Revelations Not Resolutions

First end-of-year order of business: Thank you. Thank you for reading. Would I write if you didn't read? Maybe. That would be called a diary. Do I write because you read? Maybe. That would be called a sense of purpose. As the year draws to a close, I publish my 586th effort and send my heartfelt

T  H  A  N  K  S.

Now to the business at hand: Rather than make New Year's Resolutions (that I always break), I'm looking back at what the year meant for me in terms of fashion, both grim and good.

THE GRIM 

> I still can't figure out how to deal with my legs. Tights in winter are fine, but Texas winters are short. Sheer pantyhose are still frumpy. We know Meghan and Kate only wear them because they have to. Pants are still the great equalizer, but sometimes you just feel like a skirt.

> I tried to write a book this year. Let's say I tried to get a publisher interested in a book about fashion for older women. My illustrator friend and I thought we had a great idea for this rather tricky subject and would do it with humor and finesse. Despite a lot of positive feedback no one was willing to take a chance as between the two of us we have about 500 Instagram followers, not anywhere near the 100,000 it takes to get published these days.

Booked with ideas

> I made a few wardrobe mistakes, most blatantly on our trip to Israel wearing khaki and olive. I looked like the oldest recruit in the Israeli army. And I will never travel anywhere again without my packable down jacket.

> Finally, this year saw the continuing demise of magazine publishing, my former bread-and-butter and lifelong love. The current issue of Vogue barely made it to 100 pages, and the last issue of Glamour was—alas—its last.

The first...

...the last

THE GOOD

> I found some pieces on the Will-I-Ever-Find-It? list. That means I can now stop looking for them. I bought not one but two "little black dresses". Either would be the perfect dress for those times when you need a little black dress. There's been a hole in my closet for years. It matters not that I haven't had occasion to wear either one yet. They are there. I found the perfect pussycat bow blouse in the right shade of off-white. Everything is right about it, and I've worn it a lot. I found a pair of black suede kitten heels that are dressy enough for the little black dress, and I can actually stand and walk in them. No small thing, that.

This classic was hard to find

> I hauled less to the thrift shop this year. Must mean I've made less mistakes.

> I learned how to use online shopping to my advantage—as a research tool, to price check and comparison shop, to beat the crowd at the mall (especially during the Zara sale). I learned when not use it (for buying shoes) and that I better make sure returns are easy and preferably free by reading all the fine print.

> I discovered the wonderful Zuri dress. This dress brought fun and joy back into the idea of dressing. It always gets compliments and seems to put everyone in a sunny mood (especially the wearer). I do resolve to get one more in 2019.

The happy Zuri dress

> I made peace with my body (yet again) in terms of what I can't and won't wear. No more full skirts; the proportions are now wrong. No sleeveless because I have nothing to prove and am always cold anyways. Everyone's list is different. The important part is the peace treaty.

> I realized the wisdom of saying "never say never". A store I'd previously dismissed as Not My Style now has many pieces that work for me. Did J.Jill change or did I?

Never say never

The Itsy-Bitsy Bikini Scandal

The $2.50 Ferrarini (left) vs. the $285 Irgit

 
How many of us have seen an interesting crafted accessory or apparel item and thought "I could do that"? I have. If I'm able to recreate something I may even have had dreams of glory: This will make my fortune!

I've made necklaces of wrapped tubing or shredded strips of fabric, bracelets from safety pins and heart-shaped brooches from buttons. I made vests from antique pennants and "portraits" from paint chips. Not one idea was 100% original but 100% inspired by something seen somewhere. After the third or fourth laborious attempt the creations usually found themselves a cozy home in the back of a closet.

Probably a good idea I was not successful, though I doubt I would ever have the hubris to take on Victoria's Secret over copyright infringement of my stolen idea. This is the gist of "The Itsy-Bitsy, Teenie-Weenie, Very Litigious Bikini" in today's New York Times Business section. Read the full piece here:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/20/business/kiini-bikini-lawsuit-ipek-irgit-solange-ferrarini.html 

This is not a part of the paper I usually notice, but who could resist their photo of the two bikini tops seen above? In a nutshell, Ipek Irgit, a 34-year-old New Yorker originally from Turkey, was trying to make her way as a "style influencer" but having a hard time making a living doing it. On a vacation trip to Brazil in 2012 (I know—impoverished but on vacation in Rio) she purchased a colorful, hand-crocheted 2-piece bikini in the beach town of Trancoso for about $2.50.

