The Fashionista Files Read online

  A Few Basic Shapes and Styles

  A-line—Slightly flared that looks like the letter A.

  Asymmetric—Any skirt that falls diagonally at the hemline. Often it’s ruffled and full of flounce.

  Fishtail—Skirt with an extra panel in the front or back that is reminiscent of a fish’s tail.

  Handkerchief—Skirt with a hemline cut so it falls in points as if it were made from a series of hankies.

  Inverted pleat—Its marked characteristic is the two folds of fabric that meet at the center line in front and/or in back.

  Kick pleat—Straight skirt with just one pleat.

  Midi—A hemline that falls between the ankle and the knee. Recommended for tall women only.

  Mini—An extremely short skirt, first popularized by British designer Mary Quant in the sixties.

  Peasant—Full skirt with gathers. Likely to have bands of embroidery, eyelet details, even fringes.

  Pencil—Sophisticated, slinky, always a crowd-pleaser, it’s fitted from waist to hem.

  Prairie—Flared skirt that gathers at the waist and has ruffles at the hemline.

  Sheath—Straight skirt. No flare.

  Trumpet—Straight skirt with one circular flounce at the hemline that resembles the instrument that bears its name.

  WHAT’S ON TOP

  Choke on This MELISSA

  It was my first reading. I had been asked to read an essay about my fashion and financial foibles as part of the bill at a downtown theater space. As I recall, the piece was titled “Money to Burn” and documented how I had wasted my money on my affinity for outrageous clothes and boozy champagne blowouts. I chose my outfit carefully: an asymmetrical black top—one shoulder had no sleeve, the other had an extra-long sleeve that dragged on the floor.

  I had shown the shirt to several skeptical nonfashionista friends, who joked, “When you catch a cab, make sure your sleeve doesn’t get caught on the door. You could choke!”

  Ha. Ha. Ha. Not.

  As I walked up to the stage in my four-inch stilettos (with only the toe peeking out from my pant hem), I tripped on my extra-long sleeve. There was an appalled silence. But I quickly managed to pull myself together and shrug it off. The essay was a hit. Especially when I told everyone how after being in credit counseling for four years, I had just been approved for a brand-new credit card— with a limit of $200!

  Later, my flaming fashionista friend told me that the sight of my extra-long sleeve as it floated hither and yon beside me as I read was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. “You looked like such a fashionista. So unapologetic. I felt so proud.”

  SHIRT THING

  What fashionistas wear on top of all those superlong jeans differs wildly from fashionista to fashionista. Some fashionistas prefer colorful, flirty, feminine jewel-tone ruffled blouses, while others stick to a uniform of torn T-shirts, slim-fitted designer sweatshirts or black sweaters, and tops in every variation of style and fabric: cowl neck, turtleneck, V-neck, cardigan, three-quarter sleeve (guilty as charged—Mel). This is the part of the fashionista closet where anything goes (ruched, extra-long sleeved, fringed, tattered, sequined, backless), especially since what’s in one year (tie-neck blouses, nautical stripes, puffed sleeves) might be out the next. That said, there are some classic wardrobe builders to be aware of, as follows:

  Zip-up hoodies for errands or with heels. Cashmere is ideal.

  A crisp button-down oxford-style blouse. You never know when you’ll need it.

  Oversize shirt, cut extra large and extra long and great with a belt to cinch the waist on the beach or on the town.

  Safari, an African-inspired look with lapels, large front pockets, and buttons down the front. First made chic by Dior in the mid-sixties, it makes a vital resurgence every now and then.

  Tunic, a straight, loose-fitting knee-length number. Work it for a big night out and the next morning over a bikini on the beach.

  One shouldered. Nothing beats that Studio 54 feeling.

  Blouson, a full-fitting blouse that tends to gather at the waist and evoke a rich hippie-chic vibe.

  Camisole, often called “cami.” A lingerie-inspired look that is short, fitted to the bodice, and equipped with spaghetti straps for the shoulders.

  Tank tops, plain and racer back, and halters are also great staples.

