The Fashionista Files Page 15

  “If you don’t get that, will you please let me know so I can?” pleaded a woman who went to reach for it at the same time as I did. “Of course,” I said, knowing full well that there was no way in hell I was giving this master-piece up. I brought her to the dressing room so we could get to know each other (the top, I’m talking about) more intimately. I needed to know how she (again, the top . . . it’s definitely a she) felt against my skin. I tied the green satin string around my neck and hooked the metallic green puckered strap around my lower back. I took a step back to admire her. And the only thing I saw were both of my breasts, which were fully popping out of the sides of the top, which didn’t come close to covering my chest because the silhouette was too narrow.

  Yikes! The only way I can wear this is if I hold my chest all night!

  Noooooo! I thought. It can’t be. God cannot be this cruel! There had to be a way to make it work. I squeezed my breasts together to make them fit. They didn’t. But I had the brilliant idea of taping them together. Yes, that would be perfect. When I went to pay for it, the saleswoman gasped, “Lucky girl! This top is soooo good.” My sense of accomplishment soared, like I had won a Pulitzer. I beamed and excitedly rushed home to tend to the masking tape.

  Once my breasts (a.k.a. “the girls”) were pulled close together in the center of my chest, I put on the top. It was a match. Sort of. While there was no side cleavage, you could see the indentations the tape left on my boobs through the fabric, which did not lie properly across me. I pulled the tape off briskly (it didn’t tickle) to try again, this time only a little more loosely. Still, you could see where the tape was through the fabric. Well, I thought, it’s not like I need to wear this anytime soon. I’ll just put it aside and deal with it later.

  Although it has never been worn outside of the confines of my own home (actually, not true—I loaned it to a small-breasted friend for a fabulous wedding she attended in Capri, Italy), I admire it on the hanger every now and then and think, One day, my sweet . . . one day. It’s been four years. And it’s still hanging in my closet!

  What Was I Thinking?

  MELISSA

  Viktor & Rolf are a pair of avant-garde German designers who made their name by creating outlandish, superfabulous outfits that are worn by the likes of Cecilia Dean, the editrix-in-chief of Visionairemagazine, and my fashion heroine. Cecilia is part Filipina, which accounts for my hero worship. She can always be counted on to wear the most exciting things from the runway, and she was an early supporter of the duo.

  One of their signature pieces was a white seventies “disco suit” edged with black satin ruffles, so that the white suit “popped” out of the background. Another was their “Babushka” collection, when they sent models down the runway wearing all of the clothes designed for the season at once. They looked like stuffed kewpie dolls. The spring of 2001, they designed their “Americana” collection, wherein they splashed the Stars and Stripes all over ruffled silk shirts and white bootleg jeans. (Later that year, when patriotic chic was in, fashionistas showed their colors by wearing their V&R outfits!)

  I had been following their career and work for years, but their pieces were priced way above my comfort level. So you can imagine my delight—my intense joy—when I found them at Century 21. There it was—a ruffled leather shirt, puffed and slim-fitting. It was a classic Viktor & Rolf statement, and at $299 from $1,500, it had my name all over it. I immediately took it home with me, and showed it to Karen the next day.

  “Oh . . . my . . . God. This is major!” she said, oohing and ahhing over the shirt. She caressed the leather tenderly. “It’s beyond!” That week we were getting our pictures taken for our author photos. I wore the shirt with a pair of pink wool trousers. I felt pretty fine.

  Then the photos came back.

  The failed photo shoot with the disappointing leather top!

  Instead of supreme fabulosity, I looked like I was wearing a shirt made of rubber tires. It was a disaster. The shirt bunched up and reflected light in the oddest places. I almost cried from disappointment and grief. But I couldn’t return it. It was a little piece of fashion history that was all mine. Someday I know it’s going to hang in a glass case with the note “Viktor & Rolf, 2002, on loan from the collection of Melissa de la Cruz.”

