what baby clothes have taught me about the French Method and minimalism

Minimalism is not something usually applied to kid's clothing. If anything, the arrival of a newborn usually comes with an avalanche of hand-me-downs and gifted clothing. When the girl was born, I ended up with three Hefty trash bags of clothes that went straight to the donation center, for reasons of sizing or seasonal appropriateness or character placement. That was three bags in excess of the clothes she could wear. Needless to say, austerity was not a word to describe the situation. People just love picking up a cute onesie or two, especially if the baby happens to be a girl.

And then there are very good reasons why minimalism isn't practical with a baby. Spit ups, spills, blowouts, and just the general dampness of these tiny human beings make it necessary to change clothes once or twice a day. Some days, I've had to change outfits a few times even before noon.

But while it isn't really feasible to limit the number of items too strenuously, I have found it satisfying to apply the French method in two ways: 1) to buy a few high-quality items that add punch to an otherwise cheap wardrobe 2) to find a functional uniform.

spend a lot on a few high-rotation items, and spend little on what's adequate
Most of the kids' wardrobes are thrifted or gifted, and I have aimed to not get overly invested in what the kids wear. Sure, there are so many cute things for kids, and in another situation, another life, I probably would have indulged in searching for them, but in hindsight I'm rather glad I didn't get caught up in that.

But one or two super-cute Boden tees, some good See Kai Run shoes with the flexible soles, and warm long underwear have absolutely been worthwhile. These things have gotten a lot of wear. The wool undershirts and long johns get worn every day in the winter, and it's worth the peace of mind of knowing that they're dry and comfortable. The tees and shoes have been sound purchases just from the viewpoint of cost per wear. And really, just one adorable piece is enough to make the whole outfit, and it supplies all the friendly strangers something to say about the baby.

find a functional uniform
When you're in charge of wrangling a squirmy potato in and out of their clothes several times a day, you quickly come to see the advantage of streamlining the whole process. For each child, I settled upon a general uniform and then duplicated those pieces so that getting them dressed became a simpler matter. Right now for the baby, that's a wool shirt and long underwear from Finland (the hilariously named "nappy pants"), a long-sleeve onesie, a sweater or sweatshirt over top, and some comfortable jersey pant.

For both, the bodysuits came from Boden (stripes for one, stars for the other) and Hanna Andersson. Conveniently, baby things often come in multiples, so that lends itself to forming uniforms. I also bought a set of soft play pants from Baby Gap, which they both currently wear because she is so small and he is so huge.

It took some trial and error to figure out what works best for their particular season, body shape, and developmental stage. While I loved overalls on the girl, for example, they proved to be cumbersome for my wide-set and inert boy. But once I figured out what seemed to work, I set about getting rid of the majority of the pieces that didn't.

applying these ideas to big people clothes
It's so much easier to edit a child's wardrobe. If something doesn't work, wait a few months and soon enough they'll outgrow it, making the task of chucking an item easier emotionally. And then you know not to buy that same mistake again. But I have to admit that I'm still hanging on to clothes that I know don't work for me, just out of some idea that maybe some day soon, they might. And these are items that are ill fitting not just in terms of size, but also lifestyle, age . . . my developmental stage, if you will.

So editing my closet is still a wash, a work in progress if I'm feeling charitable. But applying the idea of buying a few higher-quality items to elevate a humdrum workable wardrobe--well, that seems easier done. Due to simply the current inertia of my wardrobe, anything I buy has the feeling of being a special piece.

As for finding a functional uniform, perhaps that is something I can work out on the pages of this blog over time. I would like to streamline the process of getting dressed, since I don't have a lot of time for self care but would appreciate not falling into the rut of being "mom," that harried woman with no time for self care. I honestly don't care that much about my appearance these days, but I feel like maybe I shouldn't give up that battle just yet.

On perfection

I have come to realize I'm not a minimalist, not by a long shot. I like the coziness of woolen layers, and I'm an inveterate thrifter. But the past few months have made me a minimalist of sorts, by necessity. (I know I restate this idea in some form every few posts, but I feel weirdly apologetic about it.)

With a partner in graduate school and a constantly growing toddler, there's not much in the budget for clothing. But the thought of turning to mass-produced cheap clothing to fill in any gaps isn't appealing either. And as much as I subscribe to the idea that a well-made item is worth it, and as appealing the idea is of having an entire closet of clothes that may have cost a lot initially but have withstood the vagaries of time and trend, I find it hard to justify when my budget must account for so many other things and my style is in so much flux, post-baby. Both of these factors have prompted me to make use of an unlikely resource, the "community closet" that's open to all residents of the county I live in. It's a way of recirculating goods in the community. I've donated bags of stuff that I felt good about getting rid of, and I've found the bulk of Maizie's winter clothes from there.

It's altered my perspective on consumption. For one, it seriously curtailed my pursuit of the "perfect" version of something. Other than perhaps classic items (like a peacoat), I'm starting to think that perfection doesn't exist. Even classic items have details that may end up dating them, like the rise of the pants or the length of the collar. I've tried to find the be-all-end-all versions of things, but all that that's done for me is fuel the pursuit of More Things. It's quite possible that I just lack discipline or a clear sense of style, but the idea of perfection was for me a fantasy that didn't bring me much closer to a conscientiously edited closet.

