The Fashionista Files Read online

  Still, I was always skeptical of paying premium for good lingerie. Good bargain shopper that I am, I liked buying my bras 90 percent off at the outlet mall rather than paying full price for scraps of nylon and lace. And even as much as I want to be the La Petite Coquette girl, the Agent Provocateur chick, I’m still the fourteen-dollar-half-price–Calvin Klein lady.

  Revelation came when I was shopping with Karen, the girl who doesn’t even wear undies. She was wearing a beautiful nude strapless bra as she zipped in and out of Dior dresses. I was so impressed with what it did for her bust that I was driven to finally invest in my own fab bra. I was thirty-one years old and I was overdue. I treated myself to a gorgeous push-up bra for fifty dollars from the French lingerie line Chantelle. Unlike my other bras, the straps didn’t bunch or fall, and it gave me a nice clean silhouette under even the thinnest T-shirts. I was hooked. While I’ve learned to appreciate designer underwear, I still can’t go the next step and embrace the full-on-vixen thing. Lately, fashionistas like Karen are advocating going commando as an alternative to the annoying thong-in-the-bum-crack problem or visible panty lines. I’m still skeptical. Maybe I’ll break down later, as I always seem to at some point. But for now, it just seems way too naughty for my taste. And I don’t want to suffer the fate of Paris Hilton and Basic Instinct my way out of a car anytime soon!

  Boob Job

  KAREN

  I hate underwear. I find it restricting, constraining, and uncomfortable. I like to be free, to breathe without fabric, underwires, and elastic in my way. I do wear it for show, however, and when I do, I go all-out. But that’s beside the point. I resisted wearing bras for as long as I could growing up. I finally caved when my tennis coach suggested my mother get me something because all that running on the court led to distracting breast floppage during matches (one of the most mortifying hours of my life). To this day I try to get away with avoiding them as much as possible. The problem is, I do not have the perky 34Bs I once did. Gravity, sadly, has taken its toll.

  After seeing a photo of myself—where I wasn’t wearing a bra—I was sick. My “girls” were practically sagging to my belly button. At that moment I decided to suck it up and buy some boob gear. I headed to La Petite Coquette, the swanky lingerie store near my home, where a woman measured me properly, tightened the straps just so, and showed me how to get the most support out of a bra. My breasts looked so round and good that it didn’t bother me to spend $70, even $80 on a piece of lace and well-constructed underwire. It felt racy, dangerous, and indulgent. Soon enough, however, I stopped wearing the bras. They became a hassle. Yes, I liked what they did for my chest, but I always felt the presence of the bra against my skin. It didn’t seem natural. So I gave up.

  Until I visited Alice Cadolle in Paris, one of the most luxurious lingerie shops in the world, first started by Herminie Cadolle, who invented the bra in the late 1800s. Couture lingerie! Custom-made pieces for the rich and international jet set. Now, I am neither rich nor international. But I was twenty-eight years old and in desperate need of help. If I didn’t find a bra I liked, my breasts would sag more and more as the years went by. I saved a good amount of money and had a fitting. A blonde Frenchwoman, wearing a pink pincushion on her wrist as if it were a watch, took my measurements and handled my breasts with gentle care. “They fall flat,” I was told, as if I needed to hear that! I needed a bra shape to promote them to point upward from the bottom. She asked me what I wanted out of a bra. I thought for a minute and came up with this: something so natural and perfect, I wouldn’t even know it was on me. I was not interested in the ways of seduction—I have my Agent Provocateur for that. Instead, I requested form, fit, and shape. I wanted my girls to look like they did when I was fifteen.

  Sketches were made. She talked about where the elastic should be (apparently more in the back, less in the straps is ideal). And we discussed fabric. Silk is not good. It’s not supportive or long-lasting. Lace is better. But nylon netting, somewhat transparent, is best. Obviously, I want the best. We also contemplated color. I went with a plush pinkish nude to match my skin tone. After the visit, hours (actually weeks) of fine craftsmanship went into cutting, fitting, constructing the perfect bra for moi. When I finally got it and put it on, it was like a giant white light shone over me, the heavens opened, and the angels sang. My breasts never looked so immaculate, so plump, so fine. With clothes I appeared a good few pounds thinner, at that! I was in awe, so enamored that I didn’t even mind the $700 price tag . . . until I lost the bra on a trip to Florida three months later!

