Lament of the (Would Be) Working Girl

I used to work for a woman who loved to interview for new jobs. After a bad day at the office, she'd go home, fire up her laptop, and send her resume out to her broad network of contacts. She thrived in new environments, and her enthusiasm invariably dazzled her interviewers. Every couple of years, she moved on to a new job and new challenges. Just last week, she packed up and moved from Southern California to Alaska. She is fearless.

I, on the other hand, break out in a cold sweat at the mere mention of CareerBuilder. So you can imagine my terror when I was asked to come in for an interview on Friday, my first in over 10 years. In the days leading up, I worried myself into red, bumpy, painful hives that covered my neck (not a good look). At night, I dreamed about everything that could go wrong - getting lost on the way, flubbing interview questions, and (worst of all) realizing just as I was shaking hands with my potential colleagues that I was wearing faded jeans and a sloppy shirt.

This last subconscious worry seemed about to become a reality as I scoured my local malls for an Interview Suit. When I graduated from law school way back in 2001, you could cruise into any Ann Taylor and pick up a navy or gray skirt suit in acetate or viscose. Pair it with a cream-colored polyester shell, throw on some sensible black heels, a good watch, and some pearl studs, and you were done. Incidentally, we were instructed by Career Services to avoid black (too severe) and pants suits (unprofessional). It went without saying that we were to wear pantyhose, preferably Donna Karan. To paraphrase Melanie Griffith's Tess, you wanna be taken seriously, you need a serious suit.

Now admittedly, the Interview Suit was no one's favorite article of clothing. As soon as you signed your offer letter, the Interview Suit retreated to the dark recesses of your closet. Perhaps you wore its sibling on your first day or pulled it out occasionally for important meetings, but soon enough, business casual reigned triumphant. Eventually, your whole look devolved until, by the end, you were wearing flip-flops on Fridays. No? Okay, I guess it was just our office then.

So while I'm glad that many of us no longer have to wear suits on a daily basis, I was irritated when I realized that Brooks Brothers (of all places) does not stock navy or gray skirt suits. The saleswoman even called into the warehouse for me. Zip, zilch, nada. I made my way over to J Crew, where a salesman told me that the store had recently stopped stocking suits altogether, but that I could still order one online. Irritation gave way to panic. Giving up my dream of natural fibers, I visited Banana Republic, Ann Taylor, Talbots, and Macy's. Still no Interview Suit.

In desperation, I tried Burberry and yet again came up empty handed. But here, an angel of a salesman whispered in his British accent, "Go to Lord & Taylor. Everything is on sale." And there, in the middle of the first floor, was an Interview Suit bonanza. Racks and racks of suits made by someone named Arthur S. Levine. Plain, no-nonsense suits in plain, no-nonsense colors. Let me tell you, relief feels like poly-blend.

Tahari Arthur Levine
Two Button Blazer

Tahari Arthur Levine
Tommy Pencil Skirt

All this has left me wondering if the Interview Suit is a dying breed. Perhaps the smaller stores needed to clear out boring basics this month to make room for their more exciting holiday offerings. Perhaps women have collectively decided that the old "rules" are nonsense, and that their education and experience should speak (rightfully) louder than a black pant suit. Or perhaps women aren't interviewing because of the poor job market. I just don't know.

I do know, however, that I'd really like a navy or gray suit in wool. If you have suggestions, please let me know. There is this one from Tahari, which I might be able to try on in Boston. Then again, maybe it's time to go custom with Moi-Meme.

Fall Fashion Essentials: Boston Edition

I miss the L.A. uniform. Slip on a pair of faded jeans, a white gauzy tunic, and some flip-flops and you could blend in anywhere in the city, from the surf shacks of Manhattan Beach to the sidewalk bistros of Robertson Blvd. So easy. Of course, looking good in L.A. has always been about the body, not the clothes. It takes endless hours of hiking in Runyon Canyon to perfect that laid-back style. On second thought, maybe not so easy after all.

I'm sure it will surprise you not in the least to hear that there is a uniform in Boston too. Over the last week, I've been shuttling visiting relatives all over town, and doing some fashion reconnaissance on the sly. So, what are all the cool girls wearing this fall?

