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.


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Favorite of the Day: Rochas

I loved Rochas in its last incarnation. I often daydreamed about their dresses.
Fall 2005:

Spring 2006:

Fall 2006:

I wasn't exactly thrilled when the house shut down and Olivier Theyskens was left unemployed for a time.

But since I still have moments when I am overtaken by bouts of wanderlust, I couldn't help but be drawn in by the clothes from this most recent incarnation.

Where's my suitcase?


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Back Issues: InStyle, October 2006

With the autumnal chill here to stay and the skies outside a soft gray, I put the tights back on, this time with a simple tank, and tried to discover the mystery behind why I never recycled the October 2006 issue of InStyle.


The first thing I noticed about this magazine was its weight. I forgot that pre-financial clusterfuck even non-September issues could be hefty. On the cover, as was the case for most fashion magazines by that point, was an actress. In this case it was Scarlett Johansson who had two movies being released that fall. (I've seen them both. I highly recommend The Prestige.) But her presence, no matter how pretty, wouldn't have been the reason I kept the magazine. I tended to skim the interviews with actresses. Or skip them altogether.

The advertisements featured many of the faces that were popular in the fall of 2005. There were actual models, not actresses, for Louis Vuitton. What a novel idea. A cadre of Supers, Kate, Christy, Angela, Carolyn and Daria, wore all black for Versace. Also light on the actress front was the Audrey Hepburn inspired black pants ad for Gap. (I bought a pair of those pants. I wore them once.) It took 111 pages to reach the first real story in the magazine. I doubt we'll ever see those days again, but I'm a pessimism-leaning realist.

I realized that if I kept up with the intense analysis of the ads this was going to take all day. So the skimming began. Past the horoscope that let me in on the fact that I was looking forward to dressing for fall and should, therefore, head to the gym. Past the Zach Braff "Man of Style" story that reminded me that I stupidly paid money to see The Last Kiss in theaters. Skim. Skim. Skim. Stop.

The title of the story was simple. Coats. Eight pages that made this New England girl giddy. A high necked black Alberta Ferretti that might now remind one of Mad Men. A double breasted houndstooth Martin Grant. And then there it was. The one coat that had saved this magazine from the discard pile.


I spent most of that fall lusting after this 3.1 Phillip Lim coat. His line was only a year old at the time, but it had quickly become one of my favorites. I was temping that fall. Wearing business casual clothes that I hated every day. Answering phones and swimming in a sea of ennui. But this coat, with its camel color and the fur at its collar, was everything that my life wasn't.

So I kept the magazine. It gave me the chance to look at it whenever I wanted.

And that bit of escape was what I needed at the time.


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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: Aquilano.Rimondi

After all of the rain and the clouds yesterday, I found myself wanting something rich. Colors that you can sink into. Fabrics whose weight you can feel through the computer screen.

Aquilani.Rimondi satisfied that urge.


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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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Unmoved

Three days into Milan and I find myself with very little to say. I'm not exactly surprised. After almost two straight weeks of writing at least once a day, one might assume that this is due to simple burn out. It's not. Milan is just experiencing a bit of middle child syndrome. New York, being first and infused with energy from Fashion's Night Out, was met with an abundance of excitement. London, with its birthday and the return of many of its native sons and daughters, was a bigger party than it has been in the past. And Paris is, of course, Paris.

By the time I got to Milan, I was a bit tired of all of the trends I'd been seeing. Okay, I get it. Pants are out. Awkward takes on adult diapers are in. I've already seen this in two different cities, and I'm kind of done with it now. Thanks. I barely pay attention to the pictures. I bookmark a few things and then play a game of Sudoku online. Or run outside for brunch. Anything but writing about it. I'm ready for Chanel and Stella McCartney and the new Phoebe Philo-helmed Celine. I don't like the idea of writing about a favorite if there isn't one that really gets to me. I skipped a day in both New York and London. But not two.

Today I found a favorite. It's a brand that you'll know the name of, but I'm stretching my rules a bit. And after I finish writing about it, I'll go back to waiting for Paris.

There's a reason it's last.