I
feel kind of silly talking about style on this blog. I would not consider myself to be a stylish
person.
My
mother, bless her heart, would constantly lament that I tended to wear the same
things over and over, like I was some kind of fashion deviant. This is what I was doing at 9, 10 years
old. I knew what I liked, I knew what
made me feel good and that’s what I wanted to wear – even it was the same pair
of jeans 2 or three days in a row. That
really bothered her and I’m sure she thought it was a waste of the other
clothes hanging in my closet, waiting for their chance to see the light of
day. She wasn't wrong, but you like what you like,
right?
This
conversation between us about clothes continued until my adulthood and her
comments would be basically the same: There
was not enough variety in my wardrobe. She
once asked me how many pairs of shoes I owned.
When I told her the number (I think it was about 5 or 6), with the look on her face, you would've thought I told her I knew where Jimmy Hoffa was buried. She insisted I needed more shoes. I don’t think I every really got her to
articulate (at least to my satisfaction) why more shoes were necessary, but if
you love your mama as I do, sometimes you just say OK and buy more shoes.
At the end of last year, I read this book, Lessons from Madame Chic, and I
started to realize that I had more of a French sensibility when it came to
clothes. According to this book, for the
French, it’s more about quality, not quantity.
There is no issue with wearing the same pieces over and over – even multiple
times in the same week. The trick is
having a neutral palette, that way you can mix and match items. It was like the anti-bible to my mother’s
fashion rules, but completely fit in with what was already in my heart. It made my longing to have an all black
wardrobe seem not so far-fetched. Color
is cool, but an all black wardrobe seems means you no longer have to think
about it. I can spend my time on other
things, things that are much more important to my soul than my wardrobe.
Shit, if it was good enough for
Johnny Cash, then it’s good enough for me.
Before the book, I thought that I’d
come to terms with the fact that I wasn't ever going to be a fashionista. I really don’t like to go to stores and shop. I've had enough epic shopping trips with my
mom and my nana to know that it’s really not my bag. I buy most things online and have enough
follow through to send something back if it doesn't fit. Honestly, I didn't really see the lure; my
mother has four closets in her house filled with clothes and I've often heard
her complain about having nothing to wear (or nothing fitting).
I think of her closet like the
menu for Jerry’s Famous Deli. Have you
seen that thing? It’s like 20 fucking pages
long. I’m a pretty decisive person when
it comes to food, but the waitress had to come back twice before I was ready to
place my order and I still ended up with something I didn't like only because I
felt the need to just order anything so I wasn't holding up my dinner
companions any longer. There were too
many choices.
My closet is closer to
In-N-Out. They only do burgers, so it’s
more a matter of what kind of burger do you want. There are no nuggets, there are no salads, and
there are no chicken sandwiches. It makes
your choice easy. There are only so many
combinations to be had. In fact, I now
relish the idea of having a uniform of sorts
- which apparently is also the philosophy of Emmanuelle Alt, the
Editor-in-Chief of Vogue Paris. Go
figure.
As it turns out, I like
clothes. A lot. Especially clothes that are well made. I enjoy the art that is haute couture. I just don’t need every piece that was ever
made in my closet. I don’t need 200
pairs of shoes. I can appreciate them on
the rack or on the pages of a fashion magazine or on the catwalk.
I just don’t have to own
them.
