CVILLE RUNWAY
Very Vintage
Vintage is IN… big time. And it always will be, because it just means that beautiful, strong, timeless, classic pieces and a few wackier wonders were made to last. The trick is to recognize a true beaut when you see it and be wily enough to keep it from slipping through your fingers. Then you need to figure out whether or not a piece will work with your look. If your fashion is strong, then anything goes. If you’re a little doubtful, then you might want to consider putting the 1980s Fendi back in storage until next year. Another way of ensuring your vintage will work? When copies start showing up in shop windows, then you know you’ve got yourself a winner! Mix modern with vintage, frilly with sharp, Gucci with Gap, your five year-old favorite with a 1950s masterpiece. If it’s chic, it’ll never quit on you.
- Has it lasted 20 years? Grab it!
- Are the clothing chains copying it? Take it!
- Does it fit in with the rest of your wardrobe? Snag it!
- Does its timeless shape flatter your figure? Pick it up!
- Are you madly in love with it, despite its age? Put it on!
Everyone knows how to walk in heels…. or do they?
Not so far past are the days when every Charlottesville glamour gal knew that wearing stilettos on the downtown mall was a dangerous prospect: for herself and her shoes. Each step involved that sharp intake of breath, that careful concentration… avoiding cracks became more than just a childhood game. Suddenly, the back-breakage issue was real, only this time for mother and daughter alike. Locals sat at restaurant patios, enjoying the spectacle of unprepared tourists running the mall-crack gauntlet and, while it had its funny moments, as an avid stiletto wearer, I can assure you that the recent changes to the surface of the mall are definitely all they’re cracked up to be.
The new ground no longer dictates the necessity of wedges or, God forbid, flats and, thankfully, allows us to prance on in our 6-inch spikes with no fear of sinking in, stuck while onlookers chuckle or, even worse, skinning the leather from the heels as we yank them out from between the bricks, ruining our prize kicks forever.
People may bash it, accuse us of kowtowing to misogynist designers’ bondage fantasies, tarting ourselves up in impossibly high, ridiculously constricting mechanisms meant to keep us women in our place. To that, I say, slip on a pair, just once, with the perfect LBD (that’s Little Black Dress) and a string of pearls. Not only do the shoes give a woman the height she might need to tower above the masses, but they improve her stature, forcing her to throw back her shoulders and walk like she means it. So, to those ladies who would love to wear sky-highs, but just don’t know how (now that it can actually be done in public in Charlottesville) here are a few tips to help you get over your fear of heights.
- One inch at a time: start with a short heel. Avoid going straight for the 6-inchers in those early sessions.
- Keep it close to home: Your training wheels are kitten heels, so practice at home before heading out. A full-length mirror will keep you even more on your toes. Don’t forget to practice on the stairs!
- Bring back-up: Leave the tiny clutch at home for your first few adventures in sky-land. Throw a pair of cute flats into your shoulder bag for long nights out.
- Slip one in: Once you’ve graduated to taller shoes, stock up on insoles, inserts and massaging foot gels. The highest shoes can often use a little extra cushioning.
- Wiggle while you walk: To truly master the sexy spike, you’ve got to stand up straight and let your hips do the walking. Swinging your rear will help you achieve that perfect balance… and look stunning while doing it.
- Don’t be callus: Pampering your feet is half the battle. If you’re not a pedicure kind of gal, a quick rub with a pumice stone at the end of your shower is an easy way to keep your tootsies soft, smooth and happy.
If you find that perfect pair, devise a strategy. Begin at home, graduate to dinner parties where you’re mostly sitting and start out slowly with shorter heels on those first few nights out. The bottom line is that you need to take your time. We all know Rome wasn’t conquered in a day. Well, neither were the catwalks of Milan or Paris, so you might want to give Charlottesville a little extra time before throwing in your shoes.
CLOSET CULL
Well, it’s time to lead by example, I think, and clean out my own closet. Not only is this early chill forcing me to clear out the summer items, but a couple of the winter cozies I’ve just pulled from storage are really not going to cut it this year.
I’m also going to try out an idea I’ve developed. Because I finally have a closet large enough to allow me to see exactly what my clothing choices are, I can organize and re-organize it to my heart’s content. I’m going to place the most recently-worn items from each section near to the back of that section. I’m thinking this will force me to wear pieces that I never otherwise touch (or even notice). If I still don’t wear them, after they’ve been staring me in the face for a few weeks, it’s time for those garments to move on to a happier home.
With that in mind, I also notice a trend in my life which goes beyond just clothing. Moving from Paris to Charlottesville last year gave me the opportunity to really take stock of what I own and what is actually valuable to me. An example of my current, say, soap inventory goes something like this: pretty soaps that I’ve stocked for a rainy day, good soaps for everyday use, soaps that I just love, but never seem to take out and then those very special soaps which never get used.