  HOW TO HANDLE BUYER’S REMORSE IN STYLE

  Give the object of your nonaffection to a friend who will love it—and wear it.

  Turn it into art. Frame it in Lucite with a plaque that marks the date it was purchased or something tongue-in-cheek like “Momentary lapse of reason, November 2001.”

  Have a theme party where everyone has to come dressed in something they bought and never wore.

  Use the fabric and turn it into a pillow (calling in a professional will probably be necessary).

  Bring it to a wonderful tailor, capable of reincarnating it into something exciting and new (pants can become miniskirts or shorts; blouses, halters; sweaters, shrugs or leg warmers; A-line, pencil-shaped skirts; coats, vests or bolero jackets; a long dress, a top or a cowl neck to accessorize a simple top).

  SAMPLE SALES ! SAMPLE THE FUN, SAMPLE THE FRENZY

  That’s My Handbag, Bitch! KAREN AND MEL

  It’s six A.M. We’re sitting in a dark hallway in front of a door, watching the time tick by. Only three more hours until we’re allowed inside the discount den of heaven—the Chanel sample sale! It is an invitation-only event. Forget about museum balls, film premieres, fancy restaurant openings, this is the one happening that no one in the fashion industry misses. Inside these very doors lie Karl Lagerfeld’s fanciful creations, from shrunken tweed jackets and chiffon tops to outrageous gowns, Coco-style suits, and—oh, my God!—handbags, handbags, handbags for practically nothing. Shoes for $50, dresses that were $3,000 for $200, and $99 accessories. It is insane.

  We’re not even first in line. Armed with coffee, carb-free breakfast, gossip columns, WWD, and cell phones, these people have been here since five A.M. Maybe earlier. “I hope they have that black rocker chain-mail bag. I’ve been dying for it,” we overhear one woman say. Judging by the look of the crowd—austere fashion girls, stylists, editors, and socialites with perfectly ironed straight hair, sky-high heels, oversize sunglasses hiding the bags that we’re sure lurk under their Creme de la Mer–moisturized eyes, and long, lean (yoga-toned) arms—we’ve got quite a battle ahead of us.

  The line piles up (wraps around the corner, rather) as the clock gets closer to nine. We can feel the sense of urgency and anxiety building. Once inside, it’s a no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners grabfest. It’s like the first time Charlie, Viola, Veruca, and TV Mike were let loose inside the Chocolate Factory and allowed to freely drink from the milk-chocolate stream, pick oversize Gummi Bears off trees, and feast on all the confectionary delights at their fingertips. At a sample sale, everything is so temptingly deliciously enticing, you just want, want, want, even if it doesn’t fit.

  The click of a door unlocking is heard. The gates open. A woman with a snappy attitude (and fabulous eyelashes) checks names off the list. The space is a giant dream closet. Racks full of immaculate twinsets, puckered leather skirts, and sheer tops bedecked with sequins are arranged by size. Tables are covered with quilted bags in every color, shape, and size imaginable, floral pins, pearl necklaces, chain belts. And armies of women are running loose, snagging things right and left. Prices are so low, you’d think the mighty Karl himself was giving everything away.

  “Are you taking those? If not, do you mind if I try them on?” one woman asks Mel, who’s holding satin ballet stilettos that lace up the calf. “Yes,” Mel snaps, “they’re mine,” knowing full well she won’t even be able to walk in them, they’re so high. We don’t even really look at what we’re taking. And it doesn’t really matter—it’s all Chanel! Besides, we hardly have any room to fully examine the specimens before us. It’s so damn crowded, we can’t walk a straight line without knocking someone over. Women are pawing the handbag buffet as if they were at one of t
hose all-night $5 food spreads in Vegas. And others are leaving the checkout counter with six, seven, eight large brown paper shopping bags, each overflowing with grade-A, prime designer filet mignon.

