I used to have exactly the attitude towards fashion that many of my younger colleagues have. I was convinced that "fashion" and "style" were for other people, not me. This was not because I lacked self-esteem. To the contrary, I was deep into the sort of New England, anti-feminine high-minded preppiness that some other women in my family possess -- worrying about your clothes was a waste of one's intellect; one should be practical about attire and buy sensible, quality items that will never go out of style and devote your considerable brain power to more important things, like world peace or unraveling the genetic code.
As a result, my clothing, for most of my life, has been profoundly uninteresting. I wore blue jeans in college and law school. Wading into the world of pants made of some other fabric was, it seemed to me, asking for trouble and a waste of money. I wore men's shirts or the closest thing to them. My best jacket for two years in New York was a hand-me down blue Woolrich thing my father used to wear. I wore hand-me down wing-tips from Ari Zeldin across the hall, or else Doc Marten's that I spent what seemed to me a fortune on but it was acceptable because they were so "sensible." I thought green was my favorite color so sometimes I would wear a green shirt. If not green, then black. At one point in high school I had a passing idea of being original in the clothing department by declaring myself a devotee of the color gray. This was a statement in high school because everyone wore either Laura Ashley or all black, all the time. The real reason I declared myself in favor of gray, of course, was because I somehow came into possession of a gray jean jacket and didn't have the money or the wherewithal to get a blue or black one.
Once I began practicing law, I was similarly dull. I believed in "the classic look" and embraced the black pant suit (once pant suits became appropriate at the office) with abandon. I brightened my "classic" look up by wearing some sort of colorful top -- and by colorful I mean a button-down, men's-style shirt from either Banana Republic or Ann Taylor that might have a streak or two of pink or blue or green in it. When I was very very brave I wore one that was maybe dark purple, or mostly pink. Eventually I bought brown pants, and also gray pants, but I didn't know what to wear with them because my only jackets were black. They were little used. My court and deposition suits were black. In the early 1990s, in the red power suit days of Washington women, I had one red dress (from Ann Taylor) that was tailored to look like a suit but it wasn't. I looked vaguely like a nurse in it. In law school I had one black suit for interviewing and one very very very dark purple suit for call-backs. I thought the purple suit was pretty avant garde (it was from Hecht's).
For seven years of practicing law I was the dullest of the dull. And then something started to happen. A friend gave me a white and pink scarf, with pink leather gloves, for Christmas one year. They were from Saks. Saks was a stylish, but "classic" place. No-one could tell me that wearing gloves purchased at Saks was inappropriate in a law firm. And any way, someone else purchased them, not me.
So I wore them. And it was amazing -- wearing my pink leather gloves made me feel .. good. Yes. It was frivolous. It was pointless. But, lo -- wearing pink leather gloves from Saks did not in fact melt by brain; they made me feel … good. So I wore them all the time. They were good for spring. And then, for some reason, that spring, at my annual Banana Republic outing, I saw a white spring coat and … I bought it. White. The most impractical color in the world. And of uncertain propriety -- can you wear "winter white" in the spring? Can you wear a heavy white knit coat in the summer? Is it ever actually appropriate to wear a white coat if you don't live in St. Petersburg? But I wore my new white coat with my pink leather gloves and pink and white scarf and they made me feel … good.
Thus began a tradition of buying a new coat every season. I thought at the time that this was outrageous and I would never admit it to anyone. But I was making six figures at the time and had no mortgage and no children so why not? My jackets and gloves became my mode of expression. Red leather gloves! A dark green jacket! A jacket with a big bold flowery design! Gloves with fur on them! I felt good. But for a time, that's as far as I went. Outwear only. Underneath, dull dull dull.
Then I changed jobs and began working in a world of truly, truly successful women lawyers. Women lawyers who were not based in Washington and so did not adopt the red-power-suit-helmet-hair approach to living. Women who were trial lawyers and lived in front of juries or other audiences. Women in LA, Chicago, Atlanta, New York. Women in Hong Kong and London and the Netherlands. Women with substantial means.
And I noticed that none of these phenomenally successful women wore pant suits. Ever. Or even black, for that matter, unless it was a black tie event. These women dressed to the nines in all different kinds of clothes. The women from Chicago wore multi-colored wools in fascinating patterns. The woman from LA wore amazing shoes in bright colors with very high heels. The woman from Atlanta did peach like there was no tomorrow. The woman in NY wore actual real live Manolo Blahnik's and Jimmy Choos and had her hair done at Saks every morning. It was a given that these women did not shop at Banana Republic or Ann Taylor or Talbots. They shopped at stores that no-one had ever heard of before. They shopped in private boutiques. They had their handbags hand-made for them, they had their clothes tailored, they wore designers that you will never see advertised in the New York Times or a Saks advertisement. To these women, Armani is as normal as Banana Republic is to women in their 20s.
