The Fashionista Files Read online

  It was $1,800 in total. And I couldn’t get one piece without the other. Finding matching pinks like this almost never happens. I couldn’t imagine dropping such a load on one outfit. But I could wear the skirt with anything, and that sweater was a classic—with white pants, jeans, little miniskirts. I put it on hold for a day so I could think about it. I agonized over doing it or not. The next day I called back and asked to keep it on hold for another day. This went on for four days until—after a fight with the guy that caused me to leave his house and stay with a friend—I said, “Screw it! I’ll doll myself up in something extraordinary and find a new boyfriend.” And that was that. Don’t think I wasn’t breaking out in a cold sweat, clutching my friend Jennifer’s hand as I gave the saleswoman my ATM card, which sucked the money right out of the bank! In fact, I felt sick about what I had done until the day of the wedding. When I put it on—along with baby-pink roses in my hair and silver high heels—it made me feel glamorous and adult. I got over the $1,100 sweater and $700 skirt after the bride and groom had their first dance and some cute guy I had my eye on told me I was a knockout. After that, $400, $500, $600, even $800 sweaters didn’t seem so outrageously priced. Not compared to the Blumarine.

  The same thing happened soon after with boots. I was dying for a knee-high pair, but had no luck due to my very muscular calves (a result of gymnastics and genes). In the beginning of the trying-on-boots marathon, I thought maybe I’d splurge by dropping $400 or so. After nothing zipped—or allowed my blood to circulate to my feet—I decided to go into the Manolo Blahnik store. It was my first time behind the doors (before that, I had always salivated in front of the window, dreaming of the day I could afford them). Among the pressed, nipped, tucked, manicured, blown-out, made-up shoppers in the “shoe salon,” I felt like a bit of a misfit (maybe it was the Rollerblades and Adidas sweats).

  Then Ben, an angelic Asian man with satin butt-length black hair and a perfect size-two body, came to my rescue. “Cutie, how can I help you?” he said sweetly. I explained my plight. Before I could finish, he had the solution—stretch suede chocolate four-inch-heel pointy-toed boots. They were divine. I slipped them on, and just like that I was in heaven. I handed over my credit card without asking about the price (I heard that money is not to be discussed at Manolo!) and almost puked when I got the receipt back—$1,200. I thought, I’d better wear these to death. And I did—and still do. They remain my favorite boots. They’re incredibly comfortable. They hug the curve of the legs just so. They look smashing with pants, denim, and skirts of all hemlines. And just like that, spending $400, $500, $600, $700, $800, $900, $1,000 on footwear stopped feeling painful.

  The $1,200 Manolos in all their glory

  It became—scarily—normal. Just don’t ask me how I allowed myself to get $2,000 pants! I still haven’t quite recovered from that one.

  It Happens to the Best of Us

  MELISSA

  I don’t have a “biggest splurge” story. Most of my clothes are in the $50 range, marked down from $500. I’ve never paid more than $500 for a handbag (usually they are down from $1,200 to $2,000). When I was working as a computer consultant, I spent my Christmas bonus on “real” things, like throwing my parents their twentyfifth anniversary party at the Yale Club, or buying a new computer, or paying off my college loans.

  My biggest clothing splurges at the time consisted of a fitted military greatcoat in black cashmere with brass buttons that was reminiscent of Madonna’s, which I found in a cute West Village boutique for $300. (I paid full price, which is a “splurge” for me.) At the time, I wasn’t the label whore I am now, and I don’t even remember who made the coat, only that it was an extremely flattering cut and kept me warm all winter. (Oh, for the days when I could be satisfied by such things!)

  So, no, I don’t have a splurge story.

  What I do have is a story about the time I fainted at the Marc Jacobs outlet. It was the year of my wedding. Also known as the year I left my corporate job and started to freelance. Otherwise known as the year I didn’t buy any shoes. Or the year without fashion. Even though my parents and Mike’s parents each kicked in the price of a fancy new car to help foot the bill for our wedding, Mike and I were still several thousand dollars short. Money was very, very tight, and there was no room in our budget for my frivolous shopping habits.