My recent foray into buying a suit for my partner has highlighted how difficult it is for anything to be really perfect. Here is an article of clothing purported to be durable and classic, but it seems to take only 10 or so years before it becomes dated. In the thrift stores where I initially searched,  I saw racks and racks of suits with cuts too baggy and long to pass as modern. Or perhaps it was the placement of the buttons or the width of the lapel that gave the suit's age away. Whatever it was, it's clear that even supposedly enduring clothes can end up in the dustbin.

Rather than seeking perfection, I've come to really like the idea of choosing from the "best available." Good enough, just what I need, and I don't need anything more. It's like relying on the largesse of the world to bring around the right thing at the right time.

Anyway, I suppose a shift in my sartorial perspective and personal interests accounts for why this blog will see a change in future posts. I started the blog because the idea of the French Method really appealed to me, and it still does. I think it's an intelligent solution to the problem of overconsumption and under-satisfaction, and it's just fun to meditate on one's purchases this way. But lately I've found myself wanting to post about vintage clothes, thrifting trips, motherhood, photography, wild foods, and and random things from my life. I expect I still will write about style now and again, but I want to make the blog a little more relevant to my life. I know these new topics won't appeal to everyone, but I think it will make the blog feel more true to me. Thank you, sincerely, for reading thus far.

A good sale

Over the past few weeks, I have come to see that my weakness when it comes to a French shopping method is sales. I'm all good with self-deprivation and denial, until a good sale--and actually, to be honest, a good thrift store--comes into view. After that, all discipline goes out the window as I scramble and click to bring down my prey.

So what was that I was saying, about hardly buying anything for months and months? It's moments like these that I'm reminded of how an ex used to cluck over my shopping habits after a big haul. "Eat like a fly, shit like an elephant," he'd say. (I believe that's a saying from his native Bulgaria, but in any case, you have to imagine it said with a heavy Russian-sounding accent.)

Anyway. At least I console myself with the belief that my purchases are more and more in line with my own personal taste, try as I might to incorporate such things as Ferragamos and whatnot into my wardrobe. In the end, I still have the taste of someone who doesn't seem to care about fashion, erring toward overalls and Birkenstocks and plaid and shearling. And my purchases reflect that, though one day I might try my hand at those more elegant things.

Charlotte Gainsbourg, uniform dressing, and women of a particular age

Like Sofia Coppola, Charlotte Gainsbourg has an enviable, consistent style much admired on both sides of the Atlantic. Often clad in a jersey top or button down, grey skinny jeans, and cowboy boots, Charlotte favors a uniform that sounds simple on paper but is not simple to attain.

It's not so much what's there but what's not there: very few accessories, no discernible trends, nothing cute or flashy, nothing put upon, no excess (at least her casual everyday style . . . her red carpet style is quite different).  For most, such a well-suited personal uniform is usually only achieved through assiduous editing performed over many years, after the experimentation of the younger years has subsided. It's a matter of knowing your own body and the proportions that work best for it, and taking away all the extras that detract. And it may as well be said--when things are this pared down, a trim body is, if not essential, at least very helpful. And fabric and fit factor heavily as well, both of which aren't cheap (but not necessarily that expensive either).

It takes discipline to stick to a uniform, and a certain wit to know its standard deviations. For Charlotte Gainsbourg, the standard deviations include such things as patch-pocket high-waisted denim, Converse sneakers, and brightly colored gingham--funny little touches that don't muddle the consistency of her style but rather make the uniform feel warm and human.

The insight into fabrics and proportion, the self-knowledge, the mostly fixed body type (no more pubescent surges), and the long-term editing that takes place all suggest that figuring out a personal uniform might be achieved later in life, perhaps in your 30s or 40s. Sure, you can have a goth look or be an Abercrombie devotee at a much earlier age, but to figure out a uniquely individual style and then distill it into a uniform takes a particular alchemy of things that tend to come with the years. There seems a quiet intelligence that comes from knowing yourself and your taste quite well and being able to appreciate what clothes can do for you, as well as what it can't.

Winter sales

Up at 3:30 A.M., typing with one hand while the baby sleeps on the other arm. She was bothered by something and could not be appeased by half-awake consoling. And I have a cold and need to sip some chamomile tea with honey to soothe my throat.

I keep wanting to make a proper post, with pics and everything, but it's not happening. So I'll just say that I was relatively disciplined during the sales. I was looking to replace a few items that had gotten worn out, to round out a few favored kinds of garments, and to outfit myself properly for the winter. I set as my target A.P.C. because they're good for long-lasting basics--I have a black wool sweater from them that has served me well for 3 or 4 winters or so. And their stuff routinely goes on sale at many outlets. I had a good chance of getting what I needed, especially since I wanted to limit my browsing so as to limit temptation. Over the past few months I only picked up a few vintage plaid shirts at thrift stores, and I saved my pennies for these wardrobe-building acquisitions during the sale season.

The final count: oxford button down, burgundy wool sweater, suede wallet, and boiled wool slippers (this last from Halflinger to replaces ones that had sprung a hole in the heel). All at least 50% off, all expected to last me many, many years.

