A Guide to Quality, Taste and Style (3 page)

Look, I am only too cognizant of the fact that I am not a Dolce & Gabbana or Dsquared2 kind of guy, so a leather blazer was an excellent transitional piece for me. I found a great one at Saks. It was Hugo Boss and it was—gulp—
800. I loved it. I bought it. And I left Saks in a retail daze, because
800 was my clothing budget for the year. I crossed Fifth Avenue to Rockefeller Center and stumbled into Banana Republic. I recognized that I was in a stupor, but I believed that I spotted a black leather blazer identical to the one I just bought. Was that possible? I moved forward and, sure enough, it was entirely possible. More important, the blazer was only
400! I bought it. I even opened a Banana Republic account and saved 20 percent, too. Then, I crossed Fifth Avenue, again, to return the earlier purchase. I was so proud of myself: mission accomplished and at a 50 percent savings! Most notable for me was that with that blazer, I experienced for the first time and first-hand the incredible virtues of black: It’s sophisticated, slimming, and always in style. Furthermore, you don’t have to think about “does this go with that?” It’s black. It goes. So now I have a closet filled with black suits, black jackets, black shirts, black sweaters, and black shoes. I can’t go back from black!

I’m not advocating that you wear the same thing in the same color day after day, but most of us are comfortable with a uniform. By “uniform,” I don’t mean a Stepford Wife blueprint of exacting sameness. I mean a cache of
categories of separates that can successfully interact. My mother is constantly asking me how it can be that I wear so much black, adding, “And how many black turtlenecks must you own?” I know what I’m confident wearing, because I know that these articles of apparel look good on me. I’d say that I have five or six looks and iterations thereof. This makes selecting a look for the day a fairly easy exercise for me. I look at my itinerary, see which appointments I have and with whom, and dress for the highest level of expectation for that day.

I believe that most of us think the same way about our wardrobe; that is, we
like
having a uniform. Not one uniform, but a number of various looks, the components of which can be mixed around and accessorized. It’s essential that you identify looks—not merely items of clothing, but combinations that will be worn together: the silhouettes, proportions, colors, and textures of which flatter and enhance you. Then, stick with them! Do not stray! And don’t ever forget about fit!

Never forget that fashion,
your
fashion, cannot be comprehensively assessed without projecting it onto you; you need to try clothes on and look at yourself (and I prefer a three-way mirror for this purpose). When speaking about fashion and proportion, proportion includes the relationship between the clothes and your body; that is, what proportion is created between the hem of your skirt and your footwear, the bust-line of your dress and your neck and shoulders? If you observe these matters and can make the proportions work (and there’s no reason why any one of us can’t), then you’re light years ahead of the pack.

As you look in that three-way mirror, there are some questions to ponder, some traps to avoid. But before we describe these traps, we want to talk about vocabulary—the words and phrases you need to ask yourself the right questions about your style choices.

I subscribe to the notion of “Learn the grammar, then add the vocabulary.” Most people would attribute that statement to learning a foreign language. Indeed, fashion can be a foreign language. I am mindful of the power of vocabulary; it can unleash limitless quantities of defining and descriptive words and phrases that awaken the listener or the reader to new dimensions of understanding. (Whew! That sounds overly grand, doesn’t it?) But vocabulary can derail, render impotent, and befuddle meanings or intended meanings. The words that we choose to critically analyze people, places, and things are especially important, and we must be responsibly cognizant of what we intend to say.

Let’s take a fashion critique as an example, because I deal with this topic day in and day out. I ask my students to please not use the phrases, “I like it,” and “I don’t like it,” because, frankly, who cares whether you like it or don’t like it? Allow yourself to make a distinction between what appeals to you and what works for you. (If you love chartreuse but it looks dreadful on you, get your chartreuse fix around the house: perhaps some throw pillows would do it.) The critique should be about the qualities and/or inadequacies of what you see. Although everything we
observe we see through a lens that is informed by our experiences, I must insist that you not personalize what you see.

Although we (you and I) are, indeed, shopping together, metaphorically that is, I caution my students to
not
shop when looking critically at fashion. I advise my colleagues similarly when watching a fashion show. One colleague railed at me after the Annual Parsons Fashion Show last May:

Is it surprising that my colleague had nothing at all to say about the womenswear? No, because he was shopping for himself!

