Underneath

“No Padding Is Sexy Now!” It was raining softly that morning, which had drawn my gaze up and away from my phone as I headed into the mall on a recent Saturday. That “Now” caught my eye and pulled my focus from everything else. The pink striped border surrounding the store window. The image of a artfully windswept young woman frolicking...somewhere. The candy-colored bra that covered her perfectly perky breasts. It was in almost every way the same Victoria’s Secret image that I had seen repackaged over the years with different girls and different kinds of windswept hair. Usually my eyes would have slid over the image to focus on something else. But there was that “Now” asking me to inspect things in a way that I hadn’t felt the need to in years.

Many a mall retailer has had their moment in the sun, holding the style narrative by the throat and inspiring haters and imitators. Gap in the 1990s with its basics and its clever advertising campaigns for example. When one is in such control, it is easy to forget that it is a moment. There is a boom that will undoubtedly be followed by a bust. This is not pessimism, only realism and pragmatism. When one is not prepared for that bust, the fallout can be ugly. You can throw a stone and hit a story about the quagmire Gap Inc. still finds itself in almost a decade after its bust began. The good times lead to growth, of style lines and stores and expectations, so when the downside and the sharp pivot that often accompanies it come, there can be a derailment.

There was always a Victoria’s Secret catalog around the house during my childhood and adolescence. But then it was the 90s. There were a lot of catalogs in general. I remember this one more than the others because of its glossiness. Not the glossiness of the pages, all of the catalogs had that trait, but a glossiness of a different sort. Back then they sold a wide array of clothing, not just lingerie but a full swim and sportswear line as well. There were sun dresses and evening gowns. Bodysuits were everywhere alongside all sorts of tops with built-in bras. When I first began to take notice of the catalog, I, much to my chagrin, had no breasts to speak of. Inspired by a healthy diet of Judy Blume books and those catalogs, I prayed for the arrival of puberty with almost the same fervor that I prayed for my family to be kept safe and for my grades to remain excellent. Puberty came eventually and I relished the chance to finally wear the pretty little, soft-cupped, transitional bras for girls available at Filene’s.

Victoria's Secret isn't selling chinos, at least not anymore. It's not even really selling bras and underwear. What is it selling then? Corporate Sexiness. The padding is often thick. The lift is often high. Cheeks are firm. Nipples are never to be seen. The Pink line, made to tap into that enviable adolescent goldmine, is sweeter and softer but still covered in that sexy yet sexless sheen. They are selling an idea and a dream that can be tapped into only through the items that they have for sale. 

It wasn't only that idea and that dream and their accessibility that kept Victoria's Secret on top. How many other non-luxury retailers have lingerie as their primary focus? You can weave your way through Macy's or Marshall's or American Eagle to the lingerie section but few stores greet you at the door with a land full of bras and underwear and negligees. And because the main image has barely changed, that girl frolicking in an unknown somewhere with her windswept hair, you always know what you're going to get when you cross the threshold. Victoria's Secret's dream is presented in clear, bold type and you can find it in almost every mall in America and occasionally beamed into your home.

Chanel is also selling an idea and a dream but theirs is far harder to attain and much harder to define, and with that lack of definition comes a freedom of movement that Victoria's Secret lacks.

I spent the latter part of my adolescence giving little thought outside of function to the items that I wore under my clothes. I dabbled in “fun” underwear but I was a straight edge and a prude in a hate/hate relationship with my body. I was uncomfortable with these truths about myself but was yet to face that discomfort head on. And while I am loathe to admit it, many of my ideas about what lingerie was supposed to be and how one was supposed to look in it came from those catalogs and a small part of my prudish nature could be traced back to my discomfort with that Corporate Sexiness. 

What's eating at Victoria's Secret's control? The Fast Fashion giants, who are causing trouble for everyone, and a lack of traction in the much discussed athleisure market aren't helping but I think there is a broader cause for the slippage. 

No Padding Is Sexy Now!

Who says? Not Victoria's Secret at first. They are no longer the leader. They are the follower. Who are they following? There still isn't anyone who does exactly what they do. But the people who decide what is in style and, more importantly, what is not has broadened and deepened as the influence of the internet has grown. They came first for the clothes and the accessories but items are easier to pick away at than an idea, a story. Maybe that's why Victoria's Secret was blindsided?

