Winks

One of the highlights of the Fall/Winter 2011 season was the kink-laced Louis Vuitton collection filled with glamorous cuffs that secured the girls to their clutches, miniature masks that sat atop all of their heads and a feather duster one girl held (almost) daintily behind her back.

For Resort 2012, the Louis Vuitton girl was ready for a vacation. Overnight bag and towel and swimsuit were all at the ready.

As well as a cocktail dress for nights on the town.

A shorts suit.

And a day dress that fell below the knees.

Yet when one examined everything more closely, the elements that were so prevalent in the fall collection still hung in the air. The cocktail dress was accented with shots of leather. The shorts suit was made of a royal blue lace that left one with a hazy picture of what lived underneath. The lattice-like weaving of the day dress revealed patches of skin to the observant eye.

It was, as Resort so often is, a compromise and a bridge.


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The Belt

Belts were not a part of my wardrobe during my early and mid teens. After the weight gain of puberty and early adolescence, I loathed the idea of an accessory that consistently let me in on how large my stomach was at any given moment. And as I spent most of high school being a masochist and buying clothes that were a smidge too small in hopes that the discomfort would push me into weight loss, my middle section did a pretty admirable job of holding my pants in place.

But during my first year of college, due to stress, unhappiness and an unwavering allegiance to the gym, I lost weight. A belt became a necessary stopgap measure between the old pants that were sliding past my hips with ease and the new ones that I would have to break down and buy eventually. (By that point I lived in pretty constant fear of suddenly waking up 15 pounds heavier and having nothing to wear because I had gotten rid of all of my old clothes. My rather rational mind can sometimes be overrun by ridiculous thoughts.) As was often the case in those days, I ran across to the local Gap to try and solve my problem.

For nearly a decade since, I’ve placed the same belt through the loops of various pairs of pants. I never knew that I was capable of such allegiance. The Belt is rather utilitarian. Dark brown leather. Over an inch in width. Five notches. At notch three there is considerable wear, though two and four have had their day. It is marked by signs of overuse. The buckle has begun to tarnish. There are loose threads along the stitching. At a stretch along the middle, it curls outward.

Since The Belt entered my wardrobe, I’ve bought many others. Wide, waist cinchers. Thin, woven ornaments. On a coat stand that is no longer a coat stand, all of the belts hang alongside various purses past their prime.

Yet when I get dressed in the morning, I always reach for the same one. I’ve tried many times to replace it. To find a belt that is simple and useful and reasonably priced. But I keep running into little wisps of leather that could barely be called belts or those littered with studs and dyed bright, candy colors. Some of those outliers have found their way home with me, but what I need to replace The Belt is simplicity and utility.

I have yet to find it.

Favorite of the Day: Lanvin

Austerity and luxury are as opposite as two words can be. They are, for the most part, the unstoppable force and the immovable object. Unable to coexist in the same sphere. But at Lanvin, there was an austere quality to the clothes. Something pulled back and restrained. Yet the fabrication left no doubt in my mind of the luxurious roots of the garments.

Walking that line between two such contrasting principals is rarely seen, much less handled with such dexterity.


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Favorite of the Day: Fendi

Staid was the first word that came to mind as I made way through yesterday's Fendi show. But the Fendi woman inspired a second, searching glance. There was a hint of rebellion there, just below the surface. Brightly colored tights made her legs pop against the more classic colors of fall. The warm browns and deep grays and navies. Fur accented her coats and jackets.

She seemed both loose and wound tight all at once.


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Favorite of the Day: Erdem

Learning about the adult aspects of florals has been a slow process. It started with those patterns that barely alluded to blooms.

And it's been urged forward by Erdem.

The fall collection was much darker than its ethereal spring counterpart. Less stark and more muddled. But, of course, there are some things I prefer that way.



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Favorite of the Day: Milly

There is one show every season that makes my New England roots appear. It's that side of myself that has multiple pairs of argyle knee highs to wear with her ballet flats. And piles various striped tops under her blazers. The side that meticulously cares for her equestrian-style boots. And pairs her oxfords with almost everything including her gold, sequined miniskirt.

It was that girl who internally squealed with delight while perusing the pictures from the Milly show.

There was something easier and less rigid about the clothes. A slouchiness that has been all over the runway this week. It gave everything a more adult edge.

It's an element I feel that my wardrobe is sometimes missing.


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Winter Blues

Over the past few days, the wind has been of the cutting to the bone variety. Yet I have worn both a skirt and a dress on separate occasions this week. Yesterday it was a blue, plaid woolen mini with faux sailor buttons. On my way out as the winter sun shone, the tights covering my legs performed their job admirably. On my way home hours after the sun had set, the wind felt like a million pins bombarding my legs until they succumbed to numbness.

Though uncomfortable, I made a point not to complain. Yes it's cold, but I live in Boston, and it's going to be cold until April. I better make do.

When not wearing various types of skinny pants with knee high boots or layering argyle knee socks under my jeans in order to extend the life of my ballet flats, I've been running around in tights of various hues. And not just grays and blacks and other colors in that family. My legs have begun to resemble a set of crayons stripped of their wrapping. Yesterday's pair were a brilliant blue. They popped against the vibrant red of my peacoat. The mauve and the mustard have been waiting for this moment. For navy dresses and striped tops worn with corduroy skirts. The silver sparkle tights sit anticipating their turn.

It seems as if my color notions are all mixed up. As the cold causes others to lumber into the dark, I can't help but do the opposite. I spent an hour this morning looking for a specific cobalt blue top. Only it could provide the perfect flush of color that would complement my thickly knit, winter white cardigan. Its inability to be found set the day off to the wrong start.

Others are surprised by the brightness. I am surprised by my reliance on it.

I'm pulled in one direction and then another.

Countdown

Maybe it's the chill that's finally settled in or some shift in my mood as the days have gotten shorter, but as New Year's Eve (my favorite holiday, what with the bubbly drinks and the sparkles and the kisses at midnight) approaches, I've become less inclined to wear a party dress.

I will still wear one, of course, as my closet is overloaded with them. It will be my favorite of the moment. The one that's been seen more than once by my Boston friends but will be new to those in New York whom I haven't seen in almost six months. It's a strapless black minidress. Tulip skirt. Simple. It will be paired with sparkly black tights, layered over a silk sequined tank, and finished with heeled mary janes. The entire look says sexy and sweet and festive. It's rather good at drawing those compliments that make me both smile and cringe. But for some reason, all of that sweetness and all of that prettiness have been making me uneasy recently. I tug and pull at my A-line minis not because of their length but because of some discomfort that I can't describe.

I wouldn't say that I've become bored with all of those pretty girl dresses. Just that I've become tired of the acting that those clothes sometimes involve. The acting that I can't seem to help myself from undertaking while in them.

But I think that the impulse to put on the mask would fade away in slim-fitting pants like these from Stella McCartney

Offset with a pair of sparkly pumps from Miu Miu

And a Vanessa Bruno Athé sweater.

A black cuff from Aurelie Bidermann would sit on my right arm

While a Lanvin cocktail ring would adorn the finger that is supposed to remain bare.

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Favorite of the Day: Jason Wu

Fashion Month is only two full days in, but one trend has already declared itself king. You might want to invest in some flirty underpinnings to compliment all of the sheer shirts, dresses and pants that have already made their way down the runway.

At Jason Wu, the sheer was here and there but, thankfully, not everywhere.

The 1940s, however, emanated from many of the pieces.

It's too bad that I greatly doubt my ability to pull off a turban.



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Flip Flop

As we find ourselves in day I don’t know how many it’s been, but it’s fucking hot of this heat wave, I’ve continued to think of fall. I spent most of yesterday having daydreams about the type of weather that would allow me to wear my chambray shorts with brightly hued tights (mustard yellow or dusty rose) and ballet flats. Two days earlier, my glove obsession reappeared out of nowhere. Well not nowhere. These helped.


As did these.


Yet last week, near the tail end of the rains, all I wanted were sundresses and shorts and the espadrilles that I’ve gone all of spring and summer without wearing once.

It’s the feeling of the season. That restlessness that comes as everything moves between changing and staying exactly as it was. I, and everyone else who spends an abundance of time talking and thinking about clothes, have a tendency to overuse the phrase transitional piece. Those items, the sweater jackets and booties and medium-weight knits, are really pieces that fit everywhere and nowhere all at once. That deal adeptly with the sometimes schizophrenic tendencies of the wasteland that exists between seasons.

We hate the heat, but we’ll miss it when it’s gone.


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Schooling

I've reached that point in the summer when I start to think about back to school dressing despite the fact that I've been out of school for over five years.

Because every schoolgirl needs knee-high black boots to go with her sweater dress and ribbed tights.


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Favorite of the Day: Nina Ricci

It wouldn't be a stretch to say that I am generally not a fan of romance. Any hint of it has been missing from most of the collections that I've found myself loving. Nina Ricci broke that pattern.

And I can't resist a good pair of gloves.

Apparently I have a thing for brands that have left Olivier Theyskens unemployed.


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The Rabbit Hole

Today, after yet another staffing agency interview, I didn't want to be anywhere near my gray, pinstriped pants. They, much like these pants, now had the stench of the desperation brought on by my unemployment all over them. After removing them, I stomped around the house looking for something to wear.

There was a time, not all that long ago, when I wore sweats. But now they make me feel sloppy. Even when I'm inside. By myself. With nothing to do for hours but write cover letters.