  JACKETS REQUIRED

  Death by Fendi MELISSA

  It’s nearly impossible for me to resist a good bargain, and during the winter of 1996 I fell prey to a Fendi sample sale when a fashionista friend e-mailed me the following news: “Fendi sample sale! Run, don’t walk!” This was during the baguette years, when everyone from suburban soccer moms to downtown gallerinas were obsessed with the tiny Fendi pocketbooks, reminiscent of baguette rolls from chic Pareeeee.

  I arrived at the sale breathless, and after securing my first baguette (opting for the larger “Mama” version), I inspected the clearance bins. The Fendi store on Fifth Avenue is an immaculate temple to Italian design. It looks more like a museum than a store, and without the sale I would never have had the nerve to step inside. It was an absolute pleasure to see all the merchandise haphazardly stacked and the store packed to the rafters with voracious fashionistas.

  Then I saw it: a $3,000 leather jacket with beaded and embroidered appliqués on the shoulder and spread collar. It had a tight silhouette and was the color of hot buttered caramel. Better yet, it was reduced to $189! Can I repeat, $189! I grabbed it from the hanger and put it on immediately. The jacket nipped at the waist and had a one-of-a-kind raffish edge. It was the perfect thing to wear to Fashion Week (conveniently scheduled for the following week!).

  I went home with my new purchase, giddy over my exquisite loot. The next Monday I put on the jacket, zipped it up, and wore it to the first fashion show. I was soon surrounded by cooing, awed fashionistas.

  “Your jacket!”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It’s handmade!”

  I basked in their admiration, and told them about the Fendi sample sale, and how much I paid for it. (Did I mention $189?) The consequent charge out the door trampled the art students in the standing-room lines. I took my front-row seat and felt very self-congratulatory. Then it happened. I noticed that when I bent my head down, the little beaded plastic sequins on the collar of my jacket cut into my neck. It was painful! My jacket was attacking me! I had several little nicks all over my neck, as if I were suffering from a bad rash.

  The worst was yet to come. When I got home that afternoon, I pulled down the zipper. But it wouldn’t budge. I was trapped in the jacket like meat in sausage casing. I pushed, I pulled, I sweated, I panted, I cursed the designer. I got it halfway up my head but then I found I couldn’t breathe! Finally I had to ask my super to help me out of the jacket. He had to use a pair of pliers to release me from my Fendi stranglehold.

  Unfortunately, the jacket was final sale. No wonder it had been reduced to that price. I kept it in my closet for three months, and then one day decided to risk it again. This time my super was not amused when I knocked on his door for fashion 911. I still own the jacket. I can’t seem to part with it. I guess this is what they mean when they say “Fashion hurts!”

  Rabbit Stew

  KAREN

  During the spring of 2003 I fell in love. And I do mean really in love. The kind of love that makes you smile when you walk down the street in the pouring rain. The kind of love that keeps you up at night just because you can’t stop thinking about it. The kind of love that makes your heart skip a beat. The kind of love that inspires you to be more than what you already are. I was sure I had met the one: a white rabbit-fur jacket with ruched leather elastic bands at the wrist and around the waist and a fantastic collar. It was sporty, yet elegant. Sophisticated yet fun. And a fortune at $3,600.

  Totally impractical, this jacket was. Probably the precise reason I had to have it. I first saw it at an Alexander McQueen trunk show. I practically knocked the model over as I pounced h
er way to pet it. “I have to have it,” I told the store’s manager. “You don’t understand; I have to!” At trunk shows, it’s easy to lust after everything and get so caught up in the moment of it that you think you can actually have it all. Just saying you want it doesn’t mean anything. Unless it’s the kind of trunk show where you have to put down a deposit, no money is exchanged and nothing is set in stone. But Moselle, the tall, exotic-looking saleswoman whom I work with at McQueen, took down my name for the white jacket. The store was getting in only two, and only one of them would be my size.

  “It’s the best,” she assured me, congratulating my choice.