They wouldn't be the first to underestimate the speed or strength of a sea change.

Sunny Side

My memory holds on to pieces of days and events and images with an iron grip that I sometimes wish were a little weaker. Although I don’t know why it holds onto so much, I am often aware of why at times it chooses to push some of its collected fragments to the forefront. A song plays. A pleasant and familiar smell fills the air. The sun filters through the trees in just the right way. And then something inside me stirs. But it’s only often that I know the source of the push. Often but not always.

The site that I use to sift through the various collections out of the various fashion capitals is changing directions come fall, so I spent a large part of a somewhat recent weekend sitting cross-legged on my bed and swapping out pictures on posts labeled “Fashion Month.” There were over 250 to fix. I was, for a time, rather prolific when it came to such matters. The reasons were two-fold. I was learning, still am, and the collections were part of my education. And I needed to keep my underemployment-induced boredom at bay. Or to at least dampen its effects.

Though exhausting, the image replacement exercise felt anything but dull. I was able to experience how much, and how little, my opinions have changed. My growing love of florals and suits. My initial distaste for brights. My brief flirtation with them. My recent rededication to all things navy and gray and cream. It was when going through a collection featured in a long ago Favorite of the Day post from the Spring/Summer 2012 season that I rediscovered a much-loved dress.

While examining it again, I came to realize how much it resembled one that I’d recently added to my closet.

Most of my clothing purchases happen accidentally. Shopping trips with specific goals in mind, especially when undertaken with others in tow, often end in frustration and terse words. But then it’s easy to shop accidentally when one’s curiosity leads to frequent store wanderings. I like examining clothing stores, their layouts and their merchandise, and thinking about what they’re doing right and what they’re doing wrong. It’s a habit with roots that stretch back before my four and a half years in apparel retail, a habit that existed even before my internship at a small buying office in Manhattan in late 2008 and early 2009. I step into stores noting where they keep their menswear section and lightly touching garments that catch my eye. I return home full of questions and conclusions and, sometimes, with a gift for myself.

It was on one of those accidental shopping trips a few days before my most recent birthday that I wandered into a Madewell. Yet again I was in the middle of, though not yet aware that I was in the middle of, a dress buying moment. After years of skinny jeans, it seems that I’ve come back round to the dress. I never abandoned them really. I’d simply come to buy them at a slower rate. But unlike the dresses that I’d collected during my years of living at home, dresses meant for a certain type of work life or peppered with girly confections, the dresses I’ve found myself drawn to for the past few months are much simpler. No bells. Barely any whistles. A few sequins. Navy and black and white and little more. I’ve been gifted dresses that fall outside of these parameters but gifts are another matter altogether.

That day I picked up a shirtdress from the sale section with a boxy silhouette and a block of navy at its bottom that cooled off its bright white top half. Navy and white in combination is a staple of my wardrobe but boxiness is a characteristic that I generally avoid in my clothing. It rarely does my body any favors. But my curiosity often leads me to try on those things that normally make me wary. The size was off at first. I held out little hope that the one I needed would be found in the back but asked for it anyway. When the sales girl returned waving it above her head, I did a little dance in front of the fitting room. While contemplating whether or not I should make it mine, I took a picture and posted it on Twitter.

The connections appear to me often but not always.

I woke up the following Saturday, the day after my birthday, possibly still drunk and definitely suffering from a shameover of immense proportions but with somewhere that I needed to be. Having a friend with a birthday close to yours can be fun when you're younger but my just turned 32-year-old body responded with anger that I was making it do anything but stay in bed watching romcoms and eating pizza. I calculated how long it would take my Uber to deliver me to the scheduled brunch and a Bloody Mary and thanked my overachieving self for choosing an outfit the previous day.

I had worn something more complicated for my own birthday. A jumpsuit. My first jumpsuit. But for a day about someone else, I'd decided to wear that week's purchase and take the more laidback California Samantha out for a spin. Because that was what I had been doing unconsciously doing with all of that dress buying. Getting to the heart of whom I wanted California Samantha to be. And all those years ago, long before I knew that I would pack up and leave my family, my friends, and my books for a life here, an image was already being created. And it started with that dress and that Jenni Kayne collection (and many Jenni Kayne collections that followed).

Who is California Samantha? Well she is evolving. She likes simple dresses in easy shapes. She likes skirts of a similar fashion. She has been stripped of the layers that previously dominated her life. When she decided to cull her closet last month, all of the items she consigned or gave to friends were colorful and printed and, in more ways than one, restrictive. Her skinny jeans have lost their place as default. 

She appears relaxed even when she is not.


Photos via

Never Too Late

I finally bought a pair of oxfords.


It only took several months, a trip to New York and a stop at Topshop for me to bite the bullet.


Photo via

Interiors

When I go to stores, I like to be left alone to wander and make decisions for myself. I am not an amateur shopper. If I need something, I ask. But otherwise I don't like to be bothered. I think it’s why I gravitate towards large stores. It’s easy for you to get lost among the others. I was especially fond of this fact during the holiday season in New York. Yes, the tourists didn’t know how to use the subway or how to walk less than four across on the sidewalk, but they did provide the perfect cover for my far too frequents visits to lust over a pair of Louboutins that resided on the Saks Fifth Avenue shoe floor in the winter of 2007.

On the way to and from the coffee shop that I've taken up residence in since moving home to Boston, I often pass a little boutique called Looc. I was intrigued by what was on display in the windows, but it wasn't until one afternoon, the sun finally out after a month of hiding from us, that I stepped inside. It was like I had taken a deep gulp of sea air. The inside, all white, reminded me of a small house on the Cape and a sailboat simultaneously. I walked around, taking a moment with the embellished headbands and the Bensimon Collection slip-ons. Softly gliding through the Lerario Beatriz. The Steven Alan. The T by Alexander Wang. On the shelves, next to shoes and bags by Tila March, lay small tokens that one might find in a house stuck in the recent past. An empty bottle of Chanel Nº5. A yellowing copy of Jacqueline Kennedy, A Woman for the World. I wanted to spend an afternoon there with a book. And maybe return later for a headband.

In the end, everything is a trade off. In the larger stores, there is the anonymity that I love.

But I would also never find an old bike sitting by one of the front windows, dried flowers ornamenting the handlebars as if someone had meant to only leave it sitting for a small while before forgetting to come and retrieve it.

Bullseye

When I first moved to Brooklyn, I spent a large amount of time at the nearby Target. Only a quick walk away, I find myself indulging far too often. I go for a pack of paper towels, a Vogue follows me home. I replenish my constantly disappearing sock collection and grab a $10 copy of the Ocean's Eleven DVD at the register (believe me, that has paid for itself many times over). I throw a pair of cheap flats into my cart with a bottle of laundry detergent.

In recent years, the store with the red and white bullseye has expanded its fashion offerings. First with their ongoing collaborations with Isaac Mizrahi and Liz Lange. Then by introducing capsule collections from the newest and hottest designers in both accessories and ready-to-wear. The designers got more name recognition in the middle of the nation while Target set itself up to compete with the likes of H&M and Old Navy. Yesterday, while stocking up on paper towels and body wash, I made my way through the clothing, shoe and accessory sections finding things that I liked.

From their most recent GO International collaboration with Jonathan Saunders, I found this dress. It's simple and chic and perfect for the many jobs I imagine myself having, hopefully sooner as opposed to later.


I'm a big fan of Sigerson Morrison flats. It's nice to find a pair that I can actually afford.


I have an unexplainable fascination with leaf earrings that finds me drawn to this pair from the Dean Harris collaboration.


My wardrobe is still lacking in the blouse department. And with Isaac Mizrahi on his way out the door, it would probably be wise to pick this one up as soon as possible.


Sweater dresses are versatile and toasty all at once. And this pattern is one that I find myself able to deal with.


I'm generally anti-plaid, but this jacket totally fits in with the equestrian moment that I am having.


During my two previous trips to Target (one for gum and the other for Halloween candy), I picked up this bag and thought about how nicely it would get along with all the other bags that I have at home. This trip was no different.


These pumps have a Mad Men vibe that I love. And a sensible heel. And they looked really pretty on me when I tried them on before making my way to the last of the Halloween candy.


More equestrian touches for those rainy days.


Whew, that was long. Has anyone actually made it to the end of this post? See, this is what happens when I go to Target. Total craziness ensues. Total affordable craziness.