Ipek Irgirt

What separates this bikini from the usual crocheted bikini is the use of elastic threaded through the crochet to give added (and necessary) support. Following positive reaction to the newly christened "Kiini" on the beaches of the Hamptons, Ipek decided to go into production. She asked a designer friend with connections in China to copy it and have it manufactured.

The bikinis were a hit. Ipek turned an item costing $29 to produce into a $285 "high end resort wear brand, designed by Ipek Irgit" (quoted from the website). After a modest start, the Kiini took off following an appearance on model Dree Hemingway in an Instagram feed. All the usual suspects came next—websites, magazines, exclusive boutiques, etc.—as did the copycats.

And here is where Ipek Irgit may have lost perspective. She coyprighted the design and decided to sue Victoria's Secret for their similar style. This was settled in Ipek's favor for an undisclosed amount.

The original in its creator's hands

Meanwhile—and here is where things get really interesting—the real designer back in Brazil came forward. Maria Solange Ferrarini, a 61-year-old Brazilian artist of modest means created and has been hand crocheting the originial bikinis since 1998. She sells them herself on the beach at Trancoso. 

Maria selling her suits on the beach

One of the copycats, a brand called PilyQ, started selling simiar suits to Neiman Marcus but managed to strike a licensing deal with the creator, Maria Ferrarini. When Ipek Irgirt got wind of this she decided to sue Neiman Marcus to stop selling a suit in violation of her copyrighted design. Somewhere along the line Ipek lost sight of the fact that she had in fact stolen that design and was now essentially suing the suit's creator. Too many suits and lawsuits in one paragraph!

This is still in litigation. Ipek seems to be tripping over herself in half-truths. There are emails to support the facts and Maria's handmade tag inside the bikini Ipek asked her friend to copy.  Ipek has expanded the styles, but the itsy-bitsy crocheted bikini is still front-and-center of the Kiini line.

The lessons here are many and obvious. The fact that you will never catch me in a crocheted bikini is beside the point.

Coming Attraction: "American Style"

A four-part series called "American Style" will air on CNN in two chunks on Sunday, January 13 and Sunday, January 20.

The series will examine "how America’s changing style through the decades has mirrored the political, social, and economic climate of the time. Using archival footage and interviews with fashion experts and cultural figures including Tim Gunn, Donna Karan, Carson Kressley, Vanessa Williams, Beverly Johnson, Isaac Mizrahi, Christie Brinkley, John Varvatos, Diane von Furstenberg, André Leon Talley and more, the series highlights the most iconic moments from fashion and pop culture, giving audiences a front row seat to the runway of American history." The promotional video has fast cut snippets of Jackie, Elvis, "Sex and the City" and a winking 1950s housewife.

Power dressing, American style

 
The first episode will look at the 1940s and '50s and how World War II and Hollywood helped to define American style. The second episode covers the '60s and '70s; the next two bring us up to the present.

This promises to be a veritable feast for the fashion-possessed eyes, though I doubt it will break any new ground, especially if you have lived through all those eras (check). Sometimes the talking heads just talk too much; I hope visuals are allowed to speak for themselves. Will four hours really be enough??? No doubt there will be controversies. Will someone as important as Claire McCardell will be left out (love to be proven wrong)? In any case this treat is already on the calendar.

Caveat Emptor!

My coat on its way...

Let the buyer beware!

I took two years of Latin and never learned the meaning of caveat emptor, but I know it now. I was recently bamboozled by my love of fashion and a bargain. I also learned "you get what you pay for", and there was no way I was going to get a lavishly embroidered coat for $43.90.

I fell victim to a rather extensive internet scam— Chinese manufacturers who get your attention on Instagram or Facebook with striking fashion pieces for ridiculously low prices. Every model seems to be headless, shot crossing the street, and from an angle where they all look like Melania Trump.