  I have been devastated—and braless—ever since.

  Let’s Take a Peek into the Fashionista Lingerie Drawer

  Thongs—Make sure they’re nice and low for those hiphugger jeans. We love Cosabella. But then, who doesn’t?

  Boy-style briefs—No ordinary panties for the true fashionista. We adore ones that have funny sayings all over them, like “Welcome,” “Spoil Me,” and “Ring My Bell.” Or fifties-style ones with the ruffled bottom or a peekaboo bum to reveal tushie cleavage. They are especially cute when worn with a button-down for nights when you’re entertaining your man at home. Target has a great selection at very reasonable prices.

  Everyday fashionista bras—They’re utilitarian, and fashionistas know where to find nude bras in all subtle hues in order to find the right one for their skin tone. Lingerie designer Jean Yu is known for that. Though fashionistas appreciate the go-with-anything nude tone, they may make an exception for the leopard print.

  Tank tops with built-in bras—All the support, none of the nuisance.

  Hanro camisoles—Supercomfy to wear in lieu of a bra.

  Nipple tape—To wear underneath all those plunging gowns and backless halters. (Just make sure you pluck stray nipple hairs before sticking it on!)

  Sexpot possessions—When fashionistas go vixen, they do it right. Agent Provocateur’s playful pieces are a must when you’re feeling saucy (fringe panties, sequined pasties, lace bras with nipple cutouts), and La Perla’s sexy sophistication is always classic for exotic honeymoons.

  Silk nightgowns—Diana Vreeland insisted on getting fitted for her nightgowns. While custom-made couture nightwear is a thing of the past, true fashionistas insist on sleeping in style.

  JEAN-IUS

  My Dad’s 501s MELISSA

  My dad is only twenty-two years older than I. We share the same birthday. When I was eighteen years old and left for college, he gave me several pairs of his Levi’s. My father was the kind of guy who wore suits from Hong Kong by tailors who’d been trained in Saville Row. He was just as discriminating in his taste of jeans. He always swore by Levi’s 501s, straight-leg. He was fitted for them the same way as for his suits. He would buy several to last him for a year, and my earliest memories of childhood are of my father taking cuticle scissors to remove the leather label. He allowed the red Levi’s tag, but he despised wearing such a large patch. It distracted from the simplicity of his belt.

  Papa gave me three pairs of his treasured Levi’s, waist size thirty-one (his waist had ballooned to thirty-three). One of the pairs was so worn there were holes in the knees. It was a lightly colored jean that was as smooth and comfortable as pajamas. The other pair was regular wash, and the third a dark wash. They were the coolest things I owned. I arrived at college with fourteen oversize cardboard boxes filled with Outback red camp shirts and jungle-print shift dresses from “Jean Nicole” (don’t ask!) but the jeans immediately gave me instant boho cachet. I could never stop my friends from borrowing my dad’s jeans. They loved the vintage feel, the flattering leg, and the stories behind them. I could never keep them in my closet. For four years, as many as six girls wore those pants.

  I finally had to retire the jeans when the holes got too big to patch, but I still consider them part of my first true inheritance.

  My Introduction to Cool

  KAREN

  From fourth grade through twelfth, I went to a school where there was a dress code. No jeans, no sn
eakers, blazers mandatory. Because I wasn’t exposed to urban cool, I wasn’t aware of the perfection of broken-in Levi’s. Instead, the jeans I wore were supertrendy. Remember the Guess? jeans with fold-over acid-wash snap pockets? And the Et Vous pair with baby-pink patches of planets and aliens? And the stretch Farlows that may as well have been tights? That is what I wore.

  During the summer of 1989, I went to London to intern for a neurosurgeon (that’s when I thought I’d grow up to be a doctor—to give you an idea of how clueless I was) through an organized program that set up high school students with jobs across the pond. We stayed in some form of a Y on Tottenham Court Road. While we had evenings free to roam the city at will, there were weekend activities and trips we had to take as a group, a small circle of fifteen kids. I became insta–best friends with a girl named Laura, who was probably the coolest, grooviest chick I had ever met.

  She was the type of girl who would go out all night, flirt with guys, lie about her age by ten years, roll out of bed first thing in the A.M., and look immaculate at breakfast, hangover or not. I was immediately taken by her energy. She had a carefree, fun attitude, and long, wavy, unkempt hair that somehow looked chic even when she didn’t shower. Everything about her was appealing, right down to her internship at Hilditch & Key, an exclusive men’s fashion brand. To go out at night she wore nothing but Levi’s, cowboy boots, and tank tops. It was so simple and undone, yet so sharp and done at once. I would throw on full-on matching outfits. I felt so daddy’s-girl, prep-school geek next to her.

  And then one night she came into my room as I was getting ready for our outing on King Street. (Luckily, in London we didn’t need an ID to get into a bar.) As I began to put on my rufflebottomed skirt and blazer, she said, “Hold it right there, Robinovitz.” I stopped. “A gift. Something you never knew you always needed,” she said, handing me a bag. Inside, a beat-up, worn-in pair of vintage Levi’s 501s. “You wear the worst jeans and pants,” she said. “If we’re gonna keep hanging out like this, you need something that’s good. Now put these on with a white Hanes T-SHIRT and your boots and let’s go.”

  I was in heaven. Vintage Levi’s! Mine! From the first time I saw Laura in the airport, sitting there with Armani sunglasses, Levi’s, black shoe boots, a tank top, and a motorcycle jacket, I was obsessed with her lax, hip, “I don’t look like I care, but I really do” sense of style. It was much more effortless than the look I had— big, blown-out hair, the occasional blazer with shoulder pads (I was a Jersey girl, don’t forget). With my new jeans, I was suddenly city girl with an edge. They fit me perfectly. They hugged my butt just right. They flattered my thighs and made my legs look lean. They were slightly too long, so just the tip of my shoe peered out from the hemline, which was tattered and fraying. She walked into my room minutes later and victoriously sighed. “Finally! You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you.

  “You were cute before, but now you’re hot,” she said.

  With that, we ceremoniously threw away my Farlows and my Et Vous and said good-bye to my suburban image. Forever.

  P.S. I still have and wear those jeans all the time, and they get better with age.

  Blue-jean Baby

  Fashionistas love jeans. They live in them. They wear them underneath vintage nightgowns. They roll them up to show off their pointy boots. They throw on stilettos and a wife-beater and they’re good to go. And they call the look “studied casual,” even when it comes with a suit jacket or sheared chinchilla.

  Here’s what you’ll need:

  Superlong jeans—You’re wearing four-inch heels, and there’s nothing that looks worse with stilettos than high-waters. Jeans must be long enough to cover every part of the shoe except for the very tip of the toe.

  Superdark jeans—Dark indigo is the preferred color. Black jeans are over. Don’t even go there.

  The ultimate designer jean from Alexander McQueen

  Superlight jeans—Because every few seasons they come back in fashion. For variety, try superbleached jeans as well.

  Supercute skirts—Every self-respecting fashionista must own a denim micromini for hot nights on the town (or to the beach with a hoodie sweatshirt over your bikini top) and one knee-length number to pair with high boots for conservative (corporate-casual) moments.

  The Levi’s Super Low Stretch Bootleg: such a fashionista staple

  Designer jeans—For dressier nights, designer jeans can take you from a film premiere to dinner at the trendiest restaurant in town.

  Staple jeans—The everyday jean that fashionistas depend upon, on thin days and fat days, bad-hair days and dirty-laundry mornings. This is where Levi’s come in. The original American jean, they have the most diverse styles on the market and something that is right for everyone in every size.

  Trendy jeans—Because fashionistas must always be on the cutting edge. The trendiest jeans on the market at time of publication: Seven (notice little tag with “7” and embellished stitching on the back pocket) and Paper Denim and Cloth (their signature is light worn in denim with whiskers in the front and knees and one curved yellow stitch from one side of the pocket to the other).

  Utilitarian back-pocket—A favorite for those who want to show off a sculpted behind.

  Indie jean—The secret, cultish lines with interesting, hard-to-find details, like 5 percent spandex. Everyone asks where you got them! (We love Rock & Republic.)

