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.

The Leftovers: London Fashion Week FW11

A couple of weeks ago, even though I was deep in the throes of another book, I bought a copy of Just Kids. Number 98 (or maybe 97 or 96 by that time) on the list of people in the Boston Public Library network waiting for their turn to borrow it, I decided to bite the bullet and purchase my own copy. I first felt the need to read the book upon its publication, but as I'd taken to assigning myself a reading list as if I were in a college seminar, there were a line of books ahead of it at the time.

The murmurs out of London were dominated by the book and its influence on a myriad of designers. And as the models walked the runways, it became evident that the city's focus on the "decade of the moment" was less sweeping and more focused on the particular place and time in which the book is set.


At Jaeger London

At House of Holland

At Jonathan Saunders

At Mulberry

At Margaret Howell

Much as he did with rockabilly style a season before, Paul Smith took this trend in hand and ran with it.

Yet there was also a taste of some of the other trends seen on the New York runways.

The longer skirts that hit anywhere the knee to the floor.

At Maria Grachvogel

At Nicole Farhi

At Roksanda Ilincic

The reds that recall the variety of shades cherry popsicles can stain your lips.

At Betty Jackson

At Kinder Aggugini

At Issa

At Jonathan Saunders

At Burberry

The color blocking that has been gaining a foothold since Pre-Fall.

At Kinder Aggugini

At Jonathan Saunders

At Osman

As well as a reminder of what London often does best.

At Maria Grachvogel

At Clements Ribeiro

At Matthew Williamson

At Basso & Brooke

At Holly Fulton

At Mary Katrantzou

Photos via, via

The Leftovers: New York Fashion Week FW11

When looking back, the tendency can be to view decades as some sort of monolith or as set historical periods that don’t need parsing. Yet each of those ten years is full of its own series of small revolutions, and rarely does what we consider a decade end as we move from the last nine to the next zero. Nothing about the end of a decade, or its beginning, is ever so sharp. (I’ve always thought that one of the strongest markers of the end of the 1980s was the release of Nirvana’s Nevermind in September of 1991. It reached number one on the Billboard charts in January of the following year.)

And so the 1970s, which saw Nixon and Watergate and Carter and the Iran hostage crisis, possess a complexity that cannot be ignored. The clothes of the era are not devoid of this intricacy. That monolithic idea of the era could be felt throughout many of the collections.

1970s

At Steven Alan

At Peter Som

At Tommy Hilfiger

At Chris Benz

At Rodarte

At Oscar de la Renta

Alongside these more overt references, there were other trends that when looked at in the correct light, also displayed a connection to the time. The silhouettes were looser. The lengths were longer. The waistlines were higher.

Long skirts

At St. John

At Vena Cava

At Prabal Gurung

At Carlos Miele

Sequined Pants

At Peter Som

At Erin Fetherston

At Douglas Hannant

At Michael Kors

There was also a color story on the runway. Instead of the many colors that were seen in some of the Spring/Summer 2011 collections, this New York season was about one color. Between cherry and fire engine live a group of reds that were seen on everything from shorts to pants to dresses.

At Wes Gordon

At Rebecca Minkoff

At Prabal Gurung

At Sophie Theallet

At Elie Tahari

At Bill Blass

The color blocking trend seen in the Pre-Fall collections rippled into the Fall/Winter collections. At times the colors were vibrant and striking. At other times, they spoke only of subtlety.

At BCBG Max Azria

At Costello Tagliapietra

At Jill Stuart

At Sophie Theallet

At Proenza Schouler

At Preen

At Narciso Rodriguez

At Tibi

At Calvin Klein

Photos via, via