There was an autumnal chill on the air today, so I left the windows open wide before finally deciding to throw on an old, now oversized, oxford shirt and a pair of opaque black tights. After putting something together for lunch and settling in for an afternoon sitting by the window with my computer, I realized why people sometimes made the mistake of wearing tights as pants.

Tights are one of those items that are hard to fuck up. Though they can become uncomfortable at times, they are also slimming. Hiding lumps and bumps on your legs. Keeping secret the fact that the weather has made you far too lazy to deal with the hassle of shaving. Thighs that sometimes rub together in an uncomfortable way slip and slide past each other with ease. Your legs are warm, but you can still feel the wind. The chill only reaching the surface of the skin as opposed to penetrating to the bone.

When I decided it was time for a break, also known as some ice cream, I almost skipped to the kitchen. How comfortable I was. How free I felt. If I had thrown on one of my vintage 80s blazers (shoulder pads thankfully removed), I would have fit in most anywhere below 14th street and over the East River.

And that's when I realized that the ease of being that comfortable could make the next step of putting on some shoes and walking out of the house simple. One riding boot and then the next. A jaunt down the stairs. And suddenly all that stands between you and the crisp Boston air is a door.

I never made it to that point. I like my clothes to be comfortable. But I also like them to be actual clothes and not accessories masquerading as such. When I reminded myself of that, staying home and enjoying the air as it came through the window didn't seem all that bad.

Favorite of the Day: Bottega Veneta

Whenever I enter the Boston Barneys, the first collection I visit is the Lanvin. That stop is followed soon after by a trip through the Bottega Veneta.

Apparently that schedule will remain intact through most of 2010.


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The Gloved One

My love for specific accessories comes in waves. There have been high points for earrings, rings, scarves, necklaces, bracelets and headbands. The items are worn almost every day at first before settling into a normal pattern of use. And now that I can feel the chill of Autumn on the breeze, my focus has shifted yet again.

My mild obsession with gloves is well documented here. The pairs I long for now aren't as mesmerizing as the ones I had in elementary school with the pictures that changed color when hit with the cold, but I find myself equally drawn to them.

Yesterday while on a trip through a local store with a friend, I found drawers and drawers of pretty vintage pairs. Button detailing. Leather made soft by use and decades of existence. I pulled on set after set. The ends of many just reached my elbows. I tried to imagine the types of women who had worn these confections. How did they keep a pair of white gloves with lace detailing so clean? Not even the yellowing of age had infringed on their purity.

The last pair I tried on was beige with thin strips of brown suede that ran along the lines from knuckle to wrist. A small button snapped at the wrist on the palm side to insure against loss. (Much like every other accessory, I have lost many a glove in my time.) I contemplated them for a very long time. What would I wear them with? The color wouldn't go with any of my winter coats. And I would constantly be afraid of losing them. I softly placed them back in their drawer.

Unlike earrings, rings, scarves, necklaces, bracelets and headbands, I don't know if there's a place in my life for gloves like those.

Two Sides, Same Coin

Lady who lunches:


Lady who bikes:



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In Session

I still think of September as the real start to the year. Over four years out of school, one would think that this would no longer be the case, but that feeling has lingered. Though in college I often hoped that my summers would magically extend, in elementary, middle and early high school, I wanted them over as soon as possible. I wished and prayed for August to rush by with all of its stickiness and be replaced by September and textbooks. I'm not the only one who shares this sentiment.

I find myself, when looking at clothes for fall, drawn year after year to those items that remind me of school. Or the school self that I wish had existed at the time. All corduroys and blazers and pleated skirts. Decidedly New England prep school. When I did wear school uniforms during Catholic school, I hated them. I thought tights were the devil. The very itchy devil. Wool sweaters were the devil's equally itchy cousin. But now as September approaches yet again, that's all that I want, as was very evident to me when I wandered through the mall last week on the way to pick up a birthday present for a friend.

In the blur of going through pictures from the various Fashion Weeks, I, of course, miss things. But when I run into items in person, I wonder how I could have overlooked them in the first place. This was the feeling I had as I fingered the Moschino Fall collection with all of its deep navies and ruffles and knit detailing seen here.


And here.


I found the non-bank account killing version of this blazer when I wandered into J.Crew during the latter part of my jaunt.


Along with these.


And a little sparkle.


The Gap and I are back on speaking terms again after I tried on a pair of jeans that are the perfect fit for me.


Though the $10 tights that I have littering my wardrobe are lovely, I can't help but take a peak into Wolford when I am near it and fantasize about a pair like these. And about all of the wonderful pleated skirts they would complement.


And though I did not come across these boots during my trip, I feel like including them in a post will become a yearly tradition until the price falls into a range I can afford. That should occur about 17 minutes before hell freezes over.


I doubt I'll ever grow out of this. September will always be the start of the New Year. And I'll always need the school items that come with it.

Even the new pens.


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