The same goes for clothing: gym clothes that really don’t do me justice are worn, for obvious reasons, every day. Beyond that, there’s the stuff that fits comfortably and looks good (old stand-bys, really), which I don frequently and then those pretty little numbers I love to take out on the weekends… but the real tragedy lies in my über-special pieces, languishing behind their less-deserving, well-worn cousins, instead of basking in the glory that they deserve.
It seems like such a shame to own lovely clothes and never wear them. Of course, there are so many factors involved. More often than not, I’m feeling just a little too bulky in something or I think my belly’s not flat enough to wear something else. Sometimes it’s too cold out for cotton or too warm for angora… There are those days when I couldn’t possibly put on a skirt to sit around the house, so I end up wearing jeans.
So, it’s time to reassess things. Instead of saving the best for… never, I’m going to move it to the front of the closet and finally let it see the light of day. After all, clothing is meant to be worn. Everyone and, perhaps, everything deserves its moment in the sun, doesn’t it?
FALL FASHION FRENZY
Does anyone else get VERY excited about getting out the winter boots? the woolly tights? the sweaters (jumpers, if you will) and the layering shirts? fishnets and sexy high-heels? Cozy skirts, sweater dresses, thick trousers, with all the accessories to match? My guest room (or, what the cat refers to as “Percy’s Room”) has been the scene of a particularly frenzied two weeks of clothing sorting, trying-on and general reveling over. This, of course, resulted in our guest room being uninhabitable by anyone (except Percy, who loves to shed his white fur on black clothing through hours of endless lounging). I apologize to those who may have needed a place to stay in the interim, but I am way too far into my favorite clothing season to pay attention to what anyone else may need.
I’ve finally put the clothing away, happily stowing the garments in the two closets and two dressers they now fill (that doesn’t include the summer clothes stored in the attic, all folded and ready to pop out amid my gleeful cries of surprise in April). I do love the lighter dresses and their easy, more revealing cuts and fabrics, but nothing pleases me so much as a cozy winter outfit. The autumn is, by far, the most exciting fashion season, in my opinion, and it’s only in the autumn that I realize how fashion-conscious, or fashion-centric, I’ve become. I love style, I love looking good and helping others do the same. I love clopping down a crowded street at a fast pace in a gorgeous pair of knee-high boots and a fitted jacket, seeing my breath in front of me, perhaps kicking a dead leaf or two and looking at what the other women are wearing this year. I love being in, but adore keeping my own style.
I go to my closet and run a hand over the pieces in there. Sweaters, wool, maybe some thick cotton. I get to the dresses and feel that sweater dress I hunted down late last year, just before moving from Paris: brown, with a big round neck and an A-line flair, ending just above the knees. Perfectly form-fitting, yet loose enough to avoid any unsightly bulges. I remember last year’s intense hunt at Place d’Italie with Miss C., trying so hard to find her the perfect sweater dress, feeling so excited about it. I watched her try them on, one dress after another and envied her. That day, I found a pair of electric blue elbow-length gloves that I adored, but couldn’t afford. Two months later, when I finally had enough money in the bank, I bought the last pair in all of Paris, two sizes too big. Those have since gone to my mother, whose hands look like they were made for them (no, not the other way around!!). But even that brings me immense pleasure. Seeing a purchase of mine look good on someone else. Seeing my mother’s eyes brighten as she tries on my bright red dress in preparation for a wedding, flattering her perfectly and sparkling beautifully; all these things bring me pleasure.
Seeing Miss C. in the dress she finally ended up getting (not that day, I’m afraid), looking so cozy and happy simply by putting on an article of clothing, makes me understand that there’s more to it than covering up, than being warm through the cold months. I remember that her inspiration to buy a dress had come when she had seen her friend wearing an oversized, thick warm, elegantly casual sweater and I remember her envy. I know it, because every year, my longest-term friend in the world gives me the exact same envy: her long dark hair falling in a sheet over her structured creamy winter coat. Her little white beret, pulled onto her head, jauntily, teasing, daring the sky to release some rare Paris snow. It’s not jealousy of her good looks, although she is beautiful. It’s nothing so base as that.
When I see someone thus fashionably wrapped up, I envy their comfort and their beauty, yes, but above all, I feel their coziness, the safe, warm, sitting-in-front-of-the-fire aura that they emit. I see the smoke rising from the chimney and the snow newly fallen, or the crisp, clean smell of leaves, red and yellow and orange on the ground as I kick them with my brown knee-high leather boots, freshly awakened from their yearly hibernation.