  I thought about the white jacket for months, eagerly waiting and fearing its arrival. I knew that when it showed up, I would not really be able to afford it. But I had to find a way. What girl doesn’t need a sporty white rabbit jacket with leather cuffs and waistband? In June it arrived with the store’s first delivery of fall merchandise. Pressure was on. I had to decide right then and there if I’d take it. I came in and tried it on. It was perfection. An angelic slice of heaven against my pale skin. It made me feel like a rock star. But that lofty price tag! Ouch!

  I put it on hold so I could think about it and I prayed that money owed to me would trickle in soon. A week went by and I got no checks. “I can’t do it,” I explained to Moselle. “I wish I could, but I won’t have money for a month or two.” She did me right and put it aside for me. “Just take it when you can afford it,” she said. Three months passed. And then one day, something beautiful happened. A very large check that I had worked extremely hard for appeared in my mailbox.

  I called Moselle, exclaiming, “I have it! I have it! I have money!” I ran over to the store and wrote a check. I sent the jacket to New Jersey in order to save the tax. Upon receiving the jacket days later, I admired my new pet, but I also felt sick. Nauseatingly sick. I could not believe I spent so much on rabbit fur, the lowest of all fur on the totem pole of luxury (after squirrel). I couldn’t return it. Not after it was put aside for three months. While it’s the hottest thing I ever had in my hands, it was also the thing that made me feel terrible about myself and my bad shopping habits.

  What to do, what to do, I stressed. My therapist urged me to take it back. So did my accountant. And after another month of deliberating, I finally did, so proud (though mortified and embarrassed, I must confess) of my obvious psychological growth (not so long before that, I never would have brought it back—or even considered it). Sadly, it wasn’t in the cards. The store would no longer allow me to return it. Not even for credit. I was stuck with the thing, which serves as a constant reminder that I have got to get a grip!

  JUDGE A GAL BY HER COVER

  It’s the first thing people will see you in, so your coat just may be the most important statement a fashionista makes. Here’s what you should consider (mind you, you don’t need to buy them all, but of course, it wouldn’t hurt if you did):

  Fur. It doesn’t matter if it’s vintage, new, faux, or your mom’s, but some form of warm fuzzy jacket, chubby, or floor-length coat is in order.

  Vests. It could be an ironic sporty down or fleece vest, something in fur, or a doctored-up denim with grommets. They’re great for fall.

  Denim. A little cropped denim jacket is an easy solution to slight breezes.

  Military. A fitted, often double-breasted jacket or floor-length coat that borrows military details (gold buttons, epaulets, high collars) will make everyone stand at attention.

  Long sweater coats, ponchos, capes, stoles, and wraps are always a good thing to collect and bust out for variety. Wraps, capes, and stoles are especially chic for evening.

  Puffy down jackets, whether from the Gap, a ski or snowboard company, Nike, or Gaultier, keep you warm and sporty cool. A winter basic. Just don’t get one that makes you look too puffy.

  Maxi coat, a floor-length drama piece for high-powered meetings, black tie galas, and whenever you want to make a lasting impression of classiness and grace.

  Midi, a mid-calf-length coat. The same function as a maxi, but not as serious.

  Bathrobe style. Much like a bathrobe, it’s midthigh length, with a sash to tie it closed.

  Smoking jacket, a manly style with a shawl collar and a sash tie. Much like the bathrobe. Called “le smoking” by the French, as it was first made chic by YSL in the mid-sixties.

  Fleece. You’ll need something laid-back for when you do your errands. Note: You can also use your vest or puffy jacket for this purpose.

  EXCESS-ORY: AN OUT FIT JUST ISN’T AN OUTFIT WITHOUT THE RIGHT ACCESSORIES

  The Bag Ate My Hair! KAREN

  My red Chloe handbag with the chunky silver chain shoulder strap, outside zipper pockets, and luggage tag is one of my most cherished possessions. Wherever I go, people compliment it, from the hostess at the diner and my mother and her friends to bitchy drag queens I pass in the Meatpacking District on afternoon walks and even bitchier fashion editors. I wear it with everything and every color. It is my bag soul mate, the one I’ve been searching for my whole life. Like the right man, it’s the addition to my world that makes it just that much more complete.

  Yes, the right bag can do all of that.

