Would You if You Could?

The other day at the Lovely Little Boutique Where I Work (which in fact sells moderately-priced casual clothing to a mostly mature customer) a client spent close to $2,000 buying two of everything she picked out.

Not that one should ever assume, but coming into the store she didn't exactly look like someone who would have duplicate closets. Not dripping with diamonds, no chauffeured limo waiting at the curb, she was lovely and undemanding. At first I thought she must have a twin and they still dressed alike. No, she has two homes in different states and likes to travel light.

I've been thinking about this. Not only was that not an everyday occurrence, it was later followed by a customer who rudely declared she wanted no help and proceeded to tear up the place looking for some pants I could have found for her in ten seconds. 

That's a whole other retail rant. Why do some customers (and this is only the rare few) treat sales associates like lesser beings? Many of us have either been at our gigs for eons and know more what you're looking for than you do. The newbies may have been head of nursing at a prestigious hospital or a federal judge (among two of my recently retired co-workers). Like I said, one should never assume.

But would you, if you could, buy two of everything? Would it be worth packing a suitcase to have more variety? Or is it better to have a smaller wardrobe with less hassle? I know where I would land. If I could travel with a stand-up walk-in trunk, I would. It's that hard to decide what to pack because how will I know what I want to wear? What mood will I be in? What will I be doing? Where will I be going? When forced to I traveled carry-on for a ten-day European trip and forgot to be bored with my limited wardrobe, but that's not a scenario I relish. And if I had homes in two very different places, wouldn't my clothing choices be different too? 

I will, of course, never know the answer because the two homes I've had were never at the same time.

But would you, if you could???

 

Wise Words from Isaac

I love Isaac Mizrahi. You know who he is. If you don't, Google. Isaac was in Houston this week as guest speaker for The Jung Center's Spring Benefit. He presented "I.M. Enough: An Evening with Isaac Mizrahi" at the River Oaks Country Club.

Isaac in Houston

I've no doubt it was a boffo event, but at $150 for the Zoom attendance and $500 for the in-person, I wasn't going. Besides, I had "an evening with Isaac Mizrahi" one night in Bloomingdale's Manhattan flagship when he was launching an Isaac ready-to-wear line. It was free and even included a VHS copy of "Unzipped".

As I said, Google if this sounds like gibberish.

Before his appearance, Andrew Dansby, a staff writer on the Houston Chronicle, had a Q&A with Isaac. One of the questions went like this:

Q: You haven't cut ties with fashion entirely. But it's a much smaller part of the public persona you present.

A: What's funny, I don't always know how to put this. I love clothes. I love clothes the same way I did in my teens and 20s and 30s. Fashion? Not so much. I adore textiles, styles, people wearing wonderful things. Fashion? Not so much."

Isaac, you have hit the nail on the head. That's where the problem lies. I too adore textiles, styles, people wearing wonderful things. Fashion? Not so much. So that's why fashion reporting leaves me cold, fashion magazines leave me empty, but a museum retrospective leaves me wanting more! 

I think Isaac is saying fashion and style are not one and the same. You can have style without being in fashion and you can be in fashion without having style. I know what side I want to be on.

Thanks, Isaac. 

  

Good as Gold

When GAP shows gilded jeans, The NY Times catches the stylish-in-the-street wearing gold apparel, and designers start dipping their ware in gold, what are we thinking? Gold has never not been a thing, of course, from ancient Egypt to James Bond, but this is more gold than I've seen in a while.

Chanel, Gucci, Kors SS/23

I'll go out on a gold olive branch and say Madame predicts gold is the next big trend. Full disclosure: I just picked up a cropped golden jacket that I can longer wear (too warm), but I had to have it.

Will hang in wait of cooler temps...

Is it odd that coming off sweats 24/7 for a few years, the hip new look would be one of the world's most precious metals? Styling has to be ironic though—gold jeans for day, not so much gold spangles for night (that's always okay).  PS Those jeans are on back order till April 24. See what I mean?

