Time for a Tupperware De-Parting

Mrs. Maisel may have too much Tupperware...

You know how every once in a while you have to weed out those plastic containers taking up too much space in the kitchen drawer/on the cupboard shelf? You have more lids than containers or—worse—more containers than lids. They are stained, cracked or otherwise showing signs of wear.

In this season of wardrobe switching, you may sense the equivalent of too much Tupperware in your closet. It's time to take a good look at what's going and coming or staying put. 

We live in a sweet 1920's bungalow that was built—as per the usual—with very few closets. Thankfully the person who renovated before our move-in added two walls of shallow closets. I thank her every day. Nonetheless, half my wardrobe sits in plastic tubs behind a screen for half the year. I hate the switch because I am often faced with those past mistakes and/or current realities.

Too much Tupperware, clothing variety

There are other truths that hit me as I pack and unpack: the pilled, the grayed, the yellowed. There are the fashion fads of seasons past. It's okay to spark up your wardrobe occasionally, but you've got to know when to let go (adieu, peplums). 

Then there are The Mistakes. As you pack away winter and make the switch to warmer, this is a good time to admit you made them. Sometimes you can't commit and will save the decision for later. The time has come, and I am unpacking mistakes aplenty. There are:

> Things I ordered during Covid that I didn't have the wherewithall to send back when I could have.

> Things that will never fit again. I recently had to divest myself of many lovely belts because—well—I'll never see a 24" waist again.

> Things I shouldn't have bought in the first place. I wore them a few times, but it was never happily.

> Too many of the same, not all of them in good shape.

Which brings me to another bad habit: collecting. Some women collect vintage pieces, one-of-a-kind beauties, but not me. My collection is more the "two is a pair; three is a collection" variety. Switching clothes this spring I realize I am de-closeting multiples of blank pants and black sweaters and depositing multiple black pants (summer weight) and black t-shirts. Did I mention the several white shirts that live there year-round? Those white shirts barely leave the closet. I don't really like white shirts, but I decided I need to collect them.

There is not a lot of fun in this kind of acquisitioning. I'm never really thrilled when I add another. I just think, well maybe this pair will be The One or I think I'll need that some day. I should do it, but this is a very hard habit to break.

With apologizes to the handy and needed (in moderation) storage solution, I must remember from now on: 

N O   M O R E   T U P P E R W A R E !

Do Leggings Have Legs?

Far be it from me to hand down any pronouncements as to what is In and what is Out in fashion these days. I will leave that to Vanessa Friedman, Fashion Director and Chief Fashion Critic at The New York Times, who always manages to steer a path between the plausible and the ridiculous. Her column in today's Times addressed a reader's question about leggings. In a nutshell: Are leggings pants?

Leggings are everywhere, but are they the last bastion of Covidwear or have they assumed an identity as real clothes? Vanessa says yes to the latter, but there is a leggings playbook we would all be wise to consider.

She acknowledges that during Covid lounging at home in what were basically tights, only thicker, was easy to get used to and hard to give up. She interviewed Tory Burch, who declared them as essential in our wardrobes as T-shirts and bluejeans. "Mixing them with ready to wear is simply how many women dress today, whether they're headed to the gym or not."

Vanessa believes that the techcentric variety, those in colorful hues or patterns, are best left to the gym where they were intended. Thicker leggings, in neoprene, leather (or pleather), ponte or denim, all plus stretch and slip-on capability, can become part of your wardrobe.

If you're not actually working out, don't wear leggings with a bra top or a Tshirt and sneakers. Likewise don't wear them with an oversize button-down shirt (too '80s).

Not this way

 
And here's where I think she hit the advice nail on the head: "...  think of them more like capri pants but ones that don't offer the option to tuck in your shirt. Pair them with ballet flats, chunky-soled loafers or ankle boots and a jacket or perhaps a tailored tunic top. You won't look as if you are breaking any unwritten sartorial rules, just stretching them."

I'll add my two cents, stating the obvious. You should have a finished look—hair makeup, accessories—as if you are so dressed purposely. Bear in mind where you will be going and who you will be with. There's a time and place and outfit for everything. Leggings are an interesting option worth investigating if you so wish. Your wearing them should add to the conversation, not give reason to shun them.

