Vj-SfgBi8e65JutKYyA/w180-h400/Screen%20Shot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.04.04%20AM.png" width="180" /></a></div><br /></div><div><div><div>Preppy and Boho: The colors make the difference. You couldn't get any preppier than red and blue unless it was red, white and blue. The oddball mustard-colored pants make the same shapes Boho.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0mqfHJucmIweSdb80koTlMy1FWglk5gjfVISAo3dHUIaInDRPrr_OZeeM5p_TCi8tuf9jLDsi1jB1A2nrtR7yY7Bc2ruDipOPYQ6xj9Tjn7MlTBp3LU7QGj8YPhKP-MZC4XSG_Ok3cwnQRprLjwvnVIv7uXvarpKMctvCdHKQgrLdUmMhRdMuBNc6_Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0mqfHJucmIweSdb80koTlMy1FWglk5gjfVISAo3dHUIaInDRPrr_OZeeM5p_TCi8tuf9jLDsi1jB1A2nrtR7yY7Bc2ruDipOPYQ6xj9Tjn7MlTBp3LU7QGj8YPhKP-MZC4XSG_Ok3cwnQRprLjwvnVIv7uXvarpKMctvCdHKQgrLdUmMhRdMuBNc6_Q=w320-h320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Preppy with Ladylike: Jackie showcased oversized gingham in the early '60s. She took an American staple thought of as folksy and made it cool. There really hasn't been a summer when gingham something wasn't a perfect choice. Okay, you think you want sleeves. Will you accept a cap sleeve or drop shoulder? They are not impossible to find.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ladylike: Obviously the white gloves are off the table, as is the matching bag and shoes. White shoes themselves have become "bone" or "neutral", but you can't go wrong with a simple silhouette. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjR1DO3Gan10Rfsirk47KdR4aLyBpvSAICblL2nIPiFgJiuV5HpU2FsBrQvh2rxO3XRovMxx9MFKz8gCyA2iHTqRCimHQ_-eIDdNvXD8SGyKQkVGf5ptsBbu5CHJMgaGbTQ5-_ydy7J0cZml3pmS6gH8eyyElBTaPBrmFp75Sjbr7qGmuHl4MOp9vLsg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="570" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjR1DO3Gan10Rfsirk47KdR4aLyBpvSAICblL2nIPiFgJiuV5HpU2FsBrQvh2rxO3XRovMxx9MFKz8gCyA2iHTqRCimHQ_-eIDdNvXD8SGyKQkVGf5ptsBbu5CHJMgaGbTQ5-_ydy7J0cZml3pmS6gH8eyyElBTaPBrmFp75Sjbr7qGmuHl4MOp9vLsg=w255-h320" width="255" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19T_-eOYzymlvzg8ppJlDGIYTWztKnqvCZuC9cGnpdZruB4vAynxqIUaD2TqYkczKMiqAwouMhhFaFUfQXXl6hBXqV0benb648d48xXPAlpbPgIpNOWU_r2rpE-DBLipd7vtnc08wEacACq3ODAapEkgj4Vjwxchm8lkmtF3R7QSrd4IhUU7eCjlmgw/s636/4272780_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="477" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19T_-eOYzymlvzg8ppJlDGIYTWztKnqvCZuC9cGnpdZruB4vAynxqIUaD2TqYkczKMiqAwouMhhFaFUfQXXl6hBXqV0benb648d48xXPAlpbPgIpNOWU_r2rpE-DBLipd7vtnc08wEacACq3ODAapEkgj4Vjwxchm8lkmtF3R7QSrd4IhUU7eCjlmgw/w300-h400/4272780_orig.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>When she visited India as First Lady in 1962 Jackie went to great lengths planning her clothes to reflect and honor her destination. She didn't go for a wardrobe of saris, which might have been interpreted as cultural misappropriation (if we had thought in those terms). Instead she adapted the current silhouettes (which she also inspired) with fabrics and colors that would play well throughout her trip. Shouldn't you always think about where you're going when you plan a vacation?<br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /><p></p><p><br /><br /></p></div></div></div>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-89208183482300811202023-05-13T18:51:00.001-05:002023-05-13T18:51:46.907-05:00Women We Love: Dame Edna<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxdvL4ZWfs_LrWbVNHD06-dcoQ9vibxtswahQn60IuD8XcV2sj4pvjlz68REX5pA05icGzCDLRkH0oSz4fhcPeVaDawOijcxxk3aMFGBH2Iej8ZCsnBnVpbsoS8YBjf5EWyMGb_SfXJes8pfq2IAZnu-4Fx1-tfVwwnHtF_MEWm2TKiDEN8Vr9nZ8eRg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="715" data-original-width="1024" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxdvL4ZWfs_LrWbVNHD06-dcoQ9vibxtswahQn60IuD8XcV2sj4pvjlz68REX5pA05icGzCDLRkH0oSz4fhcPeVaDawOijcxxk3aMFGBH2Iej8ZCsnBnVpbsoS8YBjf5EWyMGb_SfXJes8pfq2IAZnu-4Fx1-tfVwwnHtF_MEWm2TKiDEN8Vr9nZ8eRg=w400-h279" width="400" /></a></div><br />Or shall I say "the late Dame Edna"? Word has come that Dame Edna Everage passed away at age 89. Virginia Graham, Patricia Routledge as Hyacinth Bucket and Dame Edna have always been my favorite "women so far-out they can't possibly be women". And one was not.<p></p><p>Dame Edna barely admitted to being Barry Humphries, the Australian comedian who created her in the 1950s. Or was it the other way around? At her death, Dame Edna's estate released an obituary of Barry Humphries that all us possums (as she liked to call her adoring subjects) will enjoy:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil162Kaa3HcaAMDM0D1iL-CFWrEhiAVR7v6MUOMwACm1JBe9NaSOzSp5hwavQelNGhWcyKLbizMPsK_W5h5FAhUuAbVHTiALTnxJiLTlm6Vo1zeh1l_g_1wQHLCRZM3EZaDwMia9uHh0M5gRGgvBB3_hI8yy51vmTVPmiM_3NuDsurbtEcvPbB_OKjQQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="870" data-original-width="694" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil162Kaa3HcaAMDM0D1iL-CFWrEhiAVR7v6MUOMwACm1JBe9NaSOzSp5hwavQelNGhWcyKLbizMPsK_W5h5FAhUuAbVHTiALTnxJiLTlm6Vo1zeh1l_g_1wQHLCRZM3EZaDwMia9uHh0M5gRGgvBB3_hI8yy51vmTVPmiM_3NuDsurbtEcvPbB_OKjQQ=w319-h400" width="319" /></a></div><br />Drag goes back in my memory, from crazy Uncle Miltie clomping in heels across 1950s television to the fun of seeing Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon dolled up as flappers (albeit to escape Chicago gangsters) in 1959's "Some Like it Hot". Of course some of form of drag has been around for ages, and this post is not about drag history. What's clear is drag is now celebrated and enjoyed in popular culture as never before. And like everything fun, from Elvis to deep-fried Twinkies, there are those who say it's bad for you.<div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPmtRnkZ5txmZs7vLHIhM5Cqx9FcncMm_j-yeNGHjmH1P8aiRIHtDJt4GuUOSMXbyr_E7B-e0kFz7Fc1yQn3VY80DbwSPx4mofAcm4c5LAMTF6jV84NCi4m9DBCB1jwRuVtYjoxgCpjKlf6mQRTMBimsd9xvJGAYyWMq00DD1zL5UwUXfYIaEw1T_-gg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="929" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPmtRnkZ5txmZs7vLHIhM5Cqx9FcncMm_j-yeNGHjmH1P8aiRIHtDJt4GuUOSMXbyr_E7B-e0kFz7Fc1yQn3VY80DbwSPx4mofAcm4c5LAMTF6jV84NCi4m9DBCB1jwRuVtYjoxgCpjKlf6mQRTMBimsd9xvJGAYyWMq00DD1zL5UwUXfYIaEw1T_-gg=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>She charmed everyone...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Last night I had the pleasure of seeing a local production of "The Legend of Georgia McBride". Georgia is the drag persona of an affable, straight young man whose not just bad but terrible Elvis impersonation is getting him nowhere. Through plot twists only a playwright could concoct he is forced to replace a drag performer doing Edith Piaf and ends up, after a lot of determined hard work, creating the beloved Georgia McBride (with a little Elvis thrown in).</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoqj8JR9zoQGn5ZAzYuldF4jtamxvZNh0aEWlJS7a3lhEEu9b1F_7Cg5oE-lFVtvOxVY073AusIRqUOsyqgDYSQYurMAhtZIV0GCQ_vGzad-hz1lvHS51zqg3GscHs25Q96WxeYH6Ke6D2I9a2omC1mA-wuMHTK4TWbrR56-QrY4lbbd9YwGbmdE_AcQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1570" data-original-width="2355" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoqj8JR9zoQGn5ZAzYuldF4jtamxvZNh0aEWlJS7a3lhEEu9b1F_7Cg5oE-lFVtvOxVY073AusIRqUOsyqgDYSQYurMAhtZIV0GCQ_vGzad-hz1lvHS51zqg3GscHs25Q96WxeYH6Ke6D2I9a2omC1mA-wuMHTK4TWbrR56-QrY4lbbd9YwGbmdE_AcQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Georgia and Company</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>As could be expected, it's a fun show with many laughs and over-the-top routines. There are heartfelt revelations as the two long-time drag performers tell us how much drag means to them. Our hero struggles with why he avoids telling his wife what he's really doing and questions should he even be doing it. I couldn't help thinking <i>this is a play for our time</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unlike Ru Paul who seamlessly morphs from Ru Paul to RU PAUL, I never thought of Dame Edna as anything but a delightful, eccentric grande dame, someone I would love to be if I dared and had lost all sense of dressing tastefully. Barry never entered my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4KpcK6L-gRFyhxwlYubgyaAdb2PCLH9vlxf411eypNsrti4_FPFbAFxQ6YHoh1omjAdEsld_TWuK51yjeK-as_y2DAnrxKGF-JenX76JI98M0A7WMZapy3WfVnlJ0f9OQpK3Xa8y8kI1tglv4-mzyI2lASRtttB4DOIjqzMp_iPdKyrlNadyb65d45g" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="620" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4KpcK6L-gRFyhxwlYubgyaAdb2PCLH9vlxf411eypNsrti4_FPFbAFxQ6YHoh1omjAdEsld_TWuK51yjeK-as_y2DAnrxKGF-JenX76JI98M0A7WMZapy3WfVnlJ0f9OQpK3Xa8y8kI1tglv4-mzyI2lASRtttB4DOIjqzMp_iPdKyrlNadyb65d45g=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Barry as Barry and Dame Edna as herself</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-50020393318342121402023-05-10T14:33:00.000-05:002023-05-10T14:33:40.002-05:00Stylish Read: "Anna" by Amy Odell<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTljbzUz5QJfaK0fGDV1G9fHEz1qKlqvZNPwxGIoL50KqxiHNy18wHuMR_vJg5CgrPZsAkvyYSqetnOn21QtJckk9WxvAxFBJaHmIzW2nRcKd86FpgpE_XBN4qg3bRbVLUUfkyjrDrCcSXEemJuSK3RoHW6kc4BMNi8vbRsAsqgROcd_r64gKkxC2ZnA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="556" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTljbzUz5QJfaK0fGDV1G9fHEz1qKlqvZNPwxGIoL50KqxiHNy18wHuMR_vJg5CgrPZsAkvyYSqetnOn21QtJckk9WxvAxFBJaHmIzW2nRcKd86FpgpE_XBN4qg3bRbVLUUfkyjrDrCcSXEemJuSK3RoHW6kc4BMNi8vbRsAsqgROcd_r64gKkxC2ZnA=w271-h400" width="271" /></a></div></div><p></p><p>If you think of Anna as the devil in "The Devil Wears Prada", Amy Odell's biography won't change your mind. If you've always given Anna Wintour benefit of the doubt—how could anyone be that self-centered and self-serving?