The GAP jeans

Once upon a time I did have a pair of gold loafers. Eventually the "gold" flaked off. My carpet was something of a shiny mess. Today's gold fabrication is amazing. You could almost call it liquid gold.

So why not silver, you may ask? Well, no one minds looking like the Bond girl (despite her unpleasant demise), but who wants to look like the tin man?

 

Battles Royale I Have Won and Lost

Was I a difficult child? I never thought so until I looked at my childhood through the clothes I wore. Some would tell a different story. There is a point to this, readers, if you are good enough to bear with me. 

My mother had incredible taste if not much money. I was probably too well dressed as I never remember anyone with an outfit like this one, brown wool with brown velvet trim, head-to-toe. I must have appreciated its fairy-tale quality as this was not the cause for a Battle Royale.

Michelle-in-Wonderland

Oh, but there were a few. Only one was a knock-down-drag-out tearful affair that I won but quickly realized I had lost. More on that later.

THE AFFAIR OF THE ZIPPER

As a young child escalators in department stores frightened me, and zippers frustrated me. While I eventually learned how to go up and down the one, I couldn't master the other. I wore a snowsuit— heavy poplin jacket with matching pants, padded like a fat suit. Quasi waterproof, worn whether it was snowing or not. It was Cleveland. In the winter. 

Zipped up by my mother when I left for school, I could not zip it myself at recess or when it was time to go home. I tried; I watched how other kids did theirs. Unlike the escalator I didn't think the zipper would eat me alive, but I couldn't get the knack. Ultimately the teacher had to zip me. This became annoying enough for her to send a note home. 

Next thing I knew my clever-with-a-needle mother had gone to work. Where there had been a zipper was now a row of (just a little too) big green buttons. Teacher was happy. I eventually taught a jacket zipper who was boss, but to this day breathe a small sigh of satisfaction when it zips.

SCORE: WIN

Thanks, Mom

GOING STRAPLESS

Although I did have a pair of jeans, in my late '40s-early 50s childhood, girls mostly wore skirts. Mine always had matching shoulder straps. The jeans got a pair of suspenders. What I've never really had were shoulders, and you need those to hold stuff up. The straps were always slipping down.

 

This is a hold-up.

When you think about it, what were they really for? Those pants were not going to fall off my body. Either was the skirt, securely fastened as it was around my waist. Perhaps they were a conceit of children's fashion. But I know I lobbied for their removal for years, or so it seemed. I think the happy day arrived when we moved to the suburbs where no one wore straps. 

SCORE: WIN

'Twas the fashion...

SWEATER WEATHER

My mother followed a few rules along the line of you can't go swimming for 30 minutes after eating. Another was you can't go out without a sweater if it's under 70 degrees. I grew up in Cleveland, remember? Seventy degrees can be a long time coming. There was always a temperature check before leaving the house. Under 70? Must wear sweater. You would think I would play along only until out of sight then rip off the sweater, but I never did. I believed that mothers knew everything and could see beyond the block.

SCORE: LOSS 

THE PASSIVE AGGRESSION OF CHOCOLATE 

Consecration is a ritual in Judaism to celebrate the beginning of a child's Jewish education. It's similar in feeling to First Communion and usually occurs in Spring. Consecration perhaps lacked the gravitas of Communion but still called for a special dress, and it needed to be white. A true communion outfit would be out of the question of course, but 1940s dress-up frocks were over-the-top frilly. That's what I wanted but not what I got. 

Not me or mine

My mother not only had taste she was downright clairvoyant. In the age of dresses designed by the likes of Fifi LaRue she channeled Ralph Lauren, 40 years ahead of him. My Consecration outfit was a knee-length white wool pleated skirt worn with a short-sleeved crew-neck white sweater (think the pullover piece of a twin set), a string of pearls and white Mary Janes. Though no one asked, I was disappointed and felt out of place surrounded by the other girls, walking fire hazards in their frilly dresses. 

What followed was an act of passive aggression in the first degree, so unconsciously executed it took years to realize what I'd done and a few more to regret it deeply. No pictures exist of this outfit because I ruined it before they could be taken. 