Leggings do not do well in the humid Houston summer, so there may be little need to think of them in my neck of the woods, but they aren't going away, and the autumnal equinox will be here in 164 days.

 

 

Lovely to Look at

 
There is fashion I love to look at that for one reason or another I will never buy. It doesn't mean looking won't make me happy. This is where Fashion serves yet another purpose. I've seen them called "inspiration boards", but my collection mostly inspires daydreaming or reminiscing. And why not? Isn't that just another arm of the fashion goddess?

The latest edition to the folder I save on my desktop is this gorgeous patchwork African fabric coat dress, custom made to order by an Etsy shop called With Flare. I spotted one being carried off beautifully by a woman at the theater last Saturday night. At $270 (and reversible) it's quite the steal, but I can't ever see all 5'2" of me swanning around in it. PS I was an usher in required black with a name tag and scanning gun, not part of the swanning crowd.

With Flare alright...

 
This beauty is part of Roksanda Ilincic's autumn/winter 2022 collection just shown in London. Roksanda does produce interesting, wearable apparel that I've long coveted, but this one is strictly for dreaming.

More swanning required...

 
Joann's Fabrics has had this cotton yardage in stock for a while, but I can't think what I could make that I would actually wear. It may come down to sewing a pair of pajamas because I can't stop thinking about it.

$8.99 per yard

 
This vintage shot reminds me how utterly and completely timeless beautiful fashion can be. I don't believe there has been a year since its 1950's origins that this wouldn't look stunning.

 
No idea how or why I ever came across this contemporary sweatshirt depicting the long-shuttered Moors restaurant in Provincetown. There were no t-shirts the summer I worked there, 1964. I don't even remember this logo, but seeing the sweatshirt brings back a Portuguese-fishing-boat-load of memories. In fact we waitstaff were required to wear our own t-shirts as uniforms. They were required to be wide-striped so the martinet of an owner could see us across the cavernous room. My stripes were never wide enough to suit her. I may have only just turned 21 but at 5'2" I knew to wear stripes in proportion to my size.

Long Lost Vintages Tees

Finally, I almost think I could pull this off, giant bow and all. I just need someplace to wear it...

All Aboard for the Mini

The return of the mini has been giving me agita. I am way over 50 but know that when a trend becomes a style you better get on board or face being sent out to pasture like Tootle of Little Golden Books fame.

Tootle happy to go, me not so much

Alexandra Shulman, former editor of British Vogue, now writes for the Daily Mail and posted this guide to the "New Mini After 50". She's seen what Balmain and Dior (as well as others) have shown for 2022 and predicts the mini is back. How not to look like mutton dressed as lamb?

 
Alexandra's tips (in her words):

> A simple shaped skirt with nothing frou-frou allows us to experiment with the silhouette on top. A balloon-sleeved shirt tucked in and belted is a great option. In the evening simply unbutton and add a necklace or statement earrings.

> Long blazer jackets (belted if you wish) are the modern pairing rather than anything with a whiff of the cropped boucle jackets of the 1980s, while a roll, funnel or simple crew neck is an easy option, again kept long and crucially loose. This is not the time to embrace the embonpoint (aka your bosom).

> I would aim for neutrals—navy, white, black—and consider textures such as suede and leather which add sophistication. Bold prints can also be terrific, but avoid anything too ditsy, such as a pastel floral. 

> The model above is 51 and wearing dark semi-opaque tights (very dense black can look a trifle frumpy), but for evening try a pair of patterened sheers...which add an elegant glamour when teamed with a simple black top and skirt.

> Teenagers pair theirs with Doc Martins, but rebel-cool is a hard one to pull off past a certain age. Low-heeled leather boots are better...or a block-heel square-toed mule. High, spiky heels are best avoided.

What will happen when we hit Summer and tights will be out of the question? I'm not throwing away my favorite midi skirts just yet...

Adieu, André Leon Tally

That would be adieu, a final goodbye, not au revoir, a see-you-again-soon. André Leon Talley held a master's degree in French studies so would appreciate the difference. He died yesterday at age 73 in White Plains, New York. 

There will be many deserved tributes to and assessments of him. Much will be written of Andre's life, his backstory, his rise to a position of great influence in fashion, his fall from favor while still retaining a mythical aura. He was six foot six and of a closely-guarded overweight (couldn't have been healthy) and was clearly the center of attraction in any room.

André at the Houston Museum of Fine Arts

Some celebrities are like that. They command attention without saying a word. If you are ever in their presence you never forget it. I felt that in an auditorium with Muhammed Ali. I imagine JFK and Elvis had it. I've written about my non-dinner with André before:
https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/4573099143532398301/1017913522796430066
He came to Houston as curator of an Oscar de la Renta exhibit and sat for an interview with Clifford Pugh in 2017. We were in the first row (and why not?). The lights dimmed, and he appeared, sitting. He never rose to leave until the auditorium was empty. Walking was very difficult even then.

He was a trailblazer for equality who wore no sandwich board. One would, of course, ruin the look of his caftan. He never campaigned for it but his unique world view proved diversity is the crucial spice. I can only imagine these last few years were difficult ones. He was not a man who would enjoy prolonged isolation, despite his claims he was happy puttering around his house in White Plains, just north of New York City. He's been missed and he will be forever missed. 

Adieu, cher André

The Stuff of Dreams?

Just as I'm watching old episodes of "Mad Men", along comes the January 2022 issue of Vogue (shivering in at 92 pages), with Olivia Wilde on the cover in a black bra and high-waisted black skirt by Michael Kors Collection. I was looking for the tagline, "I dreamed I hitch-hiked through the desert in my Maidenform bra."

The successful Maidenform ads are referenced in the second season of "Mad Men" when their (fictionalized) competitor Playtex wants the (also fictional) ad agency Sterling Cooper to dream up a similar new campaign for them. In the '50s and '60s those ads were everywhere, from news weeklies like "Life" to fashion glossies like, well, Vogue. They were so numerous over time they almost seemed to parody themselves:

Etc., etc. etc.

"Mad Men" is a rather bitter indictment of advertising agencies and their cavalier attitudes toward promotion. Almost exclusively run by men in the 1950s, they didn't seem to care as much about giving women what they wanted as telling them this is what they were desperate to have. 

I long assumed those Maidenform ads were cooked up by a lecherous crew of "boys" on Madison Avenue, but the origins were more innocent. Harry Trenner was an account executive for Maidenform at Weintrob Advertising in NYC. He and his wife Florence were sitting around the kitchen table in their New Rochelle home when they came up with the idea, probably laughing all the time. The outlandish premise seems like a variation on going to school without your underwear, nightmare fodder when I was a kid. The client bit and ran with it for many years.

The cover of Vogue is no laughing matter. This one was shot by star photographer Annie Lebovitz. Ms Wilde appears in another "bralet" (combo of "bra" and "bracelet"?), wearing an outfit in your basic chartreuse Gucci-logo satin. Yes, it's hard to take this stuff seriously, but I continue to be very, very worried. Sooner or later some mortal will, to be followed by many willing mortals who shouldn't.

 
Another feature was an oversized brown leather Prada motorcycle jacket shown in 14 photos on Emily Ratajkowski. No price was given but others on the Prada website were $6,000. Will I now have to crawl around the attic hunting for my 1980s Schott leather jacket? I know it's there somewhere. Maybe I could do it in my Maidenform bra...

Stylish Read: "Miss Dior"

Forget the idea that "Miss Dior" will be a gentle romp through the House of Dior with some fond reminiscences of Christian's sister Catherine. It's more, so much more.

"Miss Dior" begins with family history. The Diors were upper middle-class—Papa Dior owned a fertilizer factory. Catherine, born 1917, was the baby of five. The Diors lost their fortune in the '29 crash and following economic downturn. By the early '30s Catherine and Christian, devoted to his 12-years-younger sister, were living together in Paris. Christian owned an ultimately unsuccessful art gallery and later worked as a couture design assistant. He and Catherine had briefly tried farming in the south of France. In 1939 Christian was called up to serve in the army while Catherine returned south.

France was invaded by the Nazis in 1940 and fell quickly. Hindsight being 20/20, its capitulation avoided much death and destruction. The country was divided into Nazi-occupied territory in the north and French-ruled territory in the south under a puppet government.

Christian, now out of the army, returned to Paris to resume his fashion career. Catherine had joined the Resistance and moved back to Paris. In 1944 she was arrested and deported to Germany, where she was a prisoner at the women's concentration camp, Ravensbruck.

Those are just the bare facts. This book is not for the faint of heart. The first half of "Miss Dior" is a searing reminder of the atrocities of WWII. Both fascinating and horrifying, it is history that forever haunted those who lived it. The French have never been comfortable discussing WWII. The Nazis demanded full loyalty from the conquered, but establishing the difference between cooperation and collaboration is a struggle for France even today.

Catherine shortly after WWII

This is only a  pencil-sketch-on-tracing-paper biography of Catherine Dior. She chose to remain in the background of Christian Dior's couture life, although they were always close. Catherine never spoke to anyone about the Resistance. Her strength and silence were respected. She must have suffered horribly under the terrible conditions in Ravensbruk, and she never forgave the Germans. She didn't marry and had no children. She was hardly a fashionista, though Christian presented her with clothing from each collection. She did, however, wear "Miss Dior" every day, even while gardening. Her extensive gardens produced the flowers used in production of the perfume. It's a wonder Justine Picarde was able to breathe life into her story, which she does by extensively quoting from memoirs and remembrances of those who knew her during and after the war. 

The "New Look" of 1947

"Miss Dior" is also very much Christian Dior's story. The "New Look", his first collection as an independent couturier, debuted in 1947 and revolutionized fashion. It also drove Chanel up the wall. His romantic, feminine looks required major undergarments to buttress and truss a woman's figure to meet his hour-glass ideal. Chanel had spent decades convincing women to move freely in their clothing. Women were ready for a heady dose of femininity after the many years of privation, and Dior's New Look was a smash hit.

I now realize Dior is probably responsible for the tortuous padded bras, long-line shapers and girdles of my 1950's young womanhood.

Dior and house model, early '50s

Dior died unexpectedly in 1957, barely ten years after his successful debut. You could say the rest is history because we fashion-impressed pretty much know the story of the House that follows (Yves St. Laurent, et al). Catherine died in 2008, having carefully watched over Christian's legacy.

This a very personal biography as Justine Picarde has her own story to tell. The journey to remember Catherine helps to remember her own sister, who tragically died young. As biographies go this is a writing style I haven't encountered before, but it works.

In fashion terms these elements shouldn't make an outfit, but Justine Picarde weaves them into a tale well told.

Yes, Catherine wore it, always

 

 

Something Funny Happened on the Way to the Ricardos

It may be a stretch to connect "I Love Lucy" to "AllWays in Fashion", but laughter is always in fashion and so is Lucille Ball. 

"Lucy" was a character I loved and grew up with, but it's taken a while to appreciate the full scope of Lucille Ball as both actress and physical comedienne. She made appearances in 84 Hollywood films over a long career beginning in 1933. "I Love Lucy" premiered on CBS-TV in 1951, and overnight she was a star.

The "real" Ricardos

I remember "I Love Lucy" from about 1953, when I lobbied to stay up past my 8:30 bedtime to watch the show, broadcast on Mondays at 9 PM. As much as I loved Lucy, I didn't follow her to "The "Lucy Show" or "Here's Lucy", the later sitcoms. My Lucy was in black and white with our heroine bravely pratfalling her way through the very unliberated 1950s.

So I had some interest in "Being the Ricardos" on Amazon Prime, about one week in the life of Lucille Ball, Desi Arnaz, and the cast, writers and producer of the "Lucy Show" in 1953. It was a momentous week. Lucille Ball was accused of being a communist by Walter Winchell at the height of the Red Scare; Lucy announced she was pregnant with their second child; Desi insisted the pregnancy be written in—not out—of the show, and Lucy encountered yet another story about Desi's infidelity. 

Interest turned to trepidation when I learned Nicole Kidman was to play Lucy and Javier Bardem would be Desi Arnaz. Well, I like Javier Bardem, and he has shown his prowess as an actor in many roles, so more power to him. But Nicole Kidman? She's so hard to figure out. Nicole the person/celebrity seems as bland as wallpaper paste, but she's proven she can act.

Lucy and Not Lucy

 
If you don't look at the screen but only listen to her Lucy, it's a terrific portrayal. She's got the voice and makes off-screen Lucy quite believable as hard-working, determined and serious about being funny. Lucy knew what audiences wanted, how comedy worked and whom she had married. Whatever prosthetics or cgi magic was used to turn Nicole Kidman into Lucille Ball fails. She is a Lucy-as-Barbie-doll. Oddly that doesn't take away from thinking hers is an honest yet sympathetic portrayal. Just don't look.

Reviews have said "Being the Ricardos" is busy, and there definitely are many parts and pieces to its quasi-documentary style. They don't all work. At the same time there are clever turns. A rehearsal scene morphs into the black and white broadcast. Familiar bits (the candy factory, the grape stomping) have been meticulously recreated. The actors portraying Vivian Vance and William Frawley are spot on. Javiar Bardem even makes a more attractive Ricky Ricardo than Desi's own Ricky. 

After the film I found a compilation of "I Love Lucy" episodes (also on Amazon Prime) and picked one I figured I hadn't seen, "Lucy thinks Ricky is trying to murder her" from 1951. Sitting on the couch, with my cat for company, I laughed out loud. Seventy years later it's fair to say I still love Lucy.

 

Born That Way

Miles Davis

 
A new book will be published in the USA on December 7, "Black Ivy: A Revolt in Style". It examines how prominent Black cultural figures (writers, musicians, artists, civil rights activists) purposely adopted an established white Ivy League style, making it cooler by degrees and hipper by association. 

I've just read a a discussion with the author, Jason Jules, in the New York Times:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/11/17/style/black-ivy-style-jason-jules.html

He looks at why so many Black men in the arts dressed this way. Was it a desire to be accepted? Was it aspirational? Was it meant as irony?

 
Jules writes Miles Davis was someone who briefly wore a hip-gangster style popular among Black musicians in the '40s before switching his look to establishment Ivy League style. He points out that this was not a particular reach for Davis, who grew up wearing Brooks Brothers. His father was a dental surgeon and his was a socially prominent and well-off family.

I had never thought much about Miles Davis' background and childhood. He just seemed to emerge cool on the scene. His early recordings for Capitol Records must be called the "Birth of the Cool" sessions for a reason. The Miles Davis I first heard recorded the classics, "Milestones" (1958), "Kind of Blue" (1959) and "Sketches of Spain" (1960) looking very much like an insurance salesman.

Did Miles just feel more comfortable dressed as he always had been? I tend to think he did. I doubt Miles Davis needed to prove himself to anyone. Davis himself changed his look radically over time, choosing to embrace his African roots in later years.

He's a great choice as the cover image for "Black Ivy", though I have a feeling whatever Miles Davis wore was his very own statement and one not up for discussion. I sure as hell would never have asked.


  

The Worst Grade I Ever Got...

Same machines, different year

 
...was an A minus in Sewing. Perhaps I shouldn't have been as upset about that "minus" as I was. It was an elective in 9th grade but a class I loved.

In truth my worst grade was the D in 11th grade Advanced Algebra. I resisted taking Geometry as I was sure I would have little use for it in real life (wrong), and I hadn't done too badly in Algebra I. The teacher, flummoxed that I was the only girl in a room of pocket-protector-wearing, slide-rule-toting boys, and no doubt frustrated by my lack of ability, still gave me a passing grade. I feel sure he didn't want me in summer school.

Back to sewing and 9th grade. I grew up in Shaker Heights, Ohio, a picturesque suburb of Cleveland with an excellent school system. By 1956 the district had outgrown its one junior high (grades 7, 8 and 9). When it became clear the second school would not be finished in time, it was decided to divide the student body and run classes in two shifts. The first shift (mine) ran from 7:20 AM to 12:20 PM. 

I am not a morning person now, was not then, and Northeastern Ohio winters come early, stay late, and seem like they are in perpetual darkness. Were it not for Sewing I can't imagine what would have gotten me out of bed that year. 

My "school bus", the Rapid Transit

 
I remember no other class. There must have been English, math, some kind of history and science. I remember nothing but that hour spent with Mrs. Finkel and a vintage Singer sewing machine. There was neither gym nor lunch. It's curious we were allowed an elective with such a time crunch of a schedule.

I had taken a semester of Sewing the year before. That and a semester of Home Ec were required for 8th grade girls; the boys took Shop. We made a dirndl skirt, probably the most unflattering silhouette on a 13-year-old, but they were very much in style.

I don't remember everything I sewed in 9th grade. I made a pair of pajamas in a folkloric flannel print trimmed in red rickrack. Wore those for years. Ohio winters, remember? My piece de resistance was a cotton bathing suit and matching skirt in a rosebud print. There must have been quite a few more as the class put on an end-of-year fashion show, and I remember several changes of outfits.

I over-performed homework for this class, spending hours going through fashion magazines to decide on my next project. There were no Jo-Ann's stores then, so shopping for fabric and patterns meant a trip to downtown Cleveland's department stores. If I was flush with babysitting money I might treat myself to a copy of French "Elle" at Schroeder's newsstand on Public Square. 

Anyone who sews knows it's tempting to cut corners (sewing pun!). You can cheat a little placing the pattern (especially if you didn't buy enough yardage), disrespecting the grain of the fabric. You will be sorry, but it will be too late. You can skip cutting those notches or ignore instructions to baste before sewing. You can iron the seams as you go or you can iron at the end and hope for the best. 

 
I took no chances! I broke no rules! But Mrs. Finkel gave me an A minus. This was the one and only time I ever questioned a grade, but I had to know why. She was a sweet lady, soft spoken and patient. She had always encouraged my work and praised the results. I was not afraid to speak up.

"Mrs. Finkel," I said. "Why did you give me an A minus and not an A?"

The voice was soft, the eyes were kind. She answered, "Michelle, you never used the electricity."

I had turned the Singer's wheel by hand the entire year. My efforts to make every stitch perfect were my downfall.

Sewing in schools is long gone, but I'm happy to see there are classes offered privately and through the community for youngsters as young as seven. The road to "Project Runway" is a long one but what a highway to heaven!

Urban Stitch Studio in Reno, Nevada

"Baby, It's Cold Outside"

Twenty-five hangers all in a row...

 
I hate winter, and if I never see snow again it won't be too soon. We've lived in south Texas for 18 years, but I still buy a new coat every year. Currently there are 12 winter coats, 8 "between-seasons" coats, and 5 raincoats in my closet, a rabbit fur chubby moldering in a box and a New York-winter-worthy down coat laying in wait under the bed. The raincoats actually get the most use, but that down coat sure came in handy when our power grid blew last February.

Back east I felt it important to have a winter coat I loved because that's how the world mostly saw me for half a year. My choices were not always a success. The mod-looking mohair cape I bought in the fall of 1969 did not work that winter despite elbow-length gloves. My suede and shearling Dr. Zhivago coat was almost too heavy to walk in. This was all before we discovered "layering" and before down came off the ski slopes and into our hearts.

Admittedly once I figured out how to keep warm in an east coast winter, the coat obsession became more fashion than thermal. There were maxi coats, surely dreamed up by coat industry executives on a retreat at a sheep farm in Maine. They proved totally impractical on New York's slushy streets and beat a fast retreat themselves. I can't bear to let that rabbit fur chubby go as I dragged it home from a stall in Portobello Road. It has never NOT been shedding. 

Generations past a mink coat was the sign of making it, or proof that your husband had made it. My mother almost married a man who promised her a mink coat if she said yes. It was not her finest hour. I didn't realize mink is incredibly warm along with being lightweight until the mink era was over. I once wore my fake leopard on the subway and stood accused of leopard genocide. I was not about to take chances.

In 1967 a winter coat got me a before-and-after in Glamour Magazine (which often used staff members as models). I truly loved my "before" coat and continued to wear it ever after. I didn't think it was too big. Do you? But I wish I had bought the "after" coat. I'd still wear it today.