  Fun denim—Jeans with a noticeable appliqué. A true fashionista would go subtle. Think jeans with one patch on the back pocket. Warning: Avoid denim covered with embellishments and embroidery all over the place. It’s tacky.

  As a hard-and-fast rule, fashionista jeans are never:

  High on the waist. That’s so Gramps!

  Acid-washed. They’re to be avoided at all costs.

  Regular length. No fashionista would do anything that’s “regular.” Dressing fashionista is about indulging in the left-of-center and the over-the-top.

  Relaxed fit. Comfortable clothes are anathema to the fashionista. You must suffer for fashion! No pain, no gain!

  Baggy. Best left to old MC Hammer videos. And we all know what happened to him!

  Stirruped. Giddyap, little fashionista, is not a look to go for.

  How to Buy Jeans

  Decide whether you will wear them with sneakers or with high heels and get them tailored to the correct length. If you want to wear the same pair with both, hem or cut them so they work with the heels rather than with the sneakers. There should be a break in the front of the foot, and from the side the jeans should appear to skim the floor. It’s okay if they drag when you wear them with sneakers. In fact, that’s a good thing.

  Check the rear view. Does it ride up? Or worse, divide your behind? Extra-small or extra-large pockets are not flattering. Regular square pockets are the best bet.

  Check the crotch. By all means, avoid the camel-toe look. But on the other hand, you don’t want the crotch to be too long either.

  Bootleg cut with the extra flare at the ankle is a safe basic, but we also recommend trying the boy-leg, fully straight jean and stretch Lycra jeans (sooo comfortable). Low-waisted jeans are more flattering; just don’t go too low—the stripper look is very nonfashionista.

  Remember, while there are some clothes fashionistas would never wear, what makes you a fashionista is your desire to wear anything as long as it’s in fashion. Therefore, the fashionista “rules” are not rules at all. Feel free to break them when the trend points toward high-waisted, relaxed-fit, regular-length jeans (although we won’t hold our breath). But you’ll learn. You’ll go back to your dark-indigo, superlong denims in no time.

  BOTTOMS UP

  Fashionistas cannot live on jeans alone. While most of us do anyway, we happen to have a very large collection of pants and skirts of all shapes, sizes, and styles. Below, you’ll find the other ingredients for your dream closet.

  Show Them Who Wears the Pants!

  These Are the Basic Requirements

  A
t least one pair of slammin’ black pants with a flat front and a crease down the front. Wear with high heels and any kind of top, sweater, halter. Will take you to hot dinner dates, parties, and daytime meetings.

  Evening pants, be it tuxedo, velvet, beaded, Harlows (a.k.a. very wide legged, named after Jean Harlow, who wore them in the thirties), or shiny and satiny numbers, will get you through any benefit gala, black-tie affair when you don’t feel like donning a dress, or even daytime with a tank top and boots.

  Cigarette pants. Skinny-legged friends—that ski-pant look— great for sixties resurrection moments.

  Slouchy men’s-style trousers—Menswear tailoring is a fashionista’s best friend. The flattering fit, the straight leg, the longish hem—heaven. Masculine is always the new feminine, folks.

  Gauchos (or culottes)—Is it a skirt or a pair of long shorts? It’s a skort! Wear in winter with knee-high boots and a Victorian blouse.

  Leathers—You’ll need one pair of leather pants at some point in your fashionista life. They can be red rocker style motorcycle pants that get yer motor running when you head out on the runway, custom-made bad boys that tie up the front, or any style that suits you. Just make sure the leather is supple and the fit is slightly too small at first. Leather stretches—and bags at the knees—over time. Also, they require special dry-cleaning services.

  Cords—Basic boy-style, flare-legged, or low-slung hiphuggers are the way to go.

  Cargo—Pants with large pockets in the back and extra-large pockets in front. Dress them up with heels and halters, but be warned: They go in and out of style. Keep a pair on deck. You never know when you’ll need them.

  Skirting the Issue

  Fashionista skirts are always in interesting fabrics or shapes, trumpet flares, ruffled tiers, or deconstructed denim being some favorites. While every other style guidebook will tell you never to buy calf-length or pleated skirts for fear of adding poundage to your waistline, we’re here to say “Indulge away.” Fashionistas are allowed to make fashion faux pas and laugh about them later.