  But my husband, being a kind man, had agreed we could visit the outlet mall that summer. I left him at the food court and walked around, eagle-eyed, as I tried to make the most of my visit. I knew I wouldn’t get another chance to spend on myself for the next six months. I walked into the Marc Jacobs outlet.

  90 PERCENT OFF CLEARANCE SALE! the signs read.

  My heart started to beat wildly. At the time, Marc Jacobs was my absolute favorite designer. I died for his puff-sleeved jackets, his satin prom dresses, his “San Francisco”–seamed jeans. I gingerly stepped toward a rack and began to feverishly riffle through it. I looked at the price tags . . . $10 for a chiffon tank top, $17 for a cashmere sweater, $29 for a silk printed dress . . . I swooned. It was like a dream I wasn’t sure had come true. I felt dizzy. I started to have double vision. The world became pixelated, little colored dots like a computer or a Seurat painting.

  The next thing I knew, I was looking up at Mike’s face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  I was on the floor. Everyone was staring at me. What had happened?

  I had fainted! Oh, my God. I was so embarrassed. My skirt was in a bunch and my sandals had fallen off my feet. “They had to go through your wallet, and found my number on your cell phone.” He said, “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I mumbled. I couldn’t face the other shoppers, or the concerned salesclerks. I told Mike it was probably because I hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, but I knew the truth. I couldn’t believe the prices. It just didn’t seem possible that I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to buy such expensive things for so little money. The whole premise seemed insane.

  I walked around for an hour to clear my head. Finally, when I deemed myself calm enough to shop, I reentered the store. I needed a cool head, after all, to be able to work through the sale carefully instead of helter-skelter grabbing at the loot like a starving vulture. I spent close to $250 and came home with my whole summer wardrobe. The store even had shoes for $10, but alas, they were all size ten! It was one of the best days of my life. So no, I don’t have a crazy biggest-splurge story. Oh, wait. I just remembered that a year later I purchased a beautiful sky-blue Marc Jacobs coat for $1,500. But it was marked down from $7,000, so really, it doesn’t count.

  WHEN IT’S OKAY TO GO ALL THE WAY

  There are some days when it’s acceptable—even necessary, to shell out the big bucks for just the right outfit.

  For a special occasion. Don’t scrimp on your wedding dress, a black-tie gown, or an outfit for your graduation portrait. Those pictures will last forever.

  A good winter coat. It is an investment that will pay off over the years.

  Good shoes and bags. The right bags and shoes pull together any outfit. Also, you will always feel better knowing you are wearing leather, not plastic, unless the shoes are by Stella, who uses plastic and charges $500.

  Cashmere. It’s worth it to spend the amount to buy four-ply winter warmth from an Italian designer. The knockoffs at the mall are not even close to the real thing.

  JUSTIFY YOUR LOVE

  Shopping—or overshopping, rather—can lead to grief, anxiety, and stress. But don’t feel bad about yourself. True or false, here are some foolproof mantras that will ease your pain.

  I’m not selfish. It’s for my daughter . . . someday.

  I deserve it. (This is a good time to find something positive about yourself, whether you got a good grade in school, did a great job at work, or lost those three pesky pounds. A girl’s got to reward herself, you know.)

  I only live once.

  I don’t have a child to support. I’m no
t married. I have no mortgage. I don’t have to be responsible just yet.

  I won’t buy anything for the rest of the season. (This one can be used over and over again. As long as you believe it at the time, it’ll do the trick.)

  I won’t go out to dinner for the rest of the month. I’ll make my own coffee instead of spending $5 at Starbucks. And I’ll give up luxuries like taxicabs and Charmin TP to make up for the expense.

  It makes me look really thin. (There is no price tag on skinniness.)

  It’s a size smaller than I normally am! (See above. Feeling svelte is invaluable.)

  It’s for a very special occasion and I will treat it with the utmost respect and care.

  It’s a classic. I’ll have it forever. (Who cares if it’s a hot-pink velvet capelet with an Edwardian-inspired ruffled neck that you’ll wear only once?)

  BUY IT OR LEAVE IT?