I'd feel pretty self-congratulatory but that my end-of-summer purchases I posted about months ago ended up being only half successful. I need to report on the disappointing purchases as well to give an accurate portrait of these goings-on (perhaps as a check for blog-induced spending fever?), but that's for another sleepless night.

A return to thrift

Except for the end-of-season A.P.C. sale scoop, I've mostly returned to thrifting as my primary mode of acquisition. 


I've tried the French Method, to some success. It definitely has helped me develop a more discerning eye. However, I feel that my love of thrift shopping and vintage clothes limits me from really implementing the French method. It's true that even with thrifting, I can select items more carefully and with an eye towards wardrobe building. But otherwise, shopping from a list just doesn't work all that well when thrift shopping means everything is a jumble. You never know what exactly you'll come up with when you survey secondhand goods. While patience and moderation are virtues of the French Method that can carry over to thrifting, it's difficult to adhere to a minimalistic point of view if you like vintage. At least, it is in my experience.


Somewhat relatedly, I also don't get the same satisfaction from buying new as I do from uncovering vintage goods. I've never blogged about the things I purchased new that would be considered more covetable. I never wrote about the Rachel Comey Mars boot that I purchased last November for my birthday, or the Marc Jacobs Teri handbag that I recently pulled out from oblivion from the back of my closet, or the Miu Miu and Mulberry Bayswater that were my first forays into expensive handbags, among other things. I just never felt good about broadcasting items like that, though I do appreciate seeing them on other blogs.


My aesthetic doesn't really require any high-end items. I'm not really minimal and clean in my outfits, where texture and cut matter a lot. Rather, I like earthy, slightly outdoorsy, and for want of a better word, quirky, looks. I love vintage prints, uncomplicated tailoring, and that crisp cotton blend that you can only find in older fabrics. My heart beats faster when I chance upon a beautiful vintage piece among all the detritus of a secondhand shop.


I still plan to shop outside of thrift for the easy basics and sharp tailoring that might toughen up my wardrobe a bit. But I think there's something in the air, and spending on luxury items just doesn't seem necessary right now, not just for personal reasons, but also for financial, environmental, and ethical ones.

Style consultants

Scribbling down my thoughts about potential purchases proved surprisingly useful, though I had made it so complicated by the end that I needed the clarity of a disinterested male spectator (aka my boyfriend) to sort it out.

I solicited his comments when I was recently deciding on my 4-5 pieces, post sale season. They're representative of the kind of comments he gives when asked. They usually jostle small doubts that I tend to ignore in the thrill of an acquisition, and I find them pretty helpful.

• "A little drab." -- The dress was a bit Amish, it's true. I had written that I wasn't sure about the pattern.
• " Doesn't look comfortable." -- My notes were that I was ambivalent about the shirt's texture and it was tighter than what I wanted. Good to be confirmed, since I was so happy about finding an item on my list I was inclined to ignore my misgivings.
• "I don't know where to focus." -- This I had to pursue further. He meant that the stripes were overwhelming. Yes, I had to admit it. I am just a little mouse who likes to wear a coat of grey.
• "Super cute." -- He's usually unable to refine this statement further, even with my questioning.

I think it's helpful to have an objective view outside the obsessive fashion milieu, whether it be an amused boyfriend or a page from a journal. But, according to Genevieve Antoine-Dariaux in A Guide to Elegance, you shouldn't consult your female friends as they are invested parties (read: competition . . . or perhaps fellow enablers?) and will give poor advice. I think she gives rather sage advice.

I'm a little bit embarrassed to reveal my notes, as they seem rather self-involved and shallow, but I've been thinking it would be nice to find a bit more reality in the blogging world. As anyone who has attempted it knows, looking effortless is anything but.

The List, revisited

A few weeks or months ago, I posted a short list of items I was in search of. I found substitutes for most of the items, as I realized in the process of looking that what I thought I wanted needed to be realigned with what would actually work for me.

The structured jacket 

I had wanted the Isabel Marant Elali jacket, but decided against it for several reasons. 1) I wanted a jacket that I could throw on over any outfit, and other bloggers reported back that the Elali required careful outfit planning. 2) I'm not sure what size I'm going to end up, and I shouldn't spend so much money for something that eventually may not fit perfectly. 3) It's just a tiny bit too formal to be worn a lot in my life.

I haven't discounted it entirely, but since at this point I'd have to search for it anyway, I may as well wait to search for it once I am certain that I'll get enough wear out of it.

Instead I'm filling this hole in my wardrobe with a lined, oversized tweed jacket I found while thrifting. It reminds me of the coats Isabel Marant put out over the past few seasons, with its dropped shoulders and slouchy fit. The sleeves can be rolled and pushed back for a more informal look. I think I'll be able to wear it on its own as a transitional jacket in the fall and as an additional layer in the winter. 


The silk button down
Silk seems like such a romantic fabric to me, but I seldom wear it. Additionally, I hear that it's not the most comfortable fabric in the summer heat. I'm not that keen on filling this niche in my closet, after all, but if I come across a perfect one, I'll likely get it. 

Instead I found a lovely cotton button down with a soft leaf print that will fill the same purpose in my wardrobe, but which has the potential to be worn in a wider range of situations and temperatures. It has the same quiet feel as a silk top.

