Hair, There and Everywhere

Dali was not licensed...

Show me a woman who doesn't adore her hairdresser, and I'll show you a woman looking for a new one. We can be so dependent on that person who cuts or colors or blows out or all three that we've been known to plan major life events around their schedule or travel many miles to their new location. 

The New York Times has just published hairdresser John Freida's obituary. He was a quiet, elegant Englishman who became a "celebrity hairdresser", especially after inventing something called Frizz Ease, which the super-curly among us swear by. 

He also had very good hair...

Hairdressers were not always so prominent. There have long been assistants to fix one's hair, but the term and professional practice really began in 17th century France, the name originating from dresser les cheveux (to arrange the hair). And they were always men.

Liz and Alexandre

Alexandre de Paris may have been the first modern celebrity hairstylist, naming Elizabeth Taylor and Grace Kelly as clients. Kenneth Battele had a long run at the top, being a favorite of fashion magazines published in New York and with society clients like Jackie Kennedy. Vidal Sassoon, a London East Ender and no relation to the famous Sassoon dynasty, rocked the hair world with his cropped cut in the 1960's. In the New York City of my heyday Roger Thompson, a Sassoon protege, wore the crown (pun intended only if you are so inclined). 

* * *  

Although my Aunt Sally had her hair done every Thursday, we were not that extravagant. I never remember my mother going to the hairdresser. She would snip at the ends of her own curly hair with a manicure scissors and would expertly trim my bone-straight bangs with the kitchen shears.

Both of us, however, would have loved to be subjects for Joe Portaro, a Cleveland hairdresser, who had a makeover show on local television. The program wasn't very long. It was set up to introduce the "befores" and reveal the "afters" in the span of 30 minutes. There must have been some kinescoping at work as the early '50s were way before videotape. The transformations were amazing, with perhaps 75% becoming blondes.

A makeover pioneer

By high school I found my fellow classmates almost all went to one or the other of the popular salons in our suburban neighborhood. The few times I went myself, armed with a photo from Seventeen magazine, I came home bitterly disappointed, to which my mother would say, "It's only hair; it will grow". But never fast enough. 

I too learned to cut my hair with a manicure scissors. I would have it pixie-short then grow it out and start the cycle all over again. Around the Farrah Fawcett Shag Era I saw an article how to achieve that look yourself. You gathered all your hair in a rubber band on top of your head and just cut. It really worked, too, and I looked the spitting image of Rod Stewart. 

Farrah

Rod

When did that all change? When did I too become tethered to a favorite hairdresser? I think it began with Tony, though I can't remember at which of Tony's many salons it did begin. He was very handsome and decidedly straight. I must have already reached the age when I would no longer be of interest as he confessed all his woman troubles to me. They involved juggling a wife and several girlfriends. It may have been his classic Italian good looks or his supposed prowess with women, but he made me feel beautiful. And he cut my hair really short. I began to plan my life events around his haircuts. It took a good two weeks for them to settle in. Tony also had management issues. His salons were always poorly managed and unwilling to take his suggestions. Thus he moved around a lot. The end came when I found myself taking a cab from Manhattan to some obscure area in Queens. I decided no hairdresser was worth taxi fare to Queens.

Approximately 40 years of inspiration

From then I would ask total strangers with nice haircuts, "Who cut your hair?" That found me many hairdressers who all worked out for a while. I compiled a stack of hair clippings (pix of haircuts not strands of) that have accompanied me to appointments over the years. It's fun to go through them to see how clothing styles may change, but a good haircut is a good haircut. 

My biggest fear moving from New York to Houston was how would I find one? One day in Nordstrom I asked a customer for her hairdresser, and Tommy has been cutting mine for the past 22 years. Tommy is a she.

 

One Night in Venice...

Photographs serve as the greatest of memory jags. When I see one I can remember as clearly as I recall yesterday everything that went on before, during and after the the moment the shutter snapped. I can remember in finely etched detail so much more by looking at a photo than merely "remembering". 

This is particularly true of the photo above. Yes, that is me. I cannot recall the name of the man I am sitting across, but I remember who he was and how we got there.