—you may still. </p><p>Amy Odell's tone is mostly reportorial, using positive quotes from co-workers, acquaintances and—yes—a few friends. So Anna likes dogs and tennis and can joke around? That doesn't a person make, and the facts pretty much speak for themselves.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzeUjCjPQCUiM0Fxyjxw4mLClGaJPxQg2XstntM_7At4gTXBKWPkJ4aTCdSuTU6vqdBGuq5I9Ju6pRt-Vogc6AKmxhVolMo1ncbwv7rKbyh6ZcQUCRKBtCqlr-OHJKKNxu-TsElWJbdD6MaB0o5B3chHNofE0Qr9qakByPibNWTwET42I3KEsE5nuI7A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1054" data-original-width="762" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzeUjCjPQCUiM0Fxyjxw4mLClGaJPxQg2XstntM_7At4gTXBKWPkJ4aTCdSuTU6vqdBGuq5I9Ju6pRt-Vogc6AKmxhVolMo1ncbwv7rKbyh6ZcQUCRKBtCqlr-OHJKKNxu-TsElWJbdD6MaB0o5B3chHNofE0Qr9qakByPibNWTwET42I3KEsE5nuI7A=w290-h400" width="290" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Anna I as I think of her—very alone</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I waited quite a while for my library hold to come up, and there were only five people before me. Some reader or readers had it for a very long time, and I think I know why. It's a bit of a slog. <p></p><p>Though I knew a little about many of those mentioned, I still found myself Googling and going down tangential rabbit holes, slowing the reading even more. The author also makes no bones about using published sources, so if you've read your Tina Brown, Graces Mirabella and Coddington, Andre Leon Talley, etc., you will find them quoted here.</p><p>Hers was not a straight path to the top, now Global Chief Content Officer of Condé Nast, a position that didn't exist before Anna. Her ambition was always to be Editor of Vogue and she never hid that from anyone. During a job interview with Grace Mirabella (thenVogue's Editor), when asked what position she would like, said, "I want your job."</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAjBvWB8AleA-IzVsbwdJO2_hmDaLPYXiBJpyQCtBDDw72x-lkalPoVQ6IQZR1WlNaOm7ra_0lpiesVcGiwQCsX4qIG9su3L6DJx_JbFUk-EhuKCNYqPl970BKzKyuG5HJmPdoHW2ux4-SA98LGIUnuFojJHjdmdzcQjdTMdRWA5KS_v35RQCJxlIGIA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="380" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAjBvWB8AleA-IzVsbwdJO2_hmDaLPYXiBJpyQCtBDDw72x-lkalPoVQ6IQZR1WlNaOm7ra_0lpiesVcGiwQCsX4qIG9su3L6DJx_JbFUk-EhuKCNYqPl970BKzKyuG5HJmPdoHW2ux4-SA98LGIUnuFojJHjdmdzcQjdTMdRWA5KS_v35RQCJxlIGIA=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Looking uncharacteristically vulnerable</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Anna is both hard to root for and hard to root against. Her determination and work ethic are admirable. No one has ever accused her of slacking, only a little shirking (getting others to do what she didn't want to). Her ideas of reporting fashion and style were often ahead of their time. Her armor-plating kept her from backing down from her beliefs. What she lacks (at least in public) is a sense of humor, the saving grace of someone like Martha Stewart or even Elon Musk, who can laugh at themselves while still forging ahead.</p><p>I've worked for people I liked and respected (the best), and I've worked for people I respected but didn't particulary like (a few). I've also worked for some I did not like and did not respect (that never lasted long). I've never worked for someone I was afraid of, and that would seem to be many of Anna's hires. No doubt this is no fault of her own as Anna's reputation always precedes her. </p><p>"Anna" is also a sober commentary on the state of print publishing today. It's not my imagination that since 2012 magazines have gotten thinner and less frequent. The question is, are they also less relevant?With her continued influence across platforms of fashion, media and culture, that's clearly not a question to ask of Anna Wintour.</p><p><br /></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-78374505751016710512023-04-22T12:05:00.021-05:002023-04-23T10:37:27.412-05:00Would You if You Could?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8lZY1wDBQ_LIKzL1yhDMRiPbp5wQt_VKdvFK3ETTVuP6EHEiG4PFgnyQ0kzJ47OrTt8g9ktVwiuwCc2wFmskYx6vmN8oiHnWj2jWZJN1ulSN7zG6HX17J5uV_PeYXfpT_PU5aVxGLAqq4HAaEt7yQZ_2qz5ekkFS2r6LB6ayYgqKsZPSN2UTvkKNTgg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8lZY1wDBQ_LIKzL1yhDMRiPbp5wQt_VKdvFK3ETTVuP6EHEiG4PFgnyQ0kzJ47OrTt8g9ktVwiuwCc2wFmskYx6vmN8oiHnWj2jWZJN1ulSN7zG6HX17J5uV_PeYXfpT_PU5aVxGLAqq4HAaEt7yQZ_2qz5ekkFS2r6LB6ayYgqKsZPSN2UTvkKNTgg=w320-h200" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFVhlFK1UV9lp-HCP5stFgHb5tpS3XfmNXpAr0hI52JYFTc6O59CVqsJ_0n06wXOTlwnypvN6IuRpGhpHfIN08d3vfwJwj-E4jMRYMcppwXPNfRPtBqekxpVHpFOYH-JiQL3mm-_wxAp5neCAIF2utoxeDoaGB4KQxwLudBtsfqZIGZJmXRExWB35Biw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFVhlFK1UV9lp-HCP5stFgHb5tpS3XfmNXpAr0hI52JYFTc6O59CVqsJ_0n06wXOTlwnypvN6IuRpGhpHfIN08d3vfwJwj-E4jMRYMcppwXPNfRPtBqekxpVHpFOYH-JiQL3mm-_wxAp5neCAIF2utoxeDoaGB4KQxwLudBtsfqZIGZJmXRExWB35Biw" width="320" /></a></div></div><p></p><p>The other day at the Lovely Little Boutique Where I Work (which in fact sells moderately-priced casual clothing to a mostly mature customer) a client spent close to $2,000 buying two of everything she picked out.</p><p>Not that one should ever assume, but coming into the store she didn't exactly look like someone who would have duplicate closets. Not dripping with diamonds, no chauffeured limo waiting at the curb, she was lovely and undemanding. At first I thought she must have a twin and they still dressed alike. No, she has two homes in different states and likes to travel light.</p><p>I've been thinking about this. Not only was that not an everyday occurrence, it was later followed by a customer who rudely declared she wanted no help and proceeded to tear up the place looking for some pants I could have found for her in ten seconds. </p><p>That's a whole other retail rant. Why do some customers (and this is only the rare few) treat sales associates like lesser beings? Many of us have either been at our gigs for eons and know more what you're looking for than you do. The newbies may have been head of nursing at a prestigious hospital or a federal judge (among two of my recently retired co-workers). Like I said, one should never assume.</p><p>But would you, if you could, buy two of everything? Would it be worth packing a suitcase to have more variety? Or is it better to have a smaller wardrobe with less hassle? I know where I would land. If I could travel with a stand-up walk-in trunk, I would. It's that hard to decide what to pack because how will I know what I want to wear? What mood will I be in? What will I be doing? Where will I be going? When forced to I traveled carry-on for a ten-day European trip and forgot to be bored with my limited wardrobe, but that's not a scenario I relish. And if I had homes in two very different places, wouldn't my clothing choices be different too? </p><p>I will, of course, never know the answer because the two homes I've had were never at the same time.</p><p>But would you, if you could???</p><p> </p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-15058223400764377632023-03-29T19:16:00.000-05:002023-03-29T19:16:25.409-05:00Wise Words from Isaac<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg33hFcEEr9WCowRQq_qA8-J7I0gFQb0SRC3pMT37vxJj7TXCF6XpFwnIuLLK4Yh_ZcG_4ZmDwEoUU-_bVrI-fJe9XC1ETVChNQyQM7mXV62Xly8DRIXDaWUfonib2aUnAwJ3xJ1TexK86CJWDtqamCRGqePcMSbAv3V8tgX_y9ZaNlkHgTsowuhhTg3A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg33hFcEEr9WCowRQq_qA8-J7I0gFQb0SRC3pMT37vxJj7TXCF6XpFwnIuLLK4Yh_ZcG_4ZmDwEoUU-_bVrI-fJe9XC1ETVChNQyQM7mXV62Xly8DRIXDaWUfonib2aUnAwJ3xJ1TexK86CJWDtqamCRGqePcMSbAv3V8tgX_y9ZaNlkHgTsowuhhTg3A=w400-h200" width="400" /></a></div><br />I love Isaac Mizrahi. You know who he is. If you don't, Google. Isaac was in Houston this week as guest speaker for The Jung Center's Spring Benefit. He presented "I.M. Enough: An Evening with Isaac Mizrahi" at the River Oaks Country Club.<p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8SGjq1Ws-d1HgNlvDITLDRO62bA1xUj3QkNLNXKSNf4n-O6KXYhtTCl2ZI3vbVeQ0DX-qjUHLrQkoCh2Ran7Ub-jLCnbrmju1sJ81Dv2Zvghgv0ZMRfWNm3gbYSZJy03-7EHDkD0byFzZX3uu-dJZVOJ3jBDn2v9q-CkthSlRQAkbx6VA2cni1l78OQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1780" data-original-width="1128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8SGjq1Ws-d1HgNlvDITLDRO62bA1xUj3QkNLNXKSNf4n-O6KXYhtTCl2ZI3vbVeQ0DX-qjUHLrQkoCh2Ran7Ub-jLCnbrmju1sJ81Dv2Zvghgv0ZMRfWNm3gbYSZJy03-7EHDkD0byFzZX3uu-dJZVOJ3jBDn2v9q-CkthSlRQAkbx6VA2cni1l78OQ=w254-h400" width="254" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Isaac in Houston</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I've no doubt it was a boffo event, but at $150 for the Zoom attendance and $500 for the in-person, I wasn't going. Besides, I had "an evening with Isaac Mizrahi" one night in Bloomingdale's Manhattan flagship when he was launching an Isaac ready-to-wear line. It was free and even included a VHS copy of "Unzipped".</p><p>As I said, Google if this sounds like gibberish.</p><p>Before his appearance, Andrew Dansby, a staff writer on the Houston Chronicle, had a Q&A with Isaac. One of the questions went like this:</p><p><i>Q: You haven't cut ties with fashion entirely. But it's a much smaller part of the public persona you present.</i></p><p><i>A: What's funny, I don't always know how to put this. I love clothes. I love clothes the same way I did in my teens and 20s and 30s. Fashion? Not so much. I adore textiles, styles, people wearing wonderful things. Fashion? Not so much."