It’s my day off.
I dress outlandishly for most of the year, so when the day of sanctioned outlandishness rolls around I like to tone things down.
There will be more than enough time to don costumes again, especially with the coming of the holiday season.
But in honor of Halloween, here’s something to tide over anyone who wants to see my ass in nonsensical garb.
There is one event around which I plan a singular costume, and planning for it happens months, sometimes years, in advance. This year’s Boo-jolais Wine Celebration by the Alliance for Positive Health came early, and in the form of a costume party, which upped the ante and gave the event a whole new feel. For this one, I sought inspiration from Marie Antoinette, in somewhat stripped down fashion, with powder blue and silver filamented brocade, lace gloves, frilled bloomers, and free-swinging garters. Strings of pearls and sparkling rings were the only accessories needed, along with a pair of lace bows for my boots. A bottle of white spray hair-color hastened the going-gray process, and the mask from a recent trip to ‘Sleep No More’ completed the look.
Though I have a fondness for all the Beaujolais outfits I’ve worn over the years – from the pink pants and red cape ensemble to the green lucky charms jacket, from the Japanese silk kimono to the red-winged/red-haired devil – this one was definitely one of my favorites. Hey, we all have our preferences. And now we begin brainstorming ideas for next year…
It’s my brother’s favorite store, and he used it as inspiration for his own current brick-and-mortar endeavor. This is Ball and Buck Outfitters, a rustic yet charmingly elegant collection of mostly-men’s gear and accessories, and a throw-back to a by-gone era, where shaves and haircuts are given old-school style. Located on Newbury Street, it provides a badly-needed foil to all the high-end holier-than-thou fashion neighbors whose glossier goods sparkle and shine out of the average person’s reach.
Some men’s stores have fizzled and faltered in this vicinity (Jack Spade, Marc Jacobs) but others are thriving thanks to their unabashed embrace of traditionally masculine rituals with a modern-day twist. There are jackets and coats that offer both form and function, a selection of colognes and soaps and beard oils for everyday manscaping and pampering, and various goods and sundries that should fulfill the pickiest male on any wish list. (I tend to go for a gift certificate and let my brother do the work.)
Subtle earthy shades and sturdy fabrics comprise most of the pants, while softer offerings are on hand to cover what’s above. A definite dose of Americana imbues the place as well; the American flag is a recurring motif that somehow doesn’t overwhelm.
Don’t be put off by all the guns and shooting paraphernalia – the friendly staff is genuinely interested in making your shopping experience a good one, and will happily engage or disengage with customers as they read fit.
As mentioned, there is an on-site barbershop like your Dad or Grandad used to frequent, and well-worth an afternoon’s stop to go back to a time when guys indulged in taking care of themselves. (Some of us never stopped.)
Sometimes the whole point is prettiness itself. These silk slippers, backed with rich green velvet and adorned with silk flowers and tassels of ribbon, serve no other purpose than to look beautiful. They are not designed to withstand bad weather or even a bed of smooth gravel. They are not made to provide exceptional warmth or a way of warding off a winter. They are not meant to tread work-horse-like through a day at the office. Instead, their point and purpose is to look pretty – and in looking pretty, to bring about joy and happiness.
There is power in such prettiness.
Currency in attractiveness.
I’m not saying it’s right, merely that it’s there.
It happens to be so.
As for these slippers, they were a gift to myself, as so many things are.
I found them in a gift shop in Ogunquit the last time we were there.
Andy has never cared a whit what I put on my feet, so the only person who has seen their glory thus far is myself. If the point is prettiness, what happens here? Or does prettiness not depend upon being seen? That is the real question at hand: can something be pretty if no one ever sees it?
I believe hearts are like that. Souls, too.
In the end, it’s all about the shoes.
Always was, always will be.
These beauties, by Cole Haan, were additionally festooned by a pair of silk peonies, because they needed a little oomph that went beyond lime green laces. They went perfectly with my Wonderland outfit, and it lifted my spirits just to walk in them. That makes all the difference.
(Of course, the socks don’t hurt.)
Though my planned attire for the Albany Pride Festival was changed to something entirely waterproof, the outfit that really mattered this season was for the GLSEN Gala, which had a wonderful ‘Alice in Wonderland’ theme, thus not necessitating much more than a quick perusal of the “colorful” section of my closet. This was a cross between the Mad Hatter and those Tweedledum and Tweedledee twins. A little madness, a little nerdiness, and a lot of color. Just my kind of party, and a perfect escapade before darker times.
