Winks

One of the highlights of the Fall/Winter 2011 season was the kink-laced Louis Vuitton collection filled with glamorous cuffs that secured the girls to their clutches, miniature masks that sat atop all of their heads and a feather duster one girl held (almost) daintily behind her back.

For Resort 2012, the Louis Vuitton girl was ready for a vacation. Overnight bag and towel and swimsuit were all at the ready.

As well as a cocktail dress for nights on the town.

A shorts suit.

And a day dress that fell below the knees.

Yet when one examined everything more closely, the elements that were so prevalent in the fall collection still hung in the air. The cocktail dress was accented with shots of leather. The shorts suit was made of a royal blue lace that left one with a hazy picture of what lived underneath. The lattice-like weaving of the day dress revealed patches of skin to the observant eye.

It was, as Resort so often is, a compromise and a bridge.


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Subtle Shifts

Rarely has Gucci, in more recent years at least, made me fall in love with its collections. I understood it. I appreciated the obvious craftsmanship. But it never knocked the wind out of me. Caused me to stir from the semi-repose in which I position myself whenever I sift through runway pictures.

For Resort 2012, that all changed. As most of the older and more established houses tend to do, Gucci worked rather firmly from the roots of Resort. These were clothes for the yachting set. For those who chase the sunshine of summer around the globe. But what it was missing in this case was the obvious markers that often litter those types of collection. There were, of course, maritime-inspired stripes, but the classic navy was replaced with an inky black. The ubiquitous caftan was nowhere in sight. That absence of breeziness was coupled with a lack of the over the top sexiness that often invades every inch of the Gucci brand.

Yet there was still no doubt that this was a Gucci collection. It was sleek. It was gilded. It was littered with hints of zebra print.

But it was something else as well.


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Escape Hatch

I spend a lot of time immersed in worlds created by others. I wander through museums for hours. I bury my nose in books. I curl up in comfortable seats at movie theaters on Tuesday afternoons. It’s how I dampen the boredom and monotony that come with long-term underemployment.

The past several months have found me filling my DVD queue with films from Hollywood’s golden age. Casablanca. The Women. The Philadelphia Story. Gone With The Wind. My recent obsession has been Alfred Hitchcock’s 1946 film Notorious starring Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant. The film is full of suspense and intrigue and lies and espionage. The chemistry between Bergman and Grant rivals that seen between she and Bogart four years earlier. Yet with all of that, for me the film began and ended with the costumes designed by Edith Head. Sequined zebra-print cropped tops worn with maxi skirts. Low cut velvet gowns. Riding hats. Bows and gloves and exaggerated shoulders.

Unlike the clothes and silhouettes that dominated the 1960s, I could never imagine items like these being a part of my life. But in the end, that is the point. What I'm searching for is the momentary escape.

Though references to multiple decades could be found in the Viktor & Rolf Resort 2012 collection, the ones that caught my eye were those that clearly recalled the era that most of these films inhabit.

I drink them in for a moment, and then I return to the real world.


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Sweatertime

It took until the 4th of July for the summer heat to finally set in. And I, giving into a recent need to be contrary as much as possible, have spent most of my time since then in sweaters.

When I stopped working in Greenwich, CT in August of 2007, I began to purge my closet of that East Coast summertime staple, the polo shirt, which had dominated my warm weather wardrobe since middle school. (I used to have a penchant for doing as the Romans did. Thankfully the tumult of the past few years has led to some positive changes that counteract the bitter taste of the negative ones.) Along with the polos went the tees and tanks, which when not playing the part of layering piece simply made me look rather messy and unfortunately lumpy.

Of course all of that sidelining and purging only added to my anxiety around warm-weather dressing. Though they prove their usefulness again and again, not every problem can be solved by the dresses that litter my closet. Lightweight sweaters have proven to be my salvation.

On days when I pull on some shorts, roll up my sweater sleeves and throw on some flats, I get a lot of questions. "Aren't you hot? Don't you realize that it's mid-July?" I tilt my head to the side and think of how airy the linen feels, how it sits away from my skin and how easily those rare breezes flow through things like these.

By Sparrow

By A.P.C.

I shake my head for no and then I nod it for yes.


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Garden Party

I spent the second Friday of every June from the ages of 11 to 17 sitting under a large tent in the courtyard of my girls’ school waiting for the senior class to receive their diplomas. Many pieces of those balmy late mornings are imprinted on my mind. The creams, ivories and crisp whites that the senior class wore. The words to "Jerusalem" and our school song. The way the grass felt between my toes when I slipped my feet out of my shoes. The dresses worn by the underclassmen.

Dressing to imitate the late spring air that surrounded us was the problem and allover florals and pastels were the inevitable answer. There were a number of hideous floral prints floating around in those years, especially in the world of the New England prep school. Oversized blooms set against the backdrop of limp and lifeless colors. If one weren’t careful, taking on the appearance of a Laura Ashley upholstered sofa was the inevitable result. Although I participated in any number of trends with no question during those years, slap bracelets and plaid skirts and knee socks and cropped tops and over the top princess prom dresses and brightly colored platforms from The Wild Pair that I teetered around in, I hated those allover florals. I favored the less bothersome pastels during those June mornings and waited for my turn to wear white.