The big treat after Consecration was lunch at our favorite restaurant, Stouffer's (and yes the same Stouffer's that lives on in frozen foods). There was chocolate ice cream for dessert. Did the spoon slip? Did I do it on purpose? The result was chocolate ice cream down the front of that white sweater. I could see the disapointment in my mother's eyes, but I only remember her saying, "Well, that will never come out." The outfit disappeared, never to be worn or spoken of again.

SCORE: WIN BUT ULTIMATELY BIG LOSS

 

YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE

Twice a year we made the trip downtown to see Miss Alice in the children's department at Halle Bros. Mother always knew what I needed. That year it was a casual short coat. This was beginning to be called a "car coat" as I guess it was easier to maneuver behind the wheel. At age ten, since I wasn't driving, it would be called a "topper". The one she liked was cherry red wool, not too heavy, very tailored, with a little swing in it. Ralph Lauren again.

Think red...

I know I really liked it, but I was a bit unhappy. We'd moved again, this time without my father. I'd had to give up my bedroom and started a new school. I didn't have the words to express how I felt other than to reject that red topper outright. I insisted I wanted a fuzzy cocoon in the most bilious shade of boiled celery. It might have looked good on Shirley Temple in that movie where she played the poor little rich girl. It looked terrible on me. 

Think green bile...

My mother naturally pointed that out, thinking that would end it, but obviously this was not about the coat. I insisted, with tears, and not just whimpers. A therapist would say at that moment I was letting it all out and punishing my mother at the same time. In the middle of my meltdown I could see Miss Alice out of the corner of my eye, frozen to the spot. What could she say???

In the end I got the boiled celery fuzz ball, but it was not a triumph. My mother avoided all mention of the coat or the incident. I think I wore it twice, for the first and last time. We never saw Miss Alice again.

SCORE: LOSS AND LESSON LEARNED

And last, dear reader...

YOU CAN HAVE IT BOTH WAYS

Over time things greatly improved with my mother. I adjusted to a new life in a more citified part of town. My sister got married, and I had my own room again. At age 13-almost-14 I had begun to take serious interest in fashion. Amazingly I found my tastes more aligned to my mother's. But there was still a hurdle: the gentle battle of "that's too old for you". 

Seventeen was actually showing black sheath dresses for teens in their editorial pages. I'd found one that was not particularly slinky (sleeveless with a scoop neck and a red cumberbund). I was allowed to have it, but I knew my mother much preferred a baby pink sundress with a full skirt that I'd matched with a wide-brimmed pink sailor hat.

Audrey did do it better...

That summer she planned a vacation for the two of us, a week in New York City. I'd already fallen in love with Manhattan from afar and could hardly wait. This trip was predicated on some wonderful bargains she'd found—a summer rate at the Waldorf Astoria where kids under 14 were free*—and a clutch of coupons for buy-one-get-one-free dinners at Stouffer's restaurants (which had just opened in New York).

There was a problem. Although I didn't look very mature, I would have just turned 14 when we were due to arrive, and Mother didn't want to stir up trouble with the front desk. We decided I would wear the pink sundress and sailor hat to check in. I must have looked like an oversized Eloise, but no one questioned my age.

That night, as we left the hotel for dinner, I was wearing the black sheath. We both felt very proud of ourselves, my mother for surely pulling a fast one on the Waldorf and me for making my debut as a New Yorker wearing black.

SCORE: WIN, WIN

All this meandering down memory lane has me thinking even as very young children we have strong ideas about clothing (though too young to think in terms of fashion). We know what we want or don't want but may be powerless to express that in even the simplest terms. While writing this I was reading Vanessa Friedman in The NY Times and came across a sentence in her review of the current New York Fashion Week:

A picture may be worth 1,000 words, but nine words can say it all.

* I dimly recall a time when hotel rates were dependent on how many occupied the room and when infants were free but children half-price.

MOBs and MOGs: Help Has Arrived!