Thanks to a fortuitously-timed trip to Century 21, I found this jacket and short set by Mr. Turk, and the top hat was an online discovery. The rest, well, came straight from my closets. They go deep.
Parents who know fashion have children who know fashion.
My Mom was the first person who taught me how to put an outfit together. Whether it was matching the shoes to the belt, or the shirt collar to a color in a sweater, she instilled a basic knowledge of what worked and what didn’t, and it was on that foundation upon which I relied until I could find my own way. (When you know the rules, you can break them.)
She took her cues from Jackie O, style pontiff of that period, and carried herself with a grace and an unintentional air of aloofness that got passed down directly to her first-born son. What I didn’t learn directly from the outfits she pre-selected for me and my brother I learned through watching her own style evolution, and the way she set about crafting an ensemble with her jewelry and accessories.
A number of years ago, I came into possession of the dress pictured here – a fancy evening gown straight out of the sixties (literally) with gold metallic threading that lent it a shimmer and glow that was a daring departure for my Mom’s usually conservative yet elegant taste. From the moment I first saw it, I was entranced by its beautiful pattern, its use of peacock-like color, and the texture and movement of its unique fabric. (I was also impressed because it was like nothing else my mother owned, and I couldn’t picture her in such a head-turner.)
For many years I’ve been wondering how to make use of it, to showcase and re-envision its purpose to impress, and I think I finally came up with something (without having to remove several ribs, a stomach, and most of a thigh in order to simply slip into it). The new version retains the integrity of the fabric without cutting it to pieces, while entirely revising its function and form. One of the most important things I learned from my Mom’s style was to embrace classic simplicity. (I may not employ it very often, but I appreciate it.) And in situations such as this, when it would be easy to take this dress and turn it into something unrecognizable, I made judicious use of restraint, keeping the fabric largely intact and whole.
The intricately excessive colors and patterns and textures are more than enough to hold visual interest, though a few golden adornments may be a possible addition. For some celebrations, more is more is more…
A crazy perfume called Lou-Lou stands in plastic turquoise salute. It reminds me of holidays and bears named Felix from Filene’s.
Folds of colorful silk lie like pools of tranquil water, in vermillion, coral, and Granny Smith green.
Fragrance, texture, color and sentiment combine in a wave of nostalgia, yet in that moment a new memory is created. The memory of a memory.
Time is marked in outfits and pieces of clothing as much as it is marked in scent.
Summer is signaled by a floral jacket as much as the sweet neroli beneath its cuff, but there are diversions from the seasonally expected too.
Who else would wear sequins and flip flops and aviators by the pool, or to a parade for that matter?
Who would wear a kimono to a black-tie affair?
You may not be remembered for what you wore, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.
The interface of a background of black and a background of white cuts the dressing gown down the middle. An absurd impulse purchase while on the way back to the Boston condo, it was really a long dress, but with its button-up style could easily pass as a dressing gown. I couldn’t resist its playful pattern and striking color composition. Somewhere between Iris Apfel and Diana Vreeland, and there’s no space I’d rather occupy. It needs some big-ass costume jewelry and then it will be completely ready for its close-up.
Impulse buy or not, it’s been on my bed taking up space but making me smile whenever my eye finds it. Even if it never touches my body (and of course it already has) it would have been worth it. Happiness for some is a baseball game or pint of beer. For others it’s a stroll in the garden or a ride in an antique car. For me, it’s a colorful dressing gown laid out on the bed, ready for preparation and anticipation of some special evening. Or some average evening. Any evening will do when you have a gown like this.
A hostess is a dowager for a night.
The ensemble sets the tone.
There is a wink inherent in this one.
If you laugh at yourself, the world laughs with you.
If you don’t, it laughs at you.
And we have no shame in our game here.
If you think that bargain bin basement shopping is at odds with the hoighty-toighty label-whoring that goes on in these parts, you don’t know me very well. I’m more likely to be found prowling the clearance racks at Marshall’s or Nordstrom Rack than perusing the full (over) priced items at Barneys or Neiman Marcus. (There’s only one area in which I insist on going high-end: fragrance. You just can’t go the bargain fragrance route or you’ll end up smelling like a college disaster. Cool Water? Fool Water. Curve? Swerve. One? Done.) As for the rest, all of it is up for grabs, including – and especially – jewelry. I can’t justify investing any serious money into something I’ll wear once or twice to a party or special occasion. And so we end up with a missing jewel.