The striped top
The more I've been looking, the more I think that a striped top will be simple and basic enough to be a workhorse in my wardrobe, but with a touch of understated impact to distinguish it from an ordinary tee.

Found! Kinda. It doesn't have the even stripes, and the periwinkle blue color isn't as graphic as I thought I wanted. But when I tried on a top with both these qualities, it felt too loud to me. I'll keep looking for a striped top with the same-sized stripes, but this one works pretty well, and it's more in keeping with my demure style.


The open spots in the list
On a whim, I added a cotton/cashmere cardigan to my shopping cart. When it arrived, it was so soft and complemented my other purchases so well that I decided to replace my former summer cardigan (which was already ratty and misshapen) with it.

My other spontaneous purchase is a dungaree dress. I've already spoken of my love of overalls, and this one is a slightly more feminine version of one. The length, fabric weight, and shiny silver buttons are perfect.

Seasonal Recap
I think that's it for the summer season for me. Though as the days have grown hotter and I've gotten bigger, I bought a few cheapy maternity items. I'm already looking towards Fall and Winter.

Questions for the method

I'm still trying to reform my closet and consumption, though I still lack the discipline required. To that end, it's been helpful to separate in my mind the purchases that might be specialized acquisitions (a gardening hat, hiking clothes), short-term clothing (maternity wear), and long-term wardrobe additions. With the last, I find myself asking these questions to ascertain whether items might end up as investment purchases.

Will I still want to wear it in 10 years?

No one can be absolutely sure of this answer, of course, but sticking with classic styles for you will place the odds in your favor. I've had a few constants, like Birkenstocks, overalls, and long-sleeve jersey tees that I've incorporated into my style for more than a decade--replacing items as they get worn out. With these, I hardly have to ask myself to know the answer to this question. Knowing my foundational pieces, the anchor to my style, helps in knowing whether spending more on something might be worthwhile.

For me, part of the problem lies in the fact that my foundational items are not the sort that I need to spend a lot on, which may not seem like a bad thing except that it makes my whole wardrobe disposable. And these items work best for a casual life that I have half outgrown. Birkenstocks top out at around $100, and jersey tees soon get stained and worn out. Overalls look best the closer they are tied to their functional roots. So for me, the dilemma lies in knowing what could work as anchors of a more elegant and grown-up style, one that I'd like to move towards.

(Minor sidenote: A few years ago, I wasn't concerned with this question at all. My thinking was that I should indulge in the items that I wouldn't be wearing in a few years, and wear them while I still could and wanted to. Hence, I now have many impulsive purchases to be gotten rid of, but I don't exactly regret those purchases. They fulfilled the purpose I had for them at the time, and they gave me a lot of pleasure.)

Does it fit my lifestyle?

Fashion is all about aspirational thinking, which I think confuses the issue. You see pictures that provoke desire but have no correlation to your own life. It's easy to forget. And it's a fine line, when dressing is tied so closely to creating your identity, and sometimes you dress for who you'd like to be, rather than who you are at exactly that time.

I don't have fancy parties to go to, but I still thought I might get a lot of wear from the Rachel Comey Blithe tee I blogged about yesterday. I thought I might enjoy the incongruity of wearing something slightly formal as an everyday piece. But then I pictured myself in my day-to-day life and saw that a semi-sheer, oversized silk tee would inevitably tug downwards, become stained, and be relegated to a back drawer. So I packed it into a box to go back.

Is it weather appropriate for where I live, and how much out of the year will I wear it?

I'm still having to remind myself not to spend a lot of money on warm-weather clothes. Even now, out of habit, I want to buy pretty dresses and short-sleeve tops, but I know my money is better spent on cold-weather clothes that I'll be wearing most of the year. This question prompts you to think of the cost-per-wear of the item.

Do I have several like it already?

This one is a bit tricky. I think it's fine to have multiples of your foundational pieces. In fact, I'd love to have a uniform where all the pieces in my wardrobe are simply variations on a theme. But sometimes having many of the same thing means that none of them are exactly right, and it's time to stop and analyze what I'm really looking for. Too, I don't like to have items that are too similar or differ only by color because invariably there will be one version that I prefer and wear to the exclusion of the other. 

There are other questions that factor into the equation--like, how much do I love it, and is it worth the price asked--but these were the four questions that kept popping up into my head as I was sifting through my choices on that sleepless night. I'll be keeping them in mind the next time I want to buy something.

Method and madness

I have to admit that much of my shopping is fueled by emotion, and when I add insomnia to the mix, the result is far from a French Method, but rather more akin to madness.

So today I have confessions to make.

Confession 1:

In a fit of irrationality, I ordered the Rachel Comey Flippant dress and Blithe tee a few weeks ago. What was I thinking? The dress fit absurdly on me, and I realized how silly it was to try to predict what I might want or be able to wear a year from now. The Blithe tee was actually rather nice, but the sheer part went too low for my clumsy self. I knew before they came that they wouldn't work, but I stubbornly refused to cancel the order. I guess I wasn't yet willing to accept certain realities. Too much madness, not enough method.