Among the many plying this trade are Vavaspace, Romwe, SheIn, YesStyle, ChicNova and Front Row Shop.

I fell for a coat from Vavaspace as I am a sucker for anything "folkloric"— kimonos, kurtas, cheongsams, you-name-it. Several years ago I bought a beautiful embroidered jacket at H&M for about $90. The same coat was on the Vavaspace website "on sale" for $36.76, so I figured there was a good chance things were on the up and up. Here are pictures of what they showed, which looks exactly like my H&M coat:

 

Yes, the text says "Autumn and Winter Fashion Ethnic Printing Warm Coat", but it sure looked embroidered to me. Without a magnifying shot it was impossible to know for sure.

Above is the coat I bought. It too looks embroidered. There were no other shots on the website, and the text called it "Retro Ethnic Fashion Slim Embroidery Long Sleeve Cardigan". I knew there was a possibility it might not be as good in person— loose threads or uneven stitching, maybe a lopsided shoulder. I'm pretty good at fixing things. It did say the fabric was polyester, but there are all kinds of polyester.

What I was not expecting was a garish design printed on Aunt Tillie's polyester house coat. It actually fits pretty well, and if there were buttons I might even use it for a house coat. As something to wear in public, however, it failed miserably.

The coat is gone now from the Vavaspace website. With some difficulty I found this listing. Different wording and a doctored photo with an obviously printed coat, which is what I got.

Doctored photo, printed coat

It took over six weeks for my package to arrive from China (though the return address says "Chino, California"). While the website has instructions for returning unwanted items, I'm afraid I will never get my money back— in which case I will have lost $44 and Aunt Tillie's house coat.

It will be worth the humiliation of this confession if I save one more damsel from making a fool of herself. Crave not lest ye caveat emptor.

Fashion, Explained, at Last

 
One of my favorite childhood memories is of reading the evening newspaper. Papers meant something then; it's how we got our news. TV news, still in its infancy, consisted of a 15-minute wrap-up sponsored by Timex. My dad claimed he taught me to read by looking at the paper together while waiting for dinner. I will never forget reading the serialized version of "Diary of Anne Frank" when it was first translated into English. I was 9.

Who reads newspapers anymore? (OK I still do) Never mind that there are barely any at all. Kudos then to the New York Times for publishing a monthly special section, "The New York Times for Kids" in the Sunday edition. Aimed at 8-14-year-olds, the editor's note reads, "This section should not be read by grown ups." Until recently I obeyed, but in the November 25 paper I spotted an irresistible headline:

STYLE ON THE STREET

Some Kids Just Have It

Inside I found this wonderful double-page spread on young New Yorkers with style:

Then I noticed a piece by Vanessa Friedman, the Times fashion director and chief fashion critic. In a few paragraphs she describes her job and why fashion matters. I've read entire hefty tomes trying to define style and defend fashion. None came as close to clarity as this:

WHAT'S COOL NOW? 

How the Times Fashion Critic Decides What's In and What's Out
by Vanessa Friedman

When I tell people I'm the chief fashion critic for the New York Times, they usually say, "That's such an awesome job!" Then they ask me if I've met Kendall Jenner or someone similar (answer: No, but I;'ve met her mom and once had dinner at a friend's house with her sister, Kim, and Kim's husband, Kayne West). I know that from the outside this job looks superglamorous. And it is, kind of: I get to go to more than 200 runway shows a year around the world (that's kind of exhausting), stare at models and famous people from across a runway, talk to designers and then write my opinions about what's happening in fashion for the paper.
   But there's much more to it than that. Fashion is also about how we show each other who we are. That's what has always interested me the most about it, and why I got into it in the first place: how it's used by normal people, like you and me. When I first started doing this job at another newspaper, the editor in chief told me he never thought about fashion. "Did you dress yourself this morning?" I asked. He said he had. So I told him he thought about fashion. Everyone does.
    Now that everybody is endlessly taking selfies and posting them for all to see, that's even more obvious. We buy the things we buy (or ask our parents to buy them) because they say something to us about who we are, or what group we are in, or how we want our friends to see us. So when I see clothes, whether on the street or on a runway, that's always what I am asking myself: What would people who wore this be saying about themselves? Would it help them say it? Is it useful or completely irrelevant?