When seen from afar, it may not be seen at all. And for specific tattered looks of bohemian ruggedness, such incidentals might as well be intentional. Besides, I like the idea of something flashy being somewhat tarnished. We could all use a little polish on the crown now and then, and there are worse things than missing jewels.
A Pink Lady apple.
A quiet afternoon.
Trinkets and trifles to make the way of this world a little easier.
Prettier and happier, too, because we need more of that.
Metals and glass and fabricated facets.
A silvery, sinewy thread to tie it all together.
Something to adorn the fruits of every labor.
There is beauty and danger here.
No matter how beautiful, it’s still just a rope around your neck.
No matter how delicious, it can still be a vessel for poison.
I do not care.
I would risk it all to be a little prettier, to taste the temptation that befell Eve.
Despite the pallor of racial inequality hanging over the Oscars this year, the truth is that the Oscar ceremony has never been the most politically correct exhibition of our country. Such pop cultural events often mirror the uneasy social stratification currently in heated debate during this politically-charged year. Host Chris Rock will do his best to balance the charges while keeping everybody entertained – a position I don’t envy in the slightest. As for me, I’ll do my best in keeping things light and frivolous and all sorts of snarky, with whatever commentary I can muster on this night of a thousand stars. I’ll be live-blogging my thoughts on the attire of the evening, and whatever else catches my fancy, and I’ll be posting on FaceBook and Twitter as well. Hey, this is my Super Bowl, World Series, and Stanley Cup all rolled into one. (What is the Stanley Cup again?) On with the show…
Velvet on Eddie Redmayne and Henry Cavill. I want to run my hands all over it. The velvet, you gutter-dwellers.
Naomi Watts – a gorgeous gourami, in a good way. (Look it up.)
Rooney Mara – I love it. Lacy, racy, gorgeous, ethereal.
Heidi Klum – They say she can pull anything off. Hopefully she’ll pull those sheer curtains off.
Cate Blanchett – A bit busy, a bit sea-foamy, a bit sparkly, a bit feathery, a bit much, so you know I absolutely adore it.
Rachel McAdams – Bam-Bam! The leg! The side-boob! What a body.
Lady Gaga – Like it or not, nobody right now does fashion architecture better than her.
Jared Leto – I’m torn. So torn. I want to hate it, but I think I love it. It’s something I might even wear it to the Oscars. But that doesn’t make it right.
Dear Kevin Hart – Elton wants his jacket back.
{Technical note: after switching between E! and ABC, Kris Jenner has finally put the final nail in the E! coffin for the night. Bye-bye, E! Lose the losers and I’ll return.}
Kate Winslet – When good people make bad choices. The hair is exquisite. The dress just screams Ursula. Poor unfortunate souls…
Charlize Theron – Luscious in red, and that necklace is where every straight man and gay woman wants to be.
It just dawned on me: Cate Blanchett took over the role of Nicole Kidman as my red carpet heroine a few years ago, and she continues that reign tonight.
Ryan Gosling – White bow tie. Classy. (And the only reason worth I’m mentioning him is for the shirtless link.)
Mark Ruffalo – Blue tux. Another link. Let’s see how many Hunks of the Day will feature in tonight’s telecast. Â That’s our cocktail game. When you see a Hunk, take a sip.
Chris Rock is one sharp-dressed host.
Emily Blunt – Love the woman. Hate the dress.
Sam Smith – Continuing the velvet tux theme. (And wretched Bond song tradition as well.)
Hello again Henry Cavill… is anyone else nervous about thinning hair?
Did Alicia Vikander parachute into the ceremony? Because I think it got caught on her body.
Half of the people on my social media feeds are infuriated by Stacey Dash. The other half is asking “Who the hell is Stacey Dash?”
Jenny Beavan. YOU ARE A COSTUME DESIGNER. My head is… imploding… MALFUNCTION. MALFUNCTION!!! MAL…. #$%^&*. OMG – there’s a fucking skull on the back of it all…
Seriously, not going to recover from that for a while. (And the photo does not even do it the injustice it deserves.)
Oh look, a bear!
All these ‘Mad Max’ winners – did they help make the film or were they extras?
Kate Capshaw – Gothic Annie Hall by way of Tim Burton! Genius. (And BANGS.)
