A Death (and a parallel rebound)

Dear Velvet striped cashmere cardigan,
I will always love you. I fear what transatlantic flights and buildings with overenthusiastic central air will feel like without you wrapped snugly around me. The hair on my arms will stand straight up (not flattering, but too true to lie about) and my goosebumps will rival Everest. How could this happen, what with all of the tender loving care that I afforded you? I never let the rain get the chance to harm you, and I always folded you with care. And yet, there is still a vicious and slowly widening tear on the elbow. I will try to salvage you, armed with some white thread and perhaps a big glass of Chianti. But it probably won't work so I must emotionally and mentally prepare myself. We spent many beautiful days together - some layered over one of my James Perse tees, others bolstering the warmth of a green suede Philosophy di Alberta Ferretti jacket, and never once buttoned (I would never do that to you, buttercup). Your cream and seaweed-blue-green-the-best-color-ever stripes matched nearly everything I wore with you, and you made my wrists look delicate. You were light, you were warm, and you were cute. With the addition of glasses, you allowed me to venture into "sexy (but smart!) librarian" territory. We were invincible together! Was it my umbrella that did this to you when you were both tucked safely (or so I thought) in my purse? Was it me? I'm so distraught...




...what? There's a 50% off sale at Lutz & Patmos? New colors? V-neck, mother-of-pearl button, long-sleeved sweaters? RIP old Velvet cardigan love you forever goodbye!

Camellia Conundrum

A few years ago, I spent my birthday in the Chanel flagship store in Paris. My mother offered to buy me a Chanel camellia pin for the occasion as my one and only present. I am not stupid. I mean, this was beyond going halvsies, which is what I usually try to pull. I said yes immediately. So, for a truly obscene amount of money that would cause my father nothing less than cardiac arrest, I acquired a classic, beautifully-made accessory that would last me a lifetime. Until I forgot to take it off a top and discovered sad little petals as I was folding my laundry. RIP, darling:

My mom bought me another camellia last Christmas as my one and only present. Please keep in mind that my mother is my favorite person on the planet, and the feeling seems to be mutual. I'm not trying to say that I'm not spoiled (could I even begin to make a case?), but it's not as though she throws a Visa at me before continuing to choose between Botox and Restylane. We're tight.
Anyway, I'd been under the impression that this rather small fabric camellia would be stylistically comparable to the enormous flowers that Carrie Bradshaw wears (for reference, Sex & the City Season 3 Episode 2 "Politically Erect). I'd never been so wrong. It looked like a snazzy cauliflower had sprouted and bloomed on my unimpressive decolletage.
Natch, I turned my eye to two designers known quite well for their tasteful use of embellishment - Chanel (obviously) and Vera Wang:

Alas, I'd figured out where I was slipping up. Although Vera Wang, shown on the right, doesn't use flowers specifically, the detail is placed together and in clumps. As I zoomed into this until my eyes began to bleed, I couldn't find any hint of this being a necklace other than its shape and placement, which work well to flatter and draw attention to the neckline.
Unfortunately, I can't reinvent my brooch as necklace. By can't, I mean I don't want to. So I turned to Chanel. Ah, Karl Karl Karl. When you fail, you fail hard. This isn't very tasteful at all. I understand the sentiment behind the flowers on the bodice, but the skirt? Really? Truly? Nevertheless, look beyond tackiness and notice that generally, the flowers are once again positioned in groups. They're not overpowering, nor are they too unimposing and forgettable and, let's face it, awkward.
Unfortunately, I have better things to do than shell out several hundred dollars on a silk flower. Or the several that are, apparently, necessary to make them work. I have one, I'll have it forever, and I'll try not to leave it in the laundry or squirt ketchup on it. I plan on buying small pins, grey or silver organza (or tulle, whichever I find first), and ribbon. I'll fashion some myself and won't bat an eye when I set one on fire. That way, I can cover myself in flowers and no one will be the wiser.

To Fringe or Not to Fringe

Let's talk about fringe. Am I a fan? Not really. Plus, I'm self-aware enough to understand that if I were nervous, I'd be inclined to pull on the fringe and break it off. I don't wear boots with spurs and I don't wear cowboy hats (neither of which are even acceptable north of the Mason-Dixon line), so why oh why would I fall for fringe, however reluctantly?

Rule one: In order to reel in the nutso factor of fringe a bit, the fringe should be the exact same color as the piece. And I mean perfectly camouflaged. I cannot stress this enough. Compare these two little Free People chickabidees:

The fact notwithstanding that the model on the right looks like she's just finished up 150 years of chainsmoking, the black top works. Disregarding my natural bias considering I'm currently wearing said top, the fringe isn't garish or obvious upon first glance. They accent the neckline of the top instead of stealing the show entirely, and convey a vibe that's more "a top with fringe" than "BEWARE of fringe thicket." Now, a perfect example of the latter would be the maroon shirt on the left - same cut and material, but the fringe is a noticeably different shade than the base. The viewer's eye immediately zeroes in on the fringe, in the way that you can't help noticing a snaggletooth or a blue giant mole. Hence, exhibit a, why the fringe must match exactly; for fringe to work, it can only be an accessory, a back-up dancer to your Britney of an outfit.