Confession 2:
I once found a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo Varinas, in my size and barely worn, for a few dollars at a local thrift store and put it back. It wasn't really my style, and I was determined not to stray from my List, but now I think that a classic piece like that would have been supremely elegant. It would have added some refinement to my wardrobe. At this moment, I could have used less method and more madness.

Confession 3:
I couldn't sleep last night. It was a mistake to eat two waffles, two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a slice of lasagna an hour before going to bed. So I stayed up surfing as I tried to work out the attack of indigestion. With the sales going on, I came upon a few things. Eep.

Three basics from A.P.C. and a pair of Loeffler Randall Matilde boots in cuoio. Here, I hope I have achieved a balance between method and madness. Instead of the silk button down I had earlier put on my Shopping List, I think the cotton blouses are more trans-seasonal and suitable for my life. The cardigan should come in handy as a layering piece for the winter, when I live in warm sweaters. The boots I had coveted idly for many years and should work well as a transitional shoe this fall. I'll see when they arrive in the next week or so.

[pics: la garconne, creatures of comfort, stuart & wright, bloomingdales]

A list

I'm going to give list-making another go. I had been making them, but not really following them. But after yet another round of closet cleaning, I might just be ready to streamline.

So far, on my list, I have three things:
-- structured jacket, probably in black. For now I'll make do with my black blazer, but I'd really love to get the jacket like Isabel Marant's Elali jacket I've been lemming admiring on other bloggers.
-- silk button down, preferably in a brown or cream, but maybe in black. I'm realizing my favorite tops are button-downs with a silky hand. I don't actually have one in silk, though, so I'd like to get one.
-- stripe top? I have a lot of t-shirts, so I know I gravitate towards easy dressing. I think striped t-shirts seem a bit more polished and interesting, while still retaining a casual feel. I love my Rachel Comey striped boatneck top, but I'd like a version that was a bit looser in the body.

And there are a few spaces in there for any finds I come across in thrifiting.

This is my fall/winter list, which is really the season I need to be preparing for. I have enough summer clothes. In past few weeks, I've finished getting everything I need and want for the summer, including the linen pieces that will hopefully take me through the rest of the pregnancy, a chambray top from Lover with enough pleating to accommodate a growing belly, and a chambray skirt from See by Chloe to replace the almost perfect versions I have currently hanging in my closet. It's so hard for me to resist buying clothes for the summer, though, because warm weather and sunshine makes me happy, and it gives me pleasure to anticipate it.

Other than that, I think I'm set and anything else I acquire will be excess. Which isn't to say I will succeed in abstaining, especially when the sales come around. (Really, to do this properly, I'm thinking I need to break my habit of sales.) But I'll put up the list just so that I'll have some line I'm trying to hold.

P.S. Blogger hasn't been emailing me notification of any comments, so my apologies for not responding to some of them earlier. Of course, I read every one of them!

Nesting, of sorts

I've amassed a small crate and garbage bag of things to give away or perhaps to sell. Once I started asking myself whether I really loved a piece or not and whether it made me feel good to wear it, it was easy to know what to discard.

It also helped to sort through the images I'd kept in a folder on my desktop to see what looks still inspired me. I started this folder about 7 years ago, just about the time my interest in fashion expanded. I had just started visiting the TFS forum, along with the now all-but-defunct Style Diary. A lot of the pictures brought back memories of my first exposure to accessible luxury. And of the people who posted on these websites, back in the infancy of the internet and fashion. Looking at the images of people I saw almost daily in one form or another, I missed a little the feeling of that community. It was where Susie Bubble, Rumi N., Jane A., and others got started, on the "What Are You Wearing Today" thread, before their blogs broke out in a big way. At the time, postings pics of your outfits was still considered a weird thing to do, and there was a kind of innocence in it, a simple pleasure in sharing something you were excited about.

But enough nostalgia. I've gotten into a bad habit of rambling in my posts. I guess one thing makes me think of other things. But then that's where a lot of the pleasure in clothing for me lies. Every piece of clothing jogs a memory, some more than others. If I were to return to the start of this post to try to make a coherent thought, I'm thinking that knowing what to discard means knowing just as fully what to keep. And in that regard, by looking at old inspirational photos and old photos of me, I decided to keep the more structured pieces and get rid of stuff I was just trying out but turned out not to be me at all. On some days, like this rainy Thursday, it feels good to shed some things and to realize that they never really fit.

Favorites

I pulled out my Moleskin last night and made a list. One is of what I would like to get, which is for the most part on hold until the transformation of my body works itself out. I think this enforced holding pattern is good, though, because it forces me to really consider my purchases.

The other list I wrote is of my current favorite items of clothing.

From left:
1. Rose-print sundress. Free People. I bought it years ago because I adored the print, even though the only one left was two sizes larger than my usual. Surprisingly, I prefer it for its looseness.

2. Wayfarer dress. Rachel Comey. My first tiny splurge on what would become my favorite designer. It doesn't look like much, but the little details make it special.

3. Striped t-shirt dress. APC. Again, a few sizes too big, but affording the perfect slouch. I feel completely at ease in this dress. The drape of the cotton keeps it from being too boxy.

4. Navy woven shirtdress with maroon buttons. Vintage. It's completely demure, but for that reason it works. A classic.

5. Knit cardigan. Vintage ("Handknit by Sis Lee"). The shoulders create a subtle cocooning. I didn't think I would like this as much as I do, but the color goes with a lot of my things.

