This year that task fell to the presentation from Valentino, which left me deeply craving the fourth season of Mad Men.
Photo via
Friday, June 25, 2010
Interlude
I've spent the last few weeks bookmarking and note taking as the Resort 2011 collections have been presented. There are always a few pieces that interrupt my pattern of click click pause. That force me to take a breathe.
This year that task fell to the presentation from Valentino, which left me deeply craving the fourth season of Mad Men.
Photo via
This year that task fell to the presentation from Valentino, which left me deeply craving the fourth season of Mad Men.
Photo via
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Vest
I’ve spent the last few weeks floating around Boston in various skirts and dresses. New, old and those never worn. Kicky ponytails and pink scarves and earrings that clink and clang. I have transformed into a veritable fountain of femininity. At least until some sarcastic quip escapes my lips. Until someone says Well you are just sunshine and flowers when they mean the opposite, and I throw my hands up and smirk guiltily.
On an off day, you’ll find me in jeans. It is summer after all, and, as I told someone on the evening that I debuted the Thakoon for Target dress (seen below) that had been sitting in my closet for 18 months, I plan to wear every dress that I own.
While searching for one of those never worn dresses in my closet, I discovered a favorite temporarily forgotten. One that does not fit into the flirty persona that I’ve adopted since the temperature has warmed.
I bought The Vest following The Summer of the Dress. It was one of the last pieces I bought that was a smidge too small for me, though I am glad for that bit of folly as it means that I can still wear it today. It is a deep navy and resembles those often seen in a three-piece suit. It was tailored and sharp at a time that I still favored pieces that allowed me a bit of breath. Things behind which I could still hide the tiniest bit. There was no question of the size of my waist, or my breasts, in The Vest. For this reason it frightened me slightly, but I began to wear it. With jeans skinny and wide. Over tees and oxford shirts. I traded the shape that I gained from wide belts, belts that made the skirts of my dresses billow gently, for that of The Vest. It found itself sitting through multiple internship interviews in the summer of 2008. I began to wear it so much that one of my friends threatened to take it away. In many ways, its lines more closely emulate my character than the flirty pieces. Sometimes rational to a fault. Harboring a love of structure.
Though I love them dearly, the dresses deceive. Sunshine and flowers I am not.
That morning, as I stood holding The Vest, I decided to try it on with some of the new pieces that had entered my closet during its brief retirement. The fit was better. The look was sharp. I had missed the seriousness it seemed to endow me.
Though its best season is the fall, I’m going to remove it from its hiding place. There are ways to wear it this summer. With chambray and gingham. Over a tee worn with an A-line mini. With kicky ponytails and pink scarves and earrings that clink and clang.
Image via
On an off day, you’ll find me in jeans. It is summer after all, and, as I told someone on the evening that I debuted the Thakoon for Target dress (seen below) that had been sitting in my closet for 18 months, I plan to wear every dress that I own.
While searching for one of those never worn dresses in my closet, I discovered a favorite temporarily forgotten. One that does not fit into the flirty persona that I’ve adopted since the temperature has warmed.
I bought The Vest following The Summer of the Dress. It was one of the last pieces I bought that was a smidge too small for me, though I am glad for that bit of folly as it means that I can still wear it today. It is a deep navy and resembles those often seen in a three-piece suit. It was tailored and sharp at a time that I still favored pieces that allowed me a bit of breath. Things behind which I could still hide the tiniest bit. There was no question of the size of my waist, or my breasts, in The Vest. For this reason it frightened me slightly, but I began to wear it. With jeans skinny and wide. Over tees and oxford shirts. I traded the shape that I gained from wide belts, belts that made the skirts of my dresses billow gently, for that of The Vest. It found itself sitting through multiple internship interviews in the summer of 2008. I began to wear it so much that one of my friends threatened to take it away. In many ways, its lines more closely emulate my character than the flirty pieces. Sometimes rational to a fault. Harboring a love of structure.
Though I love them dearly, the dresses deceive. Sunshine and flowers I am not.
That morning, as I stood holding The Vest, I decided to try it on with some of the new pieces that had entered my closet during its brief retirement. The fit was better. The look was sharp. I had missed the seriousness it seemed to endow me.
Though its best season is the fall, I’m going to remove it from its hiding place. There are ways to wear it this summer. With chambray and gingham. Over a tee worn with an A-line mini. With kicky ponytails and pink scarves and earrings that clink and clang.
Image via
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Work Week
I hate what most suits do to the bodies of women.
Don’t say hate. Say dislike instead. These were my mother’s rules. As if hate were too strong of a word, too deep an emotion, for a child to be wielding. But there are instances in which it is warranted.