Rule two: the fringe stands alone. This means no rhinestones, no studs, no garish shades, no daring patterns, and no odd textures throw in. Why?

That's why.

Rule three: the fringe cannot be as long as your hair. After a certain point, it crosses into Cousin It territory and leaves stylish far, far behind. Fringe shouldn't be the focal point of any outfit, even as a purse. Case in point:

It becomes a whole new creature. Where have you tethered your horse, Eva-Pigford-of-America's-Next-Top-Model-my-favorite-show-ever? It lacks tastefulness and refinement and ends up looking rather cheap. Perhaps this is a matter of preference, but shorter fringe tends to look more demure and delicate (as delicate as fringe can look). With the fringe this long and even layered, you take the chance of getting your watch lost in it. Or you run the risk of looking like you've recently swaddled your newborn baby, who has just been thrown into a paper shredder. It is OVERKILL. The bottom line is, bigger (or longer, in this case) is not necessarily better, it just depends on how you use it. Just like everything else.

Citizens Versus Earnest Sewn

I had a torrid love affair with Citizens of Humanity. And it was so hot. So hot that the spark was still there even after I skidded across the floor in Grand Central's main concourse trying to catch a train, and my new jeans unceremoniously tore at the knee. What successfully smothered the flame altogether was when another pair ripped at the same spot while I was exuberantly jumping for joy after another consecutive win at Singstar Karaoke. And these are my knees. This isn't a matter of weight gain or motivational shopping. Good denim should simply wear well, retain its shape, and survive the result of multiple video game wins.
I fell deeply out of love with Citizens and into the open arms of Earnest Sewn. How I chose Earnest Sewn, I don't quite remember. It had something to do with Barneys and the Harlan cut making my ass look like 70 degrees on a February weekend in Chicago. This is unimportant. The thing is, Earnest Sewn jeans are made of steel. I'm doing squats and lunges as I type, yet the denim is still intact. It is milled in either Japan or Italy and later cut and assembled in the United States. The material itself is supple but strong, and the weight is closer to True Religion than Joe's Jeans (meaning it's heavier. Joe's Jeans are made of rice paper). The cut (Harlan is my personal favorite) is extremely flattering as well, and most of the washes are specifically chosen to give the illusion of longer legs. The only drawback that I can find with Earnest Sewn jeans is that the back pockets are placed a bit wide on the seat of the pants; for girls with hips that can't lie because they're too perfect for popping out babies, this makes the hips look even bigger.
Nevertheless, the trade-offs are worth it. I don't have $400 (including tax) worth of ragged and unworn Citizens sitting in my bureau, and if my hips seem a bit larger? I've heard that that's a turn-on.

Oh my darling oh my darling:

The Case for Lanvin

I have an inherent weakness for any ballet flats that make my size 9.5 feet seem dainty. But when these magical shoes ring in at a tear-inducing $530, you'd better know what you're paying for and why. I worked for about two months before I was able to save enough cash to afford the tax on these shoes. Nevertheless, keep in mind that if you calculate the value of price per wear, they cost me about $0.20/day.
A huge perk is the exclusivity. I first saw the Lanvin ballet flats in Elle magazine about two years ago, in the issue where Naomi Watts is on the cover. They were green, they were worn, they were perfect. Unfortunately, by the time I could afford them, Barneys (the only retailer on this side of the Atlantic that carries the flats. Big misstep there, Saks) had sold out of everything but the patent leather pairs. I refuse to pay more than $10 for patent leather - regular leather wears better than patent, looks more expensive, and lasts far longer. I was lucky that Barneys had just received a limited-quantity shipment of white leather flats with metallic silver edging. I tried them on. Housewives of New York gasped as my feet suddenly became a size 7. Factor in the assurance that no one west of Broadway would make it to Barneys in time to snag a pair, and I was sold. Rather, the shoes were sold. To me.
It's been two years and I have my eye on another pair. Why? Because it isn't until you buy them and open the rich, sky blue box that you figure out that they're handmade in Italy by craftsmen out of the finest calfskin available. Not one craftsman, but two! And they devote two weeks to your two shoes, that fit snugly and perfectly on your two feet. It's a sickness, sure, but the best sickness ever. The calfskin is soft, supple, and durable, though it does require care. I don't eat veal so I consider this a proper tradeoff.

I'll admit that this isn't the shoe's best angle, so try to find them up close and personal and tell me you don't fall deeply in love. I've decided, upon my family's recent decision to go to France for the fourth year in a row (we really enjoy escargot), that I'm going to waltz into the Lanvin flagship in Paris and choose from a much wider array than what Barneys offers. I also want to find Alber Elbaz, give him a hug, and make him my best friend forever. Conveniently, I have a good three weeks before this dream comes to fruition, so hopefully I'll work enough to compensate for the dollars (decreasing) weakness against the euro.