6. Patterned brown button-down. Vintage. The ruffles and the shimmer of the pattern are unobtrusively feminine. I wear this with the sleeves rolled up whenever I want to be a little formal but still comfortable.

7.  Flowery blue button-down. Vintage, handmade. It's slightly sheer, cool, and crisp.

8. Plaid button-down. Vintage, handmade. This seems to me like the perfect vintage plaid.

9. Striped boatneck top. Rachel Comey. Another unexpected favorite. I had added it to my order just to get free shipping. One of the few fitted things I like.

10. Chambray skirt. Vintage. I love white tees and chambray skirts in the summer.

11. Accessories. Heart tote, Anthropologie. Denim bag, Paul & Joe Sister. Polka-dot scarf, J. Crew.

Generally, I haven't posted my actual clothes before because they just don't have the snap and cool-factor that I see in so many other blogs. In fact, looking at this collection of my favorites, I can see why a student once told me that my style was "granola chic." Sigh. I'd still rather approximate the clean and sharp look that I see elsewhere, but this is my skin, I suppose, and I feel most comfortable in this style. They reflect the layers of my history. There's the thread of hippie-ness from my years in Austin, the grunge of the 90s, my love of vintage and thrift, the warm climes I'm used to, and the oversized clothes I got used to wearing when even the smallest sizes hung off me (definitely not the case anymore!).

The other thing the list made me realize was that I collect an excess of clothes when I can't get just the right thing. Shoes, skirts, and jeans make up the bulk of my wardrobe, but few of those things show up on a list of favorites. So now I can see why it's important to find the exactly perfect item. It saves you from going through endless versions in search of it.

Cheap Chic

I woke up early Saturday morning to go to the book sale that the Friends of the Library puts on twice a year in Ithaca. I've gone to these warehouse-type book sales in Seattle and central PA before, and they're always fun to browse because of the interesting mix of books, some of which you rarely see. I came prepared with a thermos of hot tea and stood in line to wait my turn to enter.

Since I sold two storage crates of books before my move out here, I was loathe to accumulate a bunch more. But I was incredibly excited to find a copy of Cheap Chic, written by Caterine Milinaire and Carol Troy. I've heard about this book so many times, but it had fallen out of print since its publication in 1975.

Except for a few dated pieces of advice (like to steer clear of zippers on jeans) and the amazing difference that inflation makes (the authors balk at spending the then going-rate of $600 on an Hermes bag), much of the advice in the book is still fresh and relevant. Milinaire suggests that you begin by investing in high-quality classics to form the foundation of your wardrobe, and then look to other sources like thrift stores, workwear, and ethnic markets for color, variety, personality, and just to round out your wardrobe.

The book feels like it consolidates the advice written on current blogs that concentrate on wardrobe-building and individual style. A sample passage from the "Classics" chapter:

Sometimes Cheap Chic boils down to spending much more than you feel you can afford on the kind of classic, quality clothes we talk about in this chapter. We think it saves money in the long run. . . . There are still certain things you shouldn't fudge on no matter how cheaply you dress: the very best boots, a sturdy bag, a glorious jacket or shirt. You can't afford cheap boots that will last a year and then crack across the sole. If you had loads of money you could; but since you don't, spend your money where it shows the most.

I like how the book offers simple guidelines as well as the principles behind them. All too often, fashion becomes just a prescriptive list of do's and don'ts, as if style was just a secret code for winning acceptance rather than a form of creative self-expression. Although I suppose in some ways style could be both, it loses all fun if it's just the former.

What's really interesting to me is how stylish all the women in the pictures look, even 35 years later. Some of their outfits aren't my personal cup of tea, but they look great nevertheless.

From the "Antiques" chapter, Ewa Rudling is featured as a "ragpicker deluxe." She says, "When you are, or when you become, poor, you also become very inventive. You find yourself taking things you normally would not have looked at before." I like that the book says it's perfectly alright to be "throwing your last $150 into a tweed riding jacket and riding out poverty in style" even as it lists provides alternatives and various places to find $1 t-shirts and other basics.

From the "First Layers" chapter, Milinaire says to look for "solid colors, basic quality, simple cut and time-tested designs" to simply dressing in the morning. In the above pic, designer Ola Hudson models her uniform of painter's pants and long-sleeved cotton t-shirts, while Lauren Hutton wears a simple ensemble of jeans, man's shirt, and wool Shetland sweater.

New York photojournalist Helene Gaillet shown in variations of her layering system: t-shirt, boy's shirt, overshirt, and jeans. She also illustrates what the book advises is the most basic layer--"a lithe, supple body."

Two examples of style coming from original sources. The chapter on "Markets Around the World" is especially interesting for its breakdown of the ethnic items that distinguish various countries or regions, such as the lacemakers of Belgium and silver belts in Turkey. Milinaire advises seeking them out as an antidote to an increasingly Westernized world, worthwhile also because they are "functional, durable, cheap, and usually made of local raw materials." The first pic above illustrates the suggestion to look for a local market or bag wherever you go, completely relevant still today as straw market bags reach a small crest in trendiness. The second pic is of a traditional French jeweler's smock. Very reminiscent of Chloe, don't you think? 

