Snap! Crackle! Pop!

Lady Gaga arriving at the Met Gala

 
Something tells me the Metropolitan Museum of Art's annual Costume Institute exhibition, "Camp: Notes on Fashion" will be full of fabulous costumes but may or may not be worth a trip from anywhere.

Sunday's New York Times published an interview with six gay men who might know what exactly is camp— a professor at Columbia, two performance artists, a model, Ru Paul's costume designer, and a photographer. They tried to define "camp" and didn't exactly succeed. I agreed with 86-year-old James Bidgood, who said "I don't know what anyone's talking about!"

I've always felt the world of camp belonged to male homosexuals, and what was camp was up to them. Camp was almost a term of endearment, a so-bad-it's-good kind of thing, a crowning glory of bad taste viewed affectionately. Liberace might have been really awful, but he was camp.

What's the difference, you may ask, between kitsch, camp, pop and irony? I'm going to take a stab at this very murky gene pool. And I will do it with aprons.

KITSCH is a 1950's Betty Crocker-style apron:

  

CAMP is that apron worn by a drag queen:

POP is an apron referencing an Andy Warhol soup can:

IRONY is an apron referencing an Andy Warhol soup can but picturing Donald Trump:

All this can be debated, and that would be the problem. I wonder just how the Met has the chutzpah to take on camp and what they will do with it. While no doubt this will be a fun show, not only may it beg the question "What is camp?", it may ask "What is fashion?"

Will there be answers?

Do You Spot a Trend Here?

TJ Maxx is not known for its visuals, so when my local TJ's received a huge shipment of cross-body bags, how else to display them? This was only a third of the length of wall; you can imagine what an impression those bags made. Like, is this a trend???

I think yes.

Cross-body bags are nothing new, of course. They started as the practical way to tote a  big old messenger bag around and save your shoulders.

What's the message?

Over time cross-body bags got smaller, the size of a normal handbag. This became a neat way to carry a bag while freeing up your hands.

A handy idea

 

I discovered the ease of a cross-body bag a few years ago. It was to be an on-the-go-no-lolling-around-the-pool vacation and required an adjustment to the giant, heavy leather tote I usually hauled around. My cross-body was strictly utilitarian, made of lightweight nylon with zippered compartments and two zippered pockets. This was a revelation. It was amazing how much could fit in such a small space (and how little I really needed).

Glad to be freed-up

The latest crop of cross-body bags are smaller still. What else do we need save a phone, a credit card, a lipstick and some Tic-Tacs?

As seen in Paris...

So while they're not new, this year they seem to be A Thing. I'll bet TJ Maxx hopes so.

Not an Easter Wedding

  
Today is my wedding anniversary. It's also Easter, but it wasn't Easter in 1968. It was just Sunday, April 21. As weddings go, ours was pretty low-key. That is, I wasn't stressed, probably because I let my mother do all the planning. She was very good at those things; I assume hers was a labor of love.

We had forty guests, and it was surely one of the smallest weddings New York City's Plaza Hotel ever held. We served hors d'oeuvres, champagne and wedding cake. For music there was an accordionist to play "Fascination", an homage to one of my favorite films, "Love in the Afternoon".

I'm sure you don't want to hear more details. Like, my husband's office sent a giant bouquet of lilies. Was that supposed to be a joke??? And we stole the sign posted outside our event:

Missing an H, M and A...

The true subject is my dress. My mother made it from a photo I saw in French Elle, the one written in French, that I couldn't read. She sewed it with one broken arm. I can't remember how she broke it. It was healed by my wedding day.

As this was 1968 the dress was barely fingertip length, stopping halfway up my thigh. Today we would call this a tunic. It was made from the most perfect white crepe. The wonderful hood was attached and turned into a collar. I can't believe how my mother covered all those buttons and made those loops. She might have had helpers.

I did feel like Cinderella...

 
My wedding was truly a blur. I wore glasses back then but decided Not on My Wedding Day. So if you were there, I'm sorry I didn't see you. After we shooed our guests off to their own dinners (felt a little guilty but no one seemed to mind), my newly minted husband and I had dinner at L' Etoile, a French restaurant that had once been the Playboy Club. After dinner, a carriage ride through Central Park.
 
Yes, yes, it's a fashion blog. So this is fashion (or was then): Next morning my husband was denied entry to the Plaza restaurant for breakfast. Although he was wearing a sport jacket and a turtleneck sweater, he wasn't wearing a tie. Hard to believe there was a time when a man had to wear a tie to breakfast at the Plaza, but his wife could wear a blouse for a dress.

PS Sadly this story does not have a happy ending. The dress was packed in a cardboard box and landed in the attic of our Victorian-era house in Westchester County. So much ended up in that attic, one weekend many years later we rented a dumpster and had a massive clean-out. I could never find the box again. All in all, I'd rather have the husband than the dress.

  

The Closet Kondo-conundrum

Twiggy in my closet would be a keeper

It's an old story. Come Spring every woman's fancy turns to what to fancy. The stores are full of shiny objects for this magpie to covet. The styles may not be so different from seasons past, but all is tweaked a bit and looks desirable.

I want it all, and I want it now.

The past ten years I've honed my wardrobe to reflect who I think I am. I'm not tempted to follow every fad for fad's sake. I've thrown things out that don't work and really gotten better about buying them in the first place. Semi-retired, I now have a bit of expendable income that doesn't have to go for college tuition or heating oil.  I'm not extravagant. My favorite store still starts with a "T" and ends with a "Maxx." I have more time to bargain hunt and comparison shop and do.

Wait a minute, Marie...

There are many nice things in my closet. While I may still enjoy wearing them, they're old. The bloom is off the rose. The dew is off the morning glory. The thrill is gone. Is that a reason to buy more?

I've got to think the answer is yes. And here's why:

> It's important to be relevant. You don't want to be advertising your expiration date like a carton of yogurt. Some things just scream SUMMER 2015!!! Sporting a (flattering) new trend keeps your style up to date.

> New clothes are a blank slate. Old clothes have a history, and not always a good one. There's nothing wrong with the blue and white striped shirt except I was wearing it during a family argument that shouldn't have happened. We made up, but I still see the day on that shirt.

When considering whether it will come home with me, I think about when I will wear it. The more I can justify it, the more likely I am to buy it. I still believe in being prepared.

> Old clothes have earned their keep. I have a silk blouse I've worn for years. That top was expensive. If nothing else it's earned its keep and doesn't have to be the only blouse I love.

Just because it's old doesn't mean you should give it away. And just because you've had it forever doesn't mean you have to keep it. Remember we're talking about clothes here, folks, not relationships. The older those are, the better.

> Who doesn't like something new? There is joy in snipping off the tags before you wear something for the first time, definitely a little feeling of accomplishment. You looked for it. You found it. You bought it. You are happy to welcome it into your life starting today. Chances are you have never thought about this, but isn't it a little bit true?

The key to the puzzle is knowing when to say goodbye. It's always harder to let go than to welcome something new. This is where Marie Kondo could be on to something. 

What's Up With Project Runaway?

 
That's right; you read correctly: Project Runaway. The last incarnation of Project Runway All Stars (Season 7) just ended on Lifetime. There will be no spoiler alerts because I haven't seen the finale yet.

I've been a fervent watcher of Project Runway since Season 1 and was so moved by the first winner, Jay McCarroll, I cried when his collection came down the runway. I was proud as a peacock when hometown favorite, Chloe Dao, won Season 2. As the seasons went on the talent became less spectacular, the personalities more caricatured, and the sponsorship more obvious, but still I watched.

A young Mr. Christian

 
Project Runway has produced only one notable winner, Christian Siriano. He was an unlikely contestant, young and a bit quirky but full of confidence. He proved he knew what he was doing and has gone on to dress red carpet celebrities as well as design shoes for Payless. He believes in inclusivity and was the only designer not to turn down Leslie Jones 's request to make her gown for the "Ghostbusters" premiere.

Red on the red carpet...

The peripheral players on Project Runway were the real winners. Tim Gunn, a well-loved instructor at Parson's School of Design, became the show's mentor and found himself a whole new career as everyone's fashion guru. Heidi Klum, a former Victoria's Secret model, acted as the host and was also a producer. She acquitted herself as a smart woman and no doubt has contributed much to our understanding that supermodels have brains. Nina Garcia, a tough but fair fashion editor, has written three books and is now the editor-in-chief of Elle magazine.

 
Project Runway All Stars seemed like a strange idea from the beginning—losers from past Project Runway seasons returned to try again, sometimes a past winner among them. Season 7 (probably the last) consisted of all winners all the time. Dmitry Sholokhov was back to try for a third win. Enough already!

Does Dmitry win the triple crown?

What prompted today's New York Times to write about these Runways was the reference on air in All Stars Season 7 that "winning looks will be available immediately after the show on JC Penney's website." A sponsor of the "accessories wall" and recipient of many on-air plugs, JC Penney had a deal with Project Runway when it was owned by the Weinstein Company. That imploded with the Weinstein bankruptcy in 2018. All Stars Season 7, recorded in 2017, had not been shown until now, almost two years later. Instead of adding a disclaimer, shows have run as-is. I'm probably not alone in having checked Penney's website only to find there are no Project Runway fashions for sale.

The latest Project Runway—original format but with Karlie Kloss playing Heidi Klum and Christian Siriano playing Tim Gunn—is back on Bravo. They too offer "some of the winning fashions" for sale, but they are sewn to order by an on-demand manufacturer called Nineteenth Ammendment. Delivery time is 4-6 weeks. By that time those fashions will really be "old hat".

Patience needed for Tessa Clark's winning look

AllWays in Fashion Forever!

  
Not everything without a happy ending is a sad story.

About a year ago my friend Durell Godfrey suggested we do a book combining AllWays in Fashion with her illustrations. We were collaborators for many years, putting together Glamour Magazine's How to do Anything Better Guide each month with staff writer Linda Gordon.

Solving problems in the "How to do Anything Better" book

Durell's drawings garnered much praise and quite a fan following. She's also illustrated many books and recently created two of the best grown-up coloring books, "Color Me Cluttered" and "Color Your Happy Home". Eight years ago I began this blog to scratch the writer itch that has been on me since earning that Author girl scout badge.
 
The sash and badges are long gone, but the memory lingers on. Of all the ones I earned, that Author badge meant the most. I worked hard for it, creating my own "magazine", on which I was editor,  writer, illustrator and layout designer. Never was a magazine put together with such a singular vision. 

Durell and I were fortunate to secure a New York book agent who loved the idea and encouraged us in writing the proposal for submission. That included an outline of the book, an expanded table of contents and sample chapter with illustrations. We put together a survey and polled 100 women from ages 55-85 about their relationship to clothes. We secured promise of a foreword by a lovely movie star of a certain age. 

Slowly it became clear no publisher considered us worthy of a book deal. The reasons given ranged from the possible ("Fashion books don't do well for us") to the ridiculous ("Women that age aren't interested in fashion"). The rejection letters themselves were full of praise. There were enough of them to paper a small room. We would join the ranks of the many thousands of the unpublished.

Writing a book would be hard. I had a taste of that preparing the proposal. There were days I stayed in my bathrobe and fairly threw dinner at my husband. I made up a sign that said "Do Not Disturb" and waved it at him if he was talking too much. Durell was halfway across the country; we telecommunicated by trial and error. I learned that perhaps I was not (nor ever would be) ready to write a book.