</i></p><p>Isaac, you have hit the nail on the head. That's where the problem lies. I too adore textiles, styles, people wearing wonderful things. Fashion? Not so much. So that's why fashion reporting leaves me cold, fashion magazines leave me empty, but a museum retrospective leaves me wanting more! </p><p>I think Isaac is saying fashion and style are not one and the same. You can have style without being in fashion and you can be in fashion without having style. I know what side I want to be on.</p><p>Thanks, Isaac. </p><p> </p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-5485386188930259202023-03-01T09:59:00.002-06:002023-03-01T10:04:57.733-06:00Good as Gold<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaIiWmGvAuCIJFJwwmgUlVhDZ8DgwZ8k2P1qeK131QHsgmEFoZalolSFlVKAMKmGd62w5XgQoxTFzgNhu9GCURALjD7o94_2Wpf6AkJHWR1_9C6xo_c5NV1P8FlKjHx0tkOx6vAIIjAT8CCzNwsgp9lfLf8tEzKgdQb0NHxJGk180QdiKrAH8xi3qWiQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="363" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaIiWmGvAuCIJFJwwmgUlVhDZ8DgwZ8k2P1qeK131QHsgmEFoZalolSFlVKAMKmGd62w5XgQoxTFzgNhu9GCURALjD7o94_2Wpf6AkJHWR1_9C6xo_c5NV1P8FlKjHx0tkOx6vAIIjAT8CCzNwsgp9lfLf8tEzKgdQb0NHxJGk180QdiKrAH8xi3qWiQ=w320-h242" width="320" /></a></div><br />When GAP shows gilded jeans, The NY Times catches the stylish-in-the-street wearing gold apparel, and designers start dipping their ware in gold, what are we thinking? Gold has never <i>not</i> been a thing, of course, from ancient Egypt to James Bond, but this is more gold than I've seen in a while.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7xDeVcSEMpJunvuVOqIteXzEfRISCQE3gNIl06G0SxdFymoBxTL1vI46lib7YKBKNYIg6ptY6tz94vpVtGaDrnj2Li_apUX3Q0OQkU7NpgAQLUljPF2JUGvHrgszaRRiqy_vN1C-uDCOWniJCWdiBXlJrFoqnKv9cHkeoKvsuD5BvvKVdKtTwBsZgbQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1564" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7xDeVcSEMpJunvuVOqIteXzEfRISCQE3gNIl06G0SxdFymoBxTL1vI46lib7YKBKNYIg6ptY6tz94vpVtGaDrnj2Li_apUX3Q0OQkU7NpgAQLUljPF2JUGvHrgszaRRiqy_vN1C-uDCOWniJCWdiBXlJrFoqnKv9cHkeoKvsuD5BvvKVdKtTwBsZgbQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Chanel, Gucci, Kors SS/23</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'll go out on a gold olive branch and say Madame predicts gold is the next big trend. Full disclosure: I just picked up a cropped golden jacket that I can longer wear (too warm), but I had to have it.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYqQR8-61SItv8WOmlevHfGigPbOd9Ln1vX8WUnCxb-52WDgtgQq7qjV1iuW9QDK1gdgp9Q5orxDf8ZSs4dSPWxLQSXUHrzB7eYSvwilghL12tLYcEQ4lxu_TK0ZfdzB849oVwhLD82O7ctoUIb8F4bOfF_yP8T0_Zxhufrep79KHjRshdrVFcmIWozg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="706" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYqQR8-61SItv8WOmlevHfGigPbOd9Ln1vX8WUnCxb-52WDgtgQq7qjV1iuW9QDK1gdgp9Q5orxDf8ZSs4dSPWxLQSXUHrzB7eYSvwilghL12tLYcEQ4lxu_TK0ZfdzB849oVwhLD82O7ctoUIb8F4bOfF_yP8T0_Zxhufrep79KHjRshdrVFcmIWozg" width="235" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Will hang in wait of cooler temps...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Is it odd that coming off sweats 24/7 for a few years, the hip new look would be one of the world's most precious metals? Styling has to be ironic though—gold jeans for day, not so much gold spangles for night (that's always okay). PS Those jeans are on back order till April 24. See what I mean?<div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHj0C9lEbV7w3xXy_jVqQ228XDKKhDtiimPuvOayWL-UZ6IpPEnngowA0gT8YAPZ5slYapCG7BZkQbXodB3BWmRC3_53PMPmVh4PSx92OCSKTcS7GwEKSxC38piSjc9FFp1aSUttMkuciAmnv18jhxFQUWCW-9jTZ6uNoaJ73TrBaCTIjpP_-wG-Cg3w" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="868" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHj0C9lEbV7w3xXy_jVqQ228XDKKhDtiimPuvOayWL-UZ6IpPEnngowA0gT8YAPZ5slYapCG7BZkQbXodB3BWmRC3_53PMPmVh4PSx92OCSKTcS7GwEKSxC38piSjc9FFp1aSUttMkuciAmnv18jhxFQUWCW-9jTZ6uNoaJ73TrBaCTIjpP_-wG-Cg3w=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The GAP jeans</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Once upon a time I did have a pair of gold loafers. Eventually the "gold" flaked off. My carpet was something of a shiny mess. Today's gold fabrication is amazing. You could almost call it liquid gold.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWm0NMkayezTulI1NigGtt9WDY4CKbG4fLZdjk__d-_Z7jXetXyKILoGR2oMrxqOziKDAhM8KyA_koApgZz2m8Ov-EVJs9mrGmhy3VzCNWOn9rb7BINcNuKHeOoFUD0SV0uOzeMssaCDGKMzfJqyDYElC9kPuP4UgPI-bjPWf-_5kqDkEpLL_r47B4uA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="1094" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWm0NMkayezTulI1NigGtt9WDY4CKbG4fLZdjk__d-_Z7jXetXyKILoGR2oMrxqOziKDAhM8KyA_koApgZz2m8Ov-EVJs9mrGmhy3VzCNWOn9rb7BINcNuKHeOoFUD0SV0uOzeMssaCDGKMzfJqyDYElC9kPuP4UgPI-bjPWf-_5kqDkEpLL_r47B4uA" width="320" /></a></div><br />So why not silver, you may ask? Well, no one minds looking like the Bond girl (despite her unpleasant demise), but who wants to look like the tin man?</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxRsmzRYcB-FBcnHR3R7GMfaFOpI3DndQcjIO2wu40a3SAXEzTPLK8LjfYJWFf9OgtnW11lfMG2_n_kIc0FesCNC4hMcfWJAyBGH0K-_pniC_BN_oTvt9eFmoDYhQr_RO6hiqJ753PooNGYAOEfK9QTxqbS9s_kGHk8c7kucvBg1EpnXr53cWiytewpQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="1030" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxRsmzRYcB-FBcnHR3R7GMfaFOpI3DndQcjIO2wu40a3SAXEzTPLK8LjfYJWFf9OgtnW11lfMG2_n_kIc0FesCNC4hMcfWJAyBGH0K-_pniC_BN_oTvt9eFmoDYhQr_RO6hiqJ753PooNGYAOEfK9QTxqbS9s_kGHk8c7kucvBg1EpnXr53cWiytewpQ=w296-h320" width="296" /></a></div><br /><br /><div><div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p></div></div></div>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-66564607406310469692023-02-21T10:03:00.002-06:002023-02-21T11:53:04.516-06:00Battles Royale I Have Won and Lost<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5LGLjdssIe3EXzax2KJbKpiRFdWc0rNR1r02Vtg5inGNrcDFsqj5bPnktwam80bqqmscwHoX2a_XBdSpf5mJCgvcf4fn3nOeyEYMiQpdu4gC3Tafw4JESN9mYcr_dENqMBcrEYUdQgr25L3-q_C7piIob3ZrZfqHGKqsxOw4hlye0novQ9eBbWDc0fQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="1040" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5LGLjdssIe3EXzax2KJbKpiRFdWc0rNR1r02Vtg5inGNrcDFsqj5bPnktwam80bqqmscwHoX2a_XBdSpf5mJCgvcf4fn3nOeyEYMiQpdu4gC3Tafw4JESN9mYcr_dENqMBcrEYUdQgr25L3-q_C7piIob3ZrZfqHGKqsxOw4hlye0novQ9eBbWDc0fQ=w292-h320" width="292" /></a></div><br />Was I a difficult child? I never thought so until I looked at my childhood through the clothes I wore. Some would tell a different story. There is a point to this, readers, if you are good enough to bear with me. <div><p></p><p>My mother had incredible taste if not much money. I was probably too well dressed as I never remember anyone with an outfit like this one, brown wool with brown velvet trim, head-to-toe. I must have appreciated its fairy-tale quality as this was not the cause for a Battle Royale.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeEKiY4QK_NhYydLFjETEsqPY_vj22RKQFZsvBri3-9slKioLUCtiQ6-OPprQWPuVpQlJ8a4oijZ4L7p_zXrgwvw5MEcaz0h06G7c__jnxyLH_RBcTDWEF4w63MvJtY6djTQN4q2tLcFYtOz8tbjZY6wrrnuppR43sK9vbSaSIpwx0odZClAVaKJ3-mQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2056" data-original-width="1384" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeEKiY4QK_NhYydLFjETEsqPY_vj22RKQFZsvBri3-9slKioLUCtiQ6-OPprQWPuVpQlJ8a4oijZ4L7p_zXrgwvw5MEcaz0h06G7c__jnxyLH_RBcTDWEF4w63MvJtY6djTQN4q2tLcFYtOz8tbjZY6wrrnuppR43sK9vbSaSIpwx0odZClAVaKJ3-mQ=w216-h320" width="216" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Michelle-in-Wonderland</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Oh, but there were a few. Only one was a knock-down-drag-out tearful affair that I won but quickly realized I had lost. More on that later.<p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE AFFAIR OF THE ZIPPER</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a young child escalators in department stores frightened me, and zippers frustrated me. While I eventually learned how to go up and down the one, I couldn't master the other. I wore a snowsuit— heavy poplin jacket with matching pants, padded like a fat suit. Quasi waterproof, worn whether it was snowing or not. It was Cleveland. In the winter. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Zipped up by my mother when I left for school, I could not zip it myself at recess or when it was time to go home. I tried; I watched how other kids did theirs. Unlike the escalator I didn't think the zipper would eat me alive, but I couldn't get the knack. Ultimately the teacher had to zip me. This became annoying enough for her to send a note home. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Next thing I knew my clever-with-a-needle mother had gone to work. Where there had been a zipper was now a row of (just a little too) big green buttons. Teacher was happy. I eventually taught a jacket zipper who was boss, but to this day breathe a small sigh of satisfaction when it zips.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>SCORE: WIN</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHOpTw4_snyh9NTNltQW9n5QePWwrlRRGQJ_L1I-wATdbuamBEaXHy6k_7XB8RZr925p5wgJQGGdYCGMPMS0K9-QEKJIA67Kxgn9grHdnhaam7x2quj9RwVBckF3Wa5vmbb_3Vval-VOPMKmSC3jN7xwG2ggsayUh18fp2ehb8VQmZHW2lOaJ70KZgYw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2074" data-original-width="1756" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHOpTw4_snyh9NTNltQW9n5QePWwrlRRGQJ_L1I-wATdbuamBEaXHy6k_7XB8RZr925p5wgJQGGdYCGMPMS0K9-QEKJIA67Kxgn9grHdnhaam7x2quj9RwVBckF3Wa5vmbb_3Vval-VOPMKmSC3jN7xwG2ggsayUh18fp2ehb8VQmZHW2lOaJ70KZgYw=w271-h320" width="271" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thanks, Mom</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b>GOING STRAPLESS</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Although I did have a pair of jeans, in my late '40s-early 50s childhood, girls mostly wore skirts. Mine always had matching shoulder straps. The jeans got a pair of suspenders. What I've never really had were shoulders, and you need those to hold stuff up. The straps were always slipping down.