Special Occasions: Passover (First Night)

This time of year is always pretty exciting for me. To combat the often-dismal weather, there's not only my birthday (today!) but the big family gatherings that come with Passover, the Jewish springtime festival celebrating freedom.

I am exceptionally lucky: both sides of my family are truly awesome. We don't get the stereotypical infighting, cattiness, and awkwardness that make family get-togethers a gold mine for the crueler type of comedy writer. Instead, I get to spend time with my terrific cousins, uncles, and aunts, and enjoy the delicious food that accompanies the holiday.

Jacket: Ann Taylor Loft
Pink layering tee: LnA, remixed
Dress, Liberty of London for Target
Belt, Ann Taylor Loft, remixed
Skirt, Ann Taylor, thrifted, remixed
Pink vertically striped tights, Betsey Johnson, TJMaxx
Boots, John Fluevog, remixed 

Yes, I'll admit it: I stole this look, wholesale, from Sal at Already Pretty. I can't help it! It looked so great on her, I had to try it myself!

I'll also admit that yes, I wore a nightie to a family gathering for a religious occasion. In my defense, though, it's a substantial nightie, and one I layered so aggressively that I would have been fully dressed if I removed it. I thought the print was perfect for a spring festival, and the babydoll silhouette (controlled by the tailored jacket and belt) ideal for what I knew was going to be a meal of epic proportions - seven courses, including three different (flour-free) desserts, plus the requisite four glasses of wine.

Origami fan earrings: Magokoro New York
Carved bone necklace: inherited from my grandmother
Carved orange-and-black necklace: inherited from my great aunt, via my mom

I went a little crazy with color and pattern in this outfit, and I got to wear some really fun, unusual jewelry that's not in regular rotation in my wardrobe.

The earrings are tiny origami fans made from Japanese mulberry paper. I love how they pick up the pattern on the bottom of the dress and weigh almost nothing.

I also was really happy that, for such a family-oriented event, I was able to wear two pieces of jewelry that belonged to women in my family before me. The carved orange necklace is really spectacular. I have no idea of what material it's made, but my mom tells me it's hand-carved. I do know that it's such a dramatic piece that it's difficult to work into outfits. In the past, I've always tried to wear it with something very, very simple, to let it take center stage, and I've never been happy with the results. I think it works much better this way, in concert with a busy pattern that picks up its colors.

photos: Fabulous Husband

Last night's gathering, with my mom's side of the family, was a little on the casual side, so I could get away with the funkiness of the floaty dress over a skirt. The blazer might almost have been a bit too formal, but the cropped sleeves, oversized buttons, and pick-stitching kept it relaxed. Tonight's Seder, with my dad's side of the family, is a bit dressier, so I'll break out something more structured.

Finally, Fabulous Readers, I owe you an apology. I didn't get a chance to get pictures of the outfits I wore to the two Gypsy Nomads concerts last week. As soon as I get a chance, I'll take an afternoon and re-create the looks for your enjoyment!

Unexpected

This morning, as my husband and I were debating the merits of getting up and getting coffee or just staying in bed all day (He'd been working all night, and we're mid-snowstorm), we got a call from my father. He had some sad news to share: one of my (moderately distant) relatives had died after a long struggle with cancer.

"The funeral's on Thursday," he said.

"I want to go," I said. We don't see that part of the family that often, but some things - like funerals - are Important.

After he'd hung up, the husband and I had a Dreadful Realization: neither of us owns a simple, conservative black suit in our size any more. I'm just a squidge too broad in the beam for my late-'90s Lower Broadway Web Designer suits still, and as for the husband, well, I'm glad he's not skinny enough to wear a 28" waist anymore, but that's the size to which all his suits (from a similar era of master-of-the-universeship) are tailored.

So guess what we're off to do today?

I'm easy. I'm entirely certain that, for under $100, I'll be able to find a good-quality black suit at either TJ Maxx or Marshalls - maybe, if my shopping karma is truly excellent today, I'll snag a $15 Goodwill special. He's going to be a bit harder. Last time I needed to get a men's suit in a hurry, I had Century 21 and Syms in a two-block radius from my office building. Those days are gone, and for the most part, I don't miss them.

Why is it even important?

Deaths, births, marriages, and comings-of-age are lifecycle events - the rituals that mark an individual's change of status in a society. If I wanted to get very Tibetan Buddhist about it, I'd say that they are between states: transitions from one phase to another. Entire books of social theory have been written on why these ceremonies and rituals are important.

To a large extent, modern European/American society has discarded these rituals, or permuted them into something very different than once they were. Pick up a copy of a bridal magazine (Go on, I dare you! Just make sure you do a warm-up set and put on your weight belt first) or go to an over-the-top suburban bar/bat mitzvah and you'll know what I mean.