I now have THE GREATEST RESPECT for any published author. If you've published more than one, you are either a glutton for punishment or super human. When they say "It was a labor of love", I suspect they may be playing down the labor part.

Please don't feel sorry there was no book for us at the end of the rainbow. Durell has plenty on her plate, as do I. You will still get my crotchety views on fashion or my delight in something just too fabulous not to share. All's truly well that ends well. And thanks to Durell, I now have another badge.

  

Now Can We Get Back to Normal?

Sartorially speaking I'm so glad the awards season is over. I enjoy them as much as anyone. Not a dog fancier, I still love the Westminster Kennel Club show. I used to love Miss America, back when we were less enlightened. I've always loved the Academy Awards. Honk if you remember when they were sponsored by Toni Home Permanent. Nowadays I wouldn't miss the trifecta of Golden Globes, BAFTAS and Oscars.

Glenn didn't win an Oscar, but she wore one.

 
What I don't watch is the red carpet. Plenty of people do, and they really care. The red carpet has become its own dog and pony show (two hours long on this year's Oscar telecast). Back in the day the stars tried to look nice. Those who wore crazy get-ups were known for their outlandish attire. Who can forget Cher in 1986? Only Cher should and could have worn this:

Wacky by Mackie

Then came Joan Rivers, who found fault with almost everyone. She was very funny, and I miss her dearly. But if I were a celebrity crossing her path on the red carpet I would have been shaking in my Manolos.

Joan trying to blend in

Now things have gone off the rails. Celebrities (or the stylists who dress them) try to outdo each other with one more bizarre outfit after another. I find myself saying, "What was she thinking?" or more and more frequently, "What was he thinking?"

Fashion and style are not the same thing. They are more like siblings who share some traits but don't always get along. Expressing yourself is one thing. Looking good while doing it is another. So, no, I'm not going to post my faves (there were some) or the horrors that should have stayed on hangers. I'm just breathing a sigh of relief we can finally get back to figuring out what to wear ourselves.

I'm pretty sure it won't be this, but—oh my—if it could!

Melissa McCarthy, presenter extraordinaire

Madame Predicts...Nothing New

That's right, from my perch on high (reading the fashion press and trolling upscale and mid-scale shopping meccas around town), I see nothing new for spring-summer 2019 (or sprummer as I call it).

Spring is a state of mind here in Houston and increasingly in the rest of the world. One day is winter; the next day is summer, then back to winter, then summer again with spring maybe at 3 AM for an hour or two.

What to wear is all about how you relate to the season of the day and where you are going. At the Lovely Boutique Where I Work, it's summer somewhere. Our offerings are all colorful versions of the classics we sell, but what to wear to work?  I caught myself almost choosing a linen shirt with velvet pants the other morning.

So let's just forget about spring.

If you liked your wardrobe from last summer, well—hurrah—I don't think you'll be tempted to buy anything new. I see the same mix of Boho, sleek chic, athletic wear, menswear, and quirky retro.  This is not meant to be worn together; it's more a choose-your-own-adventure. Pick your path and play along. All the players are staying true to their thing: Etro, Ralph Lauren, Gucci, Armani, etc.

Etro

Ralph Lauren

Gucci

Armani

 
If there is something you missed finding—the right sundress or jumpsuit or wicker basket bag—you'll have another chance this year. None of the trends appear "out", a reprieve if you will. In truth it's been a very long time since we worried about what's in/what's out. Like super-permissive parents, fashion seems afraid to tell us "no". I worry what that can lead to.

You say you got nothing from this post? That's kind of the point. Despite the fluctuations in temperature, the azaleas are still budding. Next summer will soon be this summer, and I'll look the same.

That might not be a bad thing.

Now where can I find a version of these Chanel pants?

Dressing the Wife

 
There once was a how-to fashion book called "Wife Dressing: The Fine Art of Being a Well-Dressed Wife", published in 1959 and written by Anne Fogarty, a popular American designer. The book has some timeless advice, but that title is rough. Some book titles, like fashion, don't wear well.

This post is about the movie, "The Wife". Glenn Close plays a stoic, long-suffering wife of a famed author about to receive his Nobel Prize. He's not much of a prize himself, a philandering egomaniac who is something of a big baby. Glenn Close does a terrific job, never crossing the line into melodrama and pity.

I didn't realize there was more to "The Wife" than all this suffering, which is why it took me so long to see it. Glenn Close is up for an Academy Award, and she deserves it. Her wife has a story to tell, which is revealed even more in her eyes than words in the screenplay.

I had been told, "Michelle, you'll love the clothes.", but I don't spend the bucks and fight the crowds at the multiplex just to see nice clothes. They were, however, lovely. 

Joan's clothes hint at the steely person inside. From practical plaid flannel pajamas to a classically formal gown for the Nobel ceremony, Joan is a woman of few frills but impeccable taste.

Everything is of the best quality.  She wears a "good cloth coat" to Stockholm as she thought fur would be ostentatious—the movie takes place in 1992 when we did wear fur—but it's the most luscious camel wool coat ever. She knows the power of a good scarf. She knows enough to keep an ethnic jacket free of extraneous adornment. An important part of her look is cropped but softly styled silver hair, restrained makeup and fine accessories. Her jewelry is either unobtrusive or an artistic piece possibly from a museum shop.

 
These are clothes chosen by a woman who likes nice things but doesn't want to stand out. You get the feeling an afternoon of shopping would not be her idea of a good time, especially as she turns down that very suggestion.

The movie has more than a few surprises which I won't reveal. Here's one I will. The actress who plays the younger Joan in flashbacks is Glenn Close's own daughter, Annie Starke. Now that is perfect casting.

The Older Model Bandwagon

Turning silver to gold...

Along with diversity in general there has been a real effort to cast older models who are relatable to ordinary women.

I do love a fantasy supermodel, a Maye Musk or Carmen Dell'Orefice. Too often, however, older models look like a second thought. I can hear the (young) art directors thinking, "Oh let's put her in the shot but keep her matronly and don't let her smile" or "Let's get some garishly outlandish older woman because everyone loves a character."

The fashion industry has been notoriously stupid for ages. I remember having navels airbrushed from two-piece swimsuit photos back in the '60s. That was only just after we stopped whittling down already skinny models at the waist.

I still want some fantasy in my fashion. If a model is too young, I just  mentally lop off her head when considering the clothes. I can determine if they will be right for me.

I do love to see someone who is not only older and beautiful but could be a woman I work with, volunteer with or am friends with. I saw an example today, looking at me from the window of Dress Barn, next to the Dollar Store in a strip mall. I usually pass by Dress Barn grateful there are other stores to shop. I'd never been inside.

Reflecting the window...and me?

I was stopped by a poster of an older woman with long grey hair.  Her expression is candid; she's thinking of something. She's also decidedly wrinkled and freckled, like me. The poster is huge, probably six feet high. She's beautiful, but she's also real, and what she tells me is I can still wear a leopard knit top with jeans and push up the sleeves. Why the hell not?

The "she" in the photo is Roxanne Gould, a 60-year-old native Californian. Dress Barn—sizes range from 4-24—is using a diverse group of models in a campaign promoting they are "more than just a name".

  
The tall (5'11") Roxanne joined her model mother in a Bayer Aspirin shoot at age 3 and has been modeling since. She spent 9 years in Europe as a popular, dependable model, but her career really took off when she stopped dyeing her gray hair and let it go natural. She's found more success than she ever did as one of a barrel-full of pretty girls.

Pretty, sure, but...

  
I truly believe the key to happiness as we get older is accepting ourselves. I'll never look like Roxanne, but I love looking at her. Those two sentences have got to be the ying and yang of woman.