Adventures in menswear, part 1

Like I mentioned in an earlier post, I'm currently reading a style guide for men, Bernhard Roetzel's Gentleman - A Timeless Guide to Fashion. I decided to embark on a trip to men's fashion for two reasons. First, I watched some movies with interesting menswear. Second, I read an article in the New York Times after the Academy Awards. The article discussed men's red carpet disasters; that despite men "having it easy" (all they have to do is follow the dress code - the concept is actually quite interesting), a lot of men get it wrong. At this year's Oscars, for example, George Clooney's suit jacket was too small, and his trousers too long. I would have never noticed that, because to be honest, I don't know much about men's clothes.

1930

I've mentioned before that I'm not a huge fan of style guides or clothing rules in general, but I figured that some general information regarding men's clothing couldn't hurt. For a while I've been considering that perhaps menswear is simply onto something. Perhaps there is a reason why what-is-considered-a-stylish-man has worn a simple dark suit for decades on end. Yes, ties and collars have been a little narrower here and a lot wider there, but broadly speaking, a suit is a suit.  The same might be true of women's suits... but a lot of the times the details, colours, jewellery, hairstyles and make-up trends get in the way. There is often just too much of something that distracts the eye. Maybe there is a different type of simplicity, or something time-defying about menswear. Or maybe it's not the clothes at all - maybe it's the way menswear is worn. I got my hands on Roetzel's book because it is supposed to be the definitive guide of classic men's fashion.

1960

So far I've learned all sorts of interesting things. Did you know that a button-down shirt is actually a shirt whose collar is, literally, buttoned down to the shirt? I am ashamed to admit that I had no idea. I've seen "button-down" used to mean a shirt, you know, a shirt, with buttons in the front. Now in hindsight I feel a little silly, because of course, almost by definition, all shirts have a multiple-button closure in the front, but not all collars are buttoned down. It makes sense to have the distinction. What's really interesting is that these types of distinctions are everywhere in menswear, and they actually serve practical purposes. A certain type of collar requires a certain type of tie in order to fit well, and vice versa. A shirt must be long enough - front and back of the shirt should be able to touch in the crotch area - so that one doesn't have to re-tuck the shirt after bending over. Men's trousers should only have pleats if the man's size calls for it - otherwise the fabric doesn't fall right. Or that's what Roetzel says, anyway. And I have to admit that some of this stuff just makes sense.

I wonder if the problem I have with womenswear is that it seems to have entered anarchy: that our preoccupation with our body shapes and identities has removed a lot of the common sense out of the equation of women getting dressed. We spend a lot of time wondering how to channel and express our identities through our clothes, and what others think of the clothes we wear. As consumers, we are told to buy outfits that channel a message rather than clothes that might let our personalities shine. We no longer care as much about practicality, good materials, or the right fit. These days when we encounter a blazer with sleeves that are too short, we roll them up rather than demand a sleeve that's right. And when we try on a blazer that's too big on the shoulders, womenswear sales assistants will regurgitate sales pitches on menswear-inspired trends. At what point did we stop demanding more? Why do the men's t-shirts in my closet last dozens of laundry cycles, but the seams in my women's tees start twisting and turning after a couple of wears? Do men just ask for more?  

1933

I was fitted for a suit a few weeks ago, at a menswear store. It was an eye-opening experience. The sales assistant didn't ask me what type of style I was looking for, which seemed astonishing to me. She took a look at me from head to toe, measured me, and started pulling slim-cut, two-button-closure suits off the racks. After the sales assistant had shown me a suit I liked, minutes later I stood there wearing it. It was big everywhere. Before I had even said anything, I stepped into a little space with huge mirrors. A lady came in with a bunch of pins and tailor's chalk. She worked her magic on the suit, and told me to pick up the suit in a few weeks. I left the store a little overwhelmed. I wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. It hadn't felt like shopping. It felt like someone had dressed me according to some mysterious standard, something bigger than me and my identity.    

Images from Elizabeth Walker: Style Book: Fashionable Inspirations

2/12

Some of you have been wondering how my shopping plan for 2012 has progressed. I'm glad to say: so far, so good, except that I've broken the rule of no online shopping. (It occured to me that if I knew how a certain brand fits me, it would be okay.) My second purchase of the year was a pair of Tod's loafers. I got them at Etsy for about $30. They have been worn a handful of times, if that, because they are in impeccable shape. They also fit like a dream.

