Tell trends to take a hike?
(forgive me if this has already been posted, I didn't see it...)
It's My Style and I'm Sticking to It
By CATHY HORYN
Published: July 27, 2004
With few rules left to govern it, and self-discipline an old-hat concept, fashion now encourages people to assume an identity without actually having one of their own. Young women seem most susceptible to this form of identity theft, to judge by the number who participate in reality shows that involve a scalpel and the promise of Britney Spears's chin. But the reluctance to create an original and distinctive look, one that gives a face to personality, isn't limited to young women. Fashion designers are also losing their identities, that thread of continuity that runs through their collections. To ask who Marc Jacobs is this season is to ask which famous designer or artist recently captured his attention.
Against this background of constant change, heightened by magazine covers that seem to have adopted the biblical practice of stoning readers (Lucky, "663 Great Finds"; Teen Vogue, a paltry "85 Killer Fashion Finds"), women with a constant style hold an almost secret advantage — morally, aesthetically, politically.
To look at Laura Bush, with her neat, unvarying hairstyle and penchant for tailored clothes, is to wonder if she subscribes to Lady Astor's line: "What a boring thing it is to try to look pretty." But unlike her predecessor in the White House, who bobbed from style to style, Mrs. Bush found a look that suited her (now mostly from Oscar de la Renta) and stuck to it. She has managed to silence the conversation about her clothes, which is the boring thing.
In the late 1950's, several years before American women adopted Jacqueline Kennedy's style en masse, the New York socialite Anne Slater hit upon the look she still has today. It was based on two remarkably simple details: a brushed-back hairstyle she could manage at home and a pair of cobalt-blue tinted eyeglasses she could wear day or night, and in lieu of dangling earrings. Thus the blue cat's-eye glasses became her signature ornament. She bought 36 pairs from a Philadelphia optician, and was only mildly alarmed when told, much later, that the Lucite frames couldn't be manufactured any longer because they were flammable.
"I thought that was the dumbest thing," she said. "How many times have you heard of someone's eyeglasses being set aflame?"
But perhaps the most advantageous aspect of Mrs. Slater's look is that you can't determine her age by it. She does not look much different today than she did in a photograph taken in 1965 on a New York dance floor, a self-awareness she has in common with a younger generation of women, most obviously the writer Amy Fine Collins and Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue. When told that five decades is a long time to hold onto one look, Mrs. Slater replied with a laugh, "I know it is, darling."
Why do the current crop of young socialites and actresses feel the need to change their look so often when most icons have been worshiped for their constancy? Referring to Paloma Picasso, Linda Wells, the editor of Allure, said, "It takes a lot more work to have such a look, but also more willingness, and that's unusual today." She added that such a fixed look, even allowing for softening — a smudged eyeliner instead of a liquid one, a sheer lipstick instead of matte — doesn't jibe with today's more casual attitudes.
The hairstylist John Barrett — who once tried to budge Ivana Trump out of her golden beehive, only to be told, somewhat regally, "It's what people expect of me" — suggests that we live in "a how-to age," one that essentially encourages conformity. "There's a book, a TV program, to tell you how to do everything," he said.
Not surprisingly, many women with an individual look find it liberating. "It's never being in fashion or out of fashion," said Ms. Collins, whose boyish haircut is complemented by Geoffrey Beene clothes. For Ms. Collins, the "big leap" came when she decided to cut her hair shorter, exposing her ears. "Because large ears, I was always told, shouldn't be shown," she said. "And what you learn is that it's another quality that distinguishes you."
Ms. Collins suggests that the test of an identifiable look — one that is, in effect, a stamp — is whether it can be easily drawn, even as a caricature. "These girls today — imagine an artist having to draw them," she said, drawing a circle in the air with her finger, presumably the head of a stick figure.
Yet many young women are realizing, on their own, that style equals identity. "I'm a black woman who is a size 10 in a business where everyone is white and a size 4, at the biggest," said Beverly Smith, 37, the director of fashion advertising for Rolling Stone, who describes her style as "uptown glamorous" — Harlem by way of Pucci and Dolce & Gabbana. "I get really noticed."
Rita Konig, a London-based writer, observed, "If you're not naturally beautiful, then you have to be more clever." For Ms. Konig, 30, that means waisted dresses and the tweedy styles, especially from Prada and Miu Miu, that remind her of her grandmother's wardrobe. Indeed, she is so drawn to the elegance of the 1950's that she would "literally wear a hat and gloves if it didn't make me look like a twit."
Contacted last week at her office at Estée Lauder, Poppy King, the color designer for Prescriptives, described herself as having "change fatigue." Her style has remained constant since she was a teenager — pale skin, deep red lips, leopard prints and vintage florals. It has served as such a good conversational gambit that she can't imagine not having a signature. "To me," said Ms. King, 32, "it's so obvious that I think, `Why aren't more people on to this.' "
(forgive me if this has already been posted, I didn't see it...)