Big Red & Me

Food, beverages, books, notebook, pens, makeup case, shoes, umbrella, sunglasses, business card holder, wallet, cell phone, and a tin of Altoids. Sometimes a belt, or deodorant for really sticky summer days.

I carry a lot of stuff. I have long commute to a job in a remote location so I carry most of this stuff with me everday. There was a time when I carried as many as three bags a day. Although the bags were stylish, I felt like a pack animal. It's hard to glide elegantly along the city streets when you've got shoulder straps criss-crossing your chest a la Rambo.

I tried to manage by purchasing several larger purses. The orange patent leather tote--very cute but not very secure. The big black faux leather structured bag--great looking but the cheap fabric lining is in shreds which makes it difficult to find smaller items. I carried an enormous, indestructible black nylon Lands End tote for a couple of years--it was functional but boring. The coolest of the big bags was the gold metallic tote that got me through summer school at Wharton in 2005. I could carry a toddler in it.

Then Big Red entered my life. I spotted it at Loehmann's in Drexel Hill about a month ago on a day when little else in the store inspired me. It was lying in a pile of handbags on a "sale" table buried under putrid pink purses, citrus colored clutches, and an occasional basic black shoulder bag. It caught my eye by flashing touches of chrome, and beckoned me to stroke its soft tomato-red pebbled leather. I unzipped it, peeked inside and found a sturdy cotton gabardine lining, two zippered compartments and a slot for my business cards. The space inside was cavernous--a day tripper's dream come true. I knew that I could find a place for it in my closet.

The price was right, and the color works with everything that I own. The flexible style works well with suits, jeans, and dresses. The adjustable shoulder strap presents carrying options, and I only carry one bag now!

I've missed Loehmann's presence in Center City since it closed two years ago. I spent hours in their Chestnut Street store trying on purses, stalking overpriced bags by Michael Kors, Furla, Coach, and others while waiting for a price drop. So, if you're looking for a great bag at an amazing price, jump into the Jeep and head to the Hill--Drexel Hill, that is. You might get lucky, too!

Going to the Max

Talk about cover ups! One of my favorite items of the season is the maxidress/skirt. How wonderful is it? You can hide your lower imperfections - or unshaved legs - in favor of showing off toned arms, a sexy back, or a gorgeous swan-like neck. I have seen fabulous maxidresses at Macy's, Daffy's, Arden B, Ann Taylor Loft, and countless other stores and websites, many at wallet-friendly prices. They are available in zesty summer colors and patterns, and you will find one that looks absolutely smashing on you. It is casual elegance at its best.

I love maxiskirts in ethnic prints and gypsy florals, but I bought one in solemn black cotton jersey. It's got swish and I will be wearing it with attitude - and gladiator sandals - but on its own it's not an attention getter. This skirt is for Casual Fridays at the office. I'll wear it with a body skimming t-shirt layered over a tank top, throw on a "LOOK AT ME" necklace and carry on with the day. The skirt will flutter with every step and make me look as if I'm floating along the city streets.

This look flatters most women. It's comfortable, sexy but not vulgar, and it keeps the guys guessing. I wore them in the 1970s to high school graduations and college classmate weddings. My favorite was a one shoulder cotton jersey number that I wore to Linda Casey's wedding to a young Navy captain in 1974. I was barely out of my teens and the event was grimace inducing, but the dress got attention. (Probably because it was a very conservative church.)

So, if you're stumped for the perfect look for cousin Mimi's wedding, Jess's graduation party, or the charity garden party, consider going to the max. Just be sure to try it on in a mirror before committing. You may have to adjust for your height or body shape to ensure that your new maxi doesn't wear you!

This Old Rag?

Comfort clothes. Baggy sweatshirts, shapeless old sweaters, mangy bathrobes. Faded colors, flaked off letters, holes, strings, missing buttons and broken zippers. Frayed collars, cutoff sleeves. Old friends. Stretched out, broken-in soft. Cozy. Non-binding, forgiving.

Everyone has a couple of these pieces. Stuff you wear on snow days. Bad days. Need-a-hug days. Broken heart weekends. These pieces won't lengthen your legs, suck in your gut or boost your bust, but they will never end up in a landfill.

I have an old cherry red terry bathrobe with strings hanging from the collar, sleeves and belt. In addition to an embroidered bouquet of daisies on the pocket it also sports a quarter-sized hole at the right shoulder seam. But it's warm and thirsty like a bath towel, always welcoming. The robe has no stories to tell, has never lead a double life. It's never traveled outside of the dryer.