#1: Longchamp's Le Pliage

This bag is everywhere. Navy is the most popular, but several girls walking around the Common today sported dark red.

Here.

#2: Frye Melissa Button Boot

There are still a few brave souls wearing their Navajos, but most are tucking their skinny jeans and Lululemons into riding boots.

Here.

#3: The Quilted Puffer Vest

Your torso is ready for the tundra in a down vest. Again, navy rules, but yesterday I saw a beautiful version in burgundy with ruffles down the front at Sara Campbell in Concord.

Here.

#4: The Infinity Scarf

I am convinced that Une Femme is the only chick in Southern California who understands scarves. So, I'm encouraged to see women wearing circle scarves, like this one from Lilly Pulitzer. No mad origami skillz needed. Even I can pull this look off.

Here.

#5: Needlepoint Hat

Worn with a bun peeking out at the nape of the neck.

Here.

PSA: Brooks Brothers Shoe Sale

I have been stalking these shoes forever. They are finally on super-sale for $45.60. Oh Happy Day!

The Cult of St. John

In its heyday, St. John Knits was the uniform of a certain kind of woman: professional, polished, and (ahem) established. Its jackets featured 22k gold-plated and hand-enameled buttons. It hems were knit-in, not sewn.  Its fabrics were famously forgiving, and could be taken in or (more often) let out through a steaming process called blocking. It did Reagan Red like nobody's business.

When I was in high school, the company took out a full page color ad every Sunday in the L.A. Times Magazine featuring Kelly Gray, the daughter of the company's founder. Kelly Gray stretched out on a zebra-skin rug with shirtless male model. Kelly Gray standing by a limo with a bevy of handsome shirtless male models. Kelly Gray lounging poolside in Brazil with (you guessed it) even more shirtless male models.

Kelly Gray's world couldn't have been more different from mine, but I loved her, as did St. John's legions of rabidly loyal fans. Then, the unthinkable happened. The Grays were pushed out, and the new owners inexplicably chose Angelina Jolie as the brand's new face. Angelina Jolie, who promptly broke up Brad and Jennifer. Angelina Jolie, the embodiment of every O.C. trophy wife's greatest fear. The fans were not happy.

After some back-pedaling, St. John survived, and its multi-level store at the South Coast Plaza remains a haven for shoppers seeking gala-ready gowns and impeccable service. I was lucky enough to find a sequined gown just prior to the Jolie scandal at an outlet in Vegas. I'll show it to you in two weeks when I wear it to the Junior League's prom casino night. But with the exception of a couple of jackets bought on sale for my mom for Christmas gifts, I bought no other pieces of St. John's Santana knits.

So imagine my joy when I walked into Second Time Around in Torrance last weekend and found a stockpile of new-with-tags St. John. I walked out with this skirt, originally $300, but marked down to $50.

Knit-it hem

The Nordstrom tag is still attached!

I picture it with a low-slung gold chain belt. Perhaps an over-sized brooch. Nude hose, for a bit of Nancy R. camp.

In case you are feeling badly for the Ms. Gray, don't. She and her mom have just launched a new line, Grayse, which will no doubt have as solid a following as their old venture.

Retail Therapy: Leontine Linens

When I got married in the summer of 2011, my gifts to my bridesmaids were hand-embroidered handkerchiefs from Leontine Linens in New Orleans. I bought a pair for myself too, and stuck one in the bodice of my dress and the other in my white clutch. Holly Golightly had Tiffany's, her place where nothing bad could ever happen. As much as I love that blue box, my cure for the mean reds is the Leontine Linens website. Were I to win the Powerball or sell a news app to Yahoo for a large fortune, I would immediately ring up Leontine and place my order for monogrammed towels, tablecloths, and pillow shams. But for now, I am content with my equivalent of Holly's engraved Cracker Jack ring.

The sales staff at Leontine were as attentive as the gentleman who showed Holly and Paul the sterling silver rotary phone dialer. When the handkerchiefs arrived in their box, they were accompanied by a card listing the names of the women who made on my order. 

