Madame Wishes She Knew

About this time of year I try to predict the new fall trends based on what I read in the fashion press, what I see coming into the stores, and my gut feelings. I dusted off the crystal ball and find the future cloudy.

Much has been written lately about the direction of fashion, and not just the clothes themselves. What will become of magazines? Where will we get our fashion news and fantasies if they disappear? What will the pandemic and the economy do to retail? Madame wishes she saw the answers in her crystal ball. I'd make a fortune and feel less stressed.

We've seen fashion brands closing eponymous boutiques (Diane Von Furstenburg), brand-centric retail declaring bankruptcy or in trouble (J Crew, the GAP), department stores calling it quits or gasping for breath, magazines so skinny they prove there is such a thing as too thin. Meanwhile online commerce is becomes easier and smarter while not necessarily more satisfying.

F A S H I O N   M A G A Z I N E S

Will there be more trees?

In the late 18th century engraved illustrated broadsheets of what the nobs wore were published for French social climbers. Collected or bound together, they became the first fashion magazines. For a long time fashion was considered part of a cultured life. Fashion news appeared in literary and "women's interest" magazines. The stand-alone fashion magazine is a 20th century invention, with heavy credit due Condé Nast (a person before the name meant a publishing empire). 

Because they've existed so long, we took magazines for granted. These past few years have seen declining interest in periodicals of all kinds. It shouldn't be a surprise that fashion magazines are included. News moves at the speed of light, not the rhythmic hum of a printing press. Print's transition to who-knows-what was surely accelerated by the pandemic and economic down turn.

>>>>> Will tomorrow's fashion magazines be artsy, high priced books, beautifully photographed and printed for the few who can afford them? As magazines will they transform back to an emphasis on culture and less on fashion? We've seen that already since Covid. I'm waiting for the September issues in a way I never have before—with trepidation.

R E T A I L

Will bags become extinct?

It's been over five months since I stepped into a store that doesn't sell produce. All my "shopping" has been online, with about a 50% success rate. I've been a cautious shopper, for the most part buying from brands whose sizing I understand.

I applaud Zara, who've been doing online for a while and have mastered the process, including returns. Amazon does not have a universal return policy as their suppliers include third party vendors. Read the small print before you order anywhere. If you've been stung by restocking fees you probably do. In general customer service for online sights is good, if you can get through. They all need to work on that.

Online shopping is cut and dry. Look, decide, hope for the best, and wait. I think anticipation is online shopping's greatest strength. Rather than a deterrent, waiting is almost an added bonus, like waiting for Christmas. Of course, that can easily turn into April Fool's Day when the bubble gets burst among a pile of wrappings and cardboard.

>>>>> Until the pandemic hit we were programmed for instant gratification. Go to a store, see it, try it, buy it. Has the pandemic made us slow down and consider? Would we be happy, say, to go to a store, see something, try on a sample, and wait for delivery?

The first fall fashion issue arrived today with the cover lines: "The time is now. Nothing is certain. Change is here. Fearless fashion for a new reality."

Whatever happens we must be brave.

   

 

Three Loves Have I

As have many women these past several months, I've spent more time looking at and thinking about my clothes than actually wearing them.

I performed the usual change-of-seasons closet turnover and have been surreptitiously weeding my garden of apparel ever since. I've come to realize my wardrobe, like Gaul, is divided in three parts: Stay-at-home, Go-around-the-block and Going-out. That last should really be labelled Going-nowhere.

 

Stay-at-home clothes don't deserve precious closet space and live in a wicker trunk. These are the clothes I wear to clean the house or be super-comfortable lying around it: old souvenir and rock band t-shirts, shapeless sweaters with pills,  cozy pants without a hint of spandex. No one, except my husband (the one with the blind eye) should see me in these.

Go-around-the-block clothes are good enough to be seen in by neighbors or fellow errand runners. They are the clothes I aspire to put on every day and usually do, but often not till around 1 or 2. These outfits are actually coordinated and look like they are meant to be together. They also pass for being in style, whatever that may be. The pants fit and serve as a test to see if I'm keeping the dreaded Covid 15 at bay. This is also when I'll put on a bit of makeup, but no lipstick. Why waste it since I'll be wearing a mask?

My sister Lonnie, Grandma and me

I'm reminded here of my grandmother, so I'll digress. I would often spend long summer days with the only grandmother I knew, Celia Sigel. She spoke little as she wasn't comfortable with English, but we enjoyed each other's company. She was nothing if not a lady. 

Grandma's mornings were spent doing chores around the apartment (in a house dress). She took a nap for an hour after lunch. She would then get washed (baths were for bedtime) and change into a nice dress, complete with stockings, sensible heels and jewelry. We would then walk to the market or the drugstore (where I'm sure the pharmacist, Mr. Uberstine, had a crush on her). Sometimes we'd stop in to visit with a neighbor—I liked the one who had an open dish of candy in the living room—then go home. Maybe we were gone 90 minutes, but that was the big event. She stayed in nice clothes through dinner, despite spending most of that time in the kitchen.

It was important for Grandma to feel good when she went out, and I guess that's the way I think about it today. It's also a nice memory, though my neighbors don't have candy, and there is no Mr. Uberstine at the drug store to flirt with.

Going-out clothes are the ones that get looked at and passed over, with a sigh. If I thought I'd never get the chance to wear them again, I'd toss them, but I don't believe that. Although I could certainly get gussied up for a curbside pick up candlelight dinner, that's not the point. These are clothes that are meant to be seen. The choosing of and ritual of dressing is as much a part of them as where they are going. They belong to a life I don't have right now—working, volunteering, being with friends, going to museums and performances, shopping, traveling... I'm not ready to say goodbye to all that.

A message to all my clothes (and everyone):