I haven't finished reading the entire book, but already it's a trove of smart, useful observations, delivered in a non-condescending way. I can post more from it in future posts if others would find it similarly helpful.

[cover jacket photo: amazon; first interior photo: Unruly; all other photos: Mrs. Gorman]

On Mr. Porter and wardrobe building

I came across this interview with Net-a-Porter's Natalie Massenet in the Wall Street Journal in which she talks about how Net-a-Porter came into being and grew into such a powerhouse. At the end, she remarks on the difference between how men and women shop. Here's the pertinent passage:

With Mr. Porter, we are not intending to just reskin Net-a-Porter and call it a men’s site. We’ve thrown away every thing we know about shopping online and started from scratch because we’re working with a customer base that’s inherently not crazy about going into stores. We’re tailoring the navigation and the services to cater to the male psychology of shopping, which is very different from a woman’s. Men shop to build a long-term wardrobe, while women focus more on short-term, trend-driven pieces. [italics mine]

I found the italicized concept pretty intriguing, so I went over to the Mr. Porter website (the male arm of NAP) to check out how this difference might translate into a different approach to dressing and strategy for selling.

Besides such hilarious features as "How to Please Her" (so dating anxiety isn't just confined to women!), the section that really intrigued me was the "Wardrobe Manager" section. It's basically what we've been calling the French Method for dressing. There's sub-sections that keep list the essentials for a complete wardrobe, a section to keep track of desired items, a re-order section to replace old and worn-out favorites, and a section that compiles recommendations from friends and the site. What this Wardrobe Manager suggested to me was a methodical, thoughtful approach to dressing as well as a style that remains consistent over time.

I really liked the Essentials list that they generated for their customers. While I don't agree that a tux is an essential item in a wardrobe (though for their target clientele it could be; but I imagine it's really on the list to flatter the consumer), I really appreciate the thoughtfulness behind the rationale for each of these items. Example:

CASUAL SHIRTS

It's useful to have a few casual shirts; you can always spot a man who wears the same shirts at the weekend as he does to the office during the week. Fabrics should be a bit heavier and less formal, which brings oxfords and substantial linens to the fore, and allows colours to be more expressive, because strong hues look better when the cloth is thicker.

Now I know it's difficult to compile a list of essentials for women, who have so much more variety in what they can wear, but I would love to have a list that narrowed down the features of any one essential item so that shopping becomes more analytical, targeted, and likely to end in success. I know various blogs do that to some degree, and I really love to hear the thought process behind figuring out what people really need and enjoy. I myself know that I hate overly textural fabrics next to my skin, but it took so much trial and error to come to that realization.

I would almost say that this approach to dressing, as evidenced at Mr. Porter, is more analytical and less emotion-driven, but I think that's only on the surface of things. Underneath, there's still that tried-and-true advertising strategy of creating anxiety about some heretofore unperceived deficiency or flaw, and then offering the panacea. Witness the "you can always spot a man who wears the same shirts at the weekend as he does to the office during the week." i.e. don't be that one of those boorish men who doesn't know how to have fun.

Anyway . . . Another long post. I realize I do this blogging thing all wrong, with lots of texts, very few pictures, and no covet-worthy items. So I appreciate the kind words in the comments that have encouraged me to keep writing. I hate to inundate or create more noise, so it's good to know that it doesn't come across that way.

How many clothes does a person need?

I think surprisingly little, with one caveat. I used to have very little in my wardrobe. As a high schooler, I got 1/3 of a closet rack and 1 dresser drawer to share with my sisters and keep all my things. When I got to college, all my clothes still fit into just one cardboard box. I remember getting by just fine. I just had to have enough undies and things so that I don't have to do laundry all the time, but then all was well.

But I think part of the reason that it worked then was because my life was fairly routine. School, then home. Nowadays, I need a bit more range in my closet to meet a few additional social situations, so that translates into more clothes. But not really that much more.

So that is to say, a person does not need a lot. Enough to fit her lifestyle. This is the ideal. But in practice, I deluded myself into thinking that more clothes would mean more preparedness. That's true to some extent, but at some point it just became more.

Wardrobe revision

I realize my long post about Sofia Coppola may have come off a bit obsessive or fangirly. But I was determined to crack the code. While I concede that some of her elegance may come from carriage and confidence, I felt a lot of her style might be approximated.

It's helped in my wardrobe-editing process because it's given me a touchstone, an end result to measure my progress. And I realized from studying her clothes that I don't have to get rid of every distinctive, non-neutral piece, but I should get rid of all my gimmicky clothes, the one-note pieces that can only be worn a single way.

I've tried to see if I could streamline my wardrobe from the other end--by acquiring more selectively--but I realized that my closet was too far gone. If I wanted to change my wardrobe and my entire approach to dressing, I had to clean it out. I had to cull the many lackluster pieces from my closet. So the last few weeks, that's what I've done. It was painful at first, but as I got rid of more and more, I felt a burden lifting and, as others have noted, it becomes addictive. I'm not nearly finished, but at least I've started.

