One of the many traits that drifted down from my mom and attached itself to me, barnacle-like, was an interest in fashion. I was not/am not/will almost surely never be fashionable. But that interest is in me, defying my inner eye-rolls and deep attraction to jeans and sweatshirts (a woman I worked with once described my “style” as slobby chic).
My mom’s (enormous) closet was filled with designer suits for day and Pucci dresses for evenings out. She had boxes and trays of accessories specifically purchased to match an outfit. She loved to shop and some of our best bonding happened at Daytons Department Store in Minneapolis, where she tried to convince me to be someone other than me.
I had none of her flair and my interest was once-removed, but that did not stop me from taking a job at Vogue Magazine straight out of college. It was a crappy job and I was a fish laughingly far out of water, but it led to other, slightly less crappy jobs and, finally, to W Magazine and Women’s Wear Daily, where I was finally able to do what I really wanted, which was write (even if most of the writing was about fashion).
When this book, Women in Clothes, came out a few years ago, I was skeptical. I had recently gone freelance and brushed all (most) remnants of the fashion world from the seat of my yoga pants, but the authors (Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits, Leanne Shapton) were interesting writers and thinkers so the book couldn’t be a deep dive into narcissism.
Well a little bit is, but most of the book is comprised of great stories of women with stories like mine — women who have complicated feelings about clothes. Some see their choices as an extension of their personality, others find solace in specific pieces. Some are vaguely hostile towards the idea of it.
The book itself gave me solace. I thought I was supposed to feel certain things about clothes. It helped me realize how fashion is so often entwined with psychology and how that is not a bad thing; it’s just a thing.
Kate Staples 