Shoe-revelation

The secret passion that many women have harbored for years, I have escaped for most of my life.

Earlier in the new millennium, my obsession was jeans. There was a two-year period where I probably grossed about 20 pair. Hearing brand names like 7 For All Mankind, True Religion, Citizens for Humanity, and even Levi’s, did for me what Red Bull and Vodka did for others. I’m happy to say that I’ve moved on, and in the last year my denim-fetish has waned. I’m less about the label now, and more about the cut and fit. Since last fall I’ve added just one new pair to my collection (True Religion Jane in Dusty Road) I’m proud to say.

No, it wasn’t jeans that I was spending my hard-earned dollars on and living paycheck-to-paycheck in for this past year, it was boots. [Pause to reflect on the beauty of the boot] As I was saying, it was about a year ago that the boot entered my consciousness, specifically the FLAT boot in all its glory. It started with a supple pair of brown leather riding boots from JCrew and escalated into a collection that included the brown cuff boot, flat black riding boot, tan flat riding boot (for spring, of course), and short black engineer slouch boot from Frye. Boots are possibly the top reason I look forward to fall and winter outfits, and I’m always a little sad when the mercury starts to rise and my calves begin to – well – get a little too warm in the leather shaft of a boot. There’s only so much a pair of Spanx knee-highs can be expected to do.

Recent spring/summer purchases have driven me to become acutely aware of my [lack of] spring/summer shoes. It’s abominable, really. I have one pair of grey leather mary janes (closed toe), and pair of brown leather strappy wedge sandals that are least 3 years old (that’s 21 in NYC street years), and a variety of beaten-up flat sandals. I have always thought of summer as that season for which you buy “disposable clothing.” The heat, the sweat, the grime of the city takes a toll on clothes and shoes. When it’s 85 and humid, you get one wear out of a tshirt or dress and then it’s right back into the wash. Woolite and Ivory Snow help stave off fading and breaking down, but not for long. The same goes for shoes. I’m meticulous about keeping them clean and polished, but the city streets are hard, giving them a very short shelf-life. I have many friends who refuse to where an open sandal or flip flop in the city in the summer. And rightfully so – the germs that are bred and baked on the street on a hot summer day…ugh…it’s like the city becomes one giant petri dish of bacterial infection. I, however, laugh in the face of infection and regularly wear sandals that are so thin my friend always says they’re no better than wearing a pair of tissues wrapped on your feet. I’ll refrain from providing a lesson in hygiene, but know that regular pedicures help stave off any issues.

Enter The Wedge. In Webster’s a wedge is defined as a piece of hard material with two principal faces meeting in a sharply acute angle. I’m writing to Miriam asking if she would add to the definition with: brilliantly designed woman’s shoe that adds height, without sacrificing comfort, and style without breaking the bank. Not sure about the rest of you, but I’m onto something here for the summer months. Wedges can vary in height from 2 inches to 4, keeping lovely manicured feet above dirty, germy pavement. Leather, pleather, linen, canvas, open-toed, sling-backed, ankle-strapped, suede-lined slides, wood-soled, or flexible-synthetic-soled wedges…pick your poison. I’m agog at the number of varieties there are, really. Espadrilles and Kork-Ease are the classics, but look for brands like Frye, Seychelles, Charlotte Ronson, Matiko, Chie Mahara, and others churning out some modern classics, in every color combination imaginable. I suddenly need a different pair for each summer frock and outfit! At long last I understand woman’s obsession with shoes!

Though NYC is breaking records for temps today, there’s a good two months left of boot-wearing here in the northeast. And though I’ll savor every last moment of the season, I won’t be caught without when that first warm sunny spring day hits.

Recession Jeans

It was a gloomy day on Wall Street today. The bears beat the bulls...to a pulp. While the cry from the floor was "Sell, sell, sell!" not "Buy, buy, buy!" My cry was "Why, why, why?"

It's mid-winter. What tops, sweaters, pants, skirts, and dresses, felt like a breath of fresh air two months ago, feel like they have a choke-hold on me today. It's late January, and right about now is when I contract a bad case of "I-hate-everything-in-my-closet-itis." The only glimmer of hope and sliver of happiness, are those harbingers of warmer weather and a new season of clothes - the many catalogs that continue to appear in my mailbox, even though the holidays passed a month ago.

Post-holiday. Credit card bills. Bear market. On Larry King tonight, financial analyst Jerry Lewis dished the straight poop--BE CONSERVATIVE WITH YOUR MONEY, i.e. DON'T SPEND, PAY DOWN CREDIT CARD DEBT, STAY ON TOP OF YOUR BILLS.... blah and waah. Oy. But something in what she said rings true.