Woodbury Commons or, Why I Love Outlets

I'm of the camp that believes if an item is on sale, then nobody else wants it. And when push comes to shove, who wants something that no one else wants? There may be some potential, but it takes an innovative and creative eye to see the good in something so rejected, even at a low price. For those of us who aren't so charitable, we have outlets to fall back on.

I'm talking specifically about Woodbury Commons, nestled mere feet from, but not quite in, New Jersey. New Jersey loves the outlets but most people don't love New Jersey, so this geographical strategy was a top-notch decision. Located off of the NY Thruway at the Harriman Tolls, these outlets appeal to jaded New Yorkers, Asian tourists, and New Jersey soccer moms alike.
The first thing to take note of is the fact that while many of the stores are not cheap, you can hit the occasional jackpot if you take long enough to scour Tods or Fendi. You will never find a decent sale in Prada or Chanel, but the YSL, Max Mara, and Bottega Veneta boutiques are truly fantastic. Most of the items within the stores are past season stock that didn't hit it big enough to demand a waitlist. Even better are the budget-conscious chains, such as J. Crew and French Connection, which offer many designs for less than $100.
The only catch to this fantastic warehouse of perfectly good designer buys is that you have to dodge various Asians (many of them my own family members) taking pictures in front of every store as well as the inevitable duds that you're bound to come across. There are SO MANY marked-down Tods ballet flats, but you might be better off sticking with this season's splurge that doesn't have patent leather tips.
I was lucky enough to stumble across these darlings, a pair of strappy black patent leather Fendi sandals for half the original price. Sure, they were shown in the Spring 2009 show, but they're kind to both my wallet, my legs, and my self-confidence. When all is said and done, there's no going wrong with a great find like such.

(Note: The Tanger Outlets have various locations along the northeasten seaboard, in the event that Woodbury Commons is not in your backyard)

Topshop Versus Uniqlo

While both foreign imports reign within a mere few blocks of one another in the heart of Soho, Uniqlo and Topshop manage to cater to extremely varied clientele. First, Uniqlo. Let's be real - take a peek here and just admit that this is an eerily glorified version of American Apparel. The Broadway store itself is similar, although Uniqlo is cleaner, bigger, and much less of a mass market. Agyness Deyn can vouch for it until she turns blue in the face, but face it: there are only so many ways to reimagine a tank. Nevertheless, Uniqlo is fresh from Japan and boasts colorful basics at a considerably low price point, save for the occasional capsule collection by Alexander Wang and the forthcoming Jil Sander, aptly christened +J. This is cool, Uniqlo. Jil Sander, in particular, fits in with the clean, neat lines of the Uniqlo staples while Mr. Wang has an obvious weakness for simple, well-cut tees, hence the recent creation of T by Alexander Wang. These not only fail to be surprises, but will bring nothing very innovative to the store. The most credit I can offer to Uniqlo is the successful wooing of Sander in the first place, as she's a much more seasoned designer than Wang.

Ahh, but Topshop has Kate Moss, muse to experimental preteens worldwide. Admittedly, when I first stepped into the US flagship on Broome St. and Broadway, I inwardly groaned at the idea of an even trendier H&M (is that even possible?). But to my delight, Topshop happens to be four floors of pure sex. First of all, as a college junior, I'd like to applaud the fact that the store offers a 10% discount with a student ID. ALL OF THE TIME. If that's not an incentive, well just knee me in the heart. Additionally, Topshop not only carries the cheapest basics I've ever seen in my life, but dabbles (and by dabbles, I mean obsesses over) trends as well.
Pour exemple, if you look closely at these shots from the Dior Homme Spring 2010 collection, what do you see?

Cheekbones chiseled out of my stone cold heart? Check! Anything else? WHY YES, THAT IS MESH. And if you think very hard, who oh who would carry mesh pieces? Right, Topshop. I would know because I purchased, for 10% off of its not-very-exorbitant price, a lavender mesh motorcycle jacket. I understand that this sounds rather impractical, but when you consider that the price point, though not without a wide range, is not much higher than that of Uniqlo, this buy makes more sense than buying two tees that I already own.

In addition to the mesh, please note that the cut of the jacket hints at the hit piece that Christophe Decarnin of Balmain created for the label's Fall 2009 show. A happy purple marriage of the current mesh and the tried-and-true cut? I'm down.
Another perk is (hence the shoddy home photo quality) since the only American store is in Soho, if you can hoof it there and find something exclusive within the flagship, you won't have someone else mentioning that they bought the same exact thing online. The jacket, clearly, is not available online.

When you tally up the pros and cons of each store, Topshop is the clear winner as far as variety, price, and good clean fun go. Until we see what Ms. Sander has to offer, Uniqlo won't be a worthwhile stop for a wary shopper in NYC.