Janna and daughter, courtesy "Mother of"

In my twenty years' working retail, including a brief affair with upscale bridal, I've always said, "In my next life I'm going to be a mother-of-the-bride designer." There is such a need. Invariably, whether a woman likes to shop or not, this is one excursion looked upon with trepidation, fear or even dread.

Thanks to the wonderful Roz Chast and The New Yorker for this brilliant distillation of the terror:

At last here come two women in the Minneapolis area with a genius idea. They've launched a site called "Mother of", an online clearing house of resources, ideas, reassurances and true-life tales. Discover them at: 

https://motherof.co 

Here you will find a plethora of suggestions for what to wear, arranged in categories of black tie, cocktail, daytime, destination weddings and suits. The price range is wide, the selections large, the models varied. Click on a photo; if interested click on "shop this dress" and you are linked to that item's website. From there you know the drill. This seems a most egalitarian way to host a website and quite a bit easier than scrolling through dozens of open tabs on your computer. They acknowledge they may receive remuneration if you make a purchase through mother of, but the site is totally free.  

There are sweet stories from real-life MOBs and MOGs, a section with answers to niggling questions like "Can a mother-of-the-bride wear white?" and "What about wearing pants?". 

Congratulations, ladies! You are brilliant! Do I wish I had thought of this myself? You bet. On the other hand, I can only imagine what hard work this is. I congratulate you for what I surely would not have knowledge or stamina to accomplish. 

Every woman about to join the bridal path of a daughter or son needs to know Cinderella wasn't the only one with a fairy godmother. 

The Art of Being the Artist

Illustration by Millie von Platen/New York Times

Artists and their sometimes eccentric lives have been fair game for ages. You've long been able to buy an Andy Warhol wig at a party store for just a few bucks. Becoming Van Gogh for Halloween only takes a straw hat and a roll of gauze. Things may be getting a bit more serious lately. 

This week the New York Times published a piece on how tokens of the artists are being marketed in museum gift shops along with the usual posters, magnets and coffee mugs picturing their works. For example you can buy a replica of Edward Hopper's fedora at the Guggenheim for a mere $118 and a "Pablo Picasso Breton-style" t-shirt at the Picasso Museum in Paris for $70.

Hopper and hat

Picasso and stripes

This is not breaking news exactly. The Neue Galleria has been selling a $395 replica of Gustav Klimt's painting smock since 2007. I think I'd rather have the cat.

Klimt and cat

The traveling immersive exhibitions  of Van Gogh, Matisse and Frida Kahlo are fairly new. They purport to put you into the picture, so to speak, thus allowing you to imagine how the artist was thinking. A recent Frida Kahlo exhibit contains none of her paintings, just images of her, so you can revel in "the incredible story behind the legendary artist." 

The many personas of the persona

Georgia O'Keefe very deliberately created an image by her choice of no-nonsense apparel. Having just seen an Alberto Giacometti retrospective here in Houston I wonder the significance of his Yale-classics-professor-wardrobe. He even sculpted in a blazer.

Georgia at rest

Alberto at work

So, how responsible is the artist for marrying his work and his art? In many cases, of course, yes. Hopper and Van Gogh? Not so sure. I think about the paint-spattered jeans I almost bought. Did I want to look like an artist without having to paint anything? Then I think about the dress I did buy, and only last week, too. 

I found it a UAL, which stands for United Apparel Liquidators, a small chain selling new clothing that may be samples, over-runs or last-season. This dress was reduced to $14 and made of lovely Indian cotton. If I had a beach house it would be perfect. I do have a backyard, however, and that's where I will wear it, looking ever so much (I hope) like Frida Kahlo.

"80 for Brady"

I may or may not see "80 for Brady" in a theater when it's released February 3. There are many reasons for not going to the movies these days, and Covid almost isn't one of them. A trip to the local multiplex will cost my husband and me $30 for senior tickets and the obligatory parking fee. The multiplex itself is but a shell of its former self. The bar and restaurant have closed as well as the upstairs concession stand. Ticket booths have been replaced by kiosks, ignominiously placed in front of the windows where people used to sit. No buzz, almost no customers, but there is the lingering smell of old popcorn. So going to the movies itself is not such a draw.