I hate what most suits do to the bodies of women. There is no quicker way to become a nondescript rectangle than to put on an ill-fitting suit. But for many women, suits appear to be the easiest route to professionalism. A world where you'll be taken seriously. A place where you command the attention and respect of your colleagues. But it is possible to do this without a suit. To give yourself the room to add the individual touches that can often become lost when dressing for work. And though it may not appear so, it is simpler than it seems.
I've purged my closet of all suits save the only one that ever fit me well and have, since The Summer of the Dress, been replacing them with alternatives in this vein.
This dress gives the illusion of a multi-piece outfit without the difficulty that some face when forced to play with multiple elements. Top it with a natural blazer for cooler days and important meetings.
For less formal days, this ruffled dress, when paired with a white cardigan and a rough-hewn men's belt, gives a business casual feel without relying on the chinos and a polo shirt uniform that I so often see.
If you'd rather have more options at your disposal, you can fill your closet with a cadre of skirts and pants that can be worn in multiple combinations.
In a forgiving cut and an office-appropriate length, this simple black skirt can elevate a striped linen shirt and a chunky necklace full of pearls.
Play with patterns and prints in a way that works for the boardroom by wearing this wrap top with a floral pencil skirt.
The summer can make wearing pants to the office a trial. Humidity-ridden long commutes can make your bottom half feel as if it's trapped in its own personal sauna. You can, however, trade out heavier fabrics for a classically tailored pair of navy linen trousers complimented by a simple, non-ribbed tank and a cardigan topped with a belt.
In place of lighter fabrics, you can choose shorter lengths. Shorts are rarely, if ever, appropriate, but you can take a chance in a pleated (yes, I said pleated) and cropped pair of gray trousers with a sweet button down shirt with elbow length sleeves.
And what of your feet? All of these options can be worn with anything from ballet flats to sky-scraping stilettos. That choice, in the end, is up to you and the mood you find yourself in on that particular morning.
There will be times when you must wear a suit. Where it will be required by whoever sets the rules for such things. But for all of those other times, there are many paths you can take.
These are only a few of them.
Photos via, via, via, via, via, via, via
Don’t say hate. Say dislike instead. These were my mother’s rules. As if hate were too strong of a word, too deep an emotion, for a child to be wielding. But there are instances in which it is warranted.
I hate what most suits do to the bodies of women. There is no quicker way to become a nondescript rectangle than to put on an ill-fitting suit. But for many women, suits appear to be the easiest route to professionalism. A world where you'll be taken seriously. A place where you command the attention and respect of your colleagues. But it is possible to do this without a suit. To give yourself the room to add the individual touches that can often become lost when dressing for work. And though it may not appear so, it is simpler than it seems.
I've purged my closet of all suits save the only one that ever fit me well and have, since The Summer of the Dress, been replacing them with alternatives in this vein.
This dress gives the illusion of a multi-piece outfit without the difficulty that some face when forced to play with multiple elements. Top it with a natural blazer for cooler days and important meetings.
For less formal days, this ruffled dress, when paired with a white cardigan and a rough-hewn men's belt, gives a business casual feel without relying on the chinos and a polo shirt uniform that I so often see.
If you'd rather have more options at your disposal, you can fill your closet with a cadre of skirts and pants that can be worn in multiple combinations.
In a forgiving cut and an office-appropriate length, this simple black skirt can elevate a striped linen shirt and a chunky necklace full of pearls.
Play with patterns and prints in a way that works for the boardroom by wearing this wrap top with a floral pencil skirt.
The summer can make wearing pants to the office a trial. Humidity-ridden long commutes can make your bottom half feel as if it's trapped in its own personal sauna. You can, however, trade out heavier fabrics for a classically tailored pair of navy linen trousers complimented by a simple, non-ribbed tank and a cardigan topped with a belt.
In place of lighter fabrics, you can choose shorter lengths. Shorts are rarely, if ever, appropriate, but you can take a chance in a pleated (yes, I said pleated) and cropped pair of gray trousers with a sweet button down shirt with elbow length sleeves.
And what of your feet? All of these options can be worn with anything from ballet flats to sky-scraping stilettos. That choice, in the end, is up to you and the mood you find yourself in on that particular morning.
There will be times when you must wear a suit. Where it will be required by whoever sets the rules for such things. But for all of those other times, there are many paths you can take.
These are only a few of them.
Photos via, via, via, via, via, via, via
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Romper Room
When I look at what people are wearing as they pass me by, I am culling information. Noticing how they put together their outfits. Storing away compelling combinations. Judgments are not the first things to form. Yet because of this blog and the sometimes strong personal opinions that I present here, I've been to more than one gathering where someone has mentioned that they spent longer thinking about what to wear because they knew that I would be present.