I bought it many years ago to wrap myself in after summer showers. When asked if I plan to replace it, my response is "not really." I usually find wads of tissues, earplugs, tweezers, and eyeglasses in the pockets. Never a vial of Chanel No. 5 or a Cartier "Love" bracelet.

It's shabby but familiar. My old friend. I guess I could trim the strings and repair the hole, but who does it have to impress? It's here for me when I'm tired and hungry. It's here when I can't decide, when I don't want to decide, when I couldn't care less, and when I care too much.

What's your favorite piece of comfort clothing? What do you wear when you're diving into a bowl of your favorite comfort food? What do you reach for when you're recharging at home - relaxing your head? I'd love to know!

My Mother the Muse

In the mid-1960s there was a horrifying moment on TV, a short-lived sitcom, “My Mother the Car,” starring an extremely young Jerry Van Dyke. The premise of the show was that Joe Sitcom’s deceased mother had been reincarnated as a talking 1928 Porter convertible automobile.

My mom would have never consented to reincarnation as a 40 year-old hoopdie – the automotive equivalent of an old lady wearing a faded flowered smock with strings hanging from the hem. She would have agreed to nothing less than a ’64 Ford Mustang convertible dipped in Cherries-In-The-Snow red.

She was a modern woman decked out in form fitting pantsuits, fluffy Motown wigs and short skirts. She didn’t seem out of place in the Pepsi Generation. To my preteen eyes she was the epitome of glamour, the essence of charm and excitement. She represented the best of Mademoiselle or Vogue, moving through life with class, grace and style.

She never left the house without lipstick, never left the house without draping on her style, her swing, her surefootedness. Quirky and independent, always noticed – never a wallflower. She was always ready, whole, when she left the house.

I look in the mirror and see her face, especially when I’m smiling and wearing red, red lipstick. I feel her wrapping me in timeless merino wool coats and colorful cashmere sweaters from the best department stores in 1960s D.C.: Garfinckel’s, Woodward & Lothrop, and Lansburgh’s.

Mom haunts me whenever I go shopping. Mom haunts me whenever I’m dressing for an event. Mom haunts me as I clean out my closets, scolding and warning me about bad taste, unfortunate style and lack of style. Her mischievous smile is in the sunbeam that shines on the pile of discarded baggy capri pants, summer skirts that make my butt look big, faded tie dye frocks and items in universally unflattering colors such as salmon and beige. Her light-hearted laugh echoes through my cedar closet as I recall her story of the church lady’s fur stole that was reminiscent of Toto or Benji.

My Mother the Muse inspired who I am today. My closets and my life are full because of her, although I most enjoyed wearing her Cherries-In-The-Snow lip print on my cheek – her seal of approval.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Aw-w-w Chucks!

My mom wouldn't let me wear Chuck Taylors when I was growing up--she thought they were ugly. She preferred Keds, so that's what I wore. They were cute, ladylike, and came in every color in the rainbow. Through the years I had pairs in navy, red, aqua, white and spring green, but my heart belonged to Chucks. It was like dating Steady Freddy but lusting after Randy Ricky.

Chucks are perenially cool--the shoes of basketball stars and rebels. On the street they were called "gang wars." I bought my first pair as an adult in the 1980s, and have kept at least one pair in my shoe collection at all times over the past 25 years. I have eight pair in rotation right now, including chocolate leather high tops and licorice black leather low tops for winter cool. Last summer, while shopping at Filene's Basement in DC, I found "superstar" Chucks--white canvas sprinkled with dozens of tiny silver stars--and added them to my collection.

I bought another pair last weekend. They are black canvas with tiny multi-colored loops scattered all over. Got them at Kohl's. I'm not a Kohl's shopper, but I was chasing a skirt that I saw in Vogue. Didn't find the skirt, but I found a pair of funky red high top Chucks in the men's shoe department.

So, why Chucks? I prefer a little sass with my casual wear. They look great with jeans and add a rocker's edge. I rarely wear gym shoes if I'm not at the gym. Why so many pairs? They're like Lays potato chips--I can't have just one!

When I was in Rome last year I was surprised to see that Chucks were everywhere--worn with very skinny jeans on young men and women. I'm sure that I'll see them on the streets of Paris when I'm there this summer. If you want to see them in action, check out old NBA footage or the film version of West Side Story.