Alan Ilagan

Back when I was searching for a pink jacket for our wedding rehearsal dinner, one of the stores someone recommended was Lilly Pulitzer. If you’re not familiar with Pulitzer’s designs, think of a cooler version of Vera Bradley, minus the quilting and country leanings. As I stepped into the Newbury Street store, I did not have high hopes. There was nothing but dresses for the ladies. Yet the kkind salesperson directed me to a small rack in the back where a few men’s jackets hung, as if ashamed to be in such ridiculously floral company. They were all well and good, just a little too busy for a full jacket, so I politely excused myself and continued the search along Newbury. Alas, my jacket was not to be found until Brooks Brothers, but that’s another story for another time. The point of this post is the Lilly Pulitzer bow tie in these pics.

While the patterns were too much for a jacket, I thought they would be perfect for a tie, and a few weeks later – in Filene’s Basement no less – I found the tie you see here. You can’t see the details up close (I’ll try to get close-ups at some point) but there are several lime-green rhinos amid the shocking pink packground and turquoise-veined flowers. I have no idea why, but as a whole they create a pleasant-enough pattern. Perfect for a celebratory dinner with my husband.

Aside from Sean Penn in 1986, the coolest guy in the universe is Tom Ford. Almost everything he does is imbued with an impeccable sense of style, a chic sleekness, and an artfulness that manages to be both over-the-top and slightly minimalist. Some may scoff that his genius is purely of the promotional kind (and given his penchant for raw, sweaty, and largely naked advertisements, no matter the merchandise, they are partly right), but Mr. Ford himself has exhibited a style and flair and sustenance that transcends mere marketing genius.

Whether it’s in his delicately layered fragrances (my current rage and obsession), his expertly-cut suits, or his meticulously produced movies (A Single Man only gets better and better upon repeated viewings), he has revealed himself to be a true Renaissance man, and a rarity among them in that most of what he does, he does quite well.

Perhaps the best gift that any creative artist leaves to the world is inspiration – to do something so well and so admirably that the rest of us want simply to aspire to be slightly better at anything to approach it. Whether that’s an extra spring to our step, a delightful new fragrance, or a new haircut, it’s inspiration, plain and simple. That’s what Tom Ford does for me, and if the closest I can get to that is smelling like the man himself, well, that’s close enough for me.

[PS – A prize for the fellow fan who gets the obscure Sean Penn reference.]

It begins, as so many things do, with a change in wardrobe. Style often leads substance ~ testing the winds, paving the way, setting the journey. This time, this day in fact, feels different. It begins with a shedding – of skin, of hair, of chrysalis, of excess. A metamorphosis – an evolution – the way around the world. And all from a simple change of clothing.

There is power in what we wear. Like it or not, it matters – appearance matters. You can pretend it’s what’s on the inside that counts, and you can tell that to your kids and students, but there are truths to this world that they will discover regardless of your best intentions.

I’m jumping ahead, when really this is still the early stages of the beginning – and it starts with what you decide to put on your back in the morning. For the end of winter, a toned-down palette, a less-fitted silhouette, and a simpler way that approaches minimalism.

There may be peace found in neutral tones- cream, beige, slate, charcoal, gray, and black. Perhaps a dash of some tan, maybe a somber bit of olive green or the formerly dreadful navy – but all subdued, all designed specifically to not stand out – the focus turning to the head, the hands, the skin.

And then, slowly, and almost imperceptibly, the focus moves inward. It’s a new thing to have fashion begin the search for the soul, but how could it have happened any other way?

Silk embossed with velvet – on clearance at Filene’s Basement, I think, for it was a slightly ripped scarf, but given its rough-hewn gypsy-like look, you wouldn’t have even noticed. It wasn’t anything a few quick turns of a needle and thread couldn’t easily fix, and so I mended it.

Oddly enough, it doesn’t go with most of my outfits. On its own, the color combination is tricky to pull off – the velvet portions are a deep red steeped in the slightest of orange undertones, while the silk background is decidedly more rose in hue. (I’m not sure this comes across in the unforgiving, unfiltered sunlight of a barren winter afternoon.)

Whenever I try to add it to something, it either overpowers everything completely, or clashes too strongly. It is a stand-alone piece, which might work for a bathing suit, but in a scarf that’s difficult to pull off, at least where public nudity is frowned upon.

Still, it’s a thing of beauty, and it is joy enough simply to look at it or run it through my hands. Isn’t that the sole reason for fashion? To make a person feel a little better about being in the world? To remind that there is such a thing as beauty for its own sake?

It may be a shallow view, and as thin an argument as the silk that once so easily was torn, but one person’s fashion is another person’s bible, and no one should ever argue about religion.

As promised, this was a little low-key. Sometimes all you need is an old tux and a pair of scissors.

Thanks to Bob and his annual holiday kick-off party for getting us all into the spirit of the season. Next up… 12-11-10!

For the two people who wanted to see, this is what I wore to the Beaujolais Nouveau Wine Festival this evening. It was, at it always is, a grand time – filled with wonderful people, and a great cause. The best part is that my husband was there too (he hasn’t been in about four years).

Tomorrow we head to Boston, then Plymouth, where the Tour will reach its momentous conclusion, and two dear friends get married… stay tuned.

PS – Is the coat precious or what?

I may have to brave the bitches at the Boston Barney’s in order to get the cologne I want (and by bitches I mean the salesmen on the 2nd floor). To be fair, there’s at least one decent gentleman among the throng of skinny-jean-clad chicsters, but the rest look at me like I’m about to stuff half the store in my ridiculously small messenger bag.

This is, of course, nothing compared to the way I get looked at in Neiman Marcus, but that’s so over the top they know they’re being ridiculous. I think it’s a game between us at this point, with smiles uncontained on both sides.

Oddly enough, it’s the Sak’s 5th Avenue store in the Prudential Center where I’m treated the best in spite of whatever I happen to be wearing. No matter that I’ve only been able to purchase socks there in the last year (and those at 40 percent off).

It’s the principle of the whole thing that bothers me. I can dress up with the best of them, and walk into any of those stores carrying just as much attitude as I’m given, but why should I have to do that? When I go shopping in a pair of ratty sneakers, baggy shorts, and a comfy T-shirt with a hole or two in it, my American Express card has just as long a line of credit as it does when I’m decked out in an Armani suit, Gucci underwear, and Prada shoes.

I recognize the inherent paradox here. How can someone so seemingly obsessed with fashion and clothing possibly cry foul at judging a person based on appearance and dress? It’s probably because no matter what I’m wearing, I always try to be a decent human being. Underneath it all. And in spite of how much I poke fun at others or ridicule my co-workers for what they wear (you know who you are), I never really form my opinion of anyone based on their clothes.

Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known. - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby