Coach or First Class?

In 1990, when I first moved to the United States, I was in thrall to the Coach magazine ads.

If I recall, for the purposes of this post, anyway, there was only one bag being advertised: the Coach “train” bag, or somesuch name, being carried by an elegant youngish blonde woman at a train station. The bag itself was a vertical rectangle, made of what looked to be sturdy leather, with both a top handle and a long strap, and Coach’s signature turnkey closure.

The chic of the bag came from its American aristocratic feel—not from its prettiness, but from its steadfastness. Here was a bag in which Great Aunt Mildred might have carried her heirloom engagement ring to Tiffany for polishing, while tiny cousins Jane and Elizabeth might have used it to lug their silver dollar collection (courtesy of Grandfather) to the bank.

I studied this bag, but felt that it was ultimately too gracious for me. I would have had to disavow my saltwater roots in northern Atlantic Canada and imagine a new backstory, one involving camelhair coats, smart pumps, and thin leather gloves. A pleasant piece of roleplay, but a performance all the same.

When I saw Coach advertise another bag, I was cheered. Called the Soho (just the Soho, to my mind, not the Soho bucket, etc . . .), it was edgier: a big, deep, roomy vault of a bag with two thick straps—one with a bridle-esque brass buckle—that just fit over the shoulder. This was more my style, and I received it in black for the first Christmas of my marriage, in 1991.

But for some reason, sometime I put the bag away, on a post in my closet, and left it there, for at least ten years, possibly fifteen, until today.

Today, as there was a genuine chill and damp in the air, it was time to switch from my natural pale leather spring summer bag to a heartier fall one. I have an absolute capsule (blogosphere word for the week!) bag collection: one leather piece for spring/summer, one large good bag for fall/winter, one evening bag, and a cloth messenger for casual treks.

(And there are also three irresponsible bags, about which I shall not speak, but they are utterly lovely and therefore banished from this capsule idea that I am trying to conjure.)

But I am very tired of my large good bag, having carried it for years upon years, not to mention its prominent logos (see above photo), which are annoying me. So it remained in its dust bag and out came the newly christened vintage Coach Soho, devoid of current silvertone dangly charm thingies, but stately-edgy with early nineties charm and reliability.

Pleased, I filled it with my wallet, lipsticks, and keys. And then I carried it to work.

And remembered why I had banished it to a post in my closet.

For those two lovely leather straps that are supposed to keep the bag on my shoulder are so slippery that they slide right off. No amount of trying to stack the straps atop one another would secure them. (And it’s not my posture, bien sur.) I ended up carrying the bag on my elbow, college satchel in my other hand.

But I will not give up, having rediscovered the Coach Soho. Perhaps tomorrow it will sit on my shoulder like a parrot perches on Captain Jack Sparrow’s.

It just needs some coaching.

Cowboy Kate Rides Again!

When my daughters were younger, I read them Cowgirl Kate and Cocoa, a children’s story about a cowgirl and her horse.

Perhaps the author was (unconsciously?) riffing on Sam Haskins’ Cowboy Kate, a lush black-and-white photographic book from 1965 that documents Kate and other female “cowboys” in a dewy, sensual love letter to the female body. It's easy to see his influence--from the Claudia Schiffer-for-Guess-jeans ads (above) to a recent Madonna spread for Elle (below).

This work is now available in a “director’s cut,” and I’m thinking about getting up on that horse—this could be a lovely book for my library.

(Above image from Haskins' Five Girls [1962])

Etro-ordinary Glamour

Although I own a bag by Etro (a crazy oversized structured pony-hair bag crossed, inconceivably, with edelweiss), I have yet to purchase a piece of clothing from this wonderfully creative Italian company.

I especially love Etro’s burnt velvets, but would be equally happy with the dress above, which manages to combine a raffia vibe with that of fine metals, all the while looking utterly wearable. (And I also like the model’s freshly washed flowing locks . . .)

Surfing on the Hair Waves: A New Hair Crush

I’ve written here before about Rita Hayworth hair, about how I wanted my stylist (in the late 1980s) to give me Kim Basinger corkscrew curls but he insisted on a Hayworth wave instead.

I certainly had the most elegant head of hair at the dance club that evening, even though it was all wrong for the “disco night.”

Probably inspired by Betty Draper and L'Wren Scott's clothes (her black-and-white bib dress is pictured below), I’m craving that gently set look again, though on a longer length than Mrs. Draper’s pretty blonde locks.

Of course this hair crush comes only weeks after I chopped off about seven inches of my own hair (three on my own, the remaining four by my stylist). I had wanted a super-short ponytail, which I now happily have, but undulating waves will have to be put on hold.

For now, I’m content reveling in these photos from W—cropped (haha) to emphasize the model’s hair.

Reading Ullipses

Yes I said . . . Yes.

The Necklace Dilemma

When reading the October Vogue, I was struck by something in the interview with Michelle Williams: she noted that she doesn’t like to wear jewelry; she feels that jewelry doesn’t suit her. (And of course she was featured on the cover with earrings.)

I immediately sensed a kindred spirit, for although I very much appreciate jewelry on others, and enjoy looking at it on others, I wear very, very little.

My engagement ring and my wedding ring are constants (but never together!), as is my Peretti bracelet that was temporarily lost among the seaweed.

Earrings are occasional, though, and necklaces are even rarer. But this morning, inspired by Sally’s necklace tutorial, I pulled out a gift from a Nepali friend: a multi, multi strand necklace of tiny beads.

I put it on with my blue linen wrap dress, looked at it, and said “OK.” Then I went about my pre-work activities and every time I passed a mirror, one of which seemed to be always in my path, my OK began to mutate into Nnn-OK. After ten minutes I was practically ripping the necklace off my throat and stuffing it back into its pretty box, with a firm “NO!”

I just feel too too with a necklace: too accessorized, too polished, too much. And while I will continue to enjoy them on other people, I’ll remain minimal . . . until I don’t, of course.

*Really* Feeling Sheepish

Oh dear—I *know* that I made gentle fun of these sheephawk booties by Christian Louboutin, but couldn’t all be forgiven?

Just look at how gorgeous they look on Lauren Santo Domingo:

I would like these rawther baa-dly.