Maybe Not Forever

Forever 21 has filed for bankruptcy. This filing, the second since 2019, will close all stores. Does this mean the end —or at least the beginning of the end—for "fast fashion"? I for one can hope.

Selling cheaply produced and cheap to buy versions of trends aimed at the young and fickle, Forever 21 was founded in 1984 in Los Angeles by Korean immigrants, Do Wan Chang and Jin Sook Chang. They grew to 540 stores, mostly in malls, as well as having an online site.  By 2010 Forever 21 was so powerful it opened a two-story stand-alone branch outside a suburban Houston mall.

Waiting to open at Baybrook mall, 2010

At first I assumed Forever 21 was aimed at older women hoping to hold onto their youthful pizazz. I wasn't that far off as the founders believed "old people want to be 21 and young people want to be 21 forever". Even being 21 must seem old to teeny boppers, who inhabit their own fashion universe.  

Slightly off-putting were the words “John 3:16,” printed on Forever 21's shopping bags, that fueled suspicion the company was part of a Chinese cult. The mention was explained as a reference to a Bible verse that "shows how much God loves us".

Forever 21 encouraged a cringe-worthy, body-baring, over-sharing style of clothing that (my opinion here) eventually trickled down into mainstream fashion. It sold everything from apparel to shoes to accessories for both men and women, aka boys and girls.

As far as the eye can see...

Forever 21 followed in the footsteps of Abercrombie and Pac-Sun in its appeal to the young and gave new life to old mall brands like Charlotte Russe. I think its popularity encouraged Target to up its game and compete in this lucrative market. Coincidentally Forever 21 never had the cache of Zara or TopShop. They fought some contentious legal battles with established designers such as Anna Sui and Diane Von Furtstenberg over copying. The outcome was inconclusive as clothing designs can't be copyrighted.

Did I ever shop there? As an equal opportunity shopper, in the beginning, yes. And I did find one or two things I actually wore—a raincoat, I think, and some chunky costume jewelry that wasn't trying to be anything but. As time went on fashion changes/they changed/I changed...who knows? Unlike many, many other places that have closed (the flagship Neiman Marcus in downtown Dallas!), I won't mind that Forever 21 didn't last, well, forever.

This was never me...

 

Ah, the New Yorker!

Issue #1

The New Yorker, the magazine, is celebrating its first hundred years in 2025. Few publications I enjoyed when I was young are still around; this one taught me how to be a grown-up.

I was twelve and had a regular Saturday night gig babysitting for a family who had moved to Cleveland from the east coast. They brought with them a subscription to The New Yorker, delivered weekly then as now. After the kids were safely stowed away in bed I plunked myself down in the living room, which I can still picture in all its faux-1955-Colonial glory: an upholstered wing chair facing the fireplace with a reading lamp and magazine rack by its side. 

Every week there appeared on that rack a new copy of The New Yorker, and every week I went through it page by page. Did I read any articles? No. I did look at every cartoon and enjoyed the completely unrelated illustrations that decorated pages of text.

What caught my attention week after week were the ads. The companies never changed. Maybe Brooks Brothers had a different jacket or that week were advertising shirts, but there was always a Brooks Brothers ad, and it always looked the same. There were many, many tiny ads—for basket bags from Nantucket, pure Scottish cashmere argyle socks, hickory walking sticks from Maine, etc.—a plethora of goods that were never advertised or seemingly needed in Ohio. The focus of goods seemed necessary for the lifestyle of New Yorkers. I assumed they took a lot of vacations.

I soon realized that New York City was THE place to be. In another year I would have decided to move there myself as soon as possible, although college in NYC was a dream that never materialized. I had no idea what I was going to do in Manhattan, but I assumed when I arrived I would need my family tartan kilt, or at least a gold safety pin, and a handmade fishing creel, and Belgian shoes (whatever they were) and anything else that was continuously advertised in the New Yorker. 

In reality, when I really did become a New Yorker, I rarely bought the magazine. If I looked at a copy in a waiting room it was still for the cartoons or to read one of their pithy short movie reviews. The New York Times had become my source for all things New York (and still is). 

Exhibit at the New York Public Library

There was more, much more to it than the magazine itself. The New Yorker has a mystique and a history that has filled many books. What seems like a terrific exhibit at the New York Public Library celebrates The New Yorker in all its aspects. Wish I could click my feet together and take it in, and I might do that. It will be up until February 2026.

Just for fun I got a copy of the current issue. The cover price: $9.99, 78 pages, almost all solid text. No little postage stamp-sized ads. Hardly any ads at all. One for a hotel or apartment in Dubai (didn't say which), a couple ads for New Yorker related items, two institutional ads (NAACP and a benefit for God's Love We Deliver). The only other ads: Loro Piana, the Wall Street Journal Wine Club and Skechers. The New Yorker is still teaching us how to be New Yorkers after all.

Au Revoir, Joann's

Not my sewing studio though I wish...