So, let me suggest some opening phrases that can allow you to have a more meaningful exchange of thoughts and observations:

P
OSITIVE
:

“I find this (insert item here) to be compelling, because . . .”

“I respond well to this, because . . .”

“I’m attracted to this, because . . .”

N
EGATIVE
:

“I’m not responding well to this, because . . .”

“This isn’t working for me, because . . .”

When considering things that you respond to, let me add that it’s important to express something, anything, even if you think you can’t find the correct word or words. If your viscera are saying, “no,” then listen.

Let me also suggest that you steer clear of statements that describe things that can’t be changed, or are unlikely to change, and matters that don’t advance the plot: “My foot is too long” is an example of the former and, “Everything I wear makes me look fat,” is an example of the latter.

The crimes of age and appropriateness are usually in the form of older women trying to look like teenagers. However, I have also witnessed too many cases of younger women dressing like matronly schoolmarms. The latter may be a matter of preference, although the question of “why?” eludes me. The former is simply sad. The only thing sadder is an older man, lifted and tucked, dyed and coiffed, and all dandied out. These Gustav von Aschenbachs make me want to weep.

For some reason, Manhattan’s Upper East Side is the
ne plus ultra
incubator for grandma jezebels and teenyboppers. Although surgical and non-surgical forms of cosmetic enhancement can successfully transform a face, I have yet to learn of a procedure that can transform
an Egyptian mummy into a wrinkle-free neonate. Just walk down Madison Avenue on a weekday afternoon and you’ll see the parade of Nefertitis, some in miniskirts and bandeaus of spandex (plus a mink coat in winter), and others in Parisian couture, usually vintage Lacroix. It’s all so horrifying to observe. But we should put these circus sideshows away, because they can’t be fixed. It’s too late and their commitment to this look is too powerful. Instead, let’s look at what can be fixed.

Agnes Gooch, or the dowdy schoolmarm, is a look that makes younger women appear thirty years older. I work with some people in this category: A baggy dirndl is their idea of a party dress. The schoolmarm assumes the look and posture of a sack of potatoes, so it’s not just the clothes that label her; it’s her carriage, too. You can wear a plaid skirt, a basic white shirt, and a tailored jacket and still look youthful and even a little sexy. Remember our mantra: silhouette, proportion, fit.

Is it just my perception or have we really become a nation of slobs? It’s a good thing that my maternal grandmother died in 1982 (she was always impeccable in a suit and hat), because the erosion of wardrobe protocols from the late ’80s onward would have destroyed her. It’s old news that sweats have become the de rigueur travel ensemble. And sadly, I’m used to LaGuardia Airport looking like a gymnasium—I don’t even notice those fleece getups anymore. I merely wish that they were confined to airports and health clubs. Recently, I was at the theater
with the divine and always superbly dressed Grace Mirabella, former editor-in-chief of
Vogue
and founder of
Mirabella
magazine. There we were in incomprehensibly expensive orchestra seats, and a couple scoots by us in matching workout suits. We were seeing Vanessa Redgrave in a Eugene O’Neill epic—not Cirque du Soleil. I wanted to shout, “Grace, don’t look!” But I was too late.

And then there’s the flip-flop phenomenon. Ugh. How is it that these slabs of rubber can proliferate so, even in winter? Where is this taking our society and culture other than into a long and winding fashion decline?

I’m not saying that you need to be trussed and harnessed like a rack of lamb, but consider semiotics: You’re sending a message about who you are. I’m perfectly comfortable as I sit and write this, and I’m wearing jeans
and a turtleneck. If firefighters were to burst into the room right now, I’d feel presentable. (This scenario is not implausible. It happened to me a number of years ago, when a neighbor thought that she saw smoke coming from one of my windows. It wasn’t. And the firefighters couldn’t have been more friendly and conciliatory.) But I will confess that I have my own slob ensemble—the world’s most comfortable, but wrecked, T-shirts and drawstring workout pants—but it doesn’t leave my apartment. And even
I
will troop over to the local deli for coffee, a bagel, and
The New York Times
wearing shorts and flip-flops, providing it’s summer. But with very few exceptions, I dress to meet and greet and engage without feeling underdressed or overdressed for the occasion. Listen, I’m not just talking about shopping at Barneys or meeting Diane von Furstenberg for a drink. We engage with someone when we pay for something, so merely leaving your home is a set-up for engagement. Oh, shut up, Tim.