So, until there's a correction in the market and those bulls start charging again, it's time for me to get creative. Maybe I'll pull out some old jeans that haven't seen daylight in months or perhaps even a year, give them a few new rips and shreds, or convert into a new jean skirt. I'll pretend that my dry cleaner is a fancy NYC boutique where for just $13.50 I pick up a designer dress (that in actuality has been held hostage for the last 4 weeks since no dry cleaner in NYC ever is or ever will be open on Sundays...) I'll turn the heat on full blast, warm my apartment up to a balmy 95 degrees, lay out a beach towel in my bikini, and sip an iced cold Corona and lime while watching surfing movies...

Recession-shmession...it's a yin and a yang kind of world we live in. What goes up must come down and go back up again. You know that, and I know that. Toro toro bulls!! Those bears will realize it's time to hibernate soon...

Get your motor runnin'

Dust off the old leather bomber girls, or better yet, buy a new one, cropped, fitted, and cute (look up Mike&Chris, D&G, Madison Marcus, or L.A.M.B.) Add flirty feminine frock-with-tall boots with leggings, or over-the-knee socks. Or underscore with floral silk blouse-faded wide leg lightweight denim jeans-ballet flats combo. Play it up or down with chains (layered, delicate, multiple strands, with feathers intertwined), big chunky rings (no spikes!). Layer on the Jovan musk or Love's Baby Soft. Add Bruce and strut.

Hanks a lot

Hanks and skeins. Guage, slub, nub, and boucle. Chenille or spiral. Needles, hooks, pins, yarnover and casting on. Slip slip knit, slip knit pass.... the peculiar language of knitting! I took up knitting about three Christmas's ago when my sister gave to me as a gift, a set of needles, a book on knitting, and several skeins of yarn to get started. In three years, I taught myself - and have pretty much mastered - casting on, knit and purl, garter and seed stitches, and how to make a cable...the basics. Which has added up to at least a half dozen scarves, and hats, including items knit for friends as well as Peanut, an old tiny teddy bear I own with wobbly head and legs. His little scarf keeps him warm, while supporting his head.

As much as I revel in the thrill of shopping for items perfectly constructed and manufactured by someone else, it doesn't match the feeling of making something with your own hands. Knitting stores are wonderful, cozy places to visit. Cubbyholes are usually packed with colorful hanks and skeins of soft merinos, rough hand-spun worsted wools, baby soft alpacas, shlubby chenilles, flat cottons that look like long strands of linguine, and peculiar looking strands called flutter that add a touch of whimsy to patterns. And the patterns! From simple simple chunky scarfs and hats and mittens, to difficult shawls and cardigan sweaters that I aspire to make - the finished pictures of which would make you drool.

I'm better at holding knitting needles now than I am at holding chopsticks. I love the feel of the warm wood or bamboo in my hands, manipulating the soft yarns - through, up and over, down and through again. Each stitch, one stitch closer to the finished product. It's meditative, calming - until you notice a hole like the hole in a piece of swiss cheese because you've dropped a stitch two rows back...

I knit at home, on my way to and from work, and while traveling. I once made a hat on a flight west to Maui. I've seen people knitting socks on subways, and hats on the cold winter sidewalks of SoHo, New York with ear flaps and all. Simple materials that work anywhere. A simple stand of wool, grown off the back of a woolly sheep, that grows into something charming and wooly to wear...

What I'm thankful for...

1621. The first Thanksgiving held in Plymouth, Massachusetts.
Puritans and Native Americans giving thanks at the end of the harvest season.
Women wearing full skirts, bodices, aprons, and bonnets called coifs and biggins to keep their hair clean...
Men sporting loose fitting blouses, breeches gathered at the knee, high socks, tall leather boots, and Puritan Hats--tall conical hats with a large round brim decorated with a buckle and belt. And Native Americans in moccasins to protect their feet, pants, loincloths, and skirts and dresses made of tanned deer hide, soft as butter.

Clothing was sometimes stylish, but mostly functional, and all was handmade. There were no malls, no mail order catalogs, no online stores, no magazines with high fashion models pushing the latest trends.

Four hundred years ago is was about the essentials. Today it's all about excess. As I reflect upon the day, and think about what I am thankful for, I'll also reflect upon whether or not it's absolutely necessary that I own close to 20 pairs of jeans, dozens of shirts and t-shirts in every conceivable hue, numerous chunky knit sweaters, dresses, and skirts in numbers that make it hard to close dresser drawers and closet doors.

Though I'm thankful for brands like True Religion, Michael Stars, Odd Molly, Dream Society, and Velvet, and for retail and online stores like Loehmanns, Urban Outfitters, JCrew, RevolveClothing, and ShopBop, I realize that it's all just superficial fluff. What I'm truly thankful for is my family that I'm spending this day with, a new love in my life, my best and closest friends near and far away, and my health. I'm grateful for the year I've had, and wish everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving and a happy holiday season ahead.