One of the most comfortable shoes I ever owned was a pair of baby pink loafers. I wore them all the time. That is, until my then-boyfriend started harrassing me about them. He hated them. Every time I wore them when he was around, he gave me a hard time about them. I was silly, I didn't stick to my guns, and I gave the loafers to my mother, who eventually ruined them by wearing them while weeding her vegetable patch. Every once in a while I've thought about those loafers, and how I should have held onto them. For some reason, until now, I never thought about replacing them. 

As you know, I've given a lot of thought to why some pieces of clothing have staying power. When it comes to my shoes, I've made a lot of mistakes in the past. I've avoided buying basic shoes in order to hoard strappy sandals and all sorts of high heels that I seldom wear. But almost without exception, my flats have had staying power. I don't wear ballet flats - I don't find them aesthetically pleasing on myself - and my favourite oxfords and brogues can seem a little too formal sometimes. But my old, pink loafers had casual staying power, and I figured that it was time to get a new pair. This time though, I went with a neutral colour to make sure that they go with everything. I am considering getting a second pair in black, but I'll see if I can justify yet another shoe purchase out of the allowance of twelve pieces I've given myself this year.

So far, I've bought two pairs of shoes this year. I've come to realise that shoes are perhaps the most important part of getting dressed. It's not just about the way one's shoes look. Shoes influence the way we stand and walk. A woman struggling to stay balanced on her heels, knees bent, looks helpless. A pair of ugly, cheap shoes can ruin an outfit in a heartbeat - and this goes for both women and men.  In my eyes, a pair of really good shoes can allow one to overlook, say, a pilled sweater. Nothing, of course, looks better than self-confidence, but good shoes are perhaps a close second.

Shades of Blue

I am so sorry I haven't been able to post more often recently. Things have been a little hectic; I've been swamped with work, and I had a wisdom tooth pulled (ugh!). But now I'm back!

It looks like spring is finally making its way here. Well, I shouldn't say 'finally', because it really hasn't been much of a winter. We haven't had much snow at all, and just by looking at our heating bill I can tell that it hasn't even been horribly cold. It still feels wonderful to see the sun and some early croci (yes, I think 'crocuses' is the more common plural, but I just love 'croci'). I took these pictures on Wednesday. It was an amazing day, 65 degrees - that's about 17 degrees celcius. We're back to a-little-above-freezing today, but oh well.

In terms of style-related matters, I've been wearing pretty much the same clothes every day for the last three or four weeks: black jeans with a navy turtleneck or a chambray shirt. I've been giving a lot of thought to what makes clothing timeless and what makes me want to wear a particular piece of clothing again and again. I've also embarked on a mission to figure out what it is about menswear: why does menswear appear to age much better than womenswear? Chris and I watched a couple of movies (Great Gatsby, Talented Mr Ripley, Annie Hall), where the menswear actually looked somewhat current, but the womenswear appeared to reflect the period of time to the dot. The few pieces of actual menswear I own (sweaters, mostly - I've bought them because of the sleeve length) seem timeless year after year, whereas  what might have been considered womenswear basics at the time I purchased them, appear dated a year or two later, almost without exception. This bothers me.

In order to get my head around "menswear vs. womenswear", I'm currently reading Bernhard Roetzel's Gentleman - A Timeless Guide to Fashion. Even though I usually steer away from all sorts of style guides, I can't help but feel fascinated by this one. The title of the book says it all - it has chapters on smoking jackets, hunting suits and all sorts of useless aristocratic nonsense - but it is very refreshing to read about style in relation to appearance alone, with no consideration given to trends, body image or identity. It is certainly giving me a lot to think about, and I'll probably end up writing a series of posts on the topic.

Speaking of menswear, Jess provided a great link to this Wall Street Journal article, which suggests that women would benefit from shopping more like men. If you are not familiar with Jess' blog, Empty Emptor, check it out now. Her writing is phenomenal! She is currently tackling issues such as the phenomenon of wardrobe purging, and what happens to clothes after we get rid of them. Seriously, her blog is one to watch!

Anyway, since the topic of this post is 'Shades of Blue'... well, of course I had to include my favourite Blue. You may not remember, but Blue has struggled with her weight for some time. The picture above was taken two years ago, when she weighed over 17 pounds. This is what she looks like now:

Down to about 10 pounds! The transformation has been incredible to watch. She is so much more mobile and active. It has taken a lot of time and effort to get to this point, but Chris and I couldn't be happier that we've made it through.