Thanks, Vanessa, for making clear just why we bother, let alone still care about clothes and how we look. It starts young, and it doesn't end. Oh, and your job still sounds awesome.

Vanessa of the cool job 

Biba's "Bohemian Rhapsody" Moment

Freddie meets Mary...and her coat

I don't usually talk in movies, but there was a point in "Bohemian Rhapsody" where I couldn't help it.

The pretty blond girl Freddie Mercury is flirting with tells him her fur-collared coat “is from Biba." And her friend follows with, "She works there."

I exclaimed out loud, "Biba!" That is a word to trigger memories, flashbacks and regrets (as in I shouldn't have given those clothes away). Biba was a store of legend never to be equaled. I've written about it here:

https://allwaysinfashion.blogspot.com/2011/11/bit-of-biba.html

Freddie goes to look for the pretty girl, who is Mary Austin, the woman who became his great love and lifelong friend. As this is supposed to be 1970, that would be Biba on London's Kensington High Street. This was the brand's third store, which had previously been a carpet showroom.

Interior of an early Biba

Freddie has found Mary, the sales associate, near a display of women's pants. He innocently asks if she has the pants in his size. She proceeds to give him a mod makeover with a velvet jacket and long scarf.

Freddie after his Biba makeover

Increasingly more and more successful, in 1973 Biba took over the nearby former Derry & Toms department store, a 7-story Art Deco pile complete with roof garden. Biba refitted it in never-to-be-equaled Deco grandeur, rivaling any Hollywood set. Alas, through a mix of bad management and over-expansion—they were selling almost everything including baked beans— Biba closed for good in 1975.

Interior of  the last Biba

 
The reference to Biba will surely pass quickly over most viewers. I do always wonder when Hollywood gets its facts wrong—Mary actually worked in Biba public relations, not on the sales floor—what other bits of the "true story" may not all be true. And "Bohemian Rhapsody" has a few of those. But it's a good film, with great music, and—well—a little bit of Biba.

The real Mary and Freddie in later years

 

R.I.P. Glamour Magazine

Issue #1

Word has come down from on high at Conde Nast that Glamour Magazine will no longer publish in print. The January 2019 edition will be its last. Glamour will not quite have reached its 80th birthday.

Glamour was first published as "Glamour of Hollywood" in April, 1939. It soon stopped concentrating on movie stars and directed itself to "the girl with a job". That intensified after Glamour's merge with Charm magazine ("for women who work") in 1957.

Glamour promoted fashion and beauty, work and relationships in roughly that order. It became a bible for many young women; I was one of them. I started reading Glamour in 1956 when I was 13 and never missed an issue until I was unceremoniously let go in 1989.

But I digress.

Glamour was the road map for my future life. I knew I would leave Cleveland and move to New York City. I wanted to be a graphic designer, but my goal was not to be in publishing. As fate would have it (great expression) I ended up working in the design department of Glamour for 24 years, eventually becoming assistant art director.

My first issue: July 1965

I've written extensively about Glamour, especially my early days when the world of fashion was such a wonder. Although I actually found later jobs more fulfilling, Glamour is the one I go back to over and over. To have been a part of something that meant so much to so many...

To this day, when I tell people I worked for Glamour, there are nods of recognition and ooohs in wonderment. That magazine was important to almost four generations of women. How much we have changed in those 80 years!

The current editor, aiming to reach the millennials whose interest in fashion is only as a rebellious form of self expression, believes digital publishing is the way to go. The big difference is we read Glamour in hopes of becoming our best selves. This attempt smacks of hoping millennials will recognize themselves.

The past year of Glamour on the newsstands has been sad and embarrassing. I cringed when I saw a copy at the checkout counter. I'm almost glad it won't be there anymore. 

Life's Lost Little Luxuries # 10: Department Store Deliveries

 
"...and send it please."