Give 'em the slip

As passionate as I am about the exterior look of clothing, I'm currently all about what lies beneath.

There's a passage in the book EAT, PRAY, LOVE (which if you haven't read yet, if you don't do any else this Saturday afternoon, get to a bookstore, buy a copy, and read immediately) when in Italy, after having had a discussion with her friend Luca Spaghetti about how "SEX" is Rome's "word of the city" (as it is what all Romans think about all of the time while walking, working, and well, making love) when Elizabeth Gilbert goes on a lingerie buying spree. She is searching for her own "word" and is led into a little boutique off of the Via Condotti where she spends several hours under the tutelage of a sales associate and buys "enough lingerie to keep a sultan's consort outfitted for 1,001 nights." She continues, "I bought bras of every shape and formation. I bought filmy, flimsy camisoles, and sassy bits of panty in every color of the Easter basket, and slips that came in creamy satins and hush-now-baby silks, and handmade little bits of strings and things, and bascially just one velvety, lacy, crazy valentine after another." "Per chi?" (Why?) She did not know yet.

When I was little, one of my chores was to iron fresh laundry. My mom started me off on simple things like sheets or my dad's hankies - anything flat, and square - but I graduated to other more difficult items like pleated uniform skirts, blouses, and eventually even slips. I never understood slips. I hated to iron them, and never wanted to wear them. I mean, I already had underwear on, why on earth did I need another layer of clothing between my sensible cotton underpants and training bra, and my outer clothes?

My mom had drawers of them made out of silk and satin and cotton voile. Adjustable straps of ribbon-like material, with lacy insets and pin-tuck stitched detailing at the chest. Tiny little bows and rosette accents. The material was slippery so no matter how neatly I folded them, one touch to move them and they'd fall undone. Looking back, I realize that their undone-ness was part of their genetic makeup. A slip is meant to be removed (by oneself, or by another) and allowed to float gently to the floor, and left in a satiny mess. Straps are meant to slide off shoulders and hems are meant to peek out playfully and invitingly. A slip is practical in that the extra layer it provides between your skin and your clothes can either provide warmth, or keep you cool, and protects your clothes prolonging their life. The right-brain character of the slip though is that it is sensual - the silky, soft, delicate fabrics hug your body boosting your libido and confidence. I swear they'll even change how you walk - put on a slip and suddenly your hips find a rhythm they never knew they had.

There's a lingerie & slip revival of sorts happening right now (in America, at least...lingerie is de rigeur in other parts of the world). Look through magazines and catalogs and you'll see them everywhere. Tip: believe it or not, Urban Outfitters lingerie category carries a good selection - black, cream, pink, baby blue; satin, silk, cotton; lace-trimmed, spaghetti-strapped, empire-waist and a-line ... it's a good place to get started. I challenge you to buy one. Just one. And wear it. And then I challenge you to not buy dozens more.

The A-List

I have closets and drawers stuffed with clothes. Enough things that if I wore a different item every day, I could make it from now until New Years without repeating a one. Why then does it always happen that across the span of a wardrobe's lifetime there's always that one particular piece of clothing, or particular outfit that I love more than all others that if I could, I would wear every day of the week? Everyone has their favorites whether it's a busted up, ripped up, beaten up old pair of jeans being held together by patches of old bandanas, hand-stitched at the crotch; an old t-shirt soft as butter, thread bare at the neck, that never ever gets thrown in with the regular wash; a leather jacket, circa 19--, ripping at the seams, buttons falling off and/or replaced several times.... we all own things like this. It's about how they look on, how they make you feel when you wear them, or better yet, how you felt when wearing them at a particular time in your life. They are the ones we love the most and would cry over longest if anything ever happened to them. They are the A-List.

Those who know me have heard me say that if there was ever a fire in my apartment bulding, god forbid, and I needed to evacuate, the first thing I'd grab and launch out my front window, before myself, is my old pair of flare 7s, blown out at the knee, the ones that fit my butt perfectly. Embedded into the fibers of these jeans is the dust, beer, sweat and peanut shells from dozens of perfect sunny summer saturday afternoons spent at Yankees games with my girlfriends, a couple of years ago. It was perhaps one of the best summer's I've ever spent here in New York. Wrapped up in those jeans are moments of hysterical laughter, cheers, commiseration, support, and bonding. I don't fold them in with the B-list stack of jeans. They hang solitarily on a smooth wooden hanger always at the ready whenever I'm feeling a little nostalgic for the good old days.