And were these women frivolous intellectual light weights? No. These women were smart, at the top of our profession in a male-dominated world. These women were some of the pioneers in their firms. Two of them were the first women on their firms' management committees. One was probably the most highly compensated female lawyer in the country. All of them made more money than their husbands. These were no intellectual slouches. In fact, in legal circles, these women were famous.
And so, slowly, I began to buy things that weren't black so that I would fit in when in meetings with these women. It started slowly -- a robin's egg blue jacket to wear with my black pants to a jury exercise. A Calvin Klein navy blue skirt suit (not a black pant suit) to wear to a deposition. Jewelry that was designed to be seen -- costume jewelry in big clunky shapes. Not the tiny gold chain necklaces that were considered "pushing the envelope" in high school. A winter white pant suit. Yes. Green wool jackets. None from Banana or Ann Taylor. I had turned into a Calvin Klein and Tahari girl -- by which I mean, the Calvin and Tahari that you can buy at Macy's.
The next step was to clean out the closet. Out with the twenty-seven pairs of black pants of which only two fit or looked decent. Out with the shirts I had been holding onto since college or law school. Out with the stuff I bought at Sears in the 1990s. Out with anything I hadn't worn in two years. Then I reorganized my closet by color. Yes. By color. The results were stunning. I vowed not to buy anything black ever again. I kept one black pant suit and one black skirt suit and everything else went to charity.
Then I turned to the shoes. I do not need more than one pair of black sling backs and one pair of black pumps. This reduced me essentially to -- two pair of shoes. This will not do. I committed to improving my shoe stock. Now when I was young the only thing more useless than worrying about your clothes was having more than one pair of perfectly sensible shoes. I mean for heaven's sake -- hadn't the entire world ridiculed Imelda Marcos as a morally bankrupt, empty-headed cheat? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY CHILDREN IN THE WORLD DON'T HAVE ANY SHOES AT ALL? So, I thought, I will buy one pair of nice brown shoes and one pair of nice navy blue shoes to go with my new non-black clothes. So I did that. I bought brown and blue shoes from the shoe department at Macy's that were exactly like my black shoes. This was progress but it was also very very boring.
To counteract my innate feelings that buying clothes was a waste of money, I decided to remove one item of clothing from my closet every time I bought a new item. I also decided to totally feng shui my tiny condo and get rid of all plastic and wire hangers and replace them with nice wood or cloth ones. This worked. I was giving to charity while stimulating the economy and that is what George W. Bush wanted me to do after 9/11. I purchased clothes, none of them black, and each new acquisition relegated something from Banana or Ann Taylor to the charity bin. The balance of color in my closet slowing changed. Until one day I come home and saw that I had -- GASP -- seven white, off-white, or cream suits, two bright pink suits, and only one charcoal suit. How many white, off-white, or cream-colored suits can a girl have? And almost all my suits were skirt suits; I had only three pant suits. I was a certified Calvin Klein, Tahari and Ann Klein girl. And I could go to any meeting of famous women lawyers and not feel like the summer intern. Some of my suits even came in cool woolen textures.
But that was still not the end of my transformation. That came when I been a partner in my law firm for a couple of years and took over a large client relationship from my mentor who had left the firm. I needed a good suit to wear to an important client meeting, and I discovered real designer. The first item was Armani. It was silvery colored with sparkles and a lovely floral pattern but very tasteful and "classic" in an Italian sort of way and would go, I said, with anything. That’s sensible, right? And with it I tried on a black skirt suit because I wasn't sure how "out there" there client was and at that moment I learned that there is something about an Armani skirt suit that makes a woman look fabulous. Ah. So that's it. People spend all this money on real designer because it actually really does make you look fabulous. It's magic. When you look fabulous, you feel fabulous. Sorry Betty Friedan, but it's true. And Armani made me look totally totally fabulous. And there was more magic to Armani -- he could make you look fabulous in any number of colors and styles and textures. I was addicted. I was so addicted I would go look in the Armani section of every store I went to especially ones out of town because each store had a different "buy" and I wanted to see what else I was missing. I learned that if you buy your Armani in Washington and San Diego, you are set because each coast buys something totally different but totally climate appropriate. New York Armani is a little too heavy. Florida Armani is not actually real clothing.