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFBMbtPqDkhNdlVQcg2CnvGhf-SW7XHUkH9jSIEiiTSexeKotw3HC0KZkGZTtsLuNFC1RW5lwxwcjpq1XXTao86gfEzhRNtbqzRWyhxurK6KMJIQXSXq3Y3zhKtzIaNaywsbZAL87OXpUQfcBkp6cf_djQVwNRy28gvfELKjk5fnLmqB5pBapPlmGM5A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2058" data-original-width="1350" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFBMbtPqDkhNdlVQcg2CnvGhf-SW7XHUkH9jSIEiiTSexeKotw3HC0KZkGZTtsLuNFC1RW5lwxwcjpq1XXTao86gfEzhRNtbqzRWyhxurK6KMJIQXSXq3Y3zhKtzIaNaywsbZAL87OXpUQfcBkp6cf_djQVwNRy28gvfELKjk5fnLmqB5pBapPlmGM5A=w209-h320" width="209" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is a hold-up.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When you think about it, what were they really for? Those pants were not going to fall off my body. Either was the skirt, securely fastened as it was around my waist. Perhaps they were a conceit of children's fashion. But I know I lobbied for their removal <i>for years</i>, or so it seemed. I think the happy day arrived when we moved to the suburbs where no one wore straps. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>SCORE: WIN</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhszqhCHgsGPFqRq48DvIRwcfm-fvOt8bXDPTbSeCbohNn7LgOkiqP3dbzraCALTFg_M1Vohhf6J0Kn5ZQcGub9KHcvT3qrL3tXParHs5-8UD-P0yC_JM43HfaoT00RUKqEI_K7sGqs1fy5pkyVr5AxLkQHtBG-yxRIaqgk5ghJutyEykPkk1UplplUEA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="730" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhszqhCHgsGPFqRq48DvIRwcfm-fvOt8bXDPTbSeCbohNn7LgOkiqP3dbzraCALTFg_M1Vohhf6J0Kn5ZQcGub9KHcvT3qrL3tXParHs5-8UD-P0yC_JM43HfaoT00RUKqEI_K7sGqs1fy5pkyVr5AxLkQHtBG-yxRIaqgk5ghJutyEykPkk1UplplUEA=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>'Twas the fashion...</i></td></tr></tbody></table></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>SWEATER WEATHER</b></div><div>My mother followed a few rules along the line of <i>you can't go swimming for 30 minutes after eating.</i> Another was <i>you can't go out without a sweater if it's under 70 degree</i>s. I grew up in Cleveland, remember? Seventy degrees can be a long time coming. There was always a temperature check before leaving the house. Under 70? Must wear sweater. You would think I would play along only until out of sight then rip off the sweater, but I never did. I believed that mothers knew everything and could see beyond the block.</div><div><b>SCORE: LOSS</b> </div><div><br /></div><div><b>THE PASSIVE AGGRESSION OF CHOCOLATE </b></div><div>Consecration is a ritual in Judaism to celebrate the beginning of a child's Jewish education. It's similar in feeling to First Communion and usually occurs in Spring. Consecration perhaps lacked the gravitas of Communion but still called for a special dress, and it needed to be white. A true communion outfit would be out of the question of course, but 1940s dress-up frocks were over-the-top frilly. That's what I wanted but not what I got. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmaRLi_y-mvdmIu7hnnkV2RVQQjgxVXx7lzrEX4FrOIEPli-01i9hCayPjMVJsBIBDwvOHWlp9nqMe2rnUDLfHmvnZujdhAuCSKK5o8csDwonjZkvPlpQ8pmSrUNPAflymbug5X32GasxYZ_aWd_o6rOFE5KiSMY_96Mhl3j9s8D8hmLQtfQ03Y44vQw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmaRLi_y-mvdmIu7hnnkV2RVQQjgxVXx7lzrEX4FrOIEPli-01i9hCayPjMVJsBIBDwvOHWlp9nqMe2rnUDLfHmvnZujdhAuCSKK5o8csDwonjZkvPlpQ8pmSrUNPAflymbug5X32GasxYZ_aWd_o6rOFE5KiSMY_96Mhl3j9s8D8hmLQtfQ03Y44vQw=w221-h320" width="221" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Not me or mine</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />My mother not only had taste she was downright clairvoyant. In the age of dresses designed by the likes of Fifi LaRue she channeled Ralph Lauren, 40 years ahead of him. My Consecration outfit was a knee-length white wool pleated skirt worn with a short-sleeved crew-neck white sweater (think the pullover piece of a twin set), a string of pearls and white Mary Janes. Though no one asked, I was disappointed and felt out of place surrounded by the other girls, walking fire hazards in their frilly dresses. </div><div><br /></div><div>What followed was an act of passive aggression in the first degree, so unconsciously executed it took years to realize what I'd done and a few more to regret it deeply. No pictures exist of this outfit because I ruined it before they could be taken. </div><div><br /></div><div>The big treat after Consecration was lunch at our favorite restaurant, Stouffer's (and yes the same Stouffer's that lives on in frozen foods). There was chocolate ice cream for dessert. Did the spoon slip? Did I do it on purpose? The result was chocolate ice cream down the front of that white sweater. I could see the disapointment in my mother's eyes, but I only remember her saying, "Well, that will never come out." The outfit disappeared, never to be worn or spoken of again.</div><div><b>SCORE: WIN BUT ULTIMATELY BIG LOSS</b></div><div> </div><div><b>YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE</b></div><div>Twice a year we made the trip downtown to see Miss Alice in the children's department at Halle Bros. Mother always knew what I needed. That year it was a casual short coat. This was beginning to be called a "car coat" as I guess it was easier to maneuver behind the wheel. At age ten, since I wasn't driving, it would be called a "topper". The one she liked was cherry red wool, not too heavy, very tailored, with a little swing in it. Ralph Lauren again.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEid3c9qom4MjNNP68eAbxliTfnPk9C7oOIiNvvvKj7r-ok5j3EikyYdrrxlvI7RA1_pamqHyxSOgkQNHtSXRCYkhfgMBqek6bolPlUEamvUnLqhmc0pUYO-EIVG1nG6Uf8RPdMUZ_mCgIXyRawwENGipiBcZcU_IYc-JqzxPGI0HU8uVNLEnTG5ZuvxjQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="824" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEid3c9qom4MjNNP68eAbxliTfnPk9C7oOIiNvvvKj7r-ok5j3EikyYdrrxlvI7RA1_pamqHyxSOgkQNHtSXRCYkhfgMBqek6bolPlUEamvUnLqhmc0pUYO-EIVG1nG6Uf8RPdMUZ_mCgIXyRawwENGipiBcZcU_IYc-JqzxPGI0HU8uVNLEnTG5ZuvxjQ=w295-h320" width="295" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Think red...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I know I really liked it, but I was a bit unhappy. We'd moved again, this time without my father. I'd had to give up my bedroom and started a new school. I didn't have the words to express how I felt other than to reject that red topper outright. I insisted I wanted a fuzzy cocoon in the most bilious shade of boiled celery. It might have looked good on Shirley Temple in that movie where she played the poor little rich girl. It looked terrible on me. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbHqkFNBsfpOcj07aFx_UjxBRF44zmUPOMUs641oSfU_CGc1pJTHMqU217z58vntv97LSHwa0DwX_Y2i0pPIBtNbRDC6CWCYJTQfGsV3Wg59QCj7_r_LuEdnP525QO4NHDTDOuiKIXq3WwV661OOBeDn8oTP9hJO7FUlRwXNZKmx3LXtuAzPeCFgtNmA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="708" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbHqkFNBsfpOcj07aFx_UjxBRF44zmUPOMUs641oSfU_CGc1pJTHMqU217z58vntv97LSHwa0DwX_Y2i0pPIBtNbRDC6CWCYJTQfGsV3Wg59QCj7_r_LuEdnP525QO4NHDTDOuiKIXq3WwV661OOBeDn8oTP9hJO7FUlRwXNZKmx3LXtuAzPeCFgtNmA=w181-h320" width="181" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Think green bile...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />My mother naturally pointed that out, thinking that would end it, but obviously this was not about the coat. I insisted, with tears, and not just whimpers. A therapist would say at that moment I was letting it all out and punishing my mother at the same time. In the middle of my meltdown I could see Miss Alice out of the corner of my eye, frozen to the spot. What could she say???</div><div><br /></div><div>In the end I got the boiled celery fuzz ball, but it was not a triumph. My mother avoided all mention of the coat or the incident. I think I wore it twice, for the first and last time. We never saw Miss Alice again.</div><div><b>SCORE: LOSS AND LESSON LEARNED</b></div><div><br /></div><div>And last, dear reader...</div><div><b>YOU <i>CAN</i> HAVE IT BOTH WAYS</b></div><div>Over time things greatly improved with my mother. I adjusted to a new life in a more citified part of town. My sister got married, and I had my own room again. At age 13-almost-14 I had begun to take serious interest in fashion. Amazingly I found my tastes more aligned to my mother's. But there was still a hurdle: the gentle battle of "that's too old for you". </div><div><br /></div><div>Seventeen was actually showing black sheath dresses for teens in their editorial pages. I'd found one that was not particularly slinky (sleeveless with a scoop neck and a red cumberbund). I was allowed to have it, but I knew my mother much preferred a baby pink sundress with a full skirt that I'd matched with a wide-brimmed pink sailor hat.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPOve320fDWQ1nQelKWQXw-sOsJo4rJsRan_yugUN70bJVz5TOevE7iuh5qhG2D2l8TZ6ZMeUl09QO-6jlPqGhTo1N53F6U8hMMGELJ7o8CcKZP1SRZFyMI9Yr_IyJiRHm9FQrB7OzkCEOmqLKaZ6tMNwwebp05GD5HuFIw6LyACn_HRU-SgMPVhBQHw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1222" data-original-width="696" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPOve320fDWQ1nQelKWQXw-sOsJo4rJsRan_yugUN70bJVz5TOevE7iuh5qhG2D2l8TZ6ZMeUl09QO-6jlPqGhTo1N53F6U8hMMGELJ7o8CcKZP1SRZFyMI9Yr_IyJiRHm9FQrB7OzkCEOmqLKaZ6tMNwwebp05GD5HuFIw6LyACn_HRU-SgMPVhBQHw=w183-h320" width="183" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Audrey did do it better...