Today in Loehmann's, groping my way through the new stacks of JBrand jeans, I overheard a girl say to her friend how she desperately needed to do a Fall closet cleanout -- that it was time to get rid of those old Levi's she had, clogging up valuable closet space. My heart skipped a beat, and I paused, tempted to convince her otherwise, to consider the places and spaces in time those old Levi's had been with her through.

But I didn't. If they're A-list material, they'll make their own case to stay. On my way out I found an Italian wool and mohair cardigan in deep aubergine, with simple little buttons down the front--it'll look adorable with my American Vintage camisole, and 7s. A-list material? Not yet. But with time, experience, and a little seasoning, it just might earn its spot in my closet.

Seasonal crossroads

If you live in the Northeast, or any place that experiences more than one season, you're at that point of the year--that seasonal cusp--that elicits a variety of emotions in people and is reflected in their clothes. On a mid-September day on the sidewalks of New York City you might see outfits that range from light, flirty sundresses and Grecian lace-up sandals, to moleskin a-line skirts, long-sleeved blouses and tall leather boots. It's that time of year that you experience the pang of despair in saying goodbye to summer, yet that rush of adrenaline as the mercury dips below 70'F and clothes you haven't seen in months suddenly start peaking out of your closet and drawers, winking at you.

"Psst....hey, remember me? That long black cardigan that barely left your body last winter?"

"Well hello old friend. Been thinking about you, and to be sure, you'll be back again this winter, as I've been hard at work planning my new Fall and Winter look."

For the past few weeks, all brand-name retailers, and online stores have been rolling out the new season. My virtual shopping cart is overloaded with playful frocks in corduroy and wool, silky tops, cashmere and pima cotton items soft as baby's' bottoms, boots in leather or suede, tall and short, chunky heeled and plain, buckled and unadorned. Over-the-knee socks, ribbed tights, tortoise-shell bracelets with lockets and keys dangling at the close, and coats to top it all off! As far as I'm concerned, there's no harm in looking. For when summer's wardrobe makes one last curtain call, when that last balmy breeze blows off the Hudson and the sun is just warm enough to leave the sweater at home one last time, and the temperatures drop even further, I'll be ready. My cursor, patiently hovering above the "complete purchase" button, will be called to action, and then, oh joy, I wait as the boxes and envelopes arrive, harbingers of the new season.

Back to school variations

YESTERDAY: Plaid skirt. Crisp white button down. Navy blue wool cardigan. Blue knee socks. Sperry Topsider Boat Shoes. Librarian frames. Friendship bracelet. Yellow school bus.

Two back-to-school trends I'm diggin' today:

Labor Day Outlet Shopping Post-Mortem

I don't outlet shop on a regular basis. I consider myself an omnivoric-shopper -- one who shops in boutiques like Olive&Bettes, specialty stores like Verve, department stores like Bloomies, and discount stores like Loehmanns, and of course--online, at my favorite stops listed to the left. But there's something to be said for hauling ones-self to an outlet mall where multiple brands both designer and everyday, abut one another in an outdoor, modern-day agora-like setting.

This past weekend hundreds of thousands of people (mostly women) participated in a shopping holiday frenzy that must be second only to the Christmas holiday season, in terms of volume and spending. Myself, sister, niece, and best friend and co-shopper-in-crime made our pilgrimage to an outlet center to take advantage of deep discounts and sales happening for the Labor Day weekend. Our shopping mecca destination--Wrentham, Massachusetts.

It was a very good day. And a little advanced planning completely paid off. We were fed and hydrated, and arrived at our destination within the first two hours of the stores opening. The evening before, we scanned the list of brands and stores at Wrentham, so when we got there we had a plan of attack--JCrew, the Gap, Ugg, Michael Kors, Banana Republic, Williams&Sonoma, were among the top stores to hit. There was no strolling, no chit chat. And once in a store, we systematically worked the floor, scanning wracks, and checking price tags. When the occasion called for it, we split up, but never for long. We stayed together for moments of approval "that looks adorable on you," moments of disapproval "not crazy about that cut on you, and the fabric feels cheap," and moments of unbridled joy and unconditional support: "OH MY GOD that bag is gorgeous!" Me, "But it's $279..." "Yes, but how much was it originally?" Me, "$389. And I've had my eye on it for weeks." "It is so you. You have to get it." Me--Done.

The trick to outlet shopping is to go in without expectation or low expectations. Keep an open mind. Do not go in looking for that ONE item you saw in the most recent JCrew catalog. There's a good chance you won't find it. Most outlets operate weeks, months, and even seasons behind.

We came, we saw, and we all left with some killer deals. My two finds--a Michael Kors black leather handbag with gold hardware accent that is to-die-for, and a new pair of scrumptious shearling lined leather UGGs that will keep me warm on the many shopping excursions I'll find myself on in the city this winter.