Il y a un an...

Mon premier défilé de la mode à Paris ...

and now, on the eve of Paris Fashion Week,

I'm aching to be in my city of true love...

Mais je vous assure, à très bientôt!

Dear Lynn Yaeger

Dear Ms. Yaeger,

What luck I had to run into
Ms. Yaeger on Govnah's Island

I am a longtime admirer of your words and your personal style, having followed the evolution of your voice in "Elements of Style" to its present freelance form. Your good-natured commentary never fails to feel like a relief from those fashion journalists who simply take themselves too seriously. Because yes, while fashion is an industry, a business, and one of the most viable mediums of creativity (and thus fodder for critique), one just has to believe that it's also supposed to be fun. 

I've long known that no one personifies this sense of playfulness like you, and have thoroughly enjoyed seeing the world of fashion through your verbal lens. Until now I've happily absorbed your articles over my morning toast or an afternoon tea, but after reading your recent contribution to New York Magazine, I felt compelled to write. Mostly because I, a straight, freckled redhead from Ohio (albeit with expatriate tendencies), found myself nodding and smiling and downright Identifying with the Lady Fag of your recent New York Mag column more than any other character ever in a fashion feature.

See, my one-weekend-a-month off from fashion's front line (Saks retail) serendipitously coincided with New York Fashion Week, so naturally I persuaded a fellow associate-freak to join me on the 8-hour after-work roadtrip to the tents, "just to see what we could see." In this, the day of streetstyle, it's hard not to subscribe to the Bruce via Yaeger philosophy that "in the halls of fashion, the only (real) fashion is in the halls." So at least in theory I would have been satisfied to be party to the style and energy and buzz outside of Lincoln Center last week. Secretly, though, I was determined to make it inside.

In brief, then, my friend and I donned a septem piercing and tutu, respectively, and made it to the last show of the day last Saturday. Dialogue over my fire-engine red toy camera transformed a Conde Nast photographer into an undercover operative/fairy godfather and we were shuffled into the lobby, and then into the show. As if my tale hadn't already diverged from Lady Fag's, far from stealing the golden real estate from the big wigs, we danced along and peeped the show from the back row. Sure, Ronson's no Wang, but I was beyond thrilled to enjoy her grungy parade of frocks.

I suppose I wanted to share my story as an offering of gratitude for speaking to and for a forgotten demographic in the fashion industry. And I thought I'd ask if, when I'm a few rungs higher in this crazy world, and living in New York, or Paris, I could invite you to tea.
 
Yours in style,
 
Moira

Charlotte Ronson

So my girl Noelle and I had the weekend off from fashion's front line (RETAIL) and thought, what the hell, it's New York Fashion week, and rather than drool over the collections from afar, why not drive out and be a part of the energy?
Stay tuned for the rest of the story! In the meantime, check the 'fits here.

Color Story

Chloé was certainly the darling of the Fall/Winter 2010 collections - a truth we're seeing play out now in the colors and textures available for fall.  While the formula of a gorgeous silk tie-color blouse up top, wide-leg trousers below, and the absolute ubiquity of camel throughout was not necessarily unique to Chloé (think Celine, Salvatore Ferragamo, etc.), the clearest execution of that vision was.  But beware: if the excitement surrounding last year's Balmain aesthetic was of precedence, editors will (and have already sadly begun to...) shoot Chloé to death.

I have to admit they're really quite gorgeous, though, the browns, even if their freshness is waning.  Consider the range available for play!  And the colors to pop against the neutrals!  And now that we've all agreed that brown (certain shades, anyhow) complements black (shout out to leopard print for decriminalizing a heretofore unfairly rejected combo), the boundaries seem truly limitless.  Not to mention the range of looks available : country club class (Chloé, Celine), equestrienne (Dior, Hermés, and Ferragamo, among others, jockeying Ralph Lauren's horse!), pin-up harlot (Dolce & Gabbana), and Harvard prep (the "Meet the Hilfigers" ad campaign officially revitalizing the house's vision). 