 

On Never Being 18 Again

Recent reporting has determined that Instagram is a negative influence on teenage girls. I am remembering my own tempestuous teenage years. I hated high school but am now a loyal member of my high school's Facebook group. Would I be if my life had not turned out pretty OK? 

A few things got me through those years: an escape plan that would take me from Cleveland to New York City as soon as possible, an ability to lose myself in books, movies, art and fashion magazines, and a column in one of them, Glamour's "On Becoming 18". 

Eighteen seemed a reasonable age to aim for. Although several years shy when I started reading, I filed away all the advice (dispensed in a light-hearted way but good nonetheless) for future use. I remember in particular a suggestion for what to say when something terribly embarrassing happens. The example given was you are standing too close to a cozy fire at a ski lodge when your girdle starts melting. The clever thing would be, "I just haven't been feeling like myself lately". I doubt anyone would say that anymore, anywhere.

"On Becoming 18" was still being published by the time I got to Glamour at 23. I know because I designed a header for the column featuring an old line cut of a rose. I was no longer reading it.

There is a point here besides a ramble down memory lane. I wouldn't be a teenager again for all the Diet Coke in Atlanta. I wouldn't be a teenager today for anything. The pressures are tremendous. The saving grace may be they are at least acknowledged. I do feel, however, that if it isn't Instagram or Facebook or young celebrity starlets, it would still be Something. 

Teenage girls have always wanted to find out who they are. You just can't do that until you have actually lived some, made a few mistakes, had a couple successes, and been able to acknowledge that discovering one's true self is the journey of a lifetime.

I'm able to see another component in this. It takes much trial and error to find your true fashion self. You won't always get it right. Your compass may need to be reset from time to time. Hopefully you will have the courage to never sport a look or a piece of clothing that you are not comfortable wearing.  This comes with the years, and isn't it a relief to know you won't ever be wearing a girdle at a ski lodge?

Weighing in on the September Issues

Fashion is back! Or is it? 

September Elle would have us think so with the cover lines, "Fashion is Back! Color, Positivity, Power". They forgot one: Hope, as in "Hopefully fashion is back, otherwise we are all in serious trouble".

The September issues put on a little weight. This year they tipped the scales at 5 pounds, up from 4.6 pounds in 2020. The Fab Four are Vogue, the leader in page count at 368, followed by Elle at 282, Harper's Bazaar at 280, and InStyle at 190. Marie Claire is no longer in the pack.

I've been performing this little exercise since 2013, when Vogue came in at 902 pages. At least it is up from last year's 316, but that's a page loss of 534% in seven years. 

This year of loss has seen huge losses in publishing, too—loss of ad revenue, loss of readership, actual loss in closing down print publication. Marie Claire's sudden announcement they are "redirecting to an online-only platform" was a nice way of saying, "the patient died". Curiously, there has been little publicity about this move. Does no one care?

There were indeed changes for good. The shelter magazines discovered a wealth of architects and designers of color right here in the United States! Fashion magazines, and the advertisers that support them, realized the spectrum is a beautiful thing. Did it seem they were trying too hard to make up for lost time? Sometimes it did. I would like to say to them, "Calm down. We know you mean well, and applaud your efforts, but we are beginning to see you sweat."

Here it is September, usually considered a time of renewed energy and a return to more "serious pleasures". I've yet to get very excited about fall, fashion or much else. It's 95 in the shade and hurricane season with coronavirus affecting everything. 

My cup may not runneth over, nevertheless the glass is still half-full.

PSA Coming Your Way

This PSA does not stand for Power Shopping Alert. As Covid 19 to the Next Level continues invading the world, I feel emboldened to offer my own Public Service Announcement.

If logic, science, bribes, threats, and statistics are not enough for the hold-outs, maybe a grass roots effort on our part can do the trick.

And if you think this ain't fashion, well, how would you like to start living your once-again-confined life in those sweatpants and t-shirts?

Thanks to Lizzie Bramlett of "The Vintage Traveler" blog for her good sense. I couldn't have said it better myself:

"Get the covid vaccine. This is not rocket science, but it is biology. Vaccines work. That’s why you don’t have to worry about polio or the measles. That’s why smallpox is no longer naturally occurring in our world. This is not political. It is doing the right thing for humanity."