No one need worry. I have not titled myself judge, jury, and executioner. However, there are some wardrobe choices that I can’t help but judge. Tights worn as pants. Leggings worn as pants. Jeggings. Items that look like someone simply lifted the pattern from the 1980s. I could come up with a few more if I gave myself time, but the list wouldn't grow much in length.
The arrival of the sun and its long, luxurious days has forced another into my view.
I don't know who decided that rompers should become a viable option for females over the age of eight. I had rompers at one point in my life. I probably dirtied them rather easily as I had a liking for digging holes and playing with worms at a young age. But then I grew up and out of clothes meant to compliment diapers and pigtails and ringlets and playgrounds.
Even with the infantilizing nature of rompers (or playsuits if one wants to leave no doubt that you have stolen your outfit from a four year old), my distaste would be moot if I'd ever seen anyone look even mediocre in one. The issue with any one-piece item, but especially those involving a pants-like element, is that rare is the woman who is the same size on the top and the bottom. That's why finding a bikini sold in a set is nearly impossible. Why almost all suits are offered in separates. Because if bought in one, there will inevitably be one piece that fits perfectly while the other does not.
And above all else, I believe fit is the most important thing. Even more important than not looking like you belong on a swing set.
No one need worry. I have not titled myself judge, jury, and executioner. However, there are some wardrobe choices that I can’t help but judge. Tights worn as pants. Leggings worn as pants. Jeggings. Items that look like someone simply lifted the pattern from the 1980s. I could come up with a few more if I gave myself time, but the list wouldn't grow much in length.
The arrival of the sun and its long, luxurious days has forced another into my view.
I don't know who decided that rompers should become a viable option for females over the age of eight. I had rompers at one point in my life. I probably dirtied them rather easily as I had a liking for digging holes and playing with worms at a young age. But then I grew up and out of clothes meant to compliment diapers and pigtails and ringlets and playgrounds.
Even with the infantilizing nature of rompers (or playsuits if one wants to leave no doubt that you have stolen your outfit from a four year old), my distaste would be moot if I'd ever seen anyone look even mediocre in one. The issue with any one-piece item, but especially those involving a pants-like element, is that rare is the woman who is the same size on the top and the bottom. That's why finding a bikini sold in a set is nearly impossible. Why almost all suits are offered in separates. Because if bought in one, there will inevitably be one piece that fits perfectly while the other does not.
And above all else, I believe fit is the most important thing. Even more important than not looking like you belong on a swing set.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
May Showers
After two days of gray, all I can think about is the light and airy.
Never have I so craved the summertime.
Photo via
Never have I so craved the summertime.
Photo via
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Homecomings Revisited
After I finished writing about my evolving relationship with color, one passage in particular stuck out to me.
But during the past year, I've begun to change. Slowly and with much deliberation but change nonetheless.
Moving back to Boston almost one year ago has affected how I dress more than any other event in my life. From the beginning, I was steely in my determination not to change back into the girl I had been before. I wanted to continue on the path to adulthood that graduating from college and starting my first real job and moving to a new city had forced me on to. To most clothing would have little to do with such growth, and, to those people, this probably sounds silly. We’re just talking about dresses and shirts and skirts and shoes here. They can’t mean all that much. But for me they are an outward manifestation of all that has changed internally. Injecting color. Shortening hems. These were all ways to stop myself from retreating back into the cozy shell that had at once been so comforting and stifling.
As recently as a few months ago, I thought of most of the clothes I come across in stores, in magazines, and on the various blogs that I peruse daily as items for later. Or for fantasies. I was always too much of one thing or not enough of something else to pull them off. There was no room for them in my life or my closet. They were for those bold others.
In more ways than one, I’ve tired of not being one of those bold others. And though New York changed me somewhat in that respect, I became lazy in a way. My style followed suit. I grew to a certain point and then stopped because further growth wasn’t necessary. Because I was an adult. Living on my own. Staying out as late as I liked. Choosing what to do with my time.
Part of the package when one has to move back to that place one once called home is, in some ways, being forced back into the role of child. But nothing will cause you to become more of an adult than fighting against that as hard as you can.
Last week, on one of my window shopping adventures, I tried on the black and non-sequined version of this 3.1 Phillip Lim dress while in Barneys.
When I glanced at myself in the mirror, I didn’t, as I had done in the past, shy away from the woman looking back at me.
I was, and am, done with that.
Photo via
But during the past year, I've begun to change. Slowly and with much deliberation but change nonetheless.
Moving back to Boston almost one year ago has affected how I dress more than any other event in my life. From the beginning, I was steely in my determination not to change back into the girl I had been before. I wanted to continue on the path to adulthood that graduating from college and starting my first real job and moving to a new city had forced me on to. To most clothing would have little to do with such growth, and, to those people, this probably sounds silly. We’re just talking about dresses and shirts and skirts and shoes here. They can’t mean all that much. But for me they are an outward manifestation of all that has changed internally. Injecting color. Shortening hems. These were all ways to stop myself from retreating back into the cozy shell that had at once been so comforting and stifling.