So many 'fits, so little time!

Fall Palette

Rich cranberry ... camel, camel, camel ... creamy satin ... tweedy browns ...

army green ... mahogany ... and a little something from the jungle!

So dust off those riding boots...

and that "Love Story"-inspired coat...

 Welcome Fall!

Grace

When I grow up, I want to be Grace Coddington, the Creative Director of American Vogue.  And not only because Grace is a kindred square-jawed, skinny redhead.

Because she is a genius.

Her work is utterly breathtaking, and her vision is boundless.  Consider her recent contribution to Vogue's June issue:  Grace frocked her doppelganger/muse Karen Elson in vintage-inspired John Galliano, Rochas, Nina Ricci, Ralph Lauren, and Marc Jacobs for an ethereal spread that simultaneously recalled the Garden of Eden, classical art, eighteenth-century France, 1920s, 30s and 40s America...and ninetees grunge.  Pages later she's on Broadway with Green Day, the reincarnation of Andrew Jackson, and the cast of Fela!.

I challenge you to find another editor who can weave such an eclectic array of themes into a single, focused aesthetic.  You'll certainly find others who try, but no one executes quite like Grace.   Flipping through her June 2010 spread over my toast and coffee this morning, I started wondering about her artistic formula.  How does she leap between continents, genres, and centuries in the same spread, and still somehow manage to tell a story?   Her creative home, she'll tell you, is the narrative, although the plot is rarely obvious and often elusive.  "I like fairy tales, and I like dreaming.  I try to weave reality into a dream," she told TIME Magazine in 2003.  So it seems I was asking the wrong question, or at least using the wrong verb.  Rather than aimlessly leaping forward in time and back again, she is rocking her audience between cultures and years with the hope of taking her audience someplace beautiful.

Grace is the most influential stylist in the world, but her impact transcends the clothes.  She has revolutionized the fashion spread, almost single-handedly turning it into a truly legitimate artform.  Where fashion used to represent superficiality, it's now recognized for its artistic and historical relevance - and Grace is largely to thank for the change.

Creatives rejoice.

Click here for a taste.
Here, too.

The work of a lifetime.

To me this blog is an excercise in creating, organizing and exploring my own visual-verbal brand; a study in how I see and interpret the world.  On one level a very personal project, on another, an undertaking with a simple goal: to concoct something as beautiful as it is interesting - and different.

The intangible nature of individual style sometimes makes it hard to reduce a person into such fashionable mots-cles as "minimalist," "flirty," "feminine," or "classic."  Because although we may try, it's really quite rare that one word can truly capture a person's aesthetic inclinations and executions.  In fact, the frustrating reality is that we are all a blend of moods and seasons and occasions, and our personal style reflects this dynamism while more or less remaining in the same key.

Surely this is what makes the correct descriptive word so elusive; it may not even exist.  Or it may be that it's  maturing alongside us, or even just beyond our reach. 

Beginning this blog meant thinking a lot about my own style philosophy.  And I've had trouble condensing it into a few key words or phrases, to put it mildly.  So it was an enormous pleasure (and relief) to receive a newspaper clipping today in the mail from my dear Aunt Moira (whom I have to thank for just about everything, and will).  It is of a letter that appeared in last Thursday's Style section of the New York times, and it reads:

Building a personal style, creatively understanding oneself, seeking out those whose work and vision coincides - this is not something that can be accomplished overnight, or by giving in to the ever-changing whim of the moment.  It is the work of a lifetime.  And it is only possible when a sense of self is present: knowing every facet of oneself, trusting one's eye and heart, and being fearless.

I recall some years ago reading an article about Nan Kempner, and accompanying it was a photo of the room in which she kept her favorite pieces - the "go to" pieces she reached for frequently.  I remember thinking that because of her confident style choices over the years, she could probably walk into that room blindfolded, pick out three random items by touch alone, and everything would work perfectly together, and everything would spell out: NAN.

                                                                                                                Visione, Hudson Valley

A style philosophy to subscribe to.