The news that Joann's, the fabric and crafting supplies emporium, will be closing 500 of its 800 stores in the wake of its second bankruptcy, is a blow to all quilters, knitters and home sewers out there. Joann's has been a reliable source for the tools and inspiration of its many devotees. They were not, obviously, enough to keep Joann's afloat. 

I haven't sewn a dress pattern in ages. I stopped making pillows when an insert alone equaled the price of a beautifully finished pillow at TJ Maxx. I've been knitting the same sweater for three years. The yarn alone cost more than a winter coat. 

The imminent loss of Joann's brings to mind the lovely memories of home sewing, something I've written about before:
https://allwaysinfashion.blogspot.com/2021/11/the-worst-grade-i-ever-got.html

Nearly departed

Interestingly Joann's was founded the year after I was born in the city where I was born and grew up—1943, in Cleveland, Ohio. I don't remember it as a place to shop for fabrics and patterns. Back then every downtown department store had a section where they sold fabrics, patterns, notions and of course the latest machines.

We shopped at Halle's department store. Fabrics, like everything else from Halle's, had a stamp of approval from just being there. It may have been the same shipment of Bates cotton flannel that was at Higbee's or Taylor's, but Halle's gave it that extra cachet. I remember agonizing over which flannel to choose for my first official sewing project in ninth grade (pajamas) and chose a Tyrolean print with a blue background because it looked like Lanz*.

Also in that distant past, pattern manufacturers would print small sized newsprint mini mags to preview the newest patterns. I'd always stop by any fabric department to pick one up. But, oh, how I really wanted one of those 10-pound, oversized beauties that showed all the patterns. Alas, I could never convince a salesperson to let me take one away.

Preferably Vogue, but I'd take any

Buying fabrics online is near to impossible. Never mind color accuracy, fabric is something you have to touch. No small reason the feel of a fabric is called "the hand". And where else to replicate the joy of getting a new box of crayons than choosing the thread you will spend the next 400 hours with or the yarn that will magically, under the touch of your nimble fingers, turn into a cardigan in the next five years. I'm giving myself two more years to finish.

The loss of Joann's is just another blow to the disappearing art of leisure activities. We too often fritter away our time scrolling through Instagram rather than making bound buttonholes or mastering the feather stitch. One is not as satisfying as the other two. 

Like calligraphy and vinyl, maybe sewing, knitting, crocheting, quilting and everything else one needs to go out and buy stuff for, will return. And so will Joann's.

* Lanz was a manufacturer of desirable Tyrolean-inspired cotton dresses very popular with readers of Seventeen and Mademoiselle (like me). 

Update February 25, 2025: No au revoir to Joann's, I'm afraid. It was just announced all 800 stores will be closing. So this is goodbye.

Stylish Streaming: "Cristobel Balenciaga"

 
I wish I could highly recommend "Cristobel Balenciaga", a 6-part series streaming on Hulu. There is much to admire in the Spanish production. The settings and Balenciaga's fashions are lush, the actors invested in their roles. But when you begin to care more about the peripheral characters—Chanel, Dior, Carmel Snow, Givenchy—something is wrong.

Alberto San Juan as the enigmatic Balenciaga

That something is Balenciaga himself. There is a difference between shy and anti-social. Dior has been described as shy, although he is presented here as quite gregarious. Balenciaga is anti-social. He peers behind a curtain during his presentations and hates to mingle. He eschews all interviews. He controls who can see his shows and releases his own photographs to the fashion press. He seems so uptight one can imagine him sleeping in a suit and tie. Does he get away with it because the clothing is so gorgeous? 

A young Cristobal

It would be helpful to know something of Balenciaga's background before viewing. Born in 1895, he was a successful couturier in Spain before leaving for Paris in 1937 in the wake of the Spanish Civil War. His clothes were beautiful and the most expensive in town but not particularly innovative.

He declared himself anti-political during WWII and managed to do well during the Nazi occupation. Post WWII Dior's "New Look" changed the direction of fashion. Balenciaga followed his own instincts, creating over time the tunic dress, the chemise, the cocoon coat, the balloon skirt, the baby doll dress, the Empire line and kimono coats, all widely copied by the other couturiers. He was always known as the "designer's designer" and admired and respected despite lone wolf status.

Only a smattering...

Balenciaga resisted adapting to a changing business model, instead closing the House in 1968 and retiring to Spain. He died in 1972 at age 77. The "Balenciaga" of today is his in name only, a move he would have despised.

The series itself moves slowly. Almost one entire episode is devoted to designing the wedding gown for Fabiola, a Spanish noblewoman who married the King of Belgium in 1960. That her body was meticulously measured and its flaws hidden in construction was fascinating, if perhaps a little in the weeds for a casual viewer.

Queen Fabiola

Indeed some of the the most delicious moments for me were watching scissors slice through fabric whenever something was being cut. I only wish mine were half as sharp.

Cristobel was stubborn as the day was long, grumpy and downright insulting to the devoted Ramon, his long-suffering companion. He never seemed happy in his own skin and was respected but feared by those loyal to him. Alberto San Juan's portrayal allows us to imagine a softer person beneath Cristobel's stern demeanor. There would be a flicker of a smile, quickly suppressed. Only Givenchy, as a platonic friend, brings out his softer side.