Photos via

Yes, I Am Your Bitch

When I was about to go off for a semester spent in the woods of Vermont during my junior year of high school, I packed many a sweater. Sweaters with patterns. Light sweaters. Heavy sweaters. Turtlenecks and crew necks. Nestled in my luggage was a beige, long-sleeved crew neck sweater that my mother had bought from J.Crew back when most of their business was done through catalog. The years had made it soft to the touch, but it still did its job of keeping out the cold.

One day, while sitting in Physics class and wearing the sweater, one of the boys, more obsessed with sweaters than even I, started to pet one of my wool-swathed arms. It's so soft, he cooed. I just smiled.

And thus began my love of/obsession with a particular store.

For the rest of my high school experience, I mainly stayed out of J.Crew. No girl likes entering a store where nothing but the hair accessories and shoes fit. But during my sophomore year of college, somewhat thinner and marginally more confident, I greeted the opening of Princeton, New Jersey's first J.Crew with a squeal and a bounce. I spent the rest of that school year stuffing my closet with sweaters. The dress I wore under my gown at graduation was from that same store. A soft lilac/pink color and probably too tight at the time as I can still wear it to this day.

When their price point rose sharply after college from around Banana Republic level to closer to the contemporary floor at Barneys, I decided that it was time to end the affair. I scoffed at their now charging $650 for a maxi dress. They're too preppy anyway. That's what I told myself. But I was in denial. They actually expanded beyond their preppy aesthetic in those years. And I have preppy running through my blood. Even when I try to ignore it, it has a way of making itself known.

Over those three years since the end of college, we have drifted closer. None of the painful growing apart that I experienced with another store. They pulled back on the embroidering of everything with small critters, and I accepted that I like headbands with flowers on them. If I could only shop in one place for the rest of my life, this would be it. The smile on my face is always widest when walking among their racks of brightly colored sweaters and beautifully patterned dresses. (Yes, at J.Crew I am actually drawn to, as opposed to and repulsed by, the many patterns.)

My current fall wish list is long and varied and soft and pretty and everything I could ever want in a set of clothes.

I can pretend no longer that I hate argyle:


This dress totally has a Joan shape to it:


My Marc by Marc Jacobs wellies had an unfortunate run-in with a supply closet at The New School. These will replace them rather nicely:


All of my pencil skirts now spin around my frame. A new one is needed, especially if it's in yellow:


I haven't bought a pair of non-denim pants in a really long time. Maybe that's because I haven't had a real job in a very long time. I can find another place to wear these. Perhaps to the local dive bar:


And for the topper. The cake topper, as it were:


Yes, I am fully aware that we have drifted over into little girl wedding fantasy land.


Photos via

In the Navy

Though I have dreams of McQueen and Chloe, in my actual purchases I'm a bit smarter. I'm not one of those girls who will live on credit and survive on Diet Coke and air to insure so that she can have that $1,000 pair of boots. I understand my monetary limits and generally live within them. Yesterday, after a trip to the bank, I walked over to an Old Navy and browsed the racks with no particular purpose but to waste time. As usually happens during such expeditions, I found several things that I wanted to add to my wardrobe.

With my tights ready to make their presence known once again, fall dresses have become a recent obsession of mine. I like this one because it has a pop of color and could work in an office, for that magical day when I actually get a job. And I love things that hide a big lunch or, you know, an evening of happy hour drinking.


And I want it in black too. Hey, for $30, I might as well get two.

More pretend office dressing. More hidden lunches.


School Girl skirt to go with School Boy blazer.


My wardrobe is lacking in the blouse department. One, because I've always thought of blouses as something that grownups wear, and I don't like to consider myself one of those. Not yet anyway. Two, because my breasts make finding ones that fit, well, difficult. This one wouldn't pose that problem. And it has ruffles. I love ruffles.


You know what I love more than ruffles? Stripes. My dresser is currently home to multiple striped sweaters in various shades. I think I spent all of winter 2006/2007 in almost nothing but stripes. It's somewhat unhealthy. I should break the addiction. But this is pink and blue and pretty. Maybe I'll just indulge myself one last time.


Who am I kidding? It definitely won't be the last time.


Photos via

Mind the Gap

As a child, adolescent and young collegian, I spent a lot of my time searching the racks at The Gap. With summer at its height of mid-August discomfort, I would enter the store and pet the thin cardigans and bootcut cords while imagining the cool breezes and falling leaves to come. Near the end of college, Gap and I started down the long road to estrangement. H&M, with its cheaper and more fashion forward pieces, had moved to Boston. Second Time Around, with its never worn designer jeans for $60 bucks, was discovered. I grew up and out of a store that seemed to be running in place.