Funerals are different. For one thing, our society has gotten very out of touch with death. We stave it off, try to deny its existence, are disturbed by its mere mention. In some ways, it's understandable: modern medicine, sanitation, and nutrition have made death a much less frequent occurrence that happens at greater and greater ages. Generally. Infant mortality has never been so low, nor lifespans so long.

But death does come, and, stave it off though we might, it is inevitable: death is the one common experience all living things share. We're not taught the skill set to deal with it gracefully, though. In a way, that's good: we don't know how to deal with it because we encounter it so seldom. When we do, though, it's awkward. We don't know what to say or how to act.

As always, my answer is sartorial. Enter the conservative black suit.

As funeral wear, the conservative black suit (women have options on trousers or knee-length skirt; men, unless they're very Scottish, should most likely stick to trou) serves multiple purposes. It conveys respect, both for the departed and for their grieving loved ones, and it serves as armor and uniform for the equally-bereaved guest.

Armor and uniform. Those are two important things, in trying times.

Uniform because it frees you from the necessity/obligation of too many decisions, at a time when - quite frankly - clothes may be the last thing on your mind. Also, it provides the comfort of solidarity: you and your fellow mourners are dressed in similar ways, and derive an automatic sense of fellow-feeling and support from it. Even if you weren't particularly close to the deceased, your donning of the uniform of mourning shows the bereaved that you are there for them, participating in their sorrow.

Armor - it is amazing how the right clothes can stand between us and the world, us and our emotions. When a dear friend's father died unexpectedly, she later told me, she instinctively reached for her corset: she needed its steel-boned support as a bulwark. Even garments that are less literally armor-like can provide the sense of security and safety that can be elusive during a time of upheaval and dramatic change.

So, as soon as the snow lets up, we're heading out to look. I'm incredulous that I'm so unprepared: for years, it's been my maxim to always have a dark suit ready to go, in case of emergencies. Birth and marriage you can anticipate.

What do you think? Is my insistence on conservative black suits (with non-shiny accessories, natch) for funerals old-fashioned? How do you dress for unexpected sorrowful events, and how does it affect your mood and behavior?

Letting my guard down

Ah, the problems of being fashion-focused in a small, rural town....

I live in the middle of Horse Country. For all its good points (Wide-open spaces! Fresh air! Beautiful nightly starscapes!) it's not exactly what one would call a fashion mecca. The Horsey Set thinks nothing about pulling off their knee-high riding boots and swanning about town in jodhpurs, sneakers, and disreputable barn coats or fleece jackets. If you've never seen the jodhpurs/sneakers combo, count yourself blessed: it's enough to make this Theorist shudder.

As a result of our town's remarkably casual standards of dress, I'm a lot less on the ball about my appearance for day-to-day trips into town to run errands like picking up mail from the post office or grabbing a few post-blizzard groceries than I would be if I lived in a more fashion-conscious area. I've gotten to be surprisingly OK with running these errands in my gym-going uniform of yoga pants, a fitted tee, and a giant, bright orange L. L. Bean parka that has few fashionable virtues but many practical ones (i.e., it's warm as all get-out and has lots of sizable pockets). To say it's Not Exactly my best look is a mild understatement. Usually, though, that's not a concern: the people I run into in town are dressed similarly, if not even more slubbishly.

Sadly, a close approximation of my normal workout clothes. Unflattering sports bra not pictured.

Unfortunately, yesterday when checking the mail and stocking up on Important Supplies (bourbon and red wine) for the upcoming end-of-the-world caliber snowstorm forecast for today, I ran into not one, but two women sporting absolutely adorable coats. One of them was even wearing a cute denim mini, brightly-colored tights, and cowboy boots. She looked adorable. I looked like a frump.

That's the sort of thing that makes it hard to say "Yeah, I'm a fashion blogger, and I'm trying to make a living as a stylist!"

It's not that I was jealous of her (although I was, a little: did I mention her jacket was really adorable?). It's that I felt I had let both her and myself down. Her, for obviously putting such effort into getting dressed, which I had not reciprocated, and myself, for leaving the house not looking my stylish best - or at least not like a slob. Her cute outfit made my day a little brighter: mine, I'm sure, did not.

I was left feeling a little sad, and not for any conventional reason of inadequacy or jealousy. I wasn't sad that I didn't measure up: I was sad that I hadn't thought to put forth the same effort - it wouldn't have been much - to looking nice instead of slovenly. If I had been on my way to the gym, it would have been different: functional clothing, functional purpose. The gym is the one place where I can let go of the stylistic construction of my body and focus on its sheer formal (form-related, not dressy) significance. I wasn't gymward-bound, though: I went home again before hitting the weight room.

I was sad that I hadn't measured up to my own standards.

I don't think we have an obligation to society to present our best, most polished face to the world every time we leave the house. Down that path lies madness, not to mention putting on mascara to get on the treadmill (if you must, go waterproof). But do we, perhaps, have an obligation to ourselves? Gleeful as I was to see other women walking around my small, unfashionable town looking quite stylish, I came away disappointed because that day, I wasn't one of them.