I think Givenchy's story would be the sunnier, happier one. Anybody listening?

"Balenciaga" is a bit like "Phantom Thread", the film starring Daniel Day Lewis as a prickly fashion designer, but without the mushrooms. Balenciaga's designs were beautiful, unique and innovative. Admired by his peers, they referred to him as "the master". But he was a hard man to love.

Cristobel in his element

 

 

The Aga Khan and Me

Karim, age 21

We never met, but the young Aga Khan, known then as Karim Al-Husseini, was my Prince Charming, the boy who ended my teenage desire for "bad boys" like Elvis and wanna-be juvenile delinquents from St. Ignatius High School. Karim was a clean-cut Harvard student, who at 21 had just been named the 49th Aga Khan.

Life magazine ran a feature story in 1958, and I was in love—not with a prince or the ruler of 15 million Shia Ismaili Muslims—but with the boy I wished lived next door or sat next to me in chemistry or walked me home from school or asked me to the prom. He could have stepped out of Seventeen magazine. I knew I'd never meet him, but I looked for his doppelganger everywhere.

Skulling at Harvard

Competitive downhill racing for Iran

If you wonder how this bit of fantasy (and never underestimate the imagination of a teenage girl) relates to fashion, this is where I began to favor boys who looked a certain way. Karim Aga Khan was the epitome of prep. And I began to see how menswear could be interesting. 

It got to the point where one summer I dated a boy almost solely for the way he looked, and I wrote down every outfit. I was especially enthralled by a pink button-down oxford shirt he wore with madras plaid Bermuda shorts. I once asked where he bought his clothes. He said, "I don't know; my mother gets them."

Speaking of mothers, mine had one cardinal rule of which she judged the man, or rather the date. If he came to pick me up wearing white socks with dress pants or a suit, he would never win her heart.

Then there was the fella who, bless him, cared a bit more about me than I did him. He asked me to go shopping and pick out his new clothes. I did, and even added a pipe, but nothing changed on my end.

Fast forward a decade to the man who would become my husband. He eschewed button-down shirts, and I couldn't see his socks for the cowboy boots. He had worn a leather jacket in high school and worshipped Marlon Brando. At one point he owned a burgundy gabardine suit with a zip-up jacket from Carnaby Street. Bill Blass once stopped him at an event to admire his jean jacket and long striped muffler. I was powerless. Somehow I managed to fall in love with him, and after a very short time gave up trying to coax him into a crew neck sweater.

What happened to the Aga Khan? Well, we lost track of each other. He became very rich as he also inherited his father's many race horses. He married twice, got richer, did good things for his people (while getting richer still) and lost his hair. He died peacefully this week at age 88.

The late Aga Khan

Amazingly the largest Ismaili cultural center in the United States is due to open soon a few blocks from my home in Houston. It will be a free, public gathering space for people of all faiths and backgrounds. 

Soon to open in Houston

No surprise to learn I had been hoping the Aga would come to the grand opening, where I planned to finally meet him of course. Prince Charming is forever.

 

 

 

Retail Should Think IN the Box

I thought of calling this post Another Nail in Retail's Coffin but decided that was just too depressing. However today's delivery from Zara's online store was spectacularly superior to what we have all come to expect from retail.

I'll start with Zara itself, which is as guilty as any brick-and-mortar in its treatment of in-store customers. When it's time to take one's selections to the checkout, you are given two choices: self-service where you literally dump your item on the surface of the electronic checker or waiting in line to reach an employee behind the counter who communicates only that she wishes she were anywhere else. In both cases you are not given a bag. If needed/wanted you must purchase it. Tissue paper? Fuggedaboutit.

In days gone by every purchase one made got tissue and often a cardboard box, the store name prominent, with a taped-on handle to carry it by. This goes back so far I couldn't even Google an example.

We've been taught to believe that not giving out a shopping bag is saving trees or the environment. Anyone who has every received a deck of cards from Amazon in a box big enough to hold a coat can attest to how that theory holds up. What it really does is save the company the expense.

Now I like shopping in person. I also like Zara. What you see in-store is but a fraction of the inventory they carry online. By this time I know the fabrics they use, what is meant by "satin feel" (100% polyester) and what is my size. You don't need to buy too much to qualify for free shipping, and they have fantastic sales a couple times a year. Email communication is good. You know when it's coming, and delivery is always on time or before.

Here's another difference, though, one that caters to my need to be pampered and treated like royalty: The package arrives wrapped like a present.

Yes, inside that plain brown box (with the giant yet tasteful ZARA across the front), is your carefully wrapped purchase, garments folded and placed beneath snowy white tissue, sealed with a kiss (okay really a seal). And because I ordered a necklace, I found that nestled in its own drawstring travel pouch, a gift-with-purchase that will certainly find another use. 

Getting a delivery of anything is special. This one made me feel special.