The Blazer

At the beginning of the summer a well-known women's fashion magazine asked their readers for essay submissions for their Personal Style issue. They were looking for 500-word explorations focused on "a treasured piece from your wardrobe." I'd been looking at my wardrobe in that way for years, searching for the gems that define it, that explain the root of my style, but I hadn't written something in that vein for quite awhile.

The issue is now on newsstands, so I know for certain that my submission was not chosen. But that doesn't really matter. I write best when there is an assignment involved, a task to steer my occasionally muddled thoughts. I can't shake the school girl. I doubt that I ever will. And this assignment gave me a chance to return to my roots in some ways. I'm not including a picture of me wearing the item because none exists. Maybe I'll get around to that someday when I stop hiding from people clutching cameras.

I thought about lengthening it but I like its crispness. 500 words on the nose. My middle school self is particularly proud of that fact.

I’m not sure how I made it through my east coast, prep school existence without amassing a closet full of blazers. After spending my earliest years in a Catholic school uniform, I happily greeted the relatively laid back dress code of the girls’ school that I began attending in the fifth grade. For good or for ill, I relished the chance to participate fully in the trends that would become signposts of a 1990s adolescence. Blazers were nowhere to be found among the plaid skirts and the platform shoes from Wild Pair and the flared jeans.

At the age of 26 and back at home after being chewed up and spat out by the economy and New York City, I turned to my mother’s closet for a temporary solution to a sudden problem. When it comes to personal style, she and I reside miles apart. After the ups and downs of my trend-obsessed adolescence, I settled into a restrained classicism. She had always been, and continues to be, a colorful risk taker. During my youngest years, she wrapped her hair in vibrant printed scarves and wore one long earring instead of two. She is comfortable with imbalance in a way that I never have been. I long saw her wardrobe as a place for play and fantasy but rarely for inspiration. However, my employment roller coaster had led me to an apparel retail job for the holiday season and a blazer or two would be necessary. I searched through her closet for the first time in years and was stunned to find hidden among the pieces that I’d come to associate with her persona and her presence a classic wool blazer in navy with notch lapels, gold buttons, and a maroon silk lining. The shoulder pads marked it as a relic of the 1980s, but she assured me that she could remove them.

It was the beginning of a beginning. The blazer was longer in the torso than many that I’d seen for women, which made it perfect for me, and for her, as above average height is a trait that we share. It opened me up to new ways in which my mother and I are connected, and it happily started my descent down a slippery slope. The blazers that I collected over the next five years would prove themselves to be more than simple tools to help me ease my way through a life in retail. They became a way to elevate a tee or offset the femininity of a sun dress. They became makeshift jackets and occasional umbrellas. As their number grew so did their breadth. My closet now houses linen and bird's eye tweed, seersucker and shawl collar tuxedo varieties. But I most often return to the classic option that I found hiding in my mother's closet all those years ago. Timeless is a word thrown around in fashion circles quite a bit but that term fits the blazer perfectly. And it, in turn, fits me.

Favorite of the Day: Tomas Maier

New York Fashion Week started fully yesterday and as editors and buyers and bloggers wandered the city covered in the latest trends, I observed all of the goings on from afar. When it comes to my personal style, I've settled into a life that has become less and less concerned with those ups and downs.

Marveling at things I only see working on others is second nature at this point, but I still love a collection that I can imagine living my life in. And on day two, Tomas Maier presented exactly that.

It was a perfect slice of Samantha through and through.

Photos via

The Trench

I write a lot about favorite things. Those that spend little time in my closet. Those lost to the vagaries of overuse. But there are far too many pieces that I overlook every day.

Trenches are iconic. Everyone should have one. Or so I’ve learned from piles of fashion magazines and a number of pop culture icons ranging from Carmen Sandiego in her red, double-breasted version.

To Audrey Hepburn's Holly Golightly in her more classic take.

My trench has been sitting idly in my closet for…well I actually don’t remember when I got it. Four or six or five years ago. It spent my time in Brooklyn living in a little nook of my apartment with all of my other coats. Yet when it rained, I never reached for it.

The Trench, like almost every coat I’ve acquired since the end of college, is single breasted. Lightweight and of a more classic shade, it came with a blue and yellow striped belt that lives on a separate hanger in my closet. The belt was a bit preppy for my taste. Or, if I’m honest, more preppy than I was willing to admit that I was at the time of The Trench’s entrance into my life.

But on Sunday as I prepared to work an overnight shift, my mother suggested that I throw it on. It was warm yet misty. Perfect weather for The Trench to make its first appearance in who knows how long. I was wearing a skinny pair of olive sweatpants and a lightweight navy hoodie over a black tank. But finished with The Trench, a high ponytail and two-tone ballet flats, the outfit made it seem that I was headed off to do anything but work for the next nine hours. I walked down the street twirling my floral-printed umbrella. A tall, cute boy carrying a pizza smiled at me. I smiled back.

So often I don’t feel like the adult that I’m supposed to be. Any signs of stability or success are fleeting. But like the sparkles and shots of color that I put on to mask the feelings of restlessness and disappointment that sometimes overwhelm me when I think about all of those things happening and not happening in my life, wrapping myself in that coat gave me a momentarily lift.