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />That summer she planned a vacation for the two of us, a week in New York City. I'd already fallen in love with Manhattan from afar and could hardly wait. This trip was predicated on some wonderful bargains she'd found—a summer rate at the Waldorf Astoria where kids under 14 were free*—and a clutch of coupons for buy-one-get-one-free dinners at Stouffer's restaurants (which had just opened in New York).</div><div><br /></div><div>There was a problem. Although I didn't look very mature, I would have just turned 14 when we were due to arrive, and Mother didn't want to stir up trouble with the front desk. We decided I would wear the pink sundress and sailor hat to check in. I must have looked like an oversized Eloise, but no one questioned my age.</div><div><br /></div><div>That night, as we left the hotel for dinner, I was wearing the black sheath. We both felt very proud of ourselves, my mother for surely pulling a fast one on the Waldorf and me for making my debut as a New Yorker wearing black.</div><div><b>SCORE: WIN, WIN</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>All this meandering down memory lane has me thinking even as very young children we have strong ideas about clothing (though too young to think in terms of fashion). We know what we want or don't want but may be powerless to express that in even the simplest terms. While writing this I was reading Vanessa Friedman in The NY Times and came across a sentence in her review of the current New York Fashion Week:</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibTpTgygjxl_j4WnZowjmYIYrcUisieNcwqPpi-fJiGXh2ZLBjt_ua1t9xdxOQdmtunbBwbiLNUwV9Sqcn3YmBZgs0eq-g9vedTQZskhLDIsB1UX4rOfI_PETj5ypBt51KxjSZiEBNTlMdlSqN7fZiaRqAUV4EmEZyQzfYzBBEaQg6gWQ5rmRKZYMSQg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="1364" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibTpTgygjxl_j4WnZowjmYIYrcUisieNcwqPpi-fJiGXh2ZLBjt_ua1t9xdxOQdmtunbBwbiLNUwV9Sqcn3YmBZgs0eq-g9vedTQZskhLDIsB1UX4rOfI_PETj5ypBt51KxjSZiEBNTlMdlSqN7fZiaRqAUV4EmEZyQzfYzBBEaQg6gWQ5rmRKZYMSQg=w400-h203" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br />A picture may be worth 1,000 words, but nine words can say it all.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>* I dimly recall a time when hotel rates were dependent on how many occupied the room and when infants were free but children half-price.</i></div>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-63236913372584040242023-02-16T15:18:00.001-06:002023-02-17T11:53:41.984-06:00MOBs and MOGs: Help Has Arrived!<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVUhztBmCqSs4WD30SlgxNVSfybBI91QFUb6UsDGIybeYBoc_ymp9bWxfXWrdY6XiNkEhoy-sTrQ8cMgoVvT6xlDfG5cGcSOm14Ckw3P2LHrXNfs1y0M1OY497bsl-xBrsDqeESz4oY2A8eJSJfKQBYkrq5s001t5zd1S14gWfA_BPqT8-AZVD2r0SGQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1734" data-original-width="3066" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVUhztBmCqSs4WD30SlgxNVSfybBI91QFUb6UsDGIybeYBoc_ymp9bWxfXWrdY6XiNkEhoy-sTrQ8cMgoVvT6xlDfG5cGcSOm14Ckw3P2LHrXNfs1y0M1OY497bsl-xBrsDqeESz4oY2A8eJSJfKQBYkrq5s001t5zd1S14gWfA_BPqT8-AZVD2r0SGQ=w400-h226" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Janna and daughter, courtesy "Mother of"</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />In my twenty years' working retail, including a brief affair with upscale bridal, I've always said, "In my next life I'm going to be a mother-of-the-bride designer." There is such a <i>need</i>. Invariably, whether a woman likes to shop or not, this is one excursion looked upon with trepidation, fear or even dread.<p></p><p>Thanks to the wonderful Roz Chast and The New Yorker for this brilliant distillation of the terror:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQfC8FiLNJ2uyNha8aWBPiIgQASLGsxn9xSpTy2hKXtH5FNlA8JMnyZUh4jBh2eXhT5C-NgiGG_MRXivD8sATskHJ27ak4ZdkJgVrOP0r58Ebk5IOFuueM40Yc0q7GDnoMoPgznQ1SoZRmgMEEopWBschwu-tlaF6ACy0k-2driTT4qbALwruHBlS8ig" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1612" data-original-width="2748" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQfC8FiLNJ2uyNha8aWBPiIgQASLGsxn9xSpTy2hKXtH5FNlA8JMnyZUh4jBh2eXhT5C-NgiGG_MRXivD8sATskHJ27ak4ZdkJgVrOP0r58Ebk5IOFuueM40Yc0q7GDnoMoPgznQ1SoZRmgMEEopWBschwu-tlaF6ACy0k-2driTT4qbALwruHBlS8ig=w400-h235" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2xV1SNLAcxt0Xa52TSmLoeZLqSKNbve10Ujr9Vzr0LZYijsyYf2-FfCzmbDDHzQUlJSGEBHNy1iHxp6TrwBX-bYKLo3AAKHQjkpXvOWrBXIxgU6v2B03ISvxkk8eovkcwms-YrjNuTPODFKYf2OmWF5Cnl5_YUJy9yMlVjQh_BSK61BQSUlvN3xvzYQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="2858" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2xV1SNLAcxt0Xa52TSmLoeZLqSKNbve10Ujr9Vzr0LZYijsyYf2-FfCzmbDDHzQUlJSGEBHNy1iHxp6TrwBX-bYKLo3AAKHQjkpXvOWrBXIxgU6v2B03ISvxkk8eovkcwms-YrjNuTPODFKYf2OmWF5Cnl5_YUJy9yMlVjQh_BSK61BQSUlvN3xvzYQ=w400-h150" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrbB_89JvvRUKiruKcNK2fVDSU09BunukHkqNkeFqe_wjQDjj_tthAUleY_OxQ6Snqb-xt94_s6invwOcRCoFmOEks_dAS6qyeT4LOfvqXInG7vV5knPr3kq82AQmGc_J2SOQqlQtHeT3hoBVe6sTI3odU0VJ7gzRq2GlQJjRhVm-qXr2wbq7xLiQSnA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="986" data-original-width="2760" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrbB_89JvvRUKiruKcNK2fVDSU09BunukHkqNkeFqe_wjQDjj_tthAUleY_OxQ6Snqb-xt94_s6invwOcRCoFmOEks_dAS6qyeT4LOfvqXInG7vV5knPr3kq82AQmGc_J2SOQqlQtHeT3hoBVe6sTI3odU0VJ7gzRq2GlQJjRhVm-qXr2wbq7xLiQSnA=w400-h143" width="400" /></a></div><br />At last here come two women in the Minneapolis area with a genius idea. They've launched a site called "Mother of", an online clearing house of resources, ideas, reassurances and true-life tales. Discover them at: <p></p><p><a href="http://allwaysinfashion.blogspot.com" target="_blank">https://motherof.co </a></p><p>Here you will find a plethora of suggestions for what to wear, arranged in categories of black tie, cocktail, daytime, destination weddings and suits. The price range is wide, the selections large, the models varied. Click on a photo; if interested click on "shop this dress" and you are linked to that item's website. From there you know the drill. This seems a most egalitarian way to host a website and quite a bit easier than scrolling through dozens of open tabs on your computer. They acknowledge they may receive remuneration if you make a purchase through mother of, but the site is totally free. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA1TYmOAtQv13jwrQXvFdmRg747hzUo22Xj2YIljQkh0L2I8INsMW6o6fYaQbzjlrfGxieioRMie9ngWe4LRvS4N7a17sX56lXa0AozEI9IgGRJwakDkGJsptuD-cc4Cwnbcuv5sn8DMTX3Ol6Vm85UDqAMuF2JoOBIe2xGPnjZVWi_k9oce7zHugGQQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="3244" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA1TYmOAtQv13jwrQXvFdmRg747hzUo22Xj2YIljQkh0L2I8INsMW6o6fYaQbzjlrfGxieioRMie9ngWe4LRvS4N7a17sX56lXa0AozEI9IgGRJwakDkGJsptuD-cc4Cwnbcuv5sn8DMTX3Ol6Vm85UDqAMuF2JoOBIe2xGPnjZVWi_k9oce7zHugGQQ=w400-h154" width="400" /></a></div><br />There are sweet stories from real-life MOBs and MOGs, a section with answers to niggling questions like "Can a mother-of-the-bride wear white?" and "What about wearing pants?". <div><p></p><p>Congratulations, ladies! You are brilliant! Do I wish I had thought of this myself? You bet. On the other hand, I can only imagine what <i>hard work </i>this is. I congratulate you for what I surely would not have knowledge or stamina to accomplish. </p><p>Every woman about to join the bridal path of a daughter or son needs to know Cinderella wasn't the only one with a fairy godmother. </p></div>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-15467059666201501392023-02-04T14:27:00.002-06:002023-02-05T10:12:10.448-06:00The Art of Being the Artist<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtkhcH9pwETd690yyj1e6MNV4UsAZQLJFumnWszbM3wmJ6nNZBTLgQF0yK4YjHERwd8mURLZQzy2xef5ilbvix-RIFV3dSto5FW-1KCRs44v9ZMyPfRDcZEqox-jBuQm9n-SJo6SCik95kW26ucy_p0i6gvmJ7Nu7CZqP5jfGxOuBPzI2WMVwsogHIcw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="1062" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtkhcH9pwETd690yyj1e6MNV4UsAZQLJFumnWszbM3wmJ6nNZBTLgQF0yK4YjHERwd8mURLZQzy2xef5ilbvix-RIFV3dSto5FW-1KCRs44v9ZMyPfRDcZEqox-jBuQm9n-SJo6SCik95kW26ucy_p0i6gvmJ7Nu7CZqP5jfGxOuBPzI2WMVwsogHIcw=w400-h198" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Illustration by Millie von Platen/New York Times</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Artists and their sometimes eccentric lives have been fair game for ages. You've long been able to buy an Andy Warhol wig at a party store for just a few bucks. Becoming Van Gogh for Halloween only takes a straw hat and a roll of gauze. Things may be getting a bit more serious lately. <p></p><p>This week the New York Times published a piece on how tokens of the artists are being marketed in museum gift shops along with the usual posters, magnets and coffee mugs picturing their works. For example you can buy a replica of Edward Hopper's fedora at the Guggenheim for a mere $118 and a "Pablo Picasso Breton-style" t-shirt at the Picasso Museum in Paris for $70.