in the trenches

i have always believed that style is personal, so i rarely dish out fashion advice. but the recent sounds of birds chirping in the early morning hours signal to me the official coming of spring. i realize this may be delusional since the weather here can turn on a dime, but as discussed in previous posts, i am choosing to be hopeful and leaving the doomsday predictions to the doppler radar.

so what is my sage advice to you now that spring has nearly sprung?

if you don’t already have one, go out or hop online and get yourself a trench.

i remember when i was younger and trenchcoats were synonymous with london fog. khaki. conservative. utilitarian. and wholly unglamorous. the perfect pairing to the blue suits and briefcases of lawyers and accountants around the world.

enter burberry…and everything changed. with kate moss as its poster girl and its signature plaid trim, the fashion house catapulted this outerwear workhorse onto the list of coveted luxe pieces. in the ultimate homage, burberry created “art of the trench, a living celebration of the burberry trench coat and the people who wear it.” click around and immerse yourself in these inspiring images uploaded by burb-wearers around the world. the fabulous thing is that everyone wears them differently. no two trenches are alike once personal histories (and fabulous accessories) enter the mix.

whether you’re a guy or a gal, there is no more essential piece for your wardrobe. and today, the options are endless. classically tailored. structured and military. more shades of taupe and ecru than a room and board catalog. black buttons. gold buttons. big belt. no belt.

even the old stalwart, london fog, has come around, featuring buxom “mad men” vixen christina hendricks in its latest ad campaign to make its trench more titillating.

today, trenches are, in a word, fierce. you can straddle the line between smart and sexy. stylish and sophisticated. and most importantly, lest you think i’m sacrificing form for function, you can stay dry when that cheap umbrella you bought at walgreens flips inside out and folds like a house of cards when the next windy monsoon hits.

vive la difference

back when bush (aka “g-dubya”) was in office, the term “freedom fries” was introduced to spread pro-american propaganda to the masses and demonstrate a symbolic united front against france, who at the time strongly opposed the UN invasion of iraq. on many levels, i found this notion to be utterly absurd.

politics aside, the overall sentiment that nothing good can come from other countries or divergent points was ridiculous. i for one believe that inspiration, innovation, insight can come from anywhere. we are better when our perspectives are broader. when we learn as often, if not more, than we teach.

so who better to teach us a thing or two about fashion than the french.

for our 5th anniversary, my husband and i took a trip to paris and fell in love with this glorious city. a simple walk down any street can lead to an amazing meal or a jazz band playing on a bridge or a live fashion shoot in progress (as pictured above). it is infinitely glamorous and for countless reasons: the art, the culture, the cuisine, the markets, the cafes, the croissants, we were blown away by what i consider to be one of the greatest cities on earth.

but one of the things that struck me most of all was not the couture windows of chanel, YSL, lanvin and dior on the rue saint-honore’, paris’ most fashionable street. though they were gorgeous, living in a city like chicago with access to nyc and la, made them not entirely unique.

rather, it was the style of everyday people that truly made an impression on me. the bourgeoisie. there were a few stunningly gorgeous people that crossed our paths, but most were not. they were a mix of ethnicities: anglo, middle eastern, some asian. many chain smoked themselves into weathered complexions. some were skinny, some were not. some were polished. some were grunge. but no matter what their profile, young or old, the parisians were, in a word, chic.

it wasn’t about expensive designer duds or spell-binding good looks. it was about confidence. unapologetic self-expression. no body issues. no fretting about what people will think. no “can’t wear white past labor day” arbitrary rules. no wishy washy, off-the-rack ensemble dictated by someone else. in paris, you don’t just put on clothes. you accessorize. you mix. you match. you put it together and make it your own.

sure basic black was the flavor du jour, but all you had to do was scan the booths in the neighborhood brasserie to see 50 different interpretations of  the look. sleek black turtleneck and pencil skirt with slick-backed pony and bug-eye dior shades. loose blond chignon with crisp tailored blouse and high-waisted jeans. an old grandma in a simple dress but the most impeccably tied scarf draped around her neck. twenty-something dude with a caeser cut, ray bans and retro sneakers. uber-crisp businessman with a bright paisley pocket square peeking out of his bespoke suit.

my brother and i have a saying that often gets bandied about in conversation. “dress for success.” half-joke, half-truth, it is a philosophy. are we materialistic, superficial freaks? maybe. but there actually is a deeper meaning. it’s not about pricey pieces and expensive indulgences. it’s about looking your best so you can feel your best. forget about the peanut gallery. buy what you like. wear what you want. define your style. and own it.