Also, my husband is a giant football fan. That's "giant" as in Giants, which means any movie in praise of the New England Patriots is not going to fly. "80 for Brady" is just that. Based on a true story, the movie centers around four best friends, all Tom Brady fans, who decide to make the trip of a lifetime to see their hero play in the 2017 Super Bowl. That took place in Houston, so it will be interesting to see what they show of my city (if Toronto hasn't been used as a stand-in).

Why write about this here? Well, from what I can see these "80-somethings" have a fashion vibe. They are all dressed well. Rather than slip into pastels and elastic waistband stereotypes, wardrobe has given them some pretty nice choices (team jerseys aside).  

The cast is Rita Moreno (91), Jane Fonda (85), Lily Tomlin (82), and rounding out as the baby of the group, Sally Field (76). It doesn't hurt that Rita Moreno looks amazing, Jane Fonda looks, well, like Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin has maybe even a brighter twinkle in her eye, and Sally Field is still adorable. I've only been able to grab a few shots from the trailer and not sure the beachy scene is even in the movie, but don't they look nice and, gee, I dunno, the movie does kinda look like fun.

Far OUT in Fashion

Thanks to lovely friend Nancy I found this photo on my Facebook feed. I love it! I hate it! I want to look like that! I'm afraid to look like that!

Because it's obviously a bit of a goof, I don't feel bad addressing (pun intended) the issue of mature women turned out as if they are going to a come as you are party— "Come as you are after you raid your closet blindfolded". These are women often photographed by Ari Seth Cohen for his "Advanced Age" projects. Many of them New Yorkers, they make a concerted effort to dress for display. They are out-and-about, often in gangs, knowing they will be looked at and dressing the part. While I admire the nerve, I don't call it fashion, I call it self-promotion.

I don't mean Iris Apfel. She may look way-far-out, but she has something to say, and she says it well. No one can imitate her; I would never try, but her being does sometimes give me license to add that extra necklace. 

Empress Iris

Then there is Trinny Woodall, who has never met a sequin she didn't love or a "trainer" she didn't covet. Nevertheless she dresses for this world. She's not afraid of color or sparkle, and a 20 minute video of her flying through a Zara is sometimes just the jolt I need to feel fashion-revived.

Trinny Woodall

So a minute in, I looked at that top photo and knew what I would do: ditch the electric hairstyle—my own white pixie is fine—keep the coat and bag, turn the skirt into trousers and the shoes into flats, in this case remove a necklace or two...and stand up straight.

Foiled Again: Quest for the Perfect Dress

And only $39.90!

This time I thought for sure I'd found it—the perfect dress. The dress that would cover many occasions (and cover up a few other things). I loved this olive green number so much in the dressing room, I bought it and immediately ordered its two other colors, black and grey. I would now be set for anything—day, night, dressy, casual, spring, summer, fall, winter, north, south, east, west...you get the idea.

Olive, black, grey

The dressing room mirror usually leaves a lot to be desired, Zara's especially. The lighting is bad; the space cramped; the ambience nil. I always figure if it looks good in the dressing room, it will look great in real life. I was convinced I had found it, the perfect dress. The illusion held when I tried it on again at home. In fact, so excited was I to wear my new dress, I wore it the very next day.

I will admit it's rare, when I make an effort, that I won't snag a compliment or two in the course of the day. I don't do anything spectacular, but I try to get dressed. Today was only errands around town, but nowadays few make that effort. We are so used to leisurewear-as-streetwear and other sins against fashion, a woman actually in a dress with accessories and makeup can elicit a nice comment or two. 

Nobody said "boo". As the afternoon wore on, and I felt more and more uncomfortable in that dress, I could see why. It just didn't sit well. The neckline, higher in back than front, stuck out funny. Without any seaming or darts, the back sort of hung off my shoulders, fighting with the cowl neckline that wanted to hitch backwards. Plus with no slits at the sides I found myself taking mincing steps. Worst of all, late in the day I noticed white deodorant streaks along the sides where I'd struggled to pull it on that morning.

If ever I wished for a rainstorm and the emergency vinyl slicker I keep in my trunk!

I've long touted the "road test" as a sure test of an outfit. It's the reason I caution anyone against taking something brand-spanking-new on a trip (from shoes to underwear). So sure was I about this being the Perfect Dress I didn't even consider a road test. 

Denial is a river in Egypt and a woman loathe to admit she made a mistake. Not wishing to see it staring at me in the closet, I immediately took it to the donate box in the garage. There have been no second guesses and no regrets other than I threw away $39.90. The other two dresses arrived. I didn't even open the package. 

What have I learned? Probably not much. Hope springs eternal. We strive for perfection, though we sense we may never reach it. Such is the journey. That one perfect dress worked for Little Orphan Annie. Why not me?

Stylish Read Republished: "What Shall I Wear?"

Claire McCardell

She's back (though in my mind she's never left)! Claire McCardell's wonderful 1956 how-to, "What Shall I Wear" (subtitled The What, Where, When and How Much of Fashion") has been published again. This makes the third time. I've long talked about this book—how I took it out so often from the Shaker Heights public library I eventually just stole it in 1957 when I was 15, how I had no regrets whatsoever because who could possibly want this book more than I???, how I xeroxed copies of it for years for friends and even Isaac Mizrahi*, how I eventually returned it (anonymously) to the library after finding my own used copy on ebay. Good or bad, that's all part of my history, and I own it. 

1956 edition

2012 edition

2022 edition

"What Shall I Wear" is no mere nostalgia piece. At its first publication Claire McCardell was a recognized name in fashion. Her affordable designs for Townley were sold in major department stores like Lord & Taylor. Her use of unusual fabrics for the time (gingham, denim, jersey), easy shapes and dearth of unnecessary gew-gaws were loved by the fashion press as well as the best-dressed set (Babe Paley was a fan). She had her hand in everything from paper dolls to car interiors. Claire McCardell was the most recognized woman in American fashion at a time when few American designers were known by name.

After her death in 1958 at age 53 the business was shuttered. Her innovations lived on—worn any ballet slippers lately?—but her designs, as well as "What Shall I Wear?", lay dormant. The book was first republished in 2012 without much fanfare. That edition is since out of print. The prolific designer Tory Burch discovered Claire McCardell and not only produced her Spring/Summer 2022 collection in tribute, she managed to have "What Shall I Wear" published again in all its original glory and with a foreword by her, afterword by Allison Tolman and photo insert of Claire McCardell designs.

Tory Burch for S/S 2022

This time the reasoning is clear (or Claire if you'll forgive the pun): Claire McCardell is as fresh and relatable as she was at the designs' origins in the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Claire herself lived and wore her work, sometimes for years before she could convince buyers to sign on. Her designs were always purposeful and easy to wear: a "popover" that was more than an apron and could be worn over a dress as a stylish time saver in the kitchen or a "monastic" tent dress that fit the wearer's shape and could be belted many ways. She invented a capsule wardrobe of "five easy pieces" that foreshadowed Donna Karan's capsule by about 20 years. And she wrote the most wonderful book about how to dress that I've ever read.

Truth be told, Claire had help. I mean, she was far too busy to devote herself to the task of writing (which is hard believe me). Interestingly the only parts of "What Shall I Wear?" that sound dated are the "wifey" references to dropping your husband off at the train station and dressing up for his business dinners, which have the stamp of a ghostwriter and commercial appeal. But its jaunty, first-person tone still does what it always has. "What Shall I Wear?" asks you to look at what you wear as who you are and/or want to be. In the '50s that was a freedom rarely granted in fashion. Today that's a freedom we cherish but can be reluctant to embrace. 

Oh, and those drawings. I had never heard of the illustrator Annabrita before or since, but she drew the woman I am still trying to become. It never ends.

*Even today original copies are as rare as hen's teeth. There's one on ebay now for $450.00.