Back Issues: Vogue, September 2004

The oldest magazine in my arsenal lives in an old dresser. It shares space with various historical and political books from college, long forgotten DVDs that I’ve never felt the urge to search for, and many other magazines.

The September 2004 issue of Vogue must have been bought either right before, while on my trip to, or during the first week of my last year of college. It was a tri-fold cover featuring the biggest models of the time. Though my almost obsessive reading and collection of magazines was only beginning, I knew that such a sight was a rarity in general, much less on the all-important September issue. Actresses of various levels of fame, or infamy, now hold court.

Daria, Natalia, Gisele. Isabeli, Karolina, Liya. Hana, Gemma, Karen. Most of these names probably mean little to you. They meant little to me at the time.

The cover itself was enough of a reason to hold onto it.

The magazine was heralded, in large typeface, as the biggest ever. A phenomenon that had been occurring for years prior and would reach its apex in September of 2007. The ads at the front of the book seemed endless as I flipped through the pages for the first time in years. The last set of Tom Ford for Gucci and Yves Saint Laurent campaigns starring Daria and Gemma respectively. Bai Ling featured prominently in a Saks Fifth Avenue advertisement as opposed to on the pages of Go Fug Yourself. Many of the ads had one or more of the women featured on the cover in them. Their appearances lay somewhere between coincidence and well thought out advertising plan.

Mostly the magazine reminds me of a time before everything shifted. I was preparing my medical school applications. I was steeling myself for one final year in a place I had grown to loathe. I was mistaking my fear about the future for excitement. And for all of that anxiety, there was no better salve then slipping into the over the top luxury of that magazine. Ten commandments for every women to live by that fall welcomed you to the fashion-heavy final fifth of the issue. Tackle chores in sequins. Wear the trousers. Bone up on the classics. Don’t leave home without your “face”. Make yours mink. Kick up your heels in a racy cocktail frock. Buy yourself your first real evening dress. Thank your lucky stars when it’s a bad-hair day. Say sayonara to strappy sandals. Ransack Grandma’s jewelry box. Some of them make me chuckle in that way that relics of the recent past sometimes do.

In the editorials, Karolina did a handstand in Alexander McQueen.

The models lounged in Theyskens-era Rochas and pre-contemporary Helmut Lang.

Everything radiated lushness.

For me, it is a touchstone. A reminder of when this all really started. Despite the other small awakenings that occurred during those collegiate years, this issue marks the most important one. The flashbulb. The genesis.


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Forward Motion

One question planted in my mind as I made my way through the Resort 2011 collections. When will this season be given a new name? There has been talk throughout the industry about whether the term Resort represents the feel of this season. With more extensive presentations, as well as elaborate runway shows from the likes of Chanel, Dior and Oscar de la Renta, one has to wonder if the season has grown beyond the confines of its name.

What the name will be, or if it will ever be changed, are questions that I don’t have answers for. It's possible that the term Resort could remain attached to the season forever. A vestigial organ with no real meaning. A marker. A placeholder.

But as the name remains the same, the season itself continues to transform. Even from last year to this year, you can see the further eradication of those things that once defined this space between deep winter and early spring. The larger and more established houses, as well as a smattering of other brands, relied more on the history. They did, of course, play with threads from the previous season and, most likely, from the season to come. But these were mostly clothes for those who spend the harsh winters lounging on various stretches of the Mediterranean coast. Women who spend winter days in shoe-optional environments.


At Chanel

At Diane von Furstenberg

At Jason Wu

At Vena Cava

At Louis Vuitton

At Emilio Pucci

At Lanvin

At Monique Lhuillier

At Isaac Mizrahi

At Akris

At Salvatore Ferragamo

For those not jetting off to warmer destinations, there was much to choose from and be inspired by. The majority of the labels used the season as an incubator for themes to come or as an extension of things that had passed.


At Burberry Prorsum

At Thakoon

At Daryl K

At Tibi

At Donna Karan

At Marc Jacobs

At Erdem

At Alexander McQueen

At Chado Ralph Rucci

At Giles

At Chris Benz

At Roksanda Ilincic

At Giambattista Valli

At Céline

At Proenza Schouler

At Rag & Bone

At Rachel Roy

At Organic by John Patrick

The clothes were almost seasonless. Able to be worn anytime of year and not just in the no man's land of Resort.


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Timeline

While reading Jezebel almost a year ago, I came across a post on fashion and decades and silhouettes. I was intrigued by the concept. The decade I prefer should be obvious to anyone who reads this blog with any regularity. From my unabashed love of all things Mad Men related to my hatred of the 1980s. From my fear that I’ll see someone walking down the street in a suede jumpsuit now that the 1970s are being fully accepted as a trend to my distaste for anything resembling a dropped waist.

This has nothing to do with being nostalgic for the 1960s. Nostalgia often leads to a whitewashing of the past. I can’t say that seeing all of those Cher Horowitz doppelgangers didn’t make me squeal the tiniest bit, but I try to remember the good with the bad.

No, what I crave is the silhouette. Not exact replicas. Not costumes. My clothes, for the most part, fit perfectly well into the current decade.

When skinny jeans surfaced as a trend in the middle part of this decade, I spent months searching for the perfect pair. Many pairs later, I now own the slimmest ones yet. An inky and ankle length set that I have to peel off. When my mother first saw me in them she said, You know what those are called? Pedal pushers. Her statement made me consider them more closely. They are not pedal pushers but capris. Pants best known for briefly inflaming America when worn by Mary Tyler Moore on The Dick Van Dyke Show before being accepted into the wardrobe of large numbers of women.

The cinched waist and wide skirt, which bled over from the 1950s, is recalled every time I belt a long white cardigan over The Dress. The miniskirt, which appeared in the latter part of the decade and represents one of the great shifts in the landscape of female dressing, litters my closet.

My love for the lines of that time extends far beyond Oooo, this is pretty, though I am susceptible to those juvenile moments. It finds its root in how the clothes look on my body. The way slim pants define my legs. The way minis show them off. The definition and curves added by the cinched waists and billowing skirts.

The way it all speaks of sex but never too loudly.


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Breaking the Rules

Everyone makes exceptions. I have been known to crave a slouchy yet tailored suit despite my general distaste for most things suiting related.

For Resort 2011, I dream of the slim lines presented by Salvatore Ferragamo.

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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.


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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.


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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.


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