That would be my mother at the counter of Higbee's or Halle Bros. in downtown Cleveland. The time would be late 1940s into the '50s, before shopping centers and malls, when "shopping" meant going downtown with a list to the big department stores.

If the list were long and/or the packages big you wouldn't want to haul them around all day, especially if you were with an 8-year-old, more hindrance than help. It was much easier to "send it please" and have the boxes show up a day or two later at your doorstep. PS If you were my mother, you were almost always home—in the suburbs, no car, with a house and family to take care of.

I can clearly see those delivery vans in my mind's eye—green like their boxes for Halle's, brown with discreet gold lettering for Higbee's. I imagine May Company and Taylor's had trucks too, but the good stuff came from Halle's or Higbee's.

Outside Halle Bros. 1940

I still get pretty excited when UPS or Fedx pulls onto the street, a little less so for the postal van. But a department store delivery was a "welcome home" to what you had carefully chosen just a few days before.

I don't remember when the parade stopped. We moved to an apartment. My mother went back to work—downtown. There were now shopping centers, soon to be malls. One-stop shopping and load it in your car. I started shopping for myself and wanted it THEN.

It is ironic that Sears, which began as a mail-order company, recently closed locations and lowered expectations because it couldn't compete with home delivery like Amazon. What no one seems to mention is we have even become disinclined to venture away from our keyboards and actually visit the store.

The thrill is gone, along with boxes, tissue, paper tape, tea rooms and delivery vans.

Stylish Cinema: "Two for the Road"

 
I recently watched this 1967 film for the first time in many years. I was amazed how my perception had changed over time. "Two for the Road" was originally billed as a romantic comedy, but it takes a thought-provoking look at relationships and marriage. What I once saw as a vehicle for Audrey Hepburn in some great clothes, I now realize was a tragi-comedy with a questionably happy ending.

This time, too, I realized the power of those clothes. Someday the art of the cinema wardrobe will be better recognized for the role it plays in movies. Not just the gaudy and/or delicious costumes, the ordinary "stuff" that defines a character.

As in life when we adopt different styles, to blend in or define who we are, Audrey's character is identified by what she's wearing. Director Stanley Donen had to make that clear as he chose to trace 12 years in the relationship of Joanna (Audrey) and Mark (Albert Finney) in scenes that flash in and out over time.

As student Joanna in the mid '50s, Audrey wears blue jeans and a pullover sweater. These are the clothes of someone happy to blend with her contemporaries, but they are timeless choices as well. I wonder if Donen was trying to say something about the timelessness of first attraction?

Newly married, her clothes are a bit more grown up. There's a trench coat in one scene. I remember thinking that was a "must-have" when I was a young working woman. She becomes a mother, and it's practical tops and bottoms. The present-day (1967) Joanna, wife of now-successful architect Mark, wears the latest fashions (and looks fabulous). This was a "new", sophisticated Audrey. I remember coverage in the fashion press of her cropped hair and outfits from the film.

Suit by Michele Rosier, Vogue, 1967

By this time Audrey Hepburn was associated with Givenchy as her designer of choice in films and private life. In "Two for the Road", however, Audrey wore "off the rack" clothing, including some fancy racks like contemporary stars Paco Rabbane, Andre Courrèges, Mary Quant, Michèle Rosier, Foale and Tuffin, and Ken Scott.

The fabulous Paco Rabane outfit

 
Hair plays an important role as well. Because of the flashbacks it was important to easily determine the year of the relationship, and the hairstyles do that fairly well. Joanna as student has simple Alice in Wonderland hair. Newly married, she has bangs. A few years on she has her hair short and fluffy. As a mother, it's simple and long again. The 1967 Joanna has short hair precisely cut in the Sassoon style of the day.

Student and newly married...

Young married and mother...

Sleek sophisticate

Something else colored this viewing of "Two for the Road". Audrey's marriage to Mel Ferrer was breaking up; they divorced shortly after filming. I have it from a very good source that Audrey and co-star Albert Finney had both great on-screen and off-screen chemistry. It was in fact a serious affair; in the end Albert Finney broke her heart. Audrey needed time to recover, and my source provided her with a safe haven. I can't say anything more unless the lady herself wishes to, which I doubt. Knowing that, the "chemistry" is like watching fireworks, bittersweet on account of Audrey's eventual heartbreak.

