there is a great article in today’s NY Times about our relationship with certain clothing brands. how we identify with a brand, our attachment to our clothes; essentially how our wardrobe is an elemental extension of our bodies themselves.
i have had many brandfriends. my most intimate has probably been with 3.1 phillip lim. from his very first collection in 2005, i felt an immediate affinity with his aesthetic. his clothes were not even the most flattering for my body type but there was something visceral that spoke to me…spoke directly and clearly to my ideas about myself. apart from the image i saw projected in his clothes, there was also the tactile thrill of his luxe fabrics and incredible craftsmanship. in those early days, the quality was unparalleled at that price-point.
my obsession was at its apex with his rosette dress in his spring 2006 collection. i saw the runway photographs months before the dress hit the stores. i was absolutely obsessed. i tore out each picture and went directly to the only store in town that carried him at the time. there was a waiting list! are you freaking kidding me??? luckily i had a relationship with the store owner and i received first dibs on the dress! that’s right. i would be the first girl in town to even touch it, let alone wear it. my thrill was peaking.
after anxious weeks, i got the call. it was in! i ran to the store, my frenzy rising with each step. dashing into the changing room, i ran my trembling hands over the white sculpted roses and tried it on eagerly and to my horror it looked gruesome. i mean awful. like a lumpy sack on my short frame. i shed actual tears. how could he, my trusted love phillip, betray my lust? my girlfriend that worked at the shop looked at me with genuine sympathy. she saw at once all my visions of walking the city that summer in my ode-to-cannes-nonchalance dissipating with my tears. she put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and said gently and softly, “let’s try it in black…” mercifully, she was right. it was perfect!
i returned home victorious and euphoric in only the way a perfect dress purchase can make you feel. there was still an early spring chill in the air. i couldn’t wear it yet. when it finally warmed sufficiently to make its glorious debut…over my head it went. i paired it with a perfect chunky bronze heel from marc jacobs, my trusted gold hoops, a heavy gold-link bracelet and felt like a vision in chic. beaming, i hurried down seven flights of stairs to meet my boyfriend in my courtyard.
"what do you think?” i asked
“ummmm…” he stammered
“isn’t it divine? perfect in every possible way, right?”
“you know it’s not sexy, right?” his words slow and careful
impatiently i replied “it isn’t supposed to be sexy. it’s beyond sexy. it’s intelligent!”
“intelligent, huh? well, then that is the smartest fucking dress i have ever seen!”
not an endorsement clearly, but i didn’t care. my shop-girlfriend was right. it was everything i wanted in simple-chic. and practically she was correct too. i have worn that dress more than any other and the black is still perfect, un-yellowed as the white no doubt would have become and just as blissful as the day i bought it. best $500 i ever spent.
that boyfriend has long since vanished but phillip is still my most reliable brandfriend. real love endures indeed…
*photo via style.com
No comments:
Post a Comment