Talented Mr Ripley (1999)

I'm sorry I haven't been posting lately - I've been busy with work assignments.

Chris and I watched Anthony Minghella's Talented Mr Ripley the other night. The movie doesn't exactly do justice to Patricia Highsmith's novel, but it's worth seeing anyway. The movie's wardrobe is to die for.

Louboutin on women and shoes

"When a woman buys shoes, she takes them out of the box and looks at herself in the mirror. But she isn't really looking at the shoes - she's looking at herself. If she likes herself, then she likes the shoes. A man is a fetishist: He polishes his shoes, appreciates the finish, wants to preserve them for a long time. A woman doesn't care about this. She isn't pround of having a shoe for 10 years. It's a natural feminine instinct to accessorize. A naked woman in heels is a beautiful thing. A naked man in shoes looks like a fool."

Thus spoke Christian Louboutin in the March issue of Marie Claire. As much as I'd like to claim that Louboutin is completely wrong, I'm not confident I can. Surely gender stereotypes are often misguided and used as marketing tools: women are supposed to buy "frivolous" pretty things, and men "smart" things like electronics  and cars. I think we can safely say that those stereotypes are a little foolish: we probably all know people whose consumer-habits are either smart or problematic, and gender is hardly ever the defining factor once you start taking things apart. But when it comes to my own history with shoes, I hate to admit that I think I know what Louboutin is talking about. I've been there countless of times, looking at myself in the mirror, wearing a new pair of shoes, loving the way they made me feel about myself. And I also recognise that a lot of it has to do with my gender.

However, I strongly disagree with Louboutin that women's attitudes toward shoes are about some kind of god-given feminine instinct, a natural order of sorts. When I say that my shoe-life has its roots in my gender, I'm talking about the way I learned to be a woman. As I was growing up, I saw my mother in fancy high heels. She had a good (but not huge) collection of beautifully made Italian shoes, and according to my mother, her mother had a truly enviable collection of shoes back in the day. I also witnessed my stepfather obsessively polishing his shoes in the weekends; he would only buy a new pair of shoes after the old pair broke. That's what I saw, and that's how gender stereotypes are made: through observation and learning. These days there is something that can be said about the the Sex and the City-mentality. If our own mothers don't live up to the stereotype of the shoe-craving woman, we always have Carrie Bradshaw and her friends to fall back on. We do what we see other women do - even if the women we see are fictional.

But back to Louboutin and his "feminine instinct to accessorize". It is just too easy to fall back on the assumption that the way women learn to connect with shoes has its roots in the biological make-up of us as representatives of our gender. To portray the woman as the natural peacock is pure nonsense. We can look at the history of costumes and take note of the fact that men, especially the wealthy, wore high heels from the 16th century to the 18th, and their attire used to be just as flashy, if not flashier, than women's. Why men eventually abandoned their fascination with shoes and high heels and women did not - to be honest, I haven't read enough about the topic to know. But I think it's safe to say that "natural instinct to accessorize" is not the reason. As for why Louboutin would claim that it is, well, that's how shoes are sold. But funnily enough, he also goes to say that he hates "the idea of natural". So I guess if women's natural instinct is to accessorize and to keep buying shoes... and the very natural he just talked about is somehow not desirable in his eyes... I would claim that Louboutin just doesn't know what the heck he is talking about. Anything to sell more shoes to women who don't really need them, right?



On wardobe culling, Part 2, or The Anatomy of Letting Go

Terri asked me to walk you guys through my process of culling with the help of some individual pieces of clothing. I picked two items that are now in my donation pile. Here are their stories.

Item 1. 

I thrifted this dress last summer in Finland. I found it at a flea market, it cost 3 euros, and I bought it because I liked the print and the material... but also in part because the weather in Finland was much warmer than I had thought, and I was excited about buying something for the summer. I liked the colours, and I wasn't too worried about the size tag (Finnish 40 - I usually wear 36); I figured that I could take it in if need be. The dress ended up being too big, but I wore it a handful of times anyway, but always felt self-conscious about the fact that it wasn't the right size.

I decided to let go of the dress because:

1) it doesn't fit right, and taking it in would actually be too challenging for my poor sewing skills - the dress is lined and I'd have to re-work the waistband.

2) if I really loved the dress, I'd take it to a seamstress... but the reality is that I don't think it would be worth the trouble. I don't love it enough, and I have other dresses that I like much, much more.