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikYlwfl_bAcwITV_ImCKofeG38j3i9ZqUL7cOPV2FXwsNRZwtu_eVufKrChVErkUYmp8xPAZflAKCooC47GukiORsaTJnUppkAai9ML7urGFwkJyk9kyEG5FtjvU_kOjtiNDQMvScI9rQPZn5ajiHr_wRwIH9zqS1oRYM2QuA0Ih1cJ-kMXQROpjvnkQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="1102" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikYlwfl_bAcwITV_ImCKofeG38j3i9ZqUL7cOPV2FXwsNRZwtu_eVufKrChVErkUYmp8xPAZflAKCooC47GukiORsaTJnUppkAai9ML7urGFwkJyk9kyEG5FtjvU_kOjtiNDQMvScI9rQPZn5ajiHr_wRwIH9zqS1oRYM2QuA0Ih1cJ-kMXQROpjvnkQ=w200-h146" width="200" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTw6TYg9QpOi44Lx-p_E6AHA74T5Z41PTWO2eS0lisrtFYUcar_7Xx6B4cKYVys6u7XT5HXtJT_AzhC2_rDHwreeRkkpJ-jC8wCggwKdeM0nygAmKfD897vvCYiP1fv-9I5VYJXndmVAHcscVwMOGgp-qIAJ6_OXYDDUQWpx6oRKm1VtMn0TXr04YEdQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="886" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTw6TYg9QpOi44Lx-p_E6AHA74T5Z41PTWO2eS0lisrtFYUcar_7Xx6B4cKYVys6u7XT5HXtJT_AzhC2_rDHwreeRkkpJ-jC8wCggwKdeM0nygAmKfD897vvCYiP1fv-9I5VYJXndmVAHcscVwMOGgp-qIAJ6_OXYDDUQWpx6oRKm1VtMn0TXr04YEdQ" width="190" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hopper and hat</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpNZeHPQ1Fji_094rCWJL2Gh3OTglWc43xgsGs19PB5d8quOe-qFoxaUPe63nnhACc_JXGxIF1unPBtelq1iAmexGeKP_eX_8Ih-X-uoPdbyAECTH8zj2b773Ajy_We0utgLa_zLSGOugnZYi5Rxft0i4Iaoa7CyZTa-YGla9nRWXAR4tU-EC7kvS7Tw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1244" data-original-width="1204" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpNZeHPQ1Fji_094rCWJL2Gh3OTglWc43xgsGs19PB5d8quOe-qFoxaUPe63nnhACc_JXGxIF1unPBtelq1iAmexGeKP_eX_8Ih-X-uoPdbyAECTH8zj2b773Ajy_We0utgLa_zLSGOugnZYi5Rxft0i4Iaoa7CyZTa-YGla9nRWXAR4tU-EC7kvS7Tw" width="232" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoj1DfWkSkp4qg6BdaigEFQugg9_yA5SZFlRuE7khpGQYsO_PWDicq3_wzcVzaYTiWO64pQHVW2LlMccp0pBKidHHNuDwtkyd3G1kpKJJ19lk644duxKVwB0UB5OwQoZlRXBXbDBbEgOILRfdhEp-XZrdJt7QS51MTLTSCzyZe-oE4hKFdgvqqDX7uYg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="586" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoj1DfWkSkp4qg6BdaigEFQugg9_yA5SZFlRuE7khpGQYsO_PWDicq3_wzcVzaYTiWO64pQHVW2LlMccp0pBKidHHNuDwtkyd3G1kpKJJ19lk644duxKVwB0UB5OwQoZlRXBXbDBbEgOILRfdhEp-XZrdJt7QS51MTLTSCzyZe-oE4hKFdgvqqDX7uYg" width="198" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Picasso and stripes</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This is not breaking news exactly. The Neue Galleria has been selling a $395 replica of Gustav Klimt's painting smock since 2007. I think I'd rather have the cat.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqXHGX_2PkNfLGM3wHmtbTAiGDweASuh5uiC-mr4XmIlSr_mjsAOsDb0IYjJ7ux08c4tXGwclXg0JMBNLEKqgkbIDmLSpktWyrs8c3vQXKDxmeaFRz-OBD8tc2ztl0RHXXm-78g2SDNV8Wk_fkMw5VKn778DRFUzblWiWf3_jcJyF-SOys2TTpYy9RRA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1004" data-original-width="1036" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqXHGX_2PkNfLGM3wHmtbTAiGDweASuh5uiC-mr4XmIlSr_mjsAOsDb0IYjJ7ux08c4tXGwclXg0JMBNLEKqgkbIDmLSpktWyrs8c3vQXKDxmeaFRz-OBD8tc2ztl0RHXXm-78g2SDNV8Wk_fkMw5VKn778DRFUzblWiWf3_jcJyF-SOys2TTpYy9RRA" width="248" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDNQTngbIP-Tonj1Uwrc2lHUfJ2lFcrkIP9cmusI5IHZRu0VuF0w2CBy7HMvXIDqpgVT9mlGJ3HTbg0EfHwBdr1JQg_mTdANNOOtuqx5YZ3gbUiBT1HINAGN1RurIT1AsmTkcpo3o73umkLs6vh_VyKq1ylFey35sun5NhPCekYoRG7_zEuHaN8d3WRA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="950" data-original-width="504" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDNQTngbIP-Tonj1Uwrc2lHUfJ2lFcrkIP9cmusI5IHZRu0VuF0w2CBy7HMvXIDqpgVT9mlGJ3HTbg0EfHwBdr1JQg_mTdANNOOtuqx5YZ3gbUiBT1HINAGN1RurIT1AsmTkcpo3o73umkLs6vh_VyKq1ylFey35sun5NhPCekYoRG7_zEuHaN8d3WRA" width="127" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Klimt and cat</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The traveling immersive exhibitions of Van Gogh, Matisse and Frida Kahlo are fairly new. They purport to put you into the picture, so to speak, thus allowing you to imagine how the artist was thinking. A recent Frida Kahlo exhibit contains none of her paintings, just images of her, so you can revel in "the incredible story behind the legendary artist." <p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8Dyp3rvH27xI6yQQLgMexy0PzV5fAD4SWMTMkSdobNBR988U5HOHv7clmRFPCSIysOifddCPsYqwi6ED97NIbo9CUZbbPwBP5NHujUmtxQmcw7n-dA10L_LM-MsKl9FM9COjXCvR_YhCpaBVbGP8nwdu12hlzoHDy1HPLNQmyucwjoC3XrIKk3HEiCw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="1504" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8Dyp3rvH27xI6yQQLgMexy0PzV5fAD4SWMTMkSdobNBR988U5HOHv7clmRFPCSIysOifddCPsYqwi6ED97NIbo9CUZbbPwBP5NHujUmtxQmcw7n-dA10L_LM-MsKl9FM9COjXCvR_YhCpaBVbGP8nwdu12hlzoHDy1HPLNQmyucwjoC3XrIKk3HEiCw=w400-h221" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The many personas of the persona</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Georgia O'Keefe very deliberately created an image by her choice of no-nonsense apparel. Having just seen an Alberto Giacometti retrospective here in Houston I wonder the significance of his Yale-classics-professor-wardrobe. He even sculpted in a blazer.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzvuzBDWwBvYJL-1eTu5k_aNkRgJjLpfGMDYRlUwB_Da7vTKdqvTWeDNAEkheXBRxCqnGeFhsXUzPBgZp79cpwl3lDQ4DqHEokSH6uPPaZiIy9dj7Fx3DP_VTj77yLYGHh8gtT0ta22I5s8Qrzzfa_-Du4BlBRby3C6WCI_PIxD86dc--6pCM8y4XJhg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="876" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzvuzBDWwBvYJL-1eTu5k_aNkRgJjLpfGMDYRlUwB_Da7vTKdqvTWeDNAEkheXBRxCqnGeFhsXUzPBgZp79cpwl3lDQ4DqHEokSH6uPPaZiIy9dj7Fx3DP_VTj77yLYGHh8gtT0ta22I5s8Qrzzfa_-Du4BlBRby3C6WCI_PIxD86dc--6pCM8y4XJhg=w245-h320" width="245" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Georgia at rest</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_BWy78uF-BksbGiMBWGBROTB4KHsCSLN7xbC-48S4t1jyBBWwVOfU4bFbULnxRF5XdJJllOEGFgRDHmwP9GGVBIidY9qM1eSnz4eFBvscp4BnWfd4MkYcMLn2Z2ji0__YBzoE9WCYfVpSd9chxIYLr6ie41Hh_FcRUkazS24JTdRVxgxQlUrq-kT0kw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1016" data-original-width="1010" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_BWy78uF-BksbGiMBWGBROTB4KHsCSLN7xbC-48S4t1jyBBWwVOfU4bFbULnxRF5XdJJllOEGFgRDHmwP9GGVBIidY9qM1eSnz4eFBvscp4BnWfd4MkYcMLn2Z2ji0__YBzoE9WCYfVpSd9chxIYLr6ie41Hh_FcRUkazS24JTdRVxgxQlUrq-kT0kw" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Alberto at work</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />So, how responsible is the artist for marrying his work and his art? In many cases, of course, yes. Hopper and Van Gogh? Not so sure. I think about the paint-spattered jeans I almost bought. Did I want to look like an artist without having to paint anything? Then I think about the dress I did buy, and only last week, too. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibIjWLkY7Q3A94ONdmyxiK0fwfjJ0GRU4BmMSDWMnYFHANYwhyQSq6Qkf1Wjl7xuQtOrxOKI0bdDeKIkCt-ox9pGVpKwN7BmB4IDbaCGJ2Z3rV0gp5ze3kv1cLx7yiYwvG_lXCjxMINMQzkV-0K6fTz0MvydSYP2IOu6IfaGonKCRyCEVZtKrxbKHzHw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="660" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibIjWLkY7Q3A94ONdmyxiK0fwfjJ0GRU4BmMSDWMnYFHANYwhyQSq6Qkf1Wjl7xuQtOrxOKI0bdDeKIkCt-ox9pGVpKwN7BmB4IDbaCGJ2Z3rV0gp5ze3kv1cLx7yiYwvG_lXCjxMINMQzkV-0K6fTz0MvydSYP2IOu6IfaGonKCRyCEVZtKrxbKHzHw=w230-h400" width="230" /></a></div><br />I found it a UAL, which stands for United Apparel Liquidators, a small chain selling new clothing that may be samples, over-runs or last-season. This dress was reduced to $14 and made of lovely Indian cotton. If I had a beach house it would be perfect. I do have a backyard, however, and that's where I will wear it, looking ever so much (I hope) like Frida Kahlo.<p></p><p><br /></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-67675586139268565452023-01-23T12:12:00.002-06:002023-01-23T22:26:14.131-06:00"80 for Brady"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYr0up75-Q-Dx0Y7okpopLam_Chs-Zw7j7bC0K8w6NrBlZ54BJsuTMiVV5jvNJp5j0VKxi2da53-KYwCmNPNUAntWpnwGYmZsq_7Iplq0G0K_UlXYy61QI102ZSJWLrYsX2_y24Tt2NqQGXayh-T3bcX58src87xIIpNgJgbEZhGI0nVQR6srOjc1neA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYr0up75-Q-Dx0Y7okpopLam_Chs-Zw7j7bC0K8w6NrBlZ54BJsuTMiVV5jvNJp5j0VKxi2da53-KYwCmNPNUAntWpnwGYmZsq_7Iplq0G0K_UlXYy61QI102ZSJWLrYsX2_y24Tt2NqQGXayh-T3bcX58src87xIIpNgJgbEZhGI0nVQR6srOjc1neA=w400-h210" width="400" /></a></div><br />I may or may not see "80 for Brady" in a theater when it's released February 3. There are many reasons for not going to the movies these days, and Covid almost isn't one of them. A trip to the local multiplex will cost my husband and me $30 for senior tickets and the obligatory parking fee. The multiplex itself is but a shell of its former self. The bar and restaurant have closed as well as the upstairs concession stand. Ticket booths have been replaced by kiosks, ignominiously placed in front of the windows where people used to sit. No buzz, almost no customers, but there <i>is</i> the lingering smell of old popcorn. So going to the movies itself is not such a draw.<p></p><p>Also, my husband is a giant football fan. That's "giant" as in Giants, which means any movie in praise of the New England Patriots is not going to fly. "80 for Brady" is just that. Based on a true story, the movie centers around four best friends, all Tom Brady fans, who decide to make the trip of a lifetime to see their hero play in the 2017 Super Bowl. That took place in Houston, so it will be interesting to see what they show of my city (if Toronto hasn't been used as a stand-in).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNpfbSdoUPWdeI-Yx6LH6kaPQn25iRJN3XRZxOtU-hcCGJ67wIME5zfqJW3Dtk8KzAWH0Esrr9hutHNF5z9nWq8TJoWJqtuct-grCBwMrX8u-s15kBvnV_KlhKgLKt78jK7QUr8fviGGEo59ufAK0FSr7FpPY3TmIZo-_3Fy9JtH7Ywk12T7kS7czS6g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNpfbSdoUPWdeI-Yx6LH6kaPQn25iRJN3XRZxOtU-hcCGJ67wIME5zfqJW3Dtk8KzAWH0Esrr9hutHNF5z9nWq8TJoWJqtuct-grCBwMrX8u-s15kBvnV_KlhKgLKt78jK7QUr8fviGGEo59ufAK0FSr7FpPY3TmIZo-_3Fy9JtH7Ywk12T7kS7czS6g=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br />Why write about this here? Well, from what I can see these "80-somethings" have a fashion vibe. They are all dressed well. Rather than slip into pastels and elastic waistband stereotypes, wardrobe has given them some pretty nice choices (team jerseys aside). <p></p><p>The cast is Rita Moreno (91), Jane Fonda (85), Lily Tomlin (82), and rounding out as the baby of the group, Sally Field (76). It doesn't hurt that Rita Moreno looks amazing, Jane Fonda looks, well, like Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin has maybe even a brighter twinkle in her eye, and Sally Field is still adorable. I've only been able to grab a few shots from the trailer and not sure the beachy scene is even in the movie, but don't they look nice and, gee, I dunno, the movie does kinda look like fun.