In the summer of 2012, I carried both handkerchiefs with me to my father's funeral. During the service, I took one of them out of the handbag he bought for me when I got my first "real" job, and traced the monogram with my finger as if it were a rosary. This morning, I am pressing the handkerchiefs into service again to attend the funeral a woman who was a high school classmate of my sister and the daughter of a beloved co-worker. She will be buried at the same cemetery we laid my dad to rest. I do not want to get ready this morning. Once I put on my black dress, the same one I wore last summer, I know I will have to acknowledge reality. In the meantime, I am contemplating my handkerchiefs and hoping that they see more tears of happiness than tears of sadness in my lifetime.

The Chrissy Problem

There she in line in front of you at Urth Caffé ordering a soy latte. Later, you spot her in pigeon pose at a hellfire hot yoga class in Larchmont Village. And in the evening, she's your waitress at Providence, biding her time until her next audition.

She's a Chrissy. And the problem? You are not a Chrissy.

Suzanne Somers may have left the cast of Three's Company thirty years ago, but modern incarnations of Chrissy, the beachy blonde would-be starlet, are everywhere you look in L.A. It's Chrissy's town, and brunettes just live here. In the past, our options have been limited. We could a) get ourselves over to Sheri Román's hair salon, STAT, or b) accept our role as Janet, the level-headed friend.

But recently, a third option has emerged. I give you Mrs. Roper and her signature hostess gown.

Don't you want her necklace?

A few years ago, the hostess gown staged a comeback. In theory, it seems like the perfect garment. Midsection a little poofy? Legs a little pale? Upper arms a little saggy? Slip on a billowy hostess gown and look like you've stepped out of the pages of a Slim Aarons coffee table book. But while the hostess gown promises to hide all your problem areas, it also announces to the world that...you have problem areas.

Never afraid to dress exactly like a Palm Beach octogenarian, I donned a hostess gown while getting my hair and makeup done on the morning of my wedding.

Me and My Muumuu
Photo by Elizabeth Leitzell

Despite its inherent challenges, designers are still pushing the hostess gown this spring. Emerson Fry and Issa both have versions for you.

Emerson Fry

Issa

Or you can turn to Society Social, the hostess gown's proudest advocate. And while you're at it, pick up a faux bamboo bar cart and a giant cocktail ring.

I'll see you at the Regal Beagle.

Lydia, Oh Lydia, Oh Have You Seen Lydia?

Lydia the nude tattooed ankle sock lady?

Rodarte RTW Fall 2013

Photo By Lexie Morelan

WWD

At least they don't have to be lasered off.

With your good bag and your cheap shoes...

Hannibal Lecter, Fashion Maven

Lately, I've been feeling a bit like Clarice Starling, a well-scrubbed rube with a little taste. Sure, my pocketbook looks fabulous. But exactly what statement am I making with my worn-out shoes?

Over the last six months, I have worn through three, count 'em, three pairs of my all-time favorite ballet flat, the Jack Rogers Slim.

Oh Slim, how I loved you.

When I wore a dime-sized hole in the soft leather soles of Pair #1 within two months of purchase, I rushed the shoes off to the cobbler, as if carrying a sick puppy to the vet. Sadly, the new sole he applied began to peel off just a few weeks later. When the Slim went on sale, I ordered two more pairs in black and gold thinking that perhaps Pair #1 was just a lemon. Neither fared any better than my original pair.

I arrived at the unhappy conclusion that I was the owner of cheap shoes. Adding insult to injury, my cheap shoes had cost me a good chunk of money. It was time to upgrade.

If you are a man, you can turn to any number of fine establishments for exceptionally made shoes that will last decades (or at least get you through Career v. 1.0). Mayor Bloomberg claims he's been wearing the same two pairs of loafers to work for ten years. If you would like to weep green tears of bitter envy over perfect tassel loafers, I invite you to read Reggie Darling's ode to Alden slip-ons here.

