Monday, June 24, 2013

The Jumpsuit: When 2 become 1

If a tree falls in the forest but nobody blogs about it, does it make a sound?

After contemplating the aforementioned on my mid-morning jog, I've landed on: yes... but only if someone has posted it on Instagram.

While my life has gone largely undocumented for the past few months, I can assure you that I do, in fact, still exist outside the confines of photosharing applications.  So rest assured; I'm still around, wearing turbans and harem pants, and mixing prints and such.  But as it happens, I've recently found the sartorial fodder I needed to motivate me to put some deep thoughts on proverbial paper.  My falling tree will go unheard no longer.

Today's fashion tirade centers on a prominent new silhouette for summer, one that aims to make both tops and pants obsolete (it was only a matter of time): the jumpsuit.  The latest iteration of the romper effortlessly combines the modesty and mobility of pants with the oneness of a dress.

And it's taking over.

It is my prediction that the jumpsuit will be to summer fashion what Daft Punk's new album will surely be to summer music.  Best described by The Spice Girls in their hit single "when 2 become 1," the jumpsuit is, literally, the only piece of clothing you'll ever need.

Well, besides shoes.

The great thing about jumpsuits is their versatility.  This is really one article of clothing you can wear anywhere.  They're perfect to wear to the beach over your swimsuit or throw on to run your weekend errands; or pair one with heels for girl's night out!  You can even wear one to operate a train, or to go sky diving, for example.  Just don't wear a jumpsuit to your bikini wax... that can get awkward.

To pay homage to this innovative article of clothing and, of course, to fill your mind with temptation, I've taken the liberty of compiling some of my personal favorite displays of jumpsuiting as of late:
Miley Cyrus jumpsuit
If Miley doesn't make you want to put on a jumpsuit and your favorite grill and do a little twerk, I don't know what will... #cantstopwontstop
If this were the only piece of clothing I owned, I think I'd be happy.
At least until I realized that all of my other clothes were gone...
Is she looking at me?  I can't tell...
 Get the look: Rachel ZoeMango
 If you're going to wear a printed jumpsuit, you might as well wear a printed jumpsuit.  We work in extremes here, people.
The capri jumpsuit!  The cautious jumpsuit; the hopsuit, if you will.
 Get the look: Band of Outsiders
A denim onesie - the best way to wear chambray.  
Get the look: Try this one by Hatch.  Oh and these shoes.

And if I ever decide to splurge on a jumpsuit in lieu of making my rent payments for two months on end, I'll probably end up with this little number.

Get the look: (and please mail it to me...) Giambatista Valli.

Fun fact: It recently dawned on me that strapless jumpsuits can also double as pants.  Literally just tuck the top into the pants, and go on your merry way.  It's genius.

You're welcome.

And that's all for now, at least until sartorial inspiration strikes me again... and I have a feeling it might.

Images via: Harper's Bazaar, Friend in Fashion, Do the Hot Pants, Monogram Mag

Sunday, February 10, 2013

New York Fashion Week: Of love and lattes

Ahh, Fashion Week: the one week (twice a year) when you walk a little taller (mostly because of your 6” heels), smile a little brighter, and share notes on whose extreme level of caffeine consumption comes the closest to bordering on unhealthy.  Attending a fashion show suddenly warrants a double-shot espresso and a “survival kit,” and everyone seems to be wearing fur.

It’s the one week when everyone’s new life goal (or perhaps just mine) is to be featured in a street style blog, and you can say things like “that’s so chic” without being ironic.  At least, I’m not being ironic…

Yes, I love Fashion Week.

On Thursday afternoon, I went to the Kimberly Ovitz show in midtown, housed in a large event space near Penn Station.  My strategy for attending shows, as of late, is to look as calm and nonchalant as possible while I discreetly Instagram and Tweet at everyone I know using obnoxious hashtags like #nyfw #chictothenextlev #annawintour, and the like, and try to capture “street style” pictures of show-goers without their knowledge.  These usually end up being semi-creepy photos of their backs that I take while I pretend to be texting... 
Exhibit A.
As I waited for the show to start, snapping ambiance photos of the runway and anyone I thought could potentially be “famous,” I had to struggle to hold it together and subsequently almost peed myself as Anna Wintour took her seat in the front row. 
The show started, and I felt like a kid in a (very expensive) candy store.  Or like my usual self in the Saks Fifth Avenue shoe department… Anna Wintour put on her signature sunglasses, and I thought – you know what?  If I were Anna Wintour, I’d probably wear sunglasses during every show, too.  In fact, I could probably wear whatever I wanted, because I’d be Anna Wintour

This precipitated a long conversation with myself in which I went through the various signature accessories I could potentially patent as my own if I were to, one day, be the editor of something the magnitude of Vogue.  Would I wear sunglasses indoors?  An oversized fur hat?  Or perhaps I’d build my persona around a small animal that I’d carry with me in my handbag – not a dog, as that’s now cliché, but perhaps a rabbit.  Or a hedgehog.  A turtle?