3) I don't usually give much thought to what's age-appropriate and what isn't, but my gut feeling says that this dress would look much better on a 15-year-old. I also feel like it could make someone else happy.

Item 2.

I bought these shoes some years ago, also in Finland. I had been looking at them in the store for some time, I had tried them on, but didn't feel like paying the full price. I finally bought them after the discount crept up to 50%. I liked the design, that they were a little edgy but not completely crazy, and they were surprisingly comfortable. Or that's what I thought. The first time I wore them I got blisters. And not just any blisters, but out-of-this-world blisters, the kind that broke and bled. And you know what, I don't think I ever wore them out again. I'd occasionally put them on for an outfit picture, but before heading out of the house I'd change into a different pair.

I had played with the idea of getting rid of the shoes before, but always decided against letting go of them because I thought that perhaps next time they wouldn't be so uncomfortable, that my feet would somehow get used to them with time. But by now I feel like I'm over the design; they seem a little fashion-victim-y to me, and I can't think of all that many clothes I'd even want to wear them with.

I decided to let go of the shoes because:

1) they are horribly uncomfortable, and I can't change that.

2) and that's really all there is. Even if I still loved the design, there is no reason why I should hold onto shoes that I can't wear.

On wardrobe culling, Part 1

After having given it some thought, I finally engaged in some serious wardrobe culling over the weekend. By serious I mean that I bagged up a lot of clothes to donate. By a lot I mean not actually all that many considering how many clothes I have. All I can really say is "Holy macaroni, Batman, how did this happen?"

I have been holding onto so much crap it isn't funny. The crap in question can be roughly divided into four categories:

1) stuff I used to like and wear years ago but have grown out of, mentally or physically

2) stuff I used to love and then just forgot about

3) stuff I bought thrifted and never really got to wear for whatever reason (fit, colour, randomness)

4) stuff I bought because I bought into a trend, or because I saw it on someone else.

The first category is pretty easy to live with: even if the clothes don't fit me anymore, I at least wore them in the past. The second category is sort of wonderful, actually: I've been re-acquainted with some oldies-but-goodies. The two remaining categories are the ones I'm having a tough time accepting.

I think the main reason I've held onto the thrifted crap and the trend crap / someone else's style crap for so long is embarrassment. I guess I don't do all that well with admitting my own mistakes, and I don't do well with guilt. I have bought stuff, then realised the next day that it wasn't going to work for me, but it would prove too difficult to fully admit it. Maybe I just didn't want to deal with buyer's remorse, the money wasted, or my inability to spot an obvious flaw. Instead, I'd say "darn, I'll figure out a way to wear it anyway." "I'll try it again tomorrow. Or the day after." "Maybe I'll re-work it. I'll take off the sleeves. I'll hem it." "Or maybe I can wear that colour with a tan." And yet, I'd somehow know that I had made a mistake, that I wasn't going to tan, that I never managed to rework an ill-fitting garment successfully. I just didn't want to admit it to myself, and I kept holding onto clothes that I didn't love. After all of my previous culling attempts, there were (and are) still way too many clothes like that in my wardrobe. Time after time they kept creeping in somehow, and there they remained, because to admit failure is not always an easy thing to do.  

As I was digging into my mess of a wardrobe over the weekend, it became obvious that yes, I have made plenty of mistakes. I've had moments of clarity like that before, and they led to nothing: I'd get rid of my mistakes and then make more of them. I tried a different approach on Saturday: I started trying stuff on, and I tried to remember why I had decided to buy that particular piece of clothing. I tried to remember the last time I had worn it, and if I didn't remember, or if I didn't recall the way that garment made me feel, I'd fold it away. I asked myself what was wrong with whatever needed to go: was it the colour, the fit, the hem length? Once I started asking myself questions and being honest with my answers, it got surprisingly easy to admit that I had made mistakes. Because you know what, everyone has made mistakes, and to acknowledge them and to understand them is the only way forward. If we don't fully admit to ourselves what we have done, we will never change.

After about two and a half hours of culling, I had bagged up five big garbage bags of stuff. I couldn't help but admit that I had barely begun the process, that there was a lot more stuff that needed to go, but then I stopped myself. I had to, because getting rid of all of that stuff felt a little bit... too rewarding. I've been there before: I've culled one day, lived with an emptier wardrobe for a week or two, and then started buying again.  I figured that I'd better do this in stages this time. I don't want to get too comfortable. I am not ready to see a healthy wardrobe just yet.

  

Pictures from a Montgomery Ward catalogue, 1950.