But for us double X chromosomes? Labels and price no longer seem to guarantee quality. As I read through blogs and forums though, it appeared that Ferragamo still has a cult following of women who swear that their flats have lasted them for years. Last week, fortified by a dry martini and reassured by Lisa at Amid Privilege, I bit the bullet and ordered a pair of Ferragamo Varinas in tortoiseshell printed patent (thankfully on sale).

Will they last? Only time will tell.

Chin Chin Cherie

Pink Elephants on Parade

Every season, Lilly Pulitzer comes out with one print that I fall for head-over-heels. This Spring, it's Chin Chin, a retro/gaudy pink & green print with Indian-inspired elephants and paisley.

Must-haves for me include this shift dress with its key-hole back:

The Nina dress in Chin Chin.

Although I probably won't pair it with the dress, the Shoreline tote is also on my list.

If I were a braver (read: thinner) person who could pull off wild go-to-hell pants, I'd get the Worth Skinny Mini Zip Jeans too.

The Chin Chin print will be available on February 10th, but you can preview the line now at The Pink Pelican.

Keep or Return? Decisions, decisions...

Every year in mid-November, I have a Diana Vreeland moment.  "Merry Wife," I say to myself, "Why don't you...make homemade and thoughtful Christmas gifts for all your coworkers?"

I'm not sure why I feel compelled to foist cheese straws or bath bombs on my lovely colleagues, who frankly would prefer Starbucks gift cards. Luckily for them, I invariably procrastinate until the last possible moment come to my senses and rush around the Del Amo mall like a madwoman the evening before everyone is scheduled to go on vacation.

This year I rush-ordered bracelets for the women in my office from Banana Republic.  I ordered an extra one for myself, and am now having second thoughts.

Here's the photo from the website.

Banana Republic Leather Lock Bracelet

And here it is on me.

I expected it to be somehow bolder. Chunky and cuff-like. This feels more like a watch without the dial.

Well, I suppose something should be thinner than expected during the holidays.

Monogram Mondays at Lilly Pulitzer - Madison Avenue

Lilly Pulitzer NYC print

Some things just go together: gin and tonic, peanut butter and jelly, Lilly Pulitzer and monograms.  Indeed, it is the rare Lilly lover who isn't so enamored of her own initials that she hasn't branded every available surface with them.

So I expect that Lilly Pulitzer's new monogramming service at its Madison Avenue shop will be hugely popular. And, joy of joys, on Mondays, the shop will monogram one purchase for free! No word on when this promotion will end, so call the friendly and helpful sales staff today at (212) 744-4620.

Public Service Announcement: Brooks Brothers Clearance

Today through December 16th, save up to 70% on selected sale items.

This morning, I did a little Christmas shopping for myself and picked up this Sea Island cotton twinset.

A Sweater Only a Mom Could Love



Oh, the humiliation.

I have a confession to make: I am a huge QVC fan.  At the end of excruciatingly bad weekdays, I flop onto the bed with the Merry Dog, down a dry martini, and watch the overly-animated QVC hosts talk up the pros of heat-treated topaz rings, 15" Dell laptop computers, and patent-pending cellulite creams.

It's all television gold, but my favorite segments are devoted to the Christmas sweaters created by the evil geniuses at Quacker Factory.  By any sartorial standard, these sweaters are just...awful.  In fact, they are so awful that, out of concern for your precious eyeballs, I'm not even going to provide a link to them, lest you be tempted to gaze upon their blinding glory.  Google at your own risk.   

But my reptile brain is entranced by these horrid little sweaters. Is it the gaudy flash of red and green rhinestones? (Sequined evergreen trees! Bedazzled candy canes! LED reindeer noses!) Or maybe the earnest testimonials of call-in guests who gush about their Quaker Factory sweaters of Christmases past and present? ("You won't see yourself coming and going in one of these sweaters!")

I don't know.  I do know, however, that I am not alone in this sick obsession with the Ugly Christmas Sweater.

Over the past several years, the U.C.S. competition has become a popular Yuletide event. In the beginning, it was easy fun.  Raid your mom's closet, grab at random one of the many, many (why, Lord, so many?) red scratchy cotton-acrylic blend crewnecks with seasonally-appropriate 3D appliques, and you were good for at least third place. 