  Can’t figure out if you should get it or not? This is your guide to making strategic shopping decisions:

  Has it been editorialized (meaning: shown in all the magazines) to death? If so, it’s a no-go. It will be right for only that particular season. However, if it’s smashing on, it may be worth the splurge . . . but herein lies the rub: After it’s had its moment of glory, you can’t wear it for at least five to eight years. When you do, you can call it vintage.

  Can you buy something exactly like it at J.Crew, Club Monaco, the Gap, or Banana Republic? If so, get it there and save the splurge for something special no one else sees every day.

  How do you feel in it? Fierce, slammingly hot, and amazingly thin? If so, run, don’t walk, to the cash register.

  If you don’t love, love, love it, leave, leave, leave it. Don’t lay out a large sum of cash on something that doesn’t rock your world.

  If you say “It would look better if . . . (I lost ten pounds, I were four inches taller),” don’t get it. It’s not worth the pressure (sometimes!).

  If you’re afraid you won’t wear it, you probably won’t. Enough said.

  If you are dying for it but don’t think it has a purpose in your life or closet, get it and create a purpose for it. It will make you feel decadently lavish and fabulous.

  Remember that comfort and moving are overrated. It’s okay if you can’t walk in a pair of shoes or sit in a tight skirt. If it looks good, that’s all that matters.

  REGRET ME NOTS?

  For every fashionista, there are always a couple of things you didn’t buy and wish you had. We call those the “ones that got away.”

  Farewell, My Concubine!

  KAREN

  Minutes before Mel’s engagement party is about to start, I am running around my bedroom, freaking out over the fact that I have nothing to wear. I hate my clothes! I have tried on a dozen things, from hot and sexy to modern to uptown lady. And all of it is sitting on my bed, piling up, as I rummage through my racks. Can’t wear the army-green backless halter and newsboy cap—wore it last week and I’m sick of it. Refuse to put on the black slip dress with rose details and a lace hemline—I always thought it was a bit cheesy. The way my favorite Balenciaga ruffled skirt ruches in the midriff makes me look fat—that’s not gonna do.

  If only I had that white backless Chloe jumpsuit with the draping neckline and the Studio 54 edge. It would be so fantastic with my white open-toed Prada patent-leather forties-style shoes, circa 1995—and the straw fedora with gold trim. When I tried it on, it was love at first sight. I stepped out of the dressing room as if I were Bianca Jagger, one of my style icons. It was fun, yet sophisticated, feminine yet strong, hard yet soft, and sexy without being too revealing or showy. The ultimate party wear. At the time I needed something for a swank dinner party, and it was between the jumpsuit and a black dress with a plunging neckline and giant cockatiels at the base of the spaghetti straps.

  I went with the dress. I thought it was the smart choice at the time. Who doesn’t need a black dress with giant cockatiels? I wore it once . . . and discovered that that plunging neckline was a lit-tle too plunging. And those birds? They were patches that got kind of itchy. While the dress is fierce, it just isn’t the jumpsuit. And I can’t tell you how many times, other than Mel’s engagement party, I have wanted to wear the jumpsuit.

  The store had only one. It was sold (to Celine Dion, of all people). I called a dozen stores that carry Chloe. No one had it. I called Paris. I have looked many times on eBay. I have searched consignment shops. And I have come up empty-handed. If I could trade something in my wardrobe for it, I would in a hot second. It pains me every time I think about it. I look for something like it each new season. I have tried vintage stores, all to no avail. Almost two years later, I still haven’t let it go. I miss it. Maybe in my next life I’ll meet up with it again. Until then, I hope Celine appreciates it as much as I would have.

  Haunted, While the Minutes Drag

  MELISSA

  There’s a closet somewhere that’s stuffed with all the clothes I wish I had had the good sense to buy. The Balenciaga lion vest that launched Nicolas Ghesquière into the forefront (and was marked down to $199 from $800), the Eley Kishimoto red calf-length jacket with oversize buttons ($399 from $700). It happens when you’re an inveterate shopper. Once in a while, you let your guilt or your good sense get in the way—the voice that says, hey, maybe I should pay my rent this year instead of buying that Chanel skirt. So you stand there, coveted item in hand, put it down, and walk away.