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiThGylwvd83aC0p3DSpmy0evByq58UKYT0EkQqKjSd3mUHKxufaA5o51YcUo_HvSioZqBSAiCiECqV4sa59uKRUJzADShFvfFHy_eknV79ToBfzmXp1-nErOlHWq9VgeMtPI8RnpxV-PDoLg5V2XeKJkTs8MVKBRuFOijaDmD2mlqiae1A0gpPL2ruxg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="954" data-original-width="1058" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiThGylwvd83aC0p3DSpmy0evByq58UKYT0EkQqKjSd3mUHKxufaA5o51YcUo_HvSioZqBSAiCiECqV4sa59uKRUJzADShFvfFHy_eknV79ToBfzmXp1-nErOlHWq9VgeMtPI8RnpxV-PDoLg5V2XeKJkTs8MVKBRuFOijaDmD2mlqiae1A0gpPL2ruxg=w320-h289" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF9hvXHmqnuTWVjET-qHnPztb18plX46tQmJ_N1v1PjQM4sIYh2A2o7IdHIYSG1sJJd1Uad5b85IY4JuXsdNQnQTh587kzdhQSQJ7U26uC3IYr9zA3hhg8oT23tU4DFgNr9Z36r7i-WJKsOcZqL0LU32gcYJXdp6l5uoqA1G7Gfq__ypux5kUSpDQD4A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1198" data-original-width="2370" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF9hvXHmqnuTWVjET-qHnPztb18plX46tQmJ_N1v1PjQM4sIYh2A2o7IdHIYSG1sJJd1Uad5b85IY4JuXsdNQnQTh587kzdhQSQJ7U26uC3IYr9zA3hhg8oT23tU4DFgNr9Z36r7i-WJKsOcZqL0LU32gcYJXdp6l5uoqA1G7Gfq__ypux5kUSpDQD4A=w400-h203" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoFRP8gWXWBZ6l1FERG-EWsCyO8-nfCQzaDA0NQ1BhWZ568wzZuPVSEWH7u_urmM4wWWwJxNMFfn_ICNCoID2coyfrwEG0tRxVma57TKNT598h76ku16bL5tq9pQ1pebc2EViQs7v7C0qZkHWOv2O12mZKmatVmCVqUB6ZNjNXNnEaFkWt_T0YoLYFIQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1178" data-original-width="2350" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoFRP8gWXWBZ6l1FERG-EWsCyO8-nfCQzaDA0NQ1BhWZ568wzZuPVSEWH7u_urmM4wWWwJxNMFfn_ICNCoID2coyfrwEG0tRxVma57TKNT598h76ku16bL5tq9pQ1pebc2EViQs7v7C0qZkHWOv2O12mZKmatVmCVqUB6ZNjNXNnEaFkWt_T0YoLYFIQ=w400-h200" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFApr8Z_FICb_aCn5cTjQN1xawajU8moNw2mIu-S0nScd9PRnI3-uOlGbySlOIjOjxoFytKRBY9iOLhe91OKQlzsUhC4gSb7iq9TeByORq1rZCDWuJse-x40XMGebGi1PwqKr6sjEbWe8K1tLDCFPV77YZMtkLE6SyJkaL3rN4texIljzimpY-dYf1Mw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1057" data-original-width="1500" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFApr8Z_FICb_aCn5cTjQN1xawajU8moNw2mIu-S0nScd9PRnI3-uOlGbySlOIjOjxoFytKRBY9iOLhe91OKQlzsUhC4gSb7iq9TeByORq1rZCDWuJse-x40XMGebGi1PwqKr6sjEbWe8K1tLDCFPV77YZMtkLE6SyJkaL3rN4texIljzimpY-dYf1Mw=w400-h281" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-6902113107721806382022-12-15T10:05:00.000-06:002022-12-15T10:05:12.061-06:00Far OUT in Fashion<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgglYeGnbKYs1X6Eo2f7gG4oHouW8mtHdwqb9iGBAV2LE2LzHuGxL4PzjjBX1bYRFZr-3wix9zNGcRHRW5PUsRkd6CyqdsnAgqGVVwLUnJL2hdV_xVSBtmBrN07bDli79vvZwKzQqRFINVV8k6LpMa5uXEjhtmVCKWthO5cAqw9f65fGVA9kZn_thCqjg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1490" data-original-width="954" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgglYeGnbKYs1X6Eo2f7gG4oHouW8mtHdwqb9iGBAV2LE2LzHuGxL4PzjjBX1bYRFZr-3wix9zNGcRHRW5PUsRkd6CyqdsnAgqGVVwLUnJL2hdV_xVSBtmBrN07bDli79vvZwKzQqRFINVV8k6LpMa5uXEjhtmVCKWthO5cAqw9f65fGVA9kZn_thCqjg=w256-h400" width="256" /></a></div><br />Thanks to lovely friend Nancy I found this photo on my Facebook feed. I love it! I hate it! I want to look like that! I'm afraid to look like that!<p></p><p>Because it's obviously a bit of a goof, I don't feel bad addressing (pun intended) the issue of mature women turned out as if they are going to a come as you are party— "Come as you are after you raid your closet blindfolded". These are women often photographed by Ari Seth Cohen for his "Advanced Age" projects. Many of them New Yorkers, they make a concerted effort to dress for display. They are out-and-about, often in gangs, knowing they will be looked at and dressing the part. While I admire the nerve, I don't call it fashion, I call it self-promotion.</p><p>I don't mean Iris Apfel. She may look way-far-out, but she has something to say, and she says it well. No one can imitate her; I would never try, but her being does sometimes give me license to add that extra necklace. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDKLaf3wbE-6njavUdXneaMzPMJAU4VxmCgCku3ZWm6wWfqmJUXbIcLNIuYKsvOLwhO7e54r6lVlq0bkcY27-JMHlUzrPFai3XF6g_sy4ACBI_6lJlQt3xjgkIJVH5QM2HEYswpEZdwS-owkrsL4mHJadzzdGQj8ibpqGgdBSxTs1Adlsdygnwi5BRkQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="890" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDKLaf3wbE-6njavUdXneaMzPMJAU4VxmCgCku3ZWm6wWfqmJUXbIcLNIuYKsvOLwhO7e54r6lVlq0bkcY27-JMHlUzrPFai3XF6g_sy4ACBI_6lJlQt3xjgkIJVH5QM2HEYswpEZdwS-owkrsL4mHJadzzdGQj8ibpqGgdBSxTs1Adlsdygnwi5BRkQ=w261-h320" width="261" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Empress Iris</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Then there is Trinny Woodall, who has never met a sequin she didn't love or a "trainer" she didn't covet. Nevertheless she dresses for this world. She's not afraid of color or sparkle, and a 20 minute video of her flying through a Zara is sometimes just the jolt I need to feel fashion-revived.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEir-U6-CqN7UB2s71i_5eE208efiE-N1jwseg72HNWx6bVxGQmoCHQ_-ZRIWzZBQaOp7o2V0hw7xwIOfTz7TAx6v3yvnS3rq9ZdsJ83W9EnsimqFhZCpP34CoF6MtYxdnb26Feiea0rZzsN30hIfsqvmqtcRPTpBlQ_ZaOUXulXCz5zwvLO9CXQK9mvGA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="832" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEir-U6-CqN7UB2s71i_5eE208efiE-N1jwseg72HNWx6bVxGQmoCHQ_-ZRIWzZBQaOp7o2V0hw7xwIOfTz7TAx6v3yvnS3rq9ZdsJ83W9EnsimqFhZCpP34CoF6MtYxdnb26Feiea0rZzsN30hIfsqvmqtcRPTpBlQ_ZaOUXulXCz5zwvLO9CXQK9mvGA=w219-h320" width="219" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Trinny Woodall</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />So a minute in, I looked at that top photo and knew what I would do: ditch the electric hairstyle—my own white pixie is fine—keep the coat and bag, turn the skirt into trousers and the shoes into flats, in this case remove a necklace or two...and stand up straight.</p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-53279358107460169552022-11-14T14:18:00.003-06:002022-11-14T15:10:20.302-06:00Foiled Again: Quest for the Perfect Dress<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBOoGkekrw0madBAJ-PzhV4RsEFicz9aUMxSk0ZRfOtboB_-jKhBIultTH3ywaXYwhzqrsUedUAxvRoxlS5wuDThNQuXuwlsZ6x3Bwwn829Rvw7zInB_OlU17MZkKtD-glGaU7U1aduFJMbjbaZZgz5_4PHGwBh9TZzKMTfNKlQbUP_osoqB0IzTwxlg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1548" data-original-width="1034" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBOoGkekrw0madBAJ-PzhV4RsEFicz9aUMxSk0ZRfOtboB_-jKhBIultTH3ywaXYwhzqrsUedUAxvRoxlS5wuDThNQuXuwlsZ6x3Bwwn829Rvw7zInB_OlU17MZkKtD-glGaU7U1aduFJMbjbaZZgz5_4PHGwBh9TZzKMTfNKlQbUP_osoqB0IzTwxlg=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>And only $39.90!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This time I thought for sure I'd found it—the perfect dress. The dress that would cover many occasions (and cover up a few other things). I loved this olive green number so much in the dressing room, I bought it and immediately ordered its two other colors, black and grey. I would now be set for anything—day, night, dressy, casual, spring, summer, fall, winter, north, south, east, west...you get the idea.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkyineNpi5Qoop5IwyfId1zMSglxVBQkb7oVUuOj2bS8DJ-i0rYY657_Td301OY1TMPI7EVTsV2Jh8l6UstB1jHE9rc6MkfMiuxqei1hGomCdD9x0vWunbJ0ZuViHqEoq4CqHmZ6dCMQsBP0hJDDajXKrbDdOrimM4rI4zGAs3QH9pKM_rSkF5UkZ-rQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="990" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkyineNpi5Qoop5IwyfId1zMSglxVBQkb7oVUuOj2bS8DJ-i0rYY657_Td301OY1TMPI7EVTsV2Jh8l6UstB1jHE9rc6MkfMiuxqei1hGomCdD9x0vWunbJ0ZuViHqEoq4CqHmZ6dCMQsBP0hJDDajXKrbDdOrimM4rI4zGAs3QH9pKM_rSkF5UkZ-rQ" width="175" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Olive, black, grey</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />The dressing room mirror usually leaves a lot to be desired, Zara's especially. The lighting is bad; the space cramped; the ambience nil. I always figure if it looks good in the dressing room, it will look great in real life. I was convinced I had found it, the perfect dress. The illusion held when I tried it on again at home. In fact, so excited was I to wear my new dress, I wore it the very next day.<p></p><p>I will admit it's rare, when I make an effort, that I won't snag a compliment or two in the course of the day. I don't do anything spectacular, but I try to get dressed. Today was only errands around town, but nowadays few make that effort. We are so used to leisurewear-as-streetwear and other sins against fashion, a woman actually in a dress with accessories and makeup can elicit a nice comment or two. </p><p>Nobody said "boo". As the afternoon wore on, and I felt more and more uncomfortable in that dress, I could see why. It just didn't sit well. The neckline, higher in back than front, stuck out funny. Without any seaming or darts, the back sort of hung off my shoulders, fighting with the cowl neckline that wanted to hitch backwards. Plus with no slits at the sides I found myself taking mincing steps. Worst of all, late in the day I noticed white deodorant streaks along the sides where I'd struggled to pull it on that morning.</p><p>If ever I wished for a rainstorm and the emergency vinyl slicker I keep in my trunk!