You know things are getting dull when I’m focusing on audience shots more than anything else. I also need something to eat. An apple sounds like a good choice. Maybe an orange. Nah, apple. Hey, you don’t get more exciting than live-blogging!
Dev Patel – When you fix your hair as you’re walking onto the stage, that’s what happens. Not pretty.
I’m bored. My mind is on Tom Ford, and the very strong possibility that the new ‘Soleil Blanc’ will be my summer fragrance.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but perhaps Sofia Vergara should have gone easy on the body glitter.
Hey Joe Biden, who are you wearing?
Well now I can’t make any Lady Gaga jokes.
Is Best Original Song the biggest upset of the evening?
Yes, Leonardo DiCaprio was a Hunk of the Day. (And shout out to Tom Hardy!)
It’s past midnight. I have to be up for work in six hours. Good night. (And don’t bother me tomorrow.)
Step aside, Andre Leon Talley and Hamish Bowles – there’s a new style arbiter in town, and he’s looking fine. His name is Edward Marler and he is my new inspiration. I worship and adore the guy. At a moment when the winter doldrums have just begun to drag us all down, he is a bright bit of sparkle in the gray season, a daringly dashing fashion designer who serves to lift everything a bit more.
As evidenced by my many questionable ensembles over the years, I have more respect for those who march to their own markers of fashion and style, the ones who take the risk to break the rules and try something new. I appreciate someone willing to execute an effect rather than the perfectly-made suit or standard-issue trouser. The ones who defy the traditional and the tried, who go beyond the expected and above the standard.
It’s a dangerous place to be, particularly if you venture there on the regular. Too often the failures are disastrously epic, because when you shoot that high and off the mark, the odds of catastrophe are perpetually in your favor. You must court such ridicule, however, to reach something extraordinary. Sometimes merely making the effort tugs at my heart, as is the case with the enchanting Marler.
His style won’t be to everyone’s taste, and as much as I adore it there are those who will roll their eyes and cry criminal. That kind of close-minded judgement has no place on this blog, so we will be nothing but celebratory about Mr. Marler and his extravagantly-woven yarns. With a penchant for crowns, a mishmash of decadent debris pieced together in uncanny yet elegant style, the total effect is much more than the sum of its parts. On the gender-bending cusp of the future, Marler uses his designs to make his own mark on the world.
“I just like the fact that the way you dress completely changes people’s opinion of you. It can make you fit in or it can make you different from everyone else. I’m not clever academically or really good-looking so I use clothes instead.†~ Edward Marler
Fun, irreverent, funky and whimsical, his hodge-podge manner of combining pieces seemingly at odds with each other lends a tension to his creations, but through his own sheer genius and brilliance they come together in unexpectedly gorgeous alchemy. He also shares a similar obsession with the delusional grandeur that those of us who play dress up often employ. His crowns hint at pomp and stateliness, while the shabby mis-matched pairings underline the street-urchin scrappiness that gives his work a worldly edge. Those juxtapositions thrill me, and I’m clearly not the only one, as much of the fashion world is falling at his jewel-encrusted feet.
A string of cherries worn around the neck.
A vague attempt at recapturing some age of innocence.
Some cheap costume notion, made of plastic but no less shiny or statement-inducing.
Reminiscent of a time that’s probably only more innocent in our minds.
People were bad in the 1950’s too, they just didn’t talk about it as much. It was shuffled away in a billowing skirt and a wrist of colorful baubles. Drowned in Manhattans and martinis – smaller in size, perhaps, but more plentiful in number. It only feels different. The numbness goes back centuries.
If there wasn’t purity in those cherries, there was some small bit of power. The power of prettiness. The currency of being cute. The exchanges we barter for beauty.
Oh, this silly thing? Why, thank you. I found it at a vintage shop. It was a palm of pennies! How could I refuse? It makes me happy, if only for a moment. What else is there? But for those moments…
The pairing was perfect.
The color divine.
The evening, a mystery.
We were there to see the Queen, but we didn’t dare approach. Instead, we wound our way through a series of rooms and scenes where decadence bordered on debauchery, and the impending holiday season lent everything an additional sparkle. Anticipation is the greatest accessory of them all.
A woman draped only by the bubbles of a bath asked to play ‘I Spy’ with me, and said she spied something RED. I meekly answered, “Is it your heart?†She shook her head no, until I found the shot perched on the wall. The blood-red elixir of life.
Shades of vermillion and magenta, all bleeding into a tuxedo the blackest of night.
A pop of passion in a world of gray.