We are in Venice. Italy, not the one in California. It's August, 1967. I was on a 4-week vacation generously granted by my employer, Miki Denhof, the Art Director of Glamour magazine. Hired as low-man-on-the-toem-pole two years earlier, I had asked to take advantage of a bargain charter airfare for my first trip to Europe. I will never forget her reply when I asked to take two weeks more of my allotted vacation time. "This is your first trip to Europe? You MUST take four weeks!" Perhaps to justify the generosity, I was given a manilla envelope of papers to deliver to the Conde Nast offices in Paris.

The trip was mostly solo. I went over with a friend joining her husband in Paris. We flew into Amsterdam, were met by the husband and two of his friends. We drove to Paris (in a very small car as I recall), and there parted ways. 

By the time of this photo I had traveled by myself from Paris to Rapallo on the Italian Riviera, then on to Florence, and Venice. It makes little sense to have gone in that order, but I did. I continued to Rome and Naples. For a "first trip to Europe" I was certainly concentrating on Italy.

Yes, I was a young woman traveling alone in a 1967 world that had not yet heard much about "women's liberation". And I was in a part of that world where it was a long time before anyone did. I remember being out on the street in Naples and seeing no other women save those standing in doorways waiting for customers.

Let's return to Venice. I was sightseeing when this young man started a conversation. Back when my steady boyfriend at the time wore long sideburns a la John Lennon and black horn rims like Michael Caine, he looked very clean cut, thus harmless. He appeared to be in his late 20s (I was 25) but looked older on account of a receding hairline. He seemed nice, smart and sincere. I wasn't looking for a fella—that boyfriend back home and I were getting pretty serious—but I agreed to meet him for dinner.

A quick aside for the reason I can file this trip down memory lane under "fashion". The leopard print outfit I'm wearing (barely seen in photo) was a two-piece knit—bateau neck top and slim pull-on skirt—that I bought for $10.99 in Bloomingdale's basement. Bloomingdale's has long been a bastion of contemporary fashion. Once upon a time there was also a basement store for bargains. It was on the subway level; you could enter from the subway without going up the stairs to Lexington Avenue. I sewed most of my clothes in those days, but this was a bargain I couldn't resist. Besides knits were hard to sew on my old Singer.

There was a basement under there...

I was wearing it one day on my job in the art department of Glamour when the editor-in-chief, Kathleen Johnson, spotted me at my workspace, asked me about it, then marched me through the fashion department, telling her editors, "She found this for $10.99. Why can't you bring me clothes that don't cost a fortune?" For many months after I felt those fashion editors giving me the eye..

Back to the story...  

The restaurant was on a canal—what isn't in Venice?—and must have been a touristy place as the photo was taken by their roving photographer. We had a pleasant enough dinner. He told me that he was stuck in Venice for a few days as his luggage had been lost in transit, and he needed to wait for it. Obviously those were the times we traveled with a degree of formality as he was wearing a suit.

The conversation turned a little grim. Perhaps he realized I wasn't being charmed, but he proceeded to tell me I was a very independent type person (check) and that I would never find love because of it. Despite my desire to say, "It's not me; it's you" or tell him about the boyfriend back home, I said nothing. The evening ended rather abruptly, but the barb has sat there for a very long time.

It's quite rusty now.  In fact I only remember it when I look at this photo. That boyfriend met me at the airport on my return to New York and proposed in the parking lot. We've been married for almost 59 years.

Galliano X Zara: From the Remarkably Ugly to the Unremarkable

John Galliano is not someone I care to discuss. Although he is lauded as a genius designer, only just below Alexander McQueen in standing, I cannot take the person out of the clothes. However, because I consider Zara a legitimate player in the fashion business, I will weigh in on the collaboration. 

There are really two ways to see the collection. First is the look book as photographed by Steven Meisel. The raggedy misfits reminded me of nothing so much as a Ken Russell film—the asylum scene in "The Music Lovers" or if he had directed "Les Miz". The wasted vagrants with purple lips and zombie eyes are the stuff of nightmares. Clothes are piled upon clothes. The models look like they are going through a cranky adolescence, You want me to pick up the clothes in my room? I'll show you; I'll wear them all.

Once everything is off the form and photographed paper doll style against white, things start to make sense. But there are unremarkable sweaters (let's do like the Brits and call them jumpers), various button downs and a tuxedo jacket I've seen a million times before. Consider them a cheat-sheet, if you want: "How to Dress Galliano X Zara With What You Already Own." There are a number of items no one in her right mind would ever wear (a bra with hanging...leash?) and a smattering of the attractive, interesting and creative that you might.

Audrey meets Miss Haversham

Trashy...

Gesundheit!

Seen that before...

Which end is up?

For the invisible man..or woman

Prices? Well, less than couture, that's for sure. That sweet black lace and mesh dress is $759. The trash bag purse, $459. Miss Haversham's hanky, $459. All too familiar tux, $459. Bondage brassiere, $169.  The cheapest thing seems to be a shirt collar for $79.90, keep the change. 

Having a Row over the Row

What is this???

 
The English language is so quirky that r-o-w can spell row, as in owl or row as in caviar. And that's what I have today, a mini battle royal between myself and that elevated in all respects fashion brand, The Row.

For those of you with no memory of '80s television, The Row was created in 2005 by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, fraternal twins who played toddlers on "Full House" from 1987, when they were 6 months old, to 1995, when they were 8 years old. They weren't cast as twins. They alternated playing a single role, thus avoiding any issues about working with minors. I guess if you were a stage mother, having twins might be your ticket to success.

Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen

 
After several years in films (together) and a few other ventures capitalizing on their stardom, the pair began this high-end fashion brand. I was skeptical, but from the first The Row has delivered exquisite tailoring with understated style and high price tags. Nothing is produced in great quantities. It was and still is quite desirable, but hard to wear. Dressing in The Row requires discipline and editing to the extreme.

Typical The Row looks

A fancy outlier

By editing to the extreme, I refer you to today's 4-page advertisement, top photo and below, in the New York Times. Bear in mind; this was the Saturday edition, traditionally not read by everyone, ie there are few commuters on a Saturday. We soak it up every day, delivered in gold foil to our door each morning. Really, it's blue plastic, but for the price we pay for this delight, it should be gold foil like a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. Despite this being Saturday I would think national delivery of a stand-alone, 4-color broadsheet would not come cheap.

Well, it's not exactly 4-color. The front (and back) is an untitled photograph by William Eggelston, known for his lush work in color photography. Inside, the row is empty (pun intended), just a line of type with the name "The Row" and a photo credit. 

You have to look very closely...

 
What the????? I know what The Row is. Does anyone else? How many readers will assume something went haywire at the printers? What if you DO know The Row? What message is this trying to send? 

Mary-Kate and Ashley aren't saying. They are notoriously averse to personal publicity and are rarely seen at celebrity events. If I didn't know better I'd think this was a joke, but The Row isn't known for its sense of humor, and they aren't talking. 

 

Who's That Gal?

That gal is...

I'm a pro at bypassing those Facebook "reels" that pepper my feed. They are rabbit holes I prefer not to fall into. However I was stopped cold by this Iris-Apfel-look-alike model. I know she is not Iris (who passed away at age 102 in 2024). But who is she? I love her! Why? No matter how old I get (and this cat gets more Old Deuteronomy every day) I believe fashion is for everyone no matter her age, and I love to see that played out on the street, on runways and now in my Facebook feed. 

Rainer, Chris, Lauritz

"That gal" is Chris Spenner. She is the wife of Rainer Spenner and the mother of Lauritz Spenner who are Ono Koon, a German fashion brand "known for unconventional cuts, creative layered-look styles, and comfortable, loose-fitting women's clothing". 

Translated from the company website: Our fashion emphasizes the unconventional, standing out with unique designs and cuts. At the same time, it is generous, comfortable, and infinitely versatile. This very combination is what our customers have valued for 25 years now. 

Chris also posts "daily outfit inspirations", modeling and describing what she is wearing in, alas for me, German. But a picture, especially a moving one, is worth a thousand words. 

