Suit Up

Memories can fly in out of nowhere. A few weeks ago I decided to enjoy the last breaths of summer by walking from the South End to the waterfront. The plan was to sit on the stairs outside of The Institute of Contemporary Art and watch the boats and be absolutely silent for as long as I liked. It was a good plan, although not a new one. And as so often happens when I walk this city, I found myself turning onto little streets that opened into corners long forgotten. On that day as I strolled through Chinatown, a memory tumbled out of a rarely visited part of my mind and I started smiling at no one in particular.

Any of my close friends can attest to my love of the birthday non-celebration, but that craving for intimate parties didn’t start with my tumble into the late 20s. The roots stretch much further back. At age six, I decided that I wanted to have a fancy dinner at one of the restaurants in Chinatown for my birthday. No children. Just my mother and some family friends. And for that dinner I would wear the most fabulous of outfits. A marker of the warm, summer temperatures that often followed my early May birthday. A seersucker suit.

Little Samantha was just as quiet as, but far sassier than, Adult Samantha.

I don’t know how we came into the seersucker suit. I do know that I was a peculiar child with peculiar tastes and after six years my mother had become adept at finding ways of dealing with me and all of my weirdness. The evening exists in my mind only in fragments. The edible flowers that adorned my plate. The strange looking fish in the restaurant’s aquarium. The start of my years-long struggle with chopsticks. And the suit.

I only recall wearing it the one time, although it probably ventured outside once or twice more before needing to be retired. Unlike the patterned tights that resembled a rainforest’s canopy or any number of pretty, little girl coats, the life of the suit was heartbreakingly short. I was growing like a weed, on my way to becoming almost as long-limbed as my mother, and suits do not take kindly to such spurts.

When I decided that I hated suits on women, partly because the ones that I saw people walking around in were boring woolen rectangles and partly because in my early and mid 20s I chafed at the idea of a suit-wearing life, I should have known that I would come back around on them. Because somewhere in the back of my mind was an image of what a suit could be. And just like any other piece of clothing, it could be whatever I wanted.

Favorite of the Day: Kenzo

One element is often missing from the fashion month proceedings. "Innovation" and "inspiration" and various other buzzwords float here and there meaning little or nothing at all. Everyone is guilty of playing that game, even me. But there's rarely ever any talk of fun. Clothes can be serious and somber and minimal and clinical but they can also be something much more than that, something more playful.

Kenzo has been fooling around with that concept not only on the runway but also in their advertisements. That play continued in their Spring/Summer 2014 collection.

But just because the seriousness was dialed down doesn't make the clothes any less artful than those of the fashion month collections that preceded them or those that are still to come.

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Favorite of the Day: Cacharel

Fall has started to settle into itself and everyone is taking full advantage. Yet as fashion month nears its end, I've started to yearn for things that are typically spring and summer. For clothes that are fun and light and pretty. It's something that's been missing for most of the season, but some of it could be found in the clothing at Cacharel.

So much of it was easy and uncomplicated. 

One could not help thinking of long days and warm nights.

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Favorite of the Day: Gareth Pugh

There was a softer story being told at the Gareth Pugh show on September 25th. The stark blacks and crisps whites that have featured heavily in his collections over the years were joined by colors that seemed to spring from the bleeding together of the two. The silhouettes, usually so strong and, at times, oppressive, had a touch of the languid to them.

They were markers of a slow evolution and a reluctance to stand still.


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Favorite of the Day: Dolce & Gabbana

If I had to I could pinpoint when the shift started at Dolce & Gabbana. When the clothes deviated from the sexiness for sexiness' sake mantra that has become less and less important in Milan. When the inspiration began to sprout from the long, storied, tortuous, and bloody history of Italy. But the exact moment is unimportant. It's this Dolce & Gabbana, the one that has entered a second act of sorts, that continues to captivate me.

This season the focus was on the ruins of the once great Roman empire, both architectural and monetary. Oversized sequins called to mind a melting pot filled with emperor-faced coins. Vines of flowers mimicked those that one might find littering long broken columns.

And sometimes the silhouettes called to mind a more recent Italian image, that seen in mid-20th century cinema.


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Favorite of the Day: Gabriele Colangelo

Milan, much like New York, has felt decidedly unlike spring or summer. At least not in any of the obvious ways. Few pastels. No nautical references. A floral pattern here or there. Fur and leather cropping up everywhere.

It was in this vein that the Gabriele Colangelo collection shown on September 21st flowed. Prints that mimicked paint artfully dashed on drop cloths. Black belts that brought to mind an East Asian influence. 

And strong silhouettes that seemed to slouch ever so slightly.

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Favorite of the Day: Antonio Marras

Some of the prints that played such a large role in the London collections made their way over to Milan. At Antonio Marras, the shapes were simple and ladylike, but the prints were of two minds. There were the classic floral and fauna prints in aged colors that featured the occasional butterfly fluttering through the frame. And then there were the others.

At first they seem to be of the same variety, only differing in their reliance on the black and white motif that has been dominating the runways, but as you move on something else catches your eye.

Something slightly sinister and delightfully weird.


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