But the competition this year is fierce. Several of my friends have remarked upon the difficulty of obtaining a truly ugly U.C.S.  Previously reliable sources (e.g. Aaardvark's in Redondo Beach) sold all the "good" ones weeks ago to hyper-prepared hipsters. Many a party-goer is resorting to embellishing a not-ugly-enough U.C.S with holiday pins or puffy-paint pens. Is this cheating, or at the very least, not in keeping with the found object spirit of the competition?  Purists say yes.   But you'd be surprised how low people will stoop when a bottle of Bailey's is on the line.    

Mario Batali Bistro Clogs

My dad was half-Japanese, and growing up, my sister and I always removed our shoes before walking into the house.  Now I'm married to a Chinese guy, so the tradition continues.  It never occurred to me that walking around barefoot in the kitchen might pose any problems.  Then two weeks ago, I dropped my box of food processor blades and spent the next 4 hours in the ER waiting for someone to stitch up my right toe.

Suddenly, kitchen clogs sounded like a really good idea.

After reading way too many message board discussions about the pros and cons of Dansko and Sanitas clogs, I decided to go with the much, much cheaper Crocs favored by the chef Mario Batali, seen here in all his fashionable glory:

Yes, I am now the proud owner of obnoxious orange kitchen clogs.

They are hideous, but I love them!  It's impossible for me not to feel cheerful and energetic when I look down at them, which is exactly what I need first thing in the morning.

The Nice List

The Merry Husband and I spent the bulk of yesterday driving through rural Nevada and California on the US-395, avoiding the retail hell that is Black Friday.  We stopped long enough in Bishop to make a purchase from Mahogany Smoked Meats, where, luckily, there was enough smoked salmon and habanero buffalo jerky to feed us and our fellow shoppers, scary-looking but polite bikers.

Nevertheless, I won't be able to avoid the mace-wielding crowds forever.  It's time to tackle the Nice List.

A Lenox cocktail shaker for Sis, the entertainer.

A statement necklace from Cristina V. for Mom, the Scorpio. 

Running socks for my husband, the marathoner.

A giant Elmo for my niece.

(Okay, maybe not that giant, but you get the idea.)

And a little something for myself.

Potluck Season

Thanksgiving is *gasp* less than two weeks away, and for many of us the next six weeks will be a blur of potlucks.  Casseroles, pies, cookies...we'll make them all, arrange them on pretty platters, and tote them off to our offices, churches, and friends' houses. 

On the surface, potlucks seem especially suited to the holiday spirit of sharing and cooperation, like that Stone Soup story come to life.  But let's face the ugly truth.  These things are a viper's nest of culinary competition.  God forbid two ladies somehow sign up to bring the same dish - oh the horror!  You'd better avoid them both for the rest of the night, lest one of them discovers you didn't find her chicken salad superior in every way.

With the stakes so high, it's worth considering first impressions.  Planning just to walk into the party with tin foil slapped on top of your casserole dish?  Well, Vonny has got you covered.  Based in Southern California but run by Southerners, this little company makes the cutest casserole, pie, and market totes you've ever seen. 

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

And if everything you own must be monogrammed, In This Very Room can help (or enable, as the case may be).

May the best pie win.

It all started with a juice stand...

Lilly Pulitzer fans everywhere know the back story well: a depressed young mother (who just happens to be an heiress and Jackie Kennedy's BFF) is advised by her physician to get a hobby.  Inspired, she opens a juice stand, but in true socialite form, quickly becomes irked by the fruit stains she keeps getting on her clothes.  The solution is perhaps the chicest employee uniform of all time, the iconic Lilly shift dress.  The dresses become a hit with the Palm Beach set, Life magazine runs a photo of BFF wearing one while on vacation, and the rest is herstory.

For its resort collection, the brand is celebrating its past with a new print, In the Beginning, featuring illustrations based on photographs of the young Mrs. Pulitzer. 

I want to order just about everything in this print, but will start with this tote:

The collection is available now at the Pink Pelican.