"Daily outfit inspiration" pep talk

There are classic cuts but in unusual patterns and colorways. The fit is decidedly "comfortable" but not outlandishly oversize. It still requires some skill to pull off without looking silly. 

What I like most, however, is the way Ono Koon shows the same look on two models, an anonymous younger blonde model and Chris Spenner, with a possible adjustment in styling and/or accessories. 

Same dress, two ways

Sometimes more is better, and I do feel that way about slip dresses. Consider yourself blessed if you are toned enough to pull them off. I just reached a point where I wasn't and feel more comfortable with something over them. A wispy jacket works as does this loose-knit sweater, which carefully follows the shape of the dress.  The "fashion lessons" are never overt. It's just pretty obvious that Ono Koon also believes in Fashion For All. Unfortunately there are only a few stores in Germany, and they don't deliver to the United States.

When asked I describe my style as "Bohemian with sanity". I try not to wear things that stand out in a bad way. I'm too small a person to carry off huge statements, but I do like color and unusual color pairings, pattern mixing, oddball accessories. I let my hair go gray, keep it cut in a short pixie and love me a red lipstick. If ever I am mistaken for Chris Spenner on the streets of Houston, I will be very pleased indeed. 

To Bare or Not to Bare

Oh, Mary...

The age old conundrum—I hate to bare my arms but what to do about summer dresses?—has been attacked and (to my mind) conquered by Vanessa Friedman in the New York Times. Vanessa's stories have often been inspiration for this blog. My excuse is that not everyone can access the Times, so I am doing womankind a service by passing along her (always) wise words.

Vanessa assures us that if you think you are seeing a lot of sleeveless looks out there, you are. Sleeveless dressing is more of a thing than ever, and global warming isn't necessary to blame. It's just a look. That's the way Fashion is, not always considerating what may not be easy to pull off. 

Nine out of ten women over forty worry about their upper arms.  Nine out of ten women over fifty don't like to show them. Nine out of ten women over sixty refuse to show them altogether. I've just made up those statistics, but you get the idea. The older you are the more that part of your body is a no-show zone.

Some women plain don't care. They've worked hard on their muscle tone and have managed to keep the jiggles at bay. Others—gulp—couldn't care less. This piece is not addressed to either camp. 

While it's not possible to turn back time, there are ways to make an end run around a sleeveless top.

1) Redirect the eye. Statement earrings or an eye-catching necklace can pull the attention away from your arms. Pick one, not both.

Let the necklace do the talking

2) Give it the cold shoulder. Try something incorporating the cold shoulder look or open arms.

Cold enough for you?

3) Cap it. Look for a cap sleeve or dropped shoulder. This gives the illusion of sleeveless with less skin.

Cap sleeve

Dropped shoulder

4) Take cover. A sweater or shawl is practically a neon sign pointing out what you are trying to do. Instead cover with a sheer top. This look is so fashion-forward Marc Jacobs just showed it on his Fall 2026 runway.

Forward thinking

Vanessa concludes with: "And you never know, you may learn to love your arms. They are, after all, the part of you that may have given Power Points; hefted children, boxes and furniture; typed your papers, hugged your family, paid the bills. Seems to me that's worth showing off."

Seems to me that's also good advice. 

"I'm at Loose Ends..."

Here are answers to some of your most pressing questions about 2026 summer fashion: 

"I'm at loose ends...should I wear those barrel jeans?"
—Loose Ends

Dear Loose Ends,
You will be happy to know that barrel jeans are only an option, one of way too many I'm afraid, as the fashion industry churns out ever more variations on jeans to coerce you into buying another pair. In fact, in some corners, barrel jeans are considered dead. So my AllWays advice is to wear what flatters you and is at the same time most comfortable. Those last two seem to go hand-in-hand.

Over a barrel?

"Everything this year is so boxy. How do I work around that?
—Square Root

Dear Square Root,
You can still be fashion forward (should that be your desire) by incorporating a shorter, boxy jacket over a longer top. This will lengthen the look and take care of any qualms you may have about a skimpy silhouette.