  Then it haunts you forever.

  There’s a certain fur-trimmed black Byblos coat that never leaves my mind. It had a shawl collar with the fluffiest, fattest fox fur, tinted just this side of violet-black. It shone lavender in the light, and it was divine. The coat was a slim-fitted black cashmere, Italian, and lined with silk. It was only $250 from $900. My memory for prices—and their markdowns—is uncanny. Once a friend told me, when someone complimented me on my clothes, that I don’t have to tell them all the details—designer, original price, and what I paid for it. A simple thank-you would suffice. But old habits die hard!

  Unfortunately, I put the coat down. I had already spent my limit for the season, even though I really “needed” a fur-trimmed coat. Next time, I promised myself. I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking of that coat. I woke up early and went to the store the minute it opened. But it was already gone. I still think of that coat, and I’ve never found anything close to it. It was irreplaceable. It’s more real to me than the dozen winter coats that hang in my closet. One day I know I’ll get over it. I hope.

  LETTING GO—IT’S NEVER EASY

  There are no tips here. If you didn’t get it, that ship has sailed. It wasn’t meant to be. Like a boyfriend you break up with, move on. We sympathize. So here are some emotional tools that will get you through this difficult time.

  Burn sage and smudge, a Native American spiritual tradition that cleanses the aura and energy. This will help detoxify your spirit.

  Light candles and take a moment of silence to recognize and pay homage to whatever it is you’re mourning so you can have some closure. That should help you get over it.

  Make a list of all the things that you would wind up finding wrong with the item(s) in question (i.e., it has to go to a special dry cleaner, which is really expensive; this kind of fabric gets pilly; the color fades after being dry cleaned so many times; I can’t wear it on my fat days; I’m sure those fringes would wind up getting caught in the car door and ripping off, etc.).

  Click your heels three times and say, “This too shall pass, this too shall pass, this too shall pass.”

  Put on your absolute favorite things to wear and dance around your apartment. You have such chic style, you didn’t really need it anyway.

  If the above suggestion doesn’t work, just drink lots of chamomile tea and cry if you must. It’s a very soothing coping technique.

  Find solace in the fact that if you had that outfit, sweater, pair of jeans, or whatever it was you regret not buying, you’d still be standing in your closet, half-nak
ed, thinking, I have nothing to wear. The fact is, you only want it because you don’t have it. Just like relationships and boys, there will be a new (and cuter) one around the corner when you’re not looking for it or expecting it.

  BUYER’S REMORSE

  Definition: The feeling of shame and sorrow that often comes with having wasted hard-earned money on something that you never, ever wear.

  Really, I Shouldn’t Have!

  KAREN

  Shopping tends to cloud the mind. I very easily get caught up in the excitement of it all, unable to see straight. It’s sort of like drinking too much and spending the night flirting and making out with a guy you think is really cute, only to find out the next day, when you’re sober and bump into him, that he is the ugliest guy you’ve ever seen. Such is the case during many shopping sessions. Buzzed from the scent of new clothes and the fantasy the garments represent, I have made many terrible decisions that have left me, a.) broke, b.) depressed, c.) in the awful predicament of having nothing to wear.

  Let me bring you to a moment I had during an end-of-season sale at Gucci’s. The store was packed with pushy women getting their fix of things that were up to 70 percent off. You could hear the screeches of joy emerging from dressing rooms. “It’s only a hundred dollars! Get two!” “It’s too big! But for this price, it pays to have it fully reconstructed by my tailor.” “I don’t care if the shoes are too big. I’ll put pads in them.” Sandwiched in an overcrowded rack of evening gowns, where I was browsing “just for fun,” I came across a kelly-green backless halter top made of nothing but dangling beads, some of which dripped down to the middle of the thigh—the very same piece that Jennifer Lopez and Elizabeth Berkeley were photographed wearing with jeans earlier that season. It was divine. Originally $2,000, it was down to a mere $300, and I was not letting it go.