  Karen’s phone rings. It’s Mel from across the room. She’s standing near the dresses and commands, “Come to this section . . . you will die.” Karen scoops up some ribbed sweaters, a pair of hot pants (?), some graphic-print blousy silk tops, and something with feathers on it, and makes a mad dash for the dress section, where Mel is triumphantly holding a crazy, sexy black ruched dress. “It’s so you,” Mel shrieks.

  “Oh, my God! Divine,” Karen says. “It’s so coming home with me!”

  In the corner, two women look like they’re arguing over a strapless lace dress (“I saw it first. . . .” “No, I did. . . .”). And the racks are getting thinner and thinner by the minute. It’s not even ten A.M. and half the stock is gone.

  In the end, we each wind up with five extraordinary pieces for ourselves, wallets and makeup bags for our moms, and a few ridiculous patent-leather flower pins we’re pretty sure we’ll never really wear. All for under the cost of what one tiny thing would have been if it were retail. Our shopping bags are not as full as we had hoped they’d be, but some things look better on the hanger (or on women who are much taller and thinner). It was sad leaving such beauty behind. But we relished our achievements, nonetheless. And the fact that neither of us suffered any bruises, battles, or black eyes.

  SAMPLE SALE SURVIVAL SKILLS

  Arrive early. Very early. We’re talking, plop down on the floor and camp out hours in advance. It’s no different from sleeping in front of Ticketron overnight for U2 tickets. It’s the only way to ensure the best selection, before it’s all picked over.

  Don’t stop to engage in idle chitchat. The rules: First come, first served; shop now, be friendly later.

  Embrace the “elbow shove,” a shopping style that involves jutting out the elbows to the side while rummaging through racks, making it impossible for anyone to invade your personal space.

  Strength-train. You may wind up in a ferocious game of tug-of-war. Biceps will be your saving grace. Remember these wise words: All is fair in love and fashion.

  Grab whatever you think you might want. There is no time for hesitation and taking a moment to think about things in the midst of the frenzy. It’s best to stake your claim right away, and after you have everything in your possession, you can make an educated choice.

  Wear something that will allow you to try things on without getting undressed: a skirt (you can put pants on under it) and tank top (nothing bulky so you can put something on over it).

  CHAPTER 4

  Embrace Your Inner Galliano:

  Girls, Get Your Fabric Scissoss Ready!

  Fashionistas are multitalented. They make social statements with the way they dress. Their ever-altering sense of style changes the way people think. And while they may not be able to sketch, sew, paint, or draw, they are wizards with the scissors. They are always looking for creative ways to reinvent their clothes, tweaking T-shirts and turning them into cutting-edge knockouts, transforming old jeans into miniskirts, and adding just the right touch to turn a white Hanes tee into something that looks a lot like what the best designers are sending down the runway.

  They also have a genius way of looking at clothing and seeing it for more than what it was originally intended to be. For a fashionista, long skirts become strapless dresses, which can become ponchos, which can also turn into scarves. Tube tops double as skirts. And skirts, tube tops. The list goes on. The beauty of being a true fashionista is having the wherewithal to magically put a personal spin on whatever you wear by way of shredding, cutting, trimming, deconstructing, reconstructing, and simply getting more mileage from what you already own.

  This is your do-it-yourself guide, a chapter revolving around unleashing the designer that lies within (trust us, there is one itching to break loose). It will not only teach you how to deconstruct, reconstruct, readjust, modify, doctor, alter, and trick out your threads, but give you the skinny on how to wear things in multiple ways, open up your “what to wear” options, and show you how to be a little playful. Because if you can’t have fun, what’s the point?