As recently as a few months ago, I thought of most of the clothes I come across in stores, in magazines, and on the various blogs that I peruse daily as items for later. Or for fantasies. I was always too much of one thing or not enough of something else to pull them off. There was no room for them in my life or my closet. They were for those bold others.
In more ways than one, I’ve tired of not being one of those bold others. And though New York changed me somewhat in that respect, I became lazy in a way. My style followed suit. I grew to a certain point and then stopped because further growth wasn’t necessary. Because I was an adult. Living on my own. Staying out as late as I liked. Choosing what to do with my time.
Part of the package when one has to move back to that place one once called home is, in some ways, being forced back into the role of child. But nothing will cause you to become more of an adult than fighting against that as hard as you can.
Last week, on one of my window shopping adventures, I tried on the black and non-sequined version of this 3.1 Phillip Lim dress while in Barneys.
When I glanced at myself in the mirror, I didn’t, as I had done in the past, shy away from the woman looking back at me.
I was, and am, done with that.
Photo via
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Color Commentary
I love your shoes. I see you walking, and then all of a sudden it's like BAM!
Or so I was told by the rather perky salesperson in the Saks mens' shoe department as I made my way to the escalators in the back. The canvas sneakers in question are a shocking, eye-searing pink. I bought them on a whim a few months ago while browsing the sale section of Urban Outfitters, but the shoes represent more than just a fun talking point for people who run into me as I walk through Boston streets.
My closet, when opened, leads you into a world of grays and creams and navies. There are a few departures. The year when I bought what was for me an abundance of yellow. A stray orange and white striped shirt. Multiple pink dresses that I usually leave in the dark in favor of their black compatriots. The Dress. But during the past year, I've begun to change. Slowly and with much deliberation but change nonetheless. And it is that off the cuff statement from the Saks salesperson that I try to live by.
I like my colors to be accents. I find allover color to be overwhelming on me. Or, more truthfully, I am overwhelmed by allover color on me. Yet I understand that those brights look beautiful against the color of my skin. How many times in my life have I heard friends, acquaintances and strangers lament their inability to wear the colors that I could so easily pull off? Annoyance was my gut reaction to such statements. Mostly because it's not as if they would want my dark skin in any instance that didn't involve having access to a wider range of clothes.
But once I got past my discomfort with the comments of those around me, I began to realize that I should capitalize on this advantage. Not by ridding my closet of its grays and creams and navies but by learning how to combine the colors with what I already own and love. Now I seek nail polishes and tights in vibrant shades of pink. I buy friends to take up residence with The Cardigan. I bring color to my face not with makeup but with vibrant scarves carelessly wrapped around my neck. I spend most cold days in a bright red peacoat.
The light leaks in slowly as the teals and peaches and lavenders take root in what was once a dark place.
Or so I was told by the rather perky salesperson in the Saks mens' shoe department as I made my way to the escalators in the back. The canvas sneakers in question are a shocking, eye-searing pink. I bought them on a whim a few months ago while browsing the sale section of Urban Outfitters, but the shoes represent more than just a fun talking point for people who run into me as I walk through Boston streets.
My closet, when opened, leads you into a world of grays and creams and navies. There are a few departures. The year when I bought what was for me an abundance of yellow. A stray orange and white striped shirt. Multiple pink dresses that I usually leave in the dark in favor of their black compatriots. The Dress. But during the past year, I've begun to change. Slowly and with much deliberation but change nonetheless. And it is that off the cuff statement from the Saks salesperson that I try to live by.
I like my colors to be accents. I find allover color to be overwhelming on me. Or, more truthfully, I am overwhelmed by allover color on me. Yet I understand that those brights look beautiful against the color of my skin. How many times in my life have I heard friends, acquaintances and strangers lament their inability to wear the colors that I could so easily pull off? Annoyance was my gut reaction to such statements. Mostly because it's not as if they would want my dark skin in any instance that didn't involve having access to a wider range of clothes.
But once I got past my discomfort with the comments of those around me, I began to realize that I should capitalize on this advantage. Not by ridding my closet of its grays and creams and navies but by learning how to combine the colors with what I already own and love. Now I seek nail polishes and tights in vibrant shades of pink. I buy friends to take up residence with The Cardigan. I bring color to my face not with makeup but with vibrant scarves carelessly wrapped around my neck. I spend most cold days in a bright red peacoat.
The light leaks in slowly as the teals and peaches and lavenders take root in what was once a dark place.
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