</p><p>I've long touted the "road test" as a sure test of an outfit. It's the reason I caution anyone against taking something brand-spanking-new on a trip (from shoes to underwear). So sure was I about this being the Perfect Dress I didn't even consider a road test. </p><p>Denial is a river in Egypt and a woman loathe to admit she made a mistake. Not wishing to see it staring at me in the closet, I immediately took it to the donate box in the garage. There have been no second guesses and no regrets other than I threw away $39.90. The other two dresses arrived. I didn't even open the package. </p><p>What have I learned? Probably not much. Hope springs eternal. We strive for perfection, though we sense we may never reach it. Such is the journey. That one perfect dress worked for Little Orphan Annie. Why not me?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQgZhGi91xNA3nxF2syiEdvE6DlqMy5X7a5WcDSh9HHQZdCJHtDFeORDrnF2mX2qWUcGuKpXI_MTpx5c2rJUJdt7T-LOW2rrHC1Fc0oczZZUt-sNDPbO198iVEJVUYWPnrItBy_HIoUetSdsNl26cEoPbb-_yPfFnARXAW0B_ywuYk4cELQpBCc_0b9w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="710" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQgZhGi91xNA3nxF2syiEdvE6DlqMy5X7a5WcDSh9HHQZdCJHtDFeORDrnF2mX2qWUcGuKpXI_MTpx5c2rJUJdt7T-LOW2rrHC1Fc0oczZZUt-sNDPbO198iVEJVUYWPnrItBy_HIoUetSdsNl26cEoPbb-_yPfFnARXAW0B_ywuYk4cELQpBCc_0b9w" width="279" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4573099143532398301.post-2739578923713377662022-09-13T12:45:00.000-05:002022-09-13T12:45:33.030-05:00Stylish Read Republished: "What Shall I Wear?"<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrd6A0pAhOTEOVw3lCtm7HOKGlg7h8FlVX-1Gyq2Z7AKGA2qq9BJ-1kboCXRqAXUkf6S7xBpUSyvvcvjbC9VlbMQKTHvQ7kwMcdMpzPtdskfbbKDjqN84F7D0Jg3bONUHzKUhQuEa57CrO2OQAb6ZGPmD953prohlzs4NjJmEvlmcKXHWJw_xzsPSCdQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="175" data-original-width="288" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrd6A0pAhOTEOVw3lCtm7HOKGlg7h8FlVX-1Gyq2Z7AKGA2qq9BJ-1kboCXRqAXUkf6S7xBpUSyvvcvjbC9VlbMQKTHvQ7kwMcdMpzPtdskfbbKDjqN84F7D0Jg3bONUHzKUhQuEa57CrO2OQAb6ZGPmD953prohlzs4NjJmEvlmcKXHWJw_xzsPSCdQ=w400-h243" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Claire McCardell</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />She's back (though in my mind she's never left)! Claire McCardell's wonderful 1956 how-to, "What Shall I Wear" (subtitled The What, Where, When and How Much of Fashion") has been published again. This makes the third time. I've long talked about this book—how I took it out so often from the Shaker Heights public library I eventually just stole it in 1957 when I was 15, how I had no regrets whatsoever because who could possibly want this book more than I???, how I xeroxed copies of it for years for friends and even Isaac Mizrahi*, how I eventually returned it (anonymously) to the library after finding my own used copy on ebay. Good or bad, that's all part of my history, and I own it. <p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjge-uj9RnrNk1Knh57vboCB9yWQOBC3_ZgsU_o0h50F7ihjoM7Vbbis9sUsE6OlOzKm8BxNfvVHSgqP68rCt8tC5vLeMnY9SAUrQPHzVebjZe6mj9X3WBPuF2cH8TV00bJRhh6an84AiIW_BENTfPJDQ9t9fwEM4bR0FJhdyVD9uXbOtqt_BMwiwwhuw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2036" data-original-width="1354" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjge-uj9RnrNk1Knh57vboCB9yWQOBC3_ZgsU_o0h50F7ihjoM7Vbbis9sUsE6OlOzKm8BxNfvVHSgqP68rCt8tC5vLeMnY9SAUrQPHzVebjZe6mj9X3WBPuF2cH8TV00bJRhh6an84AiIW_BENTfPJDQ9t9fwEM4bR0FJhdyVD9uXbOtqt_BMwiwwhuw=w213-h320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>1956 edition</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhexZ185gy_II12joys7eNQzzF80RpvEV1n3wVSnEOPDOVQkLXzcobyWjn4ENCJvhIiMpP491UAnRIG7I44FCwG0t9nCpDLIuhQTR-1HNqY-ahbr1amonupuAmT3FfJux4VyHI_LIwvB5WRX1QEUejvCYsf8mHBiz4W6RUYbS-H_olwzsHTUC96rOkzbg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhexZ185gy_II12joys7eNQzzF80RpvEV1n3wVSnEOPDOVQkLXzcobyWjn4ENCJvhIiMpP491UAnRIG7I44FCwG0t9nCpDLIuhQTR-1HNqY-ahbr1amonupuAmT3FfJux4VyHI_LIwvB5WRX1QEUejvCYsf8mHBiz4W6RUYbS-H_olwzsHTUC96rOkzbg=w320-h320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>2012 edition</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLgO70IMVbNKllfy6C8k4C0mi5yKcd2hk9fUyYiCskfzRPzcbc54i-vYeAtvk9_QOMCDrNHkx3knLZGkEefGB4BaxZz1tyMMWyAAkS1QPS4dALKMNnddk1ReO_1sLY2XgxU-51-uPZ-2q8x_ePp4sVjfSqdInc3qsZpeYywacmYaXUjTwIOtIAgGvARg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1288" data-original-width="872" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLgO70IMVbNKllfy6C8k4C0mi5yKcd2hk9fUyYiCskfzRPzcbc54i-vYeAtvk9_QOMCDrNHkx3knLZGkEefGB4BaxZz1tyMMWyAAkS1QPS4dALKMNnddk1ReO_1sLY2XgxU-51-uPZ-2q8x_ePp4sVjfSqdInc3qsZpeYywacmYaXUjTwIOtIAgGvARg=w216-h320" width="216" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>2022 edition</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />"What Shall I Wear" is no mere nostalgia piece. At its first publication Claire McCardell was a recognized name in fashion. Her affordable designs for Townley were sold in major department stores like Lord & Taylor. Her use of unusual fabrics for the time (gingham, denim, jersey), easy shapes and dearth of unnecessary gew-gaws were loved by the fashion press as well as the best-dressed set (Babe Paley was a fan). She had her hand in everything from paper dolls to car interiors. Claire McCardell was the most recognized woman in American fashion at a time when few American designers were known by name.<p></p><p>After her death in 1958 at age 53 the business was shuttered. Her innovations lived on—worn any ballet slippers lately?—but her designs, as well as "What Shall I Wear?", lay dormant. The book was first republished in 2012 without much fanfare. That edition is since out of print. The prolific designer Tory Burch discovered Claire McCardell and not only produced her Spring/Summer 2022 collection in tribute, she managed to have "What Shall I Wear" published again in all its original glory and with a foreword by her, afterword by Allison Tolman and photo insert of Claire McCardell designs.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU2YhsscTj30LlG9WUd1190HQu_ccJG2F6PTcssTxnUXUPnhsvCjL8xFHyxvjqNVQ8ZXTE5gv3PXnlrwlczJHrMvQ1B5qhoegAIR64iGxaE6C_G949Ik4yQTBuugtkYlyKLsS-b5aLsNsWen6i-2V_NnSCas8Mg7TT5VnziSTpX2BlPgNvEKjGOH5ftw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1574" data-original-width="1306" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU2YhsscTj30LlG9WUd1190HQu_ccJG2F6PTcssTxnUXUPnhsvCjL8xFHyxvjqNVQ8ZXTE5gv3PXnlrwlczJHrMvQ1B5qhoegAIR64iGxaE6C_G949Ik4yQTBuugtkYlyKLsS-b5aLsNsWen6i-2V_NnSCas8Mg7TT5VnziSTpX2BlPgNvEKjGOH5ftw=w265-h320" width="265" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tory Burch for S/S 2022</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This time the reasoning is clear (or Claire if you'll forgive the pun): Claire McCardell is as fresh and relatable as she was at the designs' origins in the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Claire herself lived and wore her work, sometimes for years before she could convince buyers to sign on. Her designs were always purposeful and easy to wear: a "popover" that was more than an apron and could be worn over a dress as a stylish time saver in the kitchen or a "monastic" tent dress that fit the wearer's shape and could be belted many ways. She invented a capsule wardrobe of "five easy pieces" that foreshadowed Donna Karan's capsule by about 20 years. And she wrote the most wonderful book about how to dress that I've ever read.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhE_rpabyud_nBdHwefC8eFfzX6ZBq1eE2uHVHDimlVb0veNzUeW_-cQFBTtISrxhUTSFUgW8rrU8RK-16BlS_eFSXTLa9Fr9n4nvaKHIiftPGtMqLc2Xezcgru51BETzIeEEBAOp43yfoUZpbTaji8zwLeq0EKTSujyHAVOOKfkMBp1Vs8tL_6tKp8lQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1172" data-original-width="1550" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhE_rpabyud_nBdHwefC8eFfzX6ZBq1eE2uHVHDimlVb0veNzUeW_-cQFBTtISrxhUTSFUgW8rrU8RK-16BlS_eFSXTLa9Fr9n4nvaKHIiftPGtMqLc2Xezcgru51BETzIeEEBAOp43yfoUZpbTaji8zwLeq0EKTSujyHAVOOKfkMBp1Vs8tL_6tKp8lQ=w400-h303" width="400" /></a></div><br />Truth be told, Claire had help. I mean, she was far too busy to devote herself to the task of writing (which is hard believe me). Interestingly the only parts of "What Shall I Wear?" that sound dated are the "wifey" references to dropping your husband off at the train station and dressing up for his business dinners, which have the stamp of a ghostwriter and commercial appeal. But its jaunty, first-person tone still does what it always has. "What Shall I Wear?" asks you to look at what you wear as who you are and/or want to be. In the '50s that was a freedom rarely granted in fashion. Today that's a freedom we cherish but can be reluctant to embrace. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiakwMmaOD4SFfrmN3Rn-jUNAiOCjQcjB5wMaMp8TyQ7eX-9sNYSjoIRoM0HoZt6niFl8wxTnCdbzu4EfYq4AecWos4ytbi0IkOl-ZE3J2ubSKh9IJ_vXlPExLdddpvNR7qUV_Yzx7XB5gy2ZfAdoNLCeqTk51m7BLjmzBhWbcgZU7AQZLP_WUTH8RMkA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="1466" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiakwMmaOD4SFfrmN3Rn-jUNAiOCjQcjB5wMaMp8TyQ7eX-9sNYSjoIRoM0HoZt6niFl8wxTnCdbzu4EfYq4AecWos4ytbi0IkOl-ZE3J2ubSKh9IJ_vXlPExLdddpvNR7qUV_Yzx7XB5gy2ZfAdoNLCeqTk51m7BLjmzBhWbcgZU7AQZLP_WUTH8RMkA=w400-h312" width="400" /></a></div><br />Oh, and those drawings. I had never heard of the illustrator Annabrita before or since, but she drew the woman I am still trying to become. It never ends.<p></p><p><i>*Even today original copies are as rare as hen's teeth. There's one on ebay now for $450.00.</i> <br /></p>allwaysinfashionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05351565252580853058noreply@blogger.com4