  SNIP, TEAR, AND WEAR

  Lessons from the Master KAREN AND MELISSA

  Try as we might, our technical scissoring is not up to fashionista par. We both envy the girls who have the perfect T-shirts that are slashed just right. Our homemade V-necks and tank tops have ended in disaster—and the garbage—more often than not. So we brought in the big guns, designer Elisa Jimenez, a New York icon who has made slinky goddess dresses for Marisa Tomei and Sarah Jessica Parker with nothing more than a pair of scissors and swaths of fabric. We have both been to parties in constricting T-shirts in the past and bumped into Elisa, who has promptly taken us to the bathroom, whipped out scissors from her bag, and with a few hand movements, manifested sexy tops that hang off the shoulder, droop down the back, and tie around the neck. It’s something she’s been doing her entire life. She was the cool girl in school who never had to buy anything new because she could always make something fresh out of nothing. We sat down with her in order to perfect our cutting skills. A few hours later, we successfully walked away with lattice lace-up-the-side crewnecks, T-shirt jackets, cowl-neck tops, baby shrugs, and a newfound confidence about Galliano-izing our lives. Here’s what we did.

  How to Do It Elisa-style

  T-SHIRT INTO HALTER TOP

  Lay T-shirt flat on the floor and fold it in half, vertically, so the armpits are on top of each other evenly. Pull the back out flat.

  Remove sleeves by cutting a U-shape that begins a few inches under the neckline and travels closely under the armpit seams. The cut should be through both sides of the shirt.

  Create an oval-like shape through the folded T-shirt three inches below the U-shape you just made. This will eventually be the sides of your halter top.

  Unfold the shirt.

  Cut a hole just under the neckline seam on the side that would normally hit the center of the right side of your neck.

  Continue to cut the neckline off moving toward the back of the T-shirt and stop at the point that would hit the center of the left side of your neck.

  When you have a full circle of the neckline (the front half of which remains intact and attached to the front of the T-shirt), snip the back so it can be used as ties for around your neck.

  If you want to crop the top, cut it shorter above the bottom seam.

  Note: If you want to draw on the T-shirt before you start cutting, put your feet through the bottom of the T-shirt and open your knees in order to stretch out the fabric as if it were a canvas.

  T-SHIRT TO SIDE LATTICE TOP

  Fold T-shirt in half on the vertical edge (the long way).

  Make sassy cap sleeves by cutting diagonally from the bottom of the armpit seam to the top right corner of the short sleeve.

  Make two parallel cuts along the long edge of the side of the T-shirt where the arm is. The first cut should be one to two inches from the side, and the second an inch or two next to it. And both cuts should start at the level of the armpit seam and go through the bottom of the tee. These long pieces—much like car-wash slits— will become the ties that will lace up the sides.

  Make holes two inches apart from one another next to the second vertical cut you just made. These will be the holes through which you will stitch the ties.

  Follow Elisa’s step-by-step instructions to halter heaven!

  Take the first tie next to the holes and weave it through each hole in a wrapping direction. The second tie should wrap through the holes in the opposite direction to create a crisscross braidlike effect.

  Note: Remove the neckline if you want a more open neck. Or cut a plunging V for a V-neck. Make a square shape if that’s the look you’re going for. Or just make one cut down from the center of the neckline.

  With our boring T-shirts and Elisa Jiminez, our fab
teacher!

  Karen’s cool T-shirt with shrug, and Mel’s sexy halter top!

  T-SHIRT TO JACKET

  Cut a T-shirt down the front from the center of the neckline through the bottom.

  Follow the instructions to create a sexy side-lattice top for maximum peekaboo impact.

  Shorten the T-shirt by lopping off a few inches from the bottom if you want it to be more cropped or raw-edged.

  Two inches from the right and left of the center cut, which opens the T-shirt like a jacket, make slits from the bottom of the T-shirt three-quarters of the way up the top. These will become ties that hold the jacket closed like a button of a cardigan.

  Tie a knot at the base of each tie so it doesn’t accidentally rip.

  Trick out the sleeves if desired.

  JEANS TO MINISKIRT

  Fold jeans in half, vertically.

  For the longest possible hem, cut along the lowest crotch part, angling down, and moving sideways toward the outer thigh.