What a great jacket, I muttered to myself imagining it with jeans, a peekaboo camisole underneath…a little cleavage winking at the random passer-by.
The mere thought made me feel 45 again.
Then it hit me. I already have one. Not that I’ve worn it in fifteen years, but sure enough there it was, buried behind my hot pink Versace suit some asshole at an art opening burnt a hole in.
Rule of thumb:
Before I buy anything, I first need to check my closet because three out of five times I already own it, in some fashion, pun intended.
My style never alters. I’ve looked the same since I was 20 with a bit of pruning here and there. I no longer wear bright leather pants in the summer, stilettos with shorts or a hot pink suit at all…but my taste rarely wanders beyond the backyard.
It explains why I own over thirty little black dresses in various shapes and lengths. I could easily dress a Sicilian village providing they had pumps, pearls and perhaps a waistline.
I think I was 40 when it dawned on me I kept buying the same piece of clothing over and over again…jeans in various states of slimness, when holes in your knees came from wear, not the whim of Anna Wintour.
The classic black cardigan for winter, beige in spring, white after Memorial Day. A man’s white button-down under a cozy black cashmere turtleneck every girl deserves to have..cuffs worn on the outside. A chic navy pants suit that can be worn anywhere with flats before 5, heels after 7… and last but not least, my inimitable Barbour jacket I plan on being buried in.
Even my, It Happened One Night pajamas don’t change. I still look like Fred MacMurray every time I go to bed. Hell, the bottoms are so roomy I could rent space in the seat.
I will say, sometimes even the best of the best needs to be passed on. If I look at something and feel no nostalgia, I know it’s time.
Take that hot pink suit for instance…Housing Works may have a new acquisition when they open at 11. I can see the tag now…BUY AS IS…that hole in the sleeve making it less than a perfect deal, but someone with supreme sewing skills like my pal E-vita, or Betsy Ross for instance…if she were to buy it, would make it good as new stitching a five-pointed star where that idiot’s ash landed.
and no one (but me and Betsy and perhaps E-vita) would be the wiser.