I digress.

As the show progressed, I will say that I could see myself owning every single look that came down the runway (in the sartorial fantasy land of my mind in which I can see myself owning pretty much everything).  The collection was wearable, versatile, but also infused with more color and prints than are typical of the fall collections, especially coming from a designer like Kim.

The standouts were a beautifully printed maxi with a severe plunging neckline, and a cobalt blue dress with strategically placed cut-outs.

In addition to the collection, Kim also premiered her new line of jewelry, a collaboration with Shapeways, and a must have if you like anything cool or different.  Which, if you read this blog, you probably do.  Unless you hate my blog and, for some strange reason, have made it this far…

I managed to snag a new Shapeways for Kimberly Ovitz ear cuff (many thanks to my good friend), which I’ve since decided looks kind of like a futuristic blue tooth and has quickly become my new favorite thing that I own.  I have yet to take it off – partially because it might be stuck, but mostly because we’ve fallen in love.  Check it out - it's basically the coolest thing since sliced bread and fat free fro-yo.

As I walked home in my Kimberly Ovitz dress and severely cool ear cuff, I had a thought.  Between the glitz, the glamour, the fur, the impromptu Anna sightings, and the endless chatter about how we all “need a coffee,” Fashion Week reminds me why I got into fashion in the first place.  The popular hashtags and seasonal Pantones might change, but the creativity, passion, and excitement are constants from year to year.  In an industry built around artistic innovation juxtaposed with forced obsolescence, Fashion Week makes the world go 'round.

A small reminder if you’ll be tweeting this week: note that #chictothenextlev has unfortunately been replaced by #nemo, which, up until a few minutes ago, I assumed was an obscure reference to the movie…
Spotted: Tory Burch, far left.
Happy Fashion Week, everyone.

What's your Fashion Week tale?  Share your favorite Fashion Week moments below!

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Why I Can't Get Rid of my Shoes

For a similar look, try these or these or these... just make sure they're your size.

Hi, my name is Jessica, and I have a sample sale problem.

My favorite pair of shoes are so uncomfortable I can’t actually wear them (you’ll notice they are photographed on my book shelf as opposed to on my person for a reason).  Despite the fact that wearing them makes me want to sever a foot, we just can’t bear the thought of parting ways.

I remember when I first knew I had to own these shoes: I was at a taping of Oprah in Chicago (Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen were the guests, and it was one of those defining life moments when all the stars align and magic and fashion can happen) and Oprah walked out onto the stage barefoot, holding the shoes up to the live studio audience.  I fell in love. 

It wasn’t until she sat down that she actually put them on, but I decided to put my better judgment aside (as I am wont to do) and overlook this minor detail at the timeI subsequently made it a goal to hunt them down and own them.  When I finally met them in person on the sale rack at Barney’s, I was so in love that I was blinded by the fact that the last pair did not technically fitBut, since I’d already fantasized about our future children, I bought them anyway.

That was almost five years ago, and they have since become a permanent fixture on my bookshelf.  I’ve tried everything; I took them to my miracle-working shoe man, I tried stretching them, I even tried taking a kitchen knife to them to open up the toe box myself.  That’s when my roommate had to sit me down and intervene…

So I thought to myself, serrated steak knife in hand: Am I crazy?

The answer, obviously, was yes.  But I am not alone. 

Upon further investigation, it turns out that about 80% of women keep clothes that don’t fit, and 67% think they’ll be able to wear them again.  And then there’s the occasional (delusional) individual who is still holding out hope that her feet will shrink…

So what is it that makes the idea of parting ways so difficult, even if the item in question is no longer functional?

I spent some time researching this phenomenon and discovered that the degree to which we develop emotional attachments depends on the degree to which the item is irreplaceable.  E.g. the degree to which we bought it at a sample sale...  Nowhere is it suggested that the item has to function properly (aka fit) in order for it to develop emotional significance.  Go figure.

As I evaluated these claims, I realized that, given my current trajectory, in six month’s time I’ll be blogging about my debut on Hoarders: Buried Alive.

I’m holding out hope that my future daughter will have slightly smaller feet than I, or perhaps, one day, I’ll lose a toe.  But until that happens, I’ll continue to put on my lovely shoes for 15 minute intervals at a time in the comfort of my apartment, occasionally tell them stories, ask them for advice, read them novels… and then return them to my bookshelf where they will silently watch over me.