And then I discovered Akris Punto. Swiss-made, so exclusive that in Washington there is only piece in each size. This means Akris never goes on sale. Ever. Akris is beautiful. The details are amazing. There is nothing brash about it -- you do not look like an Easter Egg or a fabric convention. You look like Grace Kelly. Or Audrey Hepburn. Each piece is a little work of art. And you feel…fabulous. And no-one else knows what you're wearing, and no-one else is wearing it.
Before I knew it, I had gone from a Calvin Klein-Tahari girl to an Armani-Akris girl. Was it a coincidence that simultaneously my professional stature had risen?
And then I met Betsy Fisher. I met Betsy Fisher at breakfast and I walked in and she said, "oh, is that Akris?" "You've heard of Akris?" "Yes, I'm a boutique owner, you idiot." And that was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Now I don't really go to clothing stores at all. Betsy Fisher sends me things at my office with little notes that say, "do you like? If so, keep, if not, send it back by messenger." Usually I keep. Or I go into her little tiny store on Connecticut Ave. and she shoves me into a dressing room and hands me a glass of champagne and brings me things to try on. Then I wander around the store in them to see what everyone else thinks. I also freely comment on other people's attire. I give advice. Buy the green AND the blue if you can't decide!
Betsy does not stock designers you have ever heard of. This means, again, that no-one else will be wearing what you're wearing. She buys from small designers with whom she has personal relationships. Sometimes I go and meet these people myself. For example, I recently went to the showroom of one of her designers and the designer brought me "all of autumn 2009" to look at (not in stores yet) and try on and I placed an order that will keep me in designer threads all year. The wares will come trickling in once they are actually manufactured. Then Betsy called him up to ask what I bought so that she can stock the store with the same. This is lovely. She figures if I'm a female lawyer in DC and will wear it, someone else will too.
And with shoes, the same. I will mention at some social occasion that I'm interested in some new black pumps because my standbys are wearing out. The next day a trial pair arrives at the office.
And so, you might ask, what has happened to my shoe collection? Ah, well, no longer Nine West and Enzo Angiolini or Joan David. No. Now I'm a Ferragamo, Stuart Weitzman, Leombruni, Faryl Robin babe. A shoe that is all one color is now something of an anathema to me. If it is one color, it needs to have more than one texture, or SOMETHING. This all started because I wrecked a pair of shoes a few years ago when I was in New York and I went to the Ferragamo flagship store on Fifth Avenue and threw myself on the sales man and he looked at my feet and said with some disdain, "I assume you're here to replace those?" I said "bring me shoes that I can wear to work and are comfortable enough to travel in." I walked out with five pairs and my devotion to high end shoes began.
Do I lie awake worrying that I will turn into Imelda Marcos? No. Why? Because it turns out to be far more "sensible" and "practical" to buy shoes that actually fit your feet and are comfortable then trying to squish yourself into poorly made Payless Shoes that will wear out in one season. You will wear them longer and you will not be crippled in your old age. Also, I still do toss a pair whenever I get a new pair. And because, to be honest, to makes me feel….fabulous. I suppose it's inevitable that Jimmy Choos and Manolos are in my future, assuming I stay employed I'm a notch below with Stuart Weitzman and Leombruni and Faryl Robin. But I now have lovely lovely shoes. The multi-toned Leombrunis with the silver ribbon buckle that were so comfortable I walked all over New York in their inaugural wearing. The taupe Faryl Robin's with the peep-toe and the polka-dotted wooden heels. The basket-weave Stuart Weitzman's with the sparkly sling-back strap. The flap-buckled black suede Ferragamos with the garnet-colored leather piping. Ah. They are like little pieces of candy.
So in less than 10 years I have gone from the Congressional intern uniform of the Ann Taylor black pant suit to Faryl Robin and Akris Punto. Getting dressed for work in the morning is an adventure, not a chore like it used to be.
What's the next challenge? Getting my younger colleagues to make the same journey. It turns out that it does, in fact, matter what you wear, at least in my professional circles. And it's not just women, it matters what the men wear too. Dressing the part is one rung on the path to success. If you dress like the Congressional intern, people will treat you like one. If you dress like you just rolled out of the law library, you'll be treated as if you did. If, on the other hand, you dress as if you are the most successful person of your generation in your profession with your finger on the pulse of the cosmopolitan scene, you might actually be treated as if you are (assuming base level competence, of course). Enjoy your clothes and shoes and do what your budget can afford to make you feel … fabulous … and others will notice your self-confidence.
And it really won't melt your brain to buy some decent threads, honest.
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