That juvenile hatred of floral prints has lingered. I touch them gingerly, as if they were dirty. I roll my eyes and make fake retching motions in front of fitting room mirrors. I act like the child I so rarely allowed myself to be in the past.

When I think about it, it’s not the prints. It’s the fact that I associate them with childhood and rule following. With awkwardness and insecurity. And so though I’ve learned to at least appreciate most prints and patterns, I still turn up my nose at anything that resembles a garden.

There are, of course, exceptions. Painterly prints that vaguely recall roses and peonies and lilies fill me with a kind of lightness. A skirt here or an accessory there might catch my eye. But season after season, the biggest antidote to my distaste is Erdem. Resort 2012 was no different.

Everything was ladylike. Everything was adult. It represented an end that I have yet to reach.


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Summering

As July approaches, the New England weather continues to play its schizophrenic games. All thoughts of shorts and sundresses are hidden away temporarily as I dig through my closet for the tights I thought I would no longer need. Though I could easily use the rain as an excuse to be anti-social and stay inside performing a much needed closet cull and watching old Cary Grant films, I've decided that I should try to be social. Charming. Or at least give myself some practice at taming the sometimes poisonous barbs that escape my lips. All of this means interacting with others. And wearing a dress even when it's rainy and gross and I'd like to show up to the party I'm supposed to attend in my new skinny leg sweatpants, a belted men's gingham shirt and slip-on canvas sneakers.

Since the first taste of summer heat settled over the region a couple of weeks ago, I've been spending my days off in nothing but shorts and lightweight sweaters and various dresses while carrying around the striped canvas tote my best friend gave me for my birthday and wondering whether my gingham pants should be reserved for G&T/martini drinking. For the first time ever, summer dressing has been easy for me. Fall had always been simple, but summer often left me feeling a bit agitated. My journey to outfits was often riddled with thorns. Dressing and undressing and dressing again before telling myself that I was being silly and should leave the house and stop acting like a stereotype wrapped in a cliché. Fidgeting and readjusting and emanating discomfort. Cursing the fact that everything on offer in stores seemed to be floral or bright or white or flowy or some unholy mix of all of those categories at the same time.

But this year something clicked or coalesced or some other word that people use when things fall into place all at once, and I've been hungrily awaiting the heat that I've so often dreaded. When I see summer clothes, possible combinations spring to mind immediately. I dream of jersey and silk and paper-thin cotton. I craft various scenarios where I could wear this.

Or this.

And I look at my tights with disgust.


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Shorts Story

As the clouds rolled in and I bundled up at an outdoor brunch in April, I stated rather plainly that the time of year where I stop wearing pants was approaching. My go-to for most of that month had been any one of the numerous pairs of jeans that I own. Pegged when the temperature rose. Worn full length when there was a chill in the air. But now that May is coming to a close, my reliance on denim will begin to wane in favor of skirts and sundresses. And perhaps one more item.

Getting over my various clothing neuroses has been a long, tortuous process. The breasts. The legs. The colorful. The adult. Dealing with all of those leftover middle and high school insecurities that caused me to spend most of college either using my clothes to hide from the world and myself or to show how well I could fit in. Most of those impulses have faded away at this point. Yet for all of my steps in the right direction, all of the shaking off of the dowdy, insecure girl I once was, there are still remnants of her that appear occasionally.

In the past five years, I’ve bought exactly three pairs of shorts. A pair of denim walking shorts that fall just above the knee in the summer of 2006, a navy chino pair in a similar length in the summer of 2009, and a shorter chambray pair in early 2010. The denim pair has been worn on and off but without any real frequency since I purchased them. I spent most of the summer and early fall of 2009 in the navy pair. The chambray pair made brief appearances during the summer of 2010 and, like the navy pair before them, lived on into the fall complemented by black or gray tights. (My mother bought me a seersucker pair with sailor buttons last summer that has never been worn due to the fact that I have limits on the amount of preppiness that I allow myself to emit at one time.)

Shorts are one of the last items that I approach gingerly in stores. That I’m not compelled to bring into the fitting room with me. And I try on everything. Because I want them but can’t afford to buy them. Because they make for fun “twirling in front of the mirror" material. Because I’m simply curious.  But with my adolescent insecurities roaring through my head and colliding with my latent good girl tendencies, shorts never make it into the room.

I've decided that I should take a second look. That purchasing only three pairs of a summer staple over the past five years was a bit ridiculous considering my shopping habits. That maybe I should have more shorts in my closet than lip products in my purse. (There are six currently hiding in various pockets.) 

So there is the casual, linen pair in a sunfaded yellow from Level 99

That can be paired with a simple tank from Old Navy

A navy and white striped, lightweight cardigan by Rag & Bone

And cross-strap flats in camel from Marais USA

Then there is the more formal pair by Alice & Olivia

That can be topped off with a shimmering tank from 3.1 Phillip Lim

And finished with equally shimmery red flats by Repetto.

Or the denim pair from Joe's Jeans

That can be complimented by a Rag & Bone cable knit sweater with a bit of swing

And colorful sneakers from Urban Outfitters

The plans have been made. Now to actually go through with them.



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