Not boxed in

"I'm dreading putting on a swimsuit. What to do?"
—Waterlogged
 
Dear Waterlogged,
Fear the beach no more! Swim tees and shorts prove you need not fear the seaside and are smart enough to realize too much sun is not your friend. You can even adopt a surfboard look and emulate Gidget (who would be 84 this year). 

Surf's up!

 
"I hate the way my legs look, but sometimes I get so tired of wearing pants."
—Leg to Stand On

Dear Leg, 
Don't be discouraged. Take advantage of the season where midi or longer length skirts are still in fashion. Keep in mind proportion is everything. Stick to a form-fitting top or tuck in a shirt lest you turn out (much as we love her) looking like Frida Kahlo in her native garb. Sandals or flats will avoid the clodhopper effect.

Si...

...Non

"Linen looks like a wrinkled mess in about 15 minutes. Should I care?"
—Pressed for an Answer

Dear Pressed, 
Linen wrinkles no matter what you do to it, yet it says 'Summer' like no other fabric. It always makes me think of mad dogs and Englishmen in the noonday sun. When you choose to wear linen you make the decision to embrace the wrinkles. There are linen blends that throw in a mixture of rayon and Spandex, but don't expect to be 100% wrinkle-free.

The way the cookie crumbles...

 
"When are wearing Birkenstocks not appropriate?"
—Twinkletoes 

Dear Twinkletoes,
At a funeral. At a wedding. In bed.

 

Stylish Read: "Fashioning the Crown"

The author of biographies of Chanel ("Coco Chanel: The Legend and the Life") and Christian Dior's sister ("Miss Dior") has now fashioned a layered look at Britain's royal family. Cover image notwithstanding, "Fashioning the Crown" is not just another romp through Queen Elizabeth's tweeds, cardigans and head scarves. Beginning with the renaming of the royal family (from Saxe-Coburg and Gotha to Windsor in 1917), Justine Picardie skillfully weaves together (pun intended) history, biography and fashion commentary. So thoroughly meshed are all the threads that you wonder how anything could be written without the fashion element. "You are what you wear" was never more meaningful. 

Mary and George V with a young Edward

I'm a sucker for the British royal family anyways and can never get enough of Wallis and Edward (he the king who abdicated and she the woman he loved). After a short section on George VI and Queen Mary (for whom dress was more of a duty), Picardie dives into Wallis and Edward. Over the years new information suggests this may not have been the greatest love story of the 20th century. Whatever the attraction, their mutual love of fashion was surely a tie that binds. I found it interesting that Wallis, who had been dressed by London's top (but conventional) designers, switched to the avant garde Schiaparelli once she became known as the sorceress who lured a king off his throne. 

Wallis and Edward on their wedding day

There is quite a bit on Queen then Queen Mother Elizabeth. I'd always seen her as a smiley, fairly dumpy grandmother, but the fuller picture gives her more influence and credits her as a guiding force in the reign of her husband, George VI. 

Margaret, Elizabeth and Elizabeth

The young Princess Elizabeth is covered way beyond the matching outfits she and sister Margaret wore. Elizabeth comes across as well suited and well prepared for her role as Queen, giving even the acerbic Cecil Beaton hope for the future of the Windsor dynasty. And as well known by now, she set her sights on the handsome Philip as a very young teen. He was by no means the match her parents wished for. Elizabeth's steely determination in the face of their reluctance was surely a portent of strengths to come.

 

Newly engaged Elizabeth and Philip

Almost as an afterthought are sections on Hardy Amies and Norman Hartnell, both royal couturiers for many years. I'm afraid in my mind they are the two responsible for all that royal family dowdiness, but for their time—and clients—they were reliable choices. Amies, an intelligence officer in the British army during WWII, comes across by far the more interesting.

 

Picardie has done her research, quoting extensively from diaries of contemporaries close to the royals, both politically and socially, as well as using Hartnell's and Amies' autobiographies. And Picardie herself was able to uncover and view objects for years under royal lock and key. As she has done in other books, we read her thoughts as she examines some of these treasures. 

My only real disappointment in "Fashioning the Crown" was it ends just at the beginning of Queen Elizabeth II's reign. As that puts us in 1953, there is a lot more fashion to come under that crown.