I went to B&J yesterday (well, the day before). I always feel extremely comfortable there, and I know this is not the usual experience for other sewers. Well, the staff doesn’t really seem invested in my presence or, really, my well-being as a person. They just kind of pop in when you need them, and otherwise find other crap to do. This is not the case at, say, Metro or Mood where the staff member/s fall over themselves to help you and make it clear that they’re at your disposal. I don’t really feel intimidated or like an imposition when I just walk into B&J to wander around and grope for inspiration. Make sense?
Reader, I had what can only be described as a cascading series of mild episodes there. It started out with tweed and coatings, as it always does. Harris tweed, virgin wool, cashmere blends, Scottish and Italian and so soft I could weep. I found myself saying, “Holy shit,” fairly constantly throughout. I usually like to pretend that I am far too much of a lady for that sort of thing, and have never actually heard of those two words strung together, but whoops! I had the sort of experience that I thought was reserved for televangelist programs and backwoods shamans. The fabric spoke to me, y’all. Granted, the fabric that summoned the choir of angels was a $210 a yard silk mikado, and the band played through Giupere lace and Swiss embroidered cottons, but still. Beautiful, it was.
Now you’re looking at the title and you’re looking at this post wondering where the hell it’s all going (I’ve tossed all pretense of decency out the window, obviously). I saw a herringbone Harris tweed that would make the elbow-patched riding jacket of my dreams, dove gray virgin wool prime for a shawl-collar coat, and such beautiful yellow silk and cotton and wool that I had to stop in my tracks. Let’s not even talk about the camel hair, reader. That won’t end well. It got me to thinking about my palette challenge. Could I get away with camel, dove gray, white, and yellow? Is it possible? You see, there’s no navy in it, and that’s pretty much against my religion. Aretha wears navy constantly.
I started groping around the Internet trying to find a way to make it all happen.
Preetma Singh looks smashing in her Dries van Noten coat and Derek Lam dress, no? My obsession with her blog (Working Girl, Esq) and her style is another topic for another day. (Short version: People named Singh, holla! I’m half a Singh, so I’m a full-on believer in representing for we the Smiths of India. Also, she looks daring and impeccably pretty much all the time. Love.)
Claiborne Swanson Frank in that herringbone/horn/elbow-patch wonderland. I used to be unsure of how I felt about her, inasmuch as you can be unsure about your feelings of someone you’ve never met but whose work you encounter frequently. I have decided that as a fellow boot-wearer I totally approve. Obviously, she needed that.
LSD’s style makes me happy. Her yellow sweater makes me happier. I don’t know how to knit, but let’s pretend that it’s a gorgeous yellow coat or something, shall we? Gorgeous yellow silk shells for everyone!
You see, I’m not sure that this works, though. Even if between now and February I make a short camel coat, herringbone blazer, dove gray coat and dress, a handful of pencil skirts and cropped pants, a blouse, and some plain silk shells, I still wouldn’t be meeting my yearly goals. What of the bottle-green leather pencil skirt of doom? The lace cocktail dress? All of the navy stuff ever on the face of the planet?! I’m still sans machine as I’ve been waffling (1008/530, 530/1008, rinse, repeat). Aren’t First World problems the best sort?