If May continues on as it has, I think I’ll be wearing it more often.


Photos via, via

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.

Falls Flat

I should be looking for shoes that will work in snow.



But I can't resist the lure of a couple of classics from Marais USA. Even if soon they won't be weather appropriate.


Photos via

Homework

I'm in the midst of a task for a job that I'm interested in, and I find myself up to my ears in pictures of shoes and bags and dresses and distressed jeans. But through all of the muddle, I found the perfect Spring outfit for me.


It's perfect for brunch. For all of those wonderful dates that I go on. For a day of window shopping with a friend. I'm especially in love with the flats. They and I are meant to be together forever. Or at least until I find someone younger and a bit flashier.


Image via

Short Story

I got back to Brooklyn at 10:30 PM yesterday. Fashion Week starts tomorrow. And all I want to do is crawl back into bed. So until my head has become less cluttered, I give you a placeholder otherwise known as another thing I want for Springtime.


I'm not really a shorts person, but this longer pair is perfect for me. The deep navy can be a backdrop for almost anything. And I need something to balance out the 12 skirts in various pastels and florals littered throughout my closet. Something I can just throw on without much thought.


Photo via

The Headband

Early in my post-collegiate career, when I was living at home and not necessarily all that interested in my general appearance, I bought three headbands from H&M. Two simple full bands in black and red and a brown woven full band. I mainly wore them to cover up the fact that my hair was in dire need of a trip to the salon.

After I moved to New York in the winter of 2006, I began to accrue more of them. Thin and thick and in all sorts of colors. One day, while at a beauty supply store, I came across a scarf like one. It was black with white polka dots, and it tied at the back. At $1.50 there was no reason, in my mind, to leave the store without it. I probably wore it more than was necessary. Okay, I definitely wore it more than was necessary. I wore it to the point where the scarf piece became dislodged from the black, plastic frame that gave it its shape.


And then I continued to wear the scarf by itself. With skinny jeans tucked in boots and sweaters in the winter. With a green swing coat and brown flats. With simple summer dresses in solid colors.

In a way, it's become a pacifier. Something that I can put on when I'm not sure about the rest of my look. A fall back. A safety net.

Everyone has pieces that fall into that category. The Headband is mine. More than anything else I own. In a wardrobe devoid of patterns, save one, it goes with everything. So unlike the simple black and the shiny pink and the green and navy striped, which rarely enter the rotation, this one doesn't go a week without leaving my apartment.

Pencils

I believe that every large change that happens in one's life is precipitated by a single moment.

At a party on Saturday, someone mentioned that there was one piece that she could pinpoint as starting a shift in her style. It got me wondering if I had such a piece sitting in my closet.

During my senior year of college, I bought my first pencil skirt. It's black with a little stretch. It falls right below the knee with a small slit in the front center. The buttons, as opposed to being flat and black, are round and filled with small crystal-like pieces.

The pencil skirt proved a departure for me. A departure that has now became the norm. After years of buying clothes meant to hide and distract, I bought something that did everything but that. It was cut slimly. It was made to draw attention to my shape.

From there I bought shorter skirts. Tighter dresses. Fitted tops.

And all this, in turn, caused me to stop spending my time in the shadows. I'm still quiet and shy. Socializing quickly drains me of energy. But, for some reason, the clothes now in my closet make me stand out. People take notice of them. I don't disappear beneath unflattering fabrics.

Now only to inject some color besides yellow.

Riding

When it's this hot, I like to plan fall outfits in my head. It cools me down almost as much standing directly in front of my fan does. These boots would go great with, well, everything:


Now, to scrounge up that spare $1,000.


Photo via

Goldilocks

On a trip into my closet, I discovered a grouping of beige pants in a corner. Working from home lends itself to yoga pants and tank tops. When I travel to the local coffee shop, I tend to hop into jeans or a light summer dress. On the occasional interview, I pull out the New York Girl's favorite piece also known as the Little Black Dress. When I do want to wear pants on an interview, I go for my wide leg gray pinstriped pair. The three beige pieces sit untouched and lonely between the lumpy gray sweater that I have yet to take to Goodwill and a set of empty hangers.

I've decided recently that instead of buying new clothes, I need to become better at snazzing up what I already own. (Yes, I fully realize that I just said snazzing.)

After performing a close inspection of each pair by skipping around my apartment in them, I decided that only one was worth saving. The khaki color seems to be spiked with gray. A faint pink pinstripe sits there waiting to picked up by the right top. The leg is not wide, not straight, but just the right amount of flared. In the end, they're perfectly nice pants. Versatile. So why had they been neglected?

I remember exactly when I bought these pants. Almost three years ago now while casually making my way through a Gap*. I had to go to a job fair that I was dreading, and I couldn't stand anything that was currently in my closet. To me, these pants smell of frustration and resume paper. They still hold onto that scent after three years, two cities, various jobs and my mother ironing the life out of them. So I pushed them in the back. Trying to forget everything they reminded me of. But it might just be time to reclaim them.

*Most of my clothes are bought during similar wanderings. Whenever I go shopping with an exact purpose in mind, I either don't buy anything, or I buy something that I never wear. My closet is littered with planned shopping casualties.