Stuff that has made the edit pile & what I've learned:
- Winter scarves and hats. I realized that I have favorites that I wear again and again, and I don't need or like big accessories to change up my look. Rather, I like to wear signature accessories: my polka dot wool scarf, my tiffany diamond earrings, and my Birkenstocks.

- Different experiments with workout clothes. I have two brands that look good and hold up well: Patagonia and Lululemon. Everything else gets cut.

- Many, many clothes from a sad period in my life a few years ago, when I was married. I was beginning to experiment with how to upgrade my wardrobe, but I was also feeling angsty and unmoored. I tried to use shopping and clothes as a way to project a presence that I didn't feel.

- Lots of clothes that are visually appealing but somehow slightly wrong in cut, color, or material. Lots of clothes made with thin or itchy cheap-o fabrics. Stuff that gives no pleasure in the wearing.

- Clothes bought at the wrong price point. Items worn often should be acquired at the upper end of my price limit, and not on impulse or for a narrow range of ocassions. I'm not sure if this is pointless snobbery, though.

- Stuff appropriate to an earlier age. I find myself transitioning to more demure pieces. I could maybe still get away with them, but I feel less desire to be on display.

- Clothes that don't quite fit the way I like. I've gained 5 pounds, and I have no desire to diet back down to 95 lbs to fit into my old clothes. I also don't want to squeeze into my clothes and be reminded that I'm older and fatter. It's time to give up the ghost! No shame in growing older.

Three Thoughts

I think it's important to know your own body if you're going to find a minimal wardrobe that fits your personal style.  Those essentials lists that periodically show up--usually with a white button down and black dress at the top of the list--are as misleading and dogmatic as trend predictions are.

When I saw these pics from the Venetia Scott for Margaret Howell F/W 10 collection, I immediately admired the model's sleek equestrian beauty.  I suddenly wanted some demure plaid skirts and drapey button downs for my own closet.  But then I remembered that below-the-knee skirts never work on me.  Or at least, they do not have the same cool, graceful effect as they do on this tall, whippet-thin, doe-eyed girl.

My third thought was that when I see someone who seems to know exactly what works on her body, temperament, and lifestyle--as this look projects--the total effect is mesmerizing.

Modus operandi

Rather than working from a list, I find the most successful purchases are made when I simply give in to some intense, inexplicable desire.  That's how I find the mainstays of my wardrobe, the objects that give me joy to wear.  These I'll end up wearing them again and again.  It's when I try to consciously fill a hole in my wardrobe that I end up getting something that's wrong or uninspired.

So a pink terry cloth jumpsuit is probably not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of "capsule wardrobe" or "French method" of dressing, but I circled around this item for so long and so often that I knew it might work out.  It's from Wood Wood, a Danish design company that makes clothes with just the right amount of quirky.

I figure if I don't end up liking it when it arrives in the mail from Creatures of Comfort, I'll just wear it around the house.  I like wearing one pieces that I just haul on and forget about.  The boy hates them, though.  :P

Statement of purpose

I'm constantly tickering with this blog because I really don't know yet what I want out of it.  Originally, it was a fashion blog, but I found myself bothered by my contribution to the endless consumption of fashion and trends.  The thing is, I enjoy fashion and clothing and beauty, but the enjoyment of those things too often veers into a mindless cycle of coveting and (over)spending.

My newest idea is that I would like to be a bit more conscious about what I bring into my life, starting with fashion but also branching into my everyday experiences.  I think the blog could help me do that.

I read an article recently in the NYT about women who limit their wardrobe to six items, or who vow not to spend money on new acquisitions for a year.  There's definitely something in the air.  And while I don't want to commit myself to anything so structured as those projects, I would like to use this blog to record my own project of self-discovery.

I'm thinking this blog could record how I relate and respond to fashion. I think about brands and trends, but more as a milieu from which to create a distillation of personal style. My intent is to move closer to the "French method" of shopping: less items, but with more purpose.* The blog will mostly track my progress with that intention. My goal is to have a streamlined wardrobe that perfectly meets my desires for self-expression. As you might imagine, then, this blog will always be a work in progress.

Somehow, I trust that simply by recording observations in my blog, I can get closer to an understanding of how I would like to express myself through my clothes and in my experiences, and how I am to be in the world.

After all, personal style is a rhetoric of its own. The clothes we wear can tell others at a glance what we do, who we are, who we align with, etc. We communicate through our clothes as we do with our words. Our clothes both reveal something about us, but they conceal things as well--literally and figuratively. And clothes contain a history of our different selves (Birkenstocks remind me of college in Austin, always), just like a diary might.

Whoo!  I think I wrote most of this for myself rather than anybody else, but if anyone read this far, I congratulate you.  I think this is just about how far I'll cast my net.  

* Thanks to Dead Fleurette and the TFS thread for the inspiration!

And as a first marker of the old, here's my old statement of purpose for this blog:

I live in the Pacific Northwest. I'm a teacher and a hobbyist. I keep all manner of rodentia.

I think a lot about the inconstancy of memory--how the things that seem indelible eventually fade. So I have started this blog in part as an attempt to pin down some of the ephemera of my daily life.

I used to focus on fashion, but lately I find that I'm often more interested in other things.

There's a little bit of backstory in my now-defunct fashion blog, Destitute Fashion.