What are your thoughts? Am I taking myself too seriously? Crossing the line from "image-conscious" into "vain?" Or are my feelings of being caught with my guard down rather reasonable? How much does the prevailing fashion culture of your environment affect you - both how you dress and how you feel about yourself? 

Thanksgiving's Sartorial Dilemmas

Ah, the holiday season is upon us again: a time for merriment, glee, and bonhomie. A time to see distant relatives, revel over extravagant meals - or, depending on your point of view, the time of year when seasonal affective disorder combines with consumerist hype to ensure that the rest of the year will be a soggy slushball of misery.

For the fashion theorist in the crowd, there's an extra layer of sartorial terror. How to put together outfits for a variety of holiday gatherings that combine style, sufficient comfort, and just the right series of mixed messages (which could include "Why, yes, my career is going smashingly" to your oneupsmanish second cousin at the same time as "Sure, Ma, I'd love to help in the kitchen!")?

Once we get into the winter-solstice holiday round, it gets easier: it's hard to go wrong with something tastefully sparkly in late December. Thanksgiving, though.... Thanksgiving's a real landmine.

For most, it's a holiday devoted to two things: family and food. I am in the very lucky position of having an excellent relationship with both. However, the emphasis on the eating (and, for many of us, preparing) of an extensive meal dictates fashion choices somewhat, as does the presence of seldom-seen relatives. You want to look your best in front of your aunt the business tycoon and the other side's terribly stylish cousins, but there's also all that food to prepare - and eat, and you can't possibly offend anyone by refusing at least a little taste of their signature once-a-year dish. For many of us, there's also significant travel time involved, which means anything that won't stand up to a long car ride or squishing into a carry-on suitcase (who wants to wait for the baggage carousel at this time of year?) gets invited to another party.

Just to give you an idea, here's my outline for tomorrow:
6 a.m.: Whimper as alarm goes off. Roll out of bed, put up water for coffee. While it's boiling, drain the turkey out of the brine it's been sitting in since Monday. Consume coffee, pack self, husband, smoker, hardwood charcoal, a few vegetable dishes in various states of preparation, turkey, and a cheesecake into car.
6.30 a.m.: Drive from our perch in the mid-Hudson valley down into Darkest Suburbia - Westchester County, home of country clubs, malls, and entitled drivers. And my wonderful parents, who are somewhat atypical for the area.
8-ish: Arrive at parents' house. Unload everything. Drink more coffee, this time my mom's cinnamon-scented brew. Get the smoker kicking. For anyone who's never cooked in a smoker, it's a long-term process: the turkey takes a good eight hours to cook. During this time, it'll need plenty of tending - more wood, more charcoal, more water. Husband usually parks himself and a flask of Scotch under the pergola and stays there all morning and much of the afternoon. I flit back and forth, finishing up those vegetable dishes I mentioned earlier and helping Mum out with whatever last-minute stuff needs doing, visiting man and bird in the great outdoors when possible. At some point, someone's got to pick up my bestie, who traditionally spends the holiday with us, from the train station.
4-ish: Everyone who didn't show up super-early to cook starts to arrive. This year we're only a dozen or so: in recent years, there have been more than twenty of us. Appetizers have to be out, wine has to be ready to pour, and the last of the cooking has to happen.
6-ish: The turkey comes out of the smoker, joins its oven-roasted companion inside, and we start the meal proper. In addition to two turkeys, we're having wild rice dressing, at least four vegetable dishes, three types of cranberry relish, pickled grapes, and an untold quorum of desserts - and that's a deliberate effort on all our parts not to make too much food.

Wow, that's a long day. At least it's not supposed to be raining much: in years past, we've tended the smoker through near-freezing rain. However, there's no way to hang out near a smoky fire, outdoors, for eight hours without getting incredibly smoke-scented oneself, not to mention inevitably schmutzy.  There's also no way I'm getting dressed for the family-gathering part of the day at 6 a.m. (an hour I haven't seen much of lately), especially for a full day of turkey-schlepping, fire-tending, veggie roasting, and who knows what else. As a result, I'm most likely rolling out of bed into yoga pants and a disreputable top, and packing a bag with another outfit that I'm willing to be seen in - a simple long-sleeve, knee-length knit dress (stretchy for comfort after lots of turkey! black to hide any wayward gravy!), bright purple tights, and my favorite high-heel boots. Sometime around 3.15, I'll realize in a panic that I'm still in the ratty morning clothes, the family members who always show up super-early will be there in fifteen minutes, and I still smell of smoke. I'll panic, throw on the dress, hope I can get mascara on straight, and try to pass the woodsmoke off as an exotic perfume.

So, a question for you, Fabulous Readers: on a day when everyone's thinking about what's on their plates, what are you thinking about what's on your body? Planning on wearing anything special - or not - tomorrow? How do you deal with the sartorial demands of Thanksgiving?