Upon leafing through the men's style magazine T, I was reminded of another fall day, waaaay back in the mid/late 80s when I was a second-year undergraduate (after having taken two full years off to work in the fashion world).
I was reading ELLE magazine (my 80s favourite) and saw either an editorial photo or an ad of a model wearing a navy silk shirt. I can't recall the designer, but suffice to say that it was one carried by a boutique in the Market, the funky side of town.
This is neither the ad nor the shirt, but I did remember the designer: KIKIT. Here's an ad from 1990, with a younger Antonio Banderas.
I high-tailed it to the boutique and learned that the shirt was actually men's wear, and that it was the most luxurious sueded silk. Of course, it was too large for me, but such was the alluring combination of ELLE, that particular shade of navy, and the sueded silk that I bought it.
I did that at times--bought men's things instead of women's. When Ralph Lauren came out with fragrance, I bought the more medicinal Polo for myself instead of the unappealing Lauren for women. I wore a men's rugby shirt. (I still wear Mr. C's rainslickers.)
If I think about it, though, I wonder about my motivation. Did I think men's wear; schmen's wear--I like it so I'm wearing it, or was I purposefully cultivating an eccentricity that filled my closet and vanity table with odd one-offs instead of things to mix and match. I may have been working toward Anna Piaggi when I really wanted to look like (a blonde) Yasmin LeBon.
I've written here before about my sartorial education in being "different"--how my grandmother would buy me a "cooler" equivalent of whatever was fashionable, even though I just wanted to look the same as my friends. That shirt, brought back to mind via the photo above, has me thinking, somewhat uncomfortably, about past choices.
Do gentle readers ever travel back in time and reevaluate their style?
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