Category Archives: Fashion

With many of us working from home these days, I have a feeling that some have given in to the comfort and ease of not having to dress up or make themselves the least bit presentable, and I just want to send out this plea to the universe that you STOP IT IMMEDIATELY. We are better than this. We are so much better than this. Just because no one’s going to be seeing you is no reason to give in to laziness and destructive habits. Rail against the death knell of sweats and slippers! 

On my first day of working from home, I toned it down with a Tallia tracksuit, patterned with chrysanthemums and cranes, and a spritz of ‘Black Saffron’ by Byredo. It’s in the same cozy vein as Tom Ford’s ‘Tuscan Leather’ which was perfect for the snowy day on which it was applied. In addition to looking good, one should smell good too. Don’t give up, people. Don’t let me down. Let’s lift it. You’ll feel better, I promise. 

Have you ever had a project you were working on that you didn’t want to end? It may have started off as a chore, but along the way you grew to love it, and by its completion you realized part of you didn’t want it to end? Maybe it was a really good book that you enjoyed so much you rushed through it, rapidly turning the pages until the last chapter, or a television series that you paused binge-watching midway through because you wanted to make it last. Such was the happy conundrum I found myself in when I was nearing the end of finishing a coat for our upcoming trip to New York.

Doing my best to curb some shopping and trying a new turn at sustainability (yawn), I’ve been recycling outfits and wardrobe instead of buying new things, and part of that involved updating a floral embroidered coat that I’ve worn for special times like anniversaries in Boston. With the bright lights of Broadway beckoning with ‘Plaza Suite’, a celebration of Skip’s birthday, an intimate performance by Betty Buckley at the Cafe Carlysle, and a weekend at the Plaza, I wanted something that would sparkle. While this coat had more than enough pizzazz to make a statement, updating it for a new decade meant pushing it completely over the top, with a few pounds of crystal beads employed for the revamping. With its floral pattern already outlined, it was just a matter of matching the beads to their background. It would be a heavy undertaking, and I understood the cost and labor and time involved in a single item of clothing that is so embellished. There was a valuable lesson in that.

In a dire winter, sewing each crystal bead onto the coat became an act of sanity, a thread connecting the otherwise-wayward days and nights into a singular purpose, taking my eyes off other troubling concerns and giving me a pretty focus with a goal that suddenly felt secondary to the act itself. It felt good crawling into bed at the end of a long sewing session, my fingers aching in the best possible way, reminding me of work done well, of a sense of accomplishment. Slowly but consistently, I worked diligently at my task, beneath the bright task lighting in the basement, beside the fire, returning to a few seasons of ‘Schitt’s Creek’, the iconic ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ with Marilyn Monroe, and a double-viewing of Tom Ford’s ‘A Single Man’ playing in the background. The coat grew in fabulousness, as well as tangible weight. After every session, I would slip it on, turning in the mirror to see what was left to do, witnessing and thrilling at how the beads were catching and throwing off the light. As the floral design was encrusted with crystals, I realized I was nearing the end.

The last part involved replacing the buttons. Strangely, when the coat came into my possession, it had these old, worn, brown wooden buttons completely at odds with the style and color of the coat itself, and probably thrown on when one of the original buttons went missing. Instead of buttons, as I didn’t intend to button this coat, I used large faceted crystals in shades of amethyst and emerald. As the final beads went on, and I neared the last part of the embellishment process, I found myself slowing and stalling. I understood I didn’t want it to end.

I also understood that I would need a new project soon. A night in New York is over far too quickly, no matter how brightly one may sparkle.

These are two pairs of holiday pants.

Some would say they’re my ‘Go-to-Hell’ pants.

As in, “If you don’t like them, you can go-to-hell.”

I’ll take both descriptions and own them.

I’m also going to wear the fuck out of these puppies this year because I finally fit my ass back into them thanks to a regimen of cutting out alcohol and eating what basically amounts to bird food. You know what they say: nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. 

I’m kidding, partly. I just finished off a bunch of pecan pralines, recipe forthcoming… and I intend to enjoy the holiday sweets and savories. All in moderation. 

Certain robes carry certain magic, in the same way that certain colors carry specific connotations. The velvet fuchsia seen here encompasses both, which is fitting as this particular robe straddles memories old and new. A relatively recent acquisition, it reminds me of an old favorite, but it comes with the changed space in which my friends and I find ourselves at this 44-year-old crux in our lives. So many things have changed in the last few years, but a constant has been my love for robes. I may not purchase many anymore, but every once in a while I’ll find one that strikes my fancy just enough to get me to splurge, and retail therapy is sometimes the best kind of therapy to be found.

This was a steal at Nordstrom Rack, which Kira and I stumbled upon while browsing there a year or two ago. I was on the fence about buying it – there is no real need for another robe at this, or any future, time in my life. Still, something called out to me and nudged me in its direction. Maybe it was the detailed in the sleeves and the ruched texture and tiny tassels that lent it distinction, setting it apart from all the other robes I’ve owned. Maybe it was the ornate fabric of the lining – a subtly iridescent blue that contrasted gorgeously with the fuchsia hue of velvet. Maybe it was just a day that felt gray and dowdy, and the only way out was to put this robe on and pretend I was someone and somewhere else. Whatever the cosmic reason or purpose for the purchase, the robe hung in my closet for a long time without being touched or used. This fall I brought it out and back to Boston for a couple of weekends, where I waited for Kira and JoAnn while lounging in its sumptuous excess.

Beauty is still a comfort. Beauty is still a balm. Beauty is still a method of dealing with all the madness that has become of the world. Pulling the velvet close to me, with nothing to separate us save for a pair of underwear, I sink into its luxurious shell. It’s the closest I can get to decadence these days, and it will have to do.

Sometimes costume gimmicks create themselves, as was the case with this semi-home-crafted fabric-glued party ensemble that had me adhering silk flowers to a watercolor robe, only to have them slowly fall off one by one during the entire duration of a party. It worked out well enough, and I promised that something magical would happen when the last flower fell. It’s good to build anticipation, even without a payoff, as we never did reach the final flower. A bit of performance art, that lasted but a day, and all the more beautiful because of it. Hey, you gotta have a gimmick, and I’m no good at bumping it with a trumpet, so falling flowers it is.

Embellished and adorned with myriad crystals (which were painstakingly sewed on one-by-one, despite my failing eyesight and imprecise handiwork) this is the coat that I’ve been saving for a special weekend, and thus far this year our Mother’s Day weekend in New York has been one of the most special. It garnered a number of adoring compliments, and one profanity-laced exclamation of admiration coupled with a vigorous handshake from an overly-enthusiastic construction worker. I’d anticipated the way it sparkled and threw off the light of day – I hadn’t expected the brilliance of what it would look like beneath the lights of Broadway. It was a fitting finale to a long weekend of sparkle, which is how trips with my Mom usually go. Things are just a little bit more magical when we travel together. 

As for the coat, it’s seeking another special moment to shine.

A few of the selections from the best red, err, pink carpet of the year. 

The Met Gala 2019 was inspired by the theme of ‘Camp’ which is fertile ground for all the shit-slayers. 

(Lady Gaga has already had FOUR outfit changes. And Billy Porter came in Cleopatra-style, carried by six shirtless gentlemen. And Jared Leto gave head to Shawn Mendes right there on the pink carpet.)

What wonder might be found in a pair of shoes?

All the wonders of the world if it’s the right pair.

I don’t know if these encapsulate every single wonder there is, but they come close, and when it comes to shoes, close is enough. I enjoy a fun pair, but they aren’t my everything. I’m a strange bird who prefers a fancy new robe over a fancy new pair of shoes any day. Same for coats and bags. Shoes are actually down on my list when it comes to obsessions. Still, there are some that tickle my uterus. (I’ve started to drop nonsensical euphemisms as my age advances, which should make for fun future readings of this blog)

These floral puppies beg the existential question of whether the clothes make the man. In my case, they often do, in a roundabout way. Wearing something fun like this inspires me – it alters my mood slightly, elevating and injecting it with a whimsy that might otherwise remain buried. It adds a lift to my step, both for the silliness of such footwear and for the floral prettiness of them. With a cheerier countenance, my attitude about things improves. I’m less irritable, less likely to make a scene if there are fifty shop workers asking if I need help and only one person working a register with ten people in line. Do such shoes make me a better person? Not at all. Do they make me a better-behaving person? Quite possibly. And a bit happier too, if I’m being honest. It’s not because I’m a material girl; I simply love color. And flowers. And beauty. And… spring.