When I think about my closet now, there are still a number of pieces from Gap that I wear with some regularity. I found the only oxford shirt to ever really fit me there. It had darts and just a bit of stretch. Perfection when you usually find the girls straining against buttons. And so I bought a second one in a different color. Last year, during the summer of dress buying, I added three pieces to my closet. The beige pants, long forgotten, are all from Gap. And then there are the two jean skirts (kinda mini and very mini), the skinny jeans that still sit there even though they are far too big now, a pair of Long & Leans, a bluish-green military style jacket and a black pencil skirt that has never failed me. It wasn't until this year that I gave up on the store completely.

The growing apart was gradual, which makes it hard for me to pinpoint what went wrong. In part, I think they've changed too much. So maybe it wasn't running in place that pushed me away as much as a loss of vision and focus. Three different head designers in the last three years have led the brand I had once relied on for versatile staples to wander off the path. In the name of playing catch up with H&M and other similar retailers, it abandoned everything that had made it great before. Simple, classic pieces. Well-made and reasonably priced. Overly ambitious advertising campaigns with Sarah Jessica Parker and stars of the moment couldn't hide the shift. Last year my interest was momentarily piqued by a White Shirt collaboration with some of my favorite young brands including Rodarte. When I tried them on, the shirts were thin. Almost see through. The thread was already pulling. They seemed cheap and thrown together. Not at all like the oxfords I still had at home. If I wanted cheap and thrown together, I could have gone to Forever 21. At least it wouldn't cost me so much.

I think those shirts marked the real end of this rather long affair. They encompassed everything the place had become. They were no longer worth my time. Or my money.

On the Rack

On Friday I found myself in midtown stuck between an early morning interview and a mid afternoon one. After sitting in Bryant Park for a quick sushi and chocolate chip cookie lunch, I decided to do a little window shopping. Or, more appropriately, trying things on with no intention to buy shopping. I made my way through the H&M at 5th and 42nd as well as the BCBG store before somehow wandering over to Saks Fifth Avenue.

I've never been one to fear expensive stores. I browse and glance and touch as if I am planning on actually leaving with that $1,200 purse. It's all about the fantasy. As long as I stay out of the sale section.

Unfortunately, Saks was covered with nothing but sale sections as every store from Old Navy to Chanel is in the process of dumping their summer selections in favor of the longer pants and heavier knits of early fall. I thought I was still safe from temptation, however, because of the current frailty of the American Dollar.

In front of the escalators lay my first obstacle. The bags. I veered clear of the sales bin and made my way for the full-priced choices lining the back wall. But something caught my eye. A bin of Marc Jacobs bags. They were pink. Supple. Pretty.

And they were around $400. As the girl across from me told her friend how much of a deal that was, I snapped a photo and began planning exactly how much of my hair I could sell in order to own this little piece of perfection.


I dreamt of that time long ago. Of the summer of 2007 when instead of freelancing and looking for internships, I had a full time job where dropping $400 on a life long investment piece would leave me feeling guilty for exactly two days before I promptly got over it. Oh, how I wished for those times to return.

But it's the summer of 2008, so I put the bag back in its place and rode the escalator towards the clothes.

To be honest, I've always been more of a clothes person. Shoes and bags are wonderful, but a comfy sweater or a twirly dress will get me every time. Too bad I was about to run into obstacle number two.

The sales racks on the clothing floor are much less scary for someone looking to keep their checking account liquid. The sales prices are still so prohibitive that you wouldn't dream of owning most of the pieces. Or so I thought. While making my way through the Givenchy and Nina Ricci, a red piece flashed for a moment in a sea of black and gray.


The picture I took with my crap cellphone really does it no justice. It was the softest thing that I've ever felt. Dolce & Gabbana. In my size. And around $400. Someone really wanted me to empty my funds that day. But I was good. I spent 20 minutes touching and holding and looking at the thing like a fool, but I was good. Even though it would have been great for the wedding I'm going to in August. And even though it was the type of dress that looks good when your weight fluctuates.

And even though it was perfect.

I looked at my cellphone to see that interview number two was only 45 minutes away and made my way back onto the street.