When I initially saw "Two for the Road", I had not yet found my own Mr. Right. I only saw the surface gloss—from the bloom of young love to that (possibly) happy ending. Today I know it's not easy for relationships to survive, but they can and do.

Amazingly the fashion in "Two for the Road" still looks good and wearable after 50 years. That may have been Audrey Magic and why she remains a style icon to this day.

What's Wrong with Fashion Today

 
If a picture is worth 1,000 words, I've written my piece. Above is one half of a real two-page Gucci ad in the October Harper's Bazaar. This is frightening and depressing. 

Fashion does not have to be practical. It doesn't have to be pretty. It can be provocative, thought-provoking, curious, understated, over-stated, minimal, maximal, or even boring. It should engage both the viewer and the wearer. While it's easy to be caught up in the trend of the moment, time and a wise eye let you know what's right for you.

All this is rather cerebral. Our first fashion reaction is usually either "I like it" or "Not for me". Forget about whether we would really spend $1350 for a rainbow-striped puffer vest, cute as it may be.

Burberry, $1350

 
What fashion shouldn't elicit from you is "Oh my God! What is this?" or a plaintive "Whhhhhhy?" I can't justify the deliberately ugly. The whole idea of making oneself look laughable or grotesque on purpose escapes me. It's just a bad sign of how far off the track we've gone and a terrible reflection of everything that's wrong in the world—you name it.

If Alessandro Michele at Gucci doesn't really expect us to don a sock money ski mask, Faster Pussycat Kill Kill sweatshirt or hang a bus conductor's coin purse around our necks (all three together mind you), why show it, and on a 15-year-old on a bare mattress in the attic? If he's trying to make a statement about the state of the world I got that already. Please, not Fashion too.

Stylish Read: "Fashion Climbing"

"We all dress for Bill."

 
Bill Cunningham was New York's most popular party guest. He never ate or drank and didn't stay long. He mingled with guests but said very little and had more invitations for an evening than he could ever attend.

Bill Cunningham divided his time between photographing the stylish of New York society and the stylish on New York City's streets. It was his third, fourth or fifth career.

His posthumously published memoir, "Fashion Climbing" is about those early careers—stock boy for Boston department stores, army tour guide extraordinaire, hatter and all-around madcap, then fashion reporter for Woman's Wear Daily and others. The photography gig that made him famous is barely mentioned.

Reluctant to talk about himself, he participated in the wonderful documentary "Bill Cunningham New York", but revealed little. It was quite a surprise when relatives discovered this unpublished memoir. Even more surprising is how warm, funny and chatty a read it is.

Young Bill the Hatter

It's not clear when "Fashion Climbing" was written. It seems to end mid-60s when Bill was still reporting on fashion but no longer for Woman's Wear Daily. St. Laurent has taken over at Dior but Balenciaga is still alive and designing.
 
The term "fashion climbing" is one I had never heard; he uses it to represent social climbing with clothes. I might take exception as he states that this began after World War II, when women no longer "wore lovely clothes for the sheer pleasure and joy of pleasing their friends." I would think status dressing has always been a thing, from the days of the House of Worth to having a "store bought" as opposed to a "home made" dress.

For one who first became aware of fashion when women really did still wear hats, his stories of New York City, late '40s through '50s, showed me how much I missed. No other American city was so tuned to the power of fashion. What a show it was, and Bill Cunnigham relished watching every minute of it.

Editta modeling a hat for Bill

He doesn't always name names, but it's easy to figure out a few of the unnamed. I immediately recognized Editta Sherman, his long-time friend and neighbor at the Carnegie Hall Studios. A photographer herself (that's her on page 231), she would rent her studio to visiting foreign photographers. By the mid-'60s I would often be sent to pick up processed film as part of my duties at Glamour Magazine. Unfortunately I never saw Bill there.

"Fashion Climbing" could have used a good editor in places, but then it wouldn't have been like having a conversation (over tea and a sandwich at Schrafft's) with such a wise and slightly wicked charmer.