There’s this robe…

So many stories in my life have begun with those three words, and thus far all have ended happily. I’m crossing my fingers that the same sort of magic will manifest itself for this post. This is the Bergman Robe. Produced by Mr. Turk, who never met a color combination or dramatic design he didn’t like, it takes the classic chevron stripes and puts them onto a gorgeous frame of clothing that drapes ever-so-exquisitely over the body. (Yes, I realize the body is what’s being sold here, but who am I not to buy? I mean try?) Even with that, my focus and gaze is on the robe. It’s the eternally elusive trick: it’s not an object you’re purchasing, it’s an attitude, an atmosphere, an air. If one buys into it, and I always do, it’s worth the $298 price tag. Yes, it’s exorbitant. Yes, it’s ridiculous. And yes, it will make me happy – because fashion is more than a means to an end – it’s an event, a memory, a moment in time captured forever. I’ve been reading that instead of expensive jewelry and other material possessions, we should be investing in travel and experiences. For me, this robe is an experience. It will lend itself to be worn on special occasions – and I will remember those occasions as much for the robe as for whatever cologne and whatever guests and loved ones are around me at the time. It may even be the experience itself. I still remember the evening I wore this velvet and ostrich feather extravaganza, alone in the Boston condo in the middle of winter, fantasizing about the future and the past, and somehow making a memory that has lasted to this day. The robe made that experience happen.

As for the Bergman robe (which you can purchase here if you are so inclined), I’ve had my eye on it for a while, and I have a few ideas on when I’d like to wear it – a fancy brunch, a summer show, a flower party, a visit to the Saratoga Auto Museum to complement the Chevron design… so it will not go to waste. I’ll even pose for a few pictures in it. If you’re going to twist my arm…

Watching the red carpet for the Golden Globes tonight, I saw a vision that fortifies me to make such a bold proclamation: Billy Porter and his cape won the Golden Globes, the Oscars, and every award show that was or ever will be. This outfit wins it all. We can stop watching now. 

It was so soft, and the leopard pattern was in gray, making it more subtle and refined, and I hadn’t been in a onesie in ages (well, almost ages), so this all happened on New Year’s Eve and it was a grand little party filled with cozy comfort and run-on sentences and all the glory and the like. If this is what my blog has come to, I’m not going to complain. The world wide web is in dire need of whimsy and wonder, and maybe a little light-hearted madness. That’s something I can supply.

As for this onesie, it’s reminiscent of the “sleepers” we used to wear as kids – the kind with feet. Those were the best way to survive a winter’s night. They had plastic soles that, when new, would enable you to slide across the carpet if you got enough of a running start. None of those ever came with hoods, but that didn’t matter. More problematic was the danger of zipping up your dick if you weren’t careful. (This happened to me once, and while it was not enough to draw any blood or do any damage, it emotionally scarred me for life. I have NEVER come close to zipping it up since.)

Zipper-risk aside, I loved the coziness of those sleepers. All winter long they kept us warm – our entire bodies encased in fabric – and we got accustomed to sleeping in them. That made for a happy change come summer, when those sleeper feet were gone and I could feel the cool soft sheets directly against my feet again. It was always such a relief, but I knew then that it was made more enjoyable from the months of confinement that had to come first.

This onesie doesn’t have feet, but it has a hood and two pom-poms. One can’t have it all in the winter.

For the longest time I fought against the fashion notion of nudes. The shade I mean (obviously, as I have no issue with nudity – my own or anyone else’s for that matter). In fact, nakedness has always been celebrated here. But for fashion choices, the palette of nudes that has been so popular in recent years has always seemed a little dull and safe for my taste.

The only way to combat that is to add a little Tom Ford label (his underwear collection incorporates various nude shades) and some sequins and ostrich feathers. If you must drape yourself in nudes, you might as well sparkle and float in the air. The hint of the outfit here will give you an idea of how I’m planning on hosting this weekend’s Children’s Holiday Hour in Boston. Just because they’re kids doesn’t mean they don’t deserve something fabulous.

I’ll wear it again for a more low-key gathering this season. With accents of rose gold, even I can work a nude attitude.

One of these necklaces is a treasure found at an antique store in Ogunquit, Maine – the other is a cheap token of the Burlington Coat Factory. I’ll leave it to you to make the distinction, and if you have to wonder then the work is already done. This is one of those frivolous posts that I promised you back when we returned earlier in the fall. A space of superficial fun and extravagant fancy, may it lend itself to the escapism so many of us so badly need. I live in such space, and likely will for the foreseeable future.

The sunny shade of yellow seen here may be a subconscious effort at forcing cheer, as one might force a pot of Paperwhite narcissus in the depths of winter. It’s almost time for that cheerful tradition, and I’ll see if I can stagger the potting so we have waves of them when the days and nights grow dim and frigid. See, sunny thoughts yield more sunny thoughts, and this is how we will get through the fall and winter.

As for the accessories accenting this post, they reminded me of Iris Apfel and her fabulous excess of style. Sometimes more is more. More fabulous, more fun, more fancy… more of this beautiful life where nothing is ever promised but we never stop hoping…