Rediscovering Old Brands, Part 1

 Sometimes I wonder where the time went, particularly when dipping into older blog entries (both this one and those written by friends that have not been deleted). When it comes to fashion, a couple of things come to mind. First, despite all the well-documented accelerated trend cycles, styles don't seem to have changed that much. Obviously some older clothes from 2005-2013 look just a bit old, not so much tired but more middle of the road, uninspiring and either too fussy or just dull--traits often associated with your typical mid-market department stores. While trends clearly exist (the awful cold shoulders of a few years back, mom/mum jeans, head to toe athleisure), the much vaunted rapidity of fashion seems to lie more in increased production volumes and marketing. The actual clothes haven't really changed except there are more of them and the quality--and inspiration--is often lacking. Secondly, much of the clothing my erstwhile readers and I coveted looks just as good today, particularly the less overworked pieces. Granted some of this might be the decade or so that's passed, that has given us (or me) the necessary distance to reappraise. But I'm not that sure we dress all that differently today. Not just the millenial/younger Gen Xers but the population as a whole 

Maybe we are more into fashion as a conceit, as a mode of self-branding, as diversion than we are into actual material clothing, styles and creativity. Certainly, I think some of this desire is returning but it may be that I'm in a particular bubble, teaching bright, informed and often reasonably wealthy students who have chosen to live and work in New York. But I think this tendancy is more widespread, tmarked by the vintage/resale markets and the rediscovery of older items. 

As mentioned, I'm in the midst of closet-cleaning, reorganising and rediscovery. As I tentatively started in one corner of my not-so large but decently sized wardrobe, I found a few boxes, Inside three were brand new Fiorentini + Baker boots. These have to date from around the time I was pregnant with Severin. My older knee high pair split at the seam, as did a pair of ankle boots (too much wear plus bunions plus pregnancy). I vaguely remember buying one pair (the navy ankle boots). The other two, both knee high pairs, were a delightful surprise, all the more so as (a) they fit and (b) I was thinking about getting some just like these this autumn. Hard-wearing and somewhat of a heritage label in that they don't change styles often, they look just as stylish to me as they would have done in 2012. I likely didn't wear them at the time because new motherhood had temporarily caused my feet to grow a size and because my rapturous but exhausting days with my (soon to be twelve year-old) baby took up all my time and attention. While other similar (and lower priced) brands still capture attention, F + B seem to be forgotten these days so I was able to score another pair of their (used/broken in) ankle boots in a slightly different style for just $50 (including shipping) on ebay,

Other old favourites are slowly coming back into circulation. I'll write about these soon but top of the list is Lyell, even though there is little available used along with Emma Fletcher's Tocca (slightly better but still not abundant). Perhaps the creativity and quality of these garments means that they are not confined to one time, seen in their abundant vintage references, but nevertheless it feels good to have them back on my body rather than on hangers, tucked away from view. If only I could happen on some more of them.

Reflecting on My Wardrobe Cleanout/À la recherche de temps perdus. Part 1: L'Enlèvement

 I have too many clothes. I still acquire more. Yet I'm also dedicated to sustainability. All these statements are true for me and, likely, for a vast percentage of those with interests in fashion (a broad topic that goes way beyond trends, brands, designers). 

Embarrasingly, I have so many that it's hard to see most of them. I live in a NYC apartment so a perfectly curated walk-in wardrobe remains a fantasy. As a result, I hang key items from the knob pulls on my dressers, which leads to yet more repetition of the same core seasonally-appropriate items. My wardrobe has effectively been turned into storage, save the space at the front and centre where I can grab and return pieces that are in semi-regular rotation. 

With winter clothing drives in full force, I decided to tackle the process which has turned out to be more delightful and melancholy than I thought, a return to times past. This is an ongoing and unfinished project that I will discuss again. My primary goal? To find pieces suitable for donation for the new immigrants and poor in our neighbourhood (people who are going to need even more help in the near future, I fear). So I was looking for coats, warm clothing, items I'd bought because they were a good deal but were rarely worn as well as anything that no longer fit and/or was in good shape but would realistically never be worn again (by me). I've done this before, but probably not since Emile was born. 

I've also recently lost some 30lbs or so (all the (post) baby weight, all the pandemic pounds and maybe some more) and don't want to backslide, so time for the larger sizes to find new homes. I'd like to be another 10-15 lbs lighter if possible, but that may not be attainable.  While I was pregnant and breast-feeding, my wardrobe became more basic, dull and washable--front opening Boden and Gap dresses, J Crew cotton dresses etc--items, I've folded away with a slight sense of nostalgia. I loved those time of being close to my babies, even if the 6 months of morning sickness and the years of sleepness nights were hard. Truthfully, I'd do it again in an instance, but it's no longer my time and I doubt my two would be particularly happy if I did.

While searching, I inevitably found so many pieces that I thought would be staples, many unworn, some with tags, most of them way more expensive than I had remembered. In the flurry of Mayle panic buying I must have spent thousands of dollars on pretty piecces that were quickly forgotten in the years shortly afterwards when I got pregnant and became a mother. 

So, this morning, as I took a break from grading, I tentatively tried on some of my old dresses and blouses. All fit, some better than before, some for the first tme although the oldest were perhaps way too small. It's an odd index of my body's changes. Dresses from perhaps 20 years ago? Too tight, mainly in the chest (chalk that up to post-baby shifts in my body). From 15 years ago? The same or maybe a little looser. The Rachel Comeys from 13 years ago (before Severin, before pregnancy)? Way looser. I'm currently 14 lbs (a full stone!) lighter than I was when I got pregnant and at about the weight I must have been at the apex of the Mayle/Lyell days--maybe slightly smaller? 

Pragmatically, this has paid dividends. I can wear three pairs of practically new jeans that I bought just before the pandemic when I was around the same weight as I am now. But my trip down memory lane--of which more in a following post--has also shown me that some of my silky Mayle dresses are still werable and can be added into my rotation. Others will just have to remain souvenirs of moments that remind me of good friends, much missed these days, and the community we shared at a time of great joy but also great longing. 

Time

The pace of everything seems to have accelerated this week in the thoes of the (near) end of the semester and cyber week shopping/last minute grading. Amidst all this, I was fortunate enough to spend two afternoons with my old university friend, Tim, who was in NYC for work this week. He's one of the nicest people in the world, a positive force, full of joy, decency and positive energy. It was a true pleasure to spend time wandering around the city with him, sharing meals, and ssheltering from the cold, over cappuccinos in Maman. As we were walking down (or up) Elizabeth Street in the suddenly biting cold, the kind of NYC weather that I thought climate change had forever changed, I looked carefully at each tiny storefront north of Kenmare, scrutinising each one to find the space that used to house Lyell. I think I found it, but with different paint jobs and the passing of time, it wasn't quite the same. Rather than spending time in Nolita visiting clothes, I now go down there for French conversation classes, which is probably a more productive use of my time.

It's bitterly cold here right now, the kind of dry, windy cold that cuts through you as it funnels through the urban canyons. For the first time in several years--for probably most of my life as a mother of two--I dug out old tank tops to add more layers. At this time of year, thoughts naturally turn to nostalgia, which manifested itself for me, this week, in old friendships, the ghosts of shops past and the very materiality of clothes as a shelter against the elements--and as a way to softly coccoon myself during these frantic final days of the semester. Amidst the frigid weather and in the spirit of old friends and old passions, I dug out my old, warm and barely worn cream-coloured Mayle coat (I think it was Olympe) and remembered to be more kind to my younger self and my former obsessions.