La Belle Label

Jean Paul, it's been fun

I will admit to being something of a label snob. Never ever will I wear anyone's logo or initials on my person. That goes for LV, RL, YSL or even CC (sorry can't do entwined Cs on the computer but you know who I mean). Next to my person— as on a lovely sliver of embroidered satin ribbon discreetly sewn at the seam? Well, that's another story. Until yesterday the closest I have come to owning a piece of clothing with a label to brag about is a Jean Paul Gautier skirt I picked up at a thrift shop for $40. The skirt is black crepe with a gazillion brass zippers with pull chains that can be zipped up and down to give the skirt more or less swing. Despite the fact that the chains get caught in everything, it's a fun piece and very Gautier. Couture it's not.

Dangerous when wet

I did own just a label once. My older sister was getting married and "trousseau shopping" at Bonwit Teller. At age 13 I was a reluctant participant, though I loved the Bonwit Teller in downtown Cleveland.  It was small enough to feel like an atelier and quiet enough to feel like a museum— there were even gilt-framed oil paintings on the back stairwell landings. While feigning complete boredom in the fitting room, I noticed a Nettie Rosenstein label on the carpet behind a chair leg. I pocketed it, but should have known that label was cursed.

Nettie Rosenstein was an American designer of the 50s who was part of the Hattie Carnegie/Adele Simpson/Pauline Trigere school of ladylike clothes worn by fashion conscious but not usually fashion forward women. They were brag-worthy designers if not very innovative. Mamie Eisenhower was a Nettie Rosenstein fan. Stifle that snicker— so was Jackie Kennedy.

The girls wearing Nettie Rosenstein

Next day I sewed my pilfered prize into the neckline of a plaid cotton shirtdress. I now had my own designer dress! A few days later the Nettie Rosenstein label ran in the wash and ruined my dress. That could be why I've approached label lust very cautiously. Until now.

Worth waiting for

Finally. At last. A Helmut Lang is mine. OK, it's from TJ Maxx and was only $79, but it's an original, unworn gen-u-ine serious designer dress with Helmut Lang hangtag stating $450, and it's divine. It's some kind of slurred dull silk, with shredded edges and an asymetrical hem, quite unlike anything I've ever worn or owned. OK, it looks a little like a school project that never got finished, but it's NOT, and that's what counts. I wore it last night with black laced sandals and an armful of black rubber bangles. I intend to wear it everywhere except, maybe, to bed.