  I have spent time polishing the silver chains, treating the leather, and organizing all of its contents in order to maintain the bag so that it never looks worn and beaten down. I have given it 100 percent of my love and attention. I bring it all over town. I show it the world. I treat it with the utmost respect, adoration, and care. I hold it on my lap at movies and on airplanes. I would never banish it to the floor! I never take it for granted, especially considering that I’m one of the few who snatched it from the shelves before it sold out (a karmic blessing).

  No different from some of the guys I’ve dated and treated well only to be stomped on, my red leather friend has an aggressive way of showing me the feeling is not mutual. More often than not, the chain gets tangled in my locks and bites down so tightly on them that no amount of sweet manipulation will set me free. I am forced to tug and pull, often removing large chunks of hair along the way. It happens at the most inopportune moments—in the elevator on my way up to meetings with important editors (I actually walked into one fashion director’s office with the bag attached to my head. She got out the scissors and said, “This will hurt you more than it will me”), while trying to hail a taxi, and shopping in the Chloe store, where the bag, I think, should be on its best behavior. It is, after all, where it came from!

  Exhibit A. Mel, carrying the hair-eating chain-link handle. It’s safer that way.

  It’s a sad, sad thing when good fashion goes bad. But it happens to the best of us. And you know what? It’s worth the fight. I am confident that we’ll be able to get through this trying point of our relationship in time, which, luckily, heals all wounds. Thank gosh. I have a bald spot just above my right ear!

  Speak Softly and Carry a Great Handbag

  Most fashionistas are either shoe people or bag people. (Okay, most are both, but we don’t like to sound so greedy.) Like shoes, you can never own enough handbags. These are the styles that will set you apart as a member of the tribe (MOT).

  Clutch—A strapless bag, fabulous for the P.M. A mini clutch is a very small clutch.

  Envelope clutch—A longer clutch shaped much like an envelope. (Easy to hail taxis with, bad for also holding shopping bags!)

  Evening bags—They tend to be small, often are bejeweled, and may even have a bracelet handle.

  The clutch! Look, ma! No straps!

  Messenger bags—Bags with a long strap that crosses the chest diagonally so that the roomy pouch sits at the hips. Named after bike messengers who carry this style to transport packages.

  Oversize—Whether it’s a tote, a doctor bag, a bowling bag, or just a large hobo, you need one extra-large bag to trundle all your stuff in.

  Doctor—The classic doctor bag is a great sturdy shape for everyday use.

  Tote—A utilitarian bag with an open top,
two handles, and a square pouch usually large enough to hold a few magazines, running shoes, a sweater, a small umbrella, a notebook, and all of your necessities. Similar to the shape of a shopping bag.

  The man purse—Any kind of bag a man holds. Typically, older, graying Euro-trash carry clutches (yeesh!) and urban hipsters go with messenger styles. Note: Straight men should never have a Prada bag.

  The beloved Balenciaga motorcycle bag.

  Designer—You can have as many knockoffs and fakes as you please, but all fashionistas own at least one real, bought-at-the-flagship-store, spent-all-my-money-on-it, superdesigner handbag, even if it meant saving up for years. Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Fendi, Bottega Veneta, Hermès, logoed or unlogoed, it doesn’t matter. Barrel shape, lunchbox style, satchel, or any shape will do. Just make sure to buy one if you haven’t already.

  Arf, darling. Arf.

  A bag for Jean-Claude—Fashionistas like to carry their little pooches everywhere; hence, it’s very important to find a roomy bag for your pet.

  The Contents of the Fashionista Handbag

  Cell phone—The smaller the better.

  MAC Blot tissue-paper wipes—Cure-all for shiny face.

  Kiehl’s lip balm—Chapped lips are the devil’s handiwork!

  Credit cards—Keep cash to a minimum.

  Orly nail file and nail polish—Carry your own color (and maybe a clear one to stop stocking runs).

  Chanel lip gloss and lipstick.

  Chanel blush/compact—Important to have a mirror.

  Flip-flops—Comfortable shoes to change into.

  Designer wallet with many credit cards, ID.

  Fabulous sunglasses.

  Change purse that doubles as a business-card holder. Karen’s reads “get rich quick” on the front.