Monday, September 14, 2009

In honor of Fashion Week: New York style

It wouldn’t be a truly original statement or an astute observation if I said that New York City is loud, unflinchingly blunt and unapologetic. But I’m going to say it anyway. Because… it is what it is, as one of my friends likes to say. The clothes scream, EIGHTIES. Neon-colored high-top sneakers, glossy tights, acid-wash “boyfriend” jeans, loose T-shirts tied at the hip, leather booties. After rolling my eyes upon seeing modern-day Cindy Laupers, I somehow ended up buying a leather biker jacket. Yes, hypocritical, I admit. But, I had no choice. Let me explain.
Maybe the decade’s vibe was in the air, maybe it was in the water – who am I to stipulate? But, the end result is – I am now a proud owner of a piece of clothing one wouldn’t normally associate with me. So, there – I’m hip. Well, not exactly. I should give you the complete picture. Through circumstances I’m not willing to discuss here, I became a recipient of a $45 gift card to H&M. After walking around the store for twenty-five minutes or so, I realized that I hated every single thing in there. In fact, I didn’t even want the clothes for free. And that’s saying a lot – those of you who know me will concur. I ended up offering the gift card to E. who cares about clothes almost as much as I care about BMW M3 (or is it M6?).

After reluctantly trying on some pants, E. was discouraged by the store’s tendency to go against the grain and actually offer clothing in sizes smaller than the industry standard. Not very conducive to ego-boosts, if you ask me. Maybe H&M caters to models? That would explain why so many of the chain’s stores are scattered around Manhattan; everyone looks emaciated. Walking around the island for two days, I felt like Gulliver in a city inhabited by Lilliputians, so I just kept shoving more croissants and Chinese baked goods (they’re really tasty and cheap!) down my throat. It didn’t help with the weight issue, but it did fill the void. But, you’ll read about the culinary adventures in the next installment. Back to fashion.
Since E. rejected my generous offer, I decided to make it my mission to find a piece of clothing that would reflect the fashion of the times. The catch was – it had to be trendy yet classy, so that it would not go out of style a couple of months from now, when Flashdance outfits will finally seem passé. So, I settled on a timeless biker jacket. It’s black, it’s leather, it has metal zippers and makes me look like someone I’d be afraid of in a dark alley. As soon as I put it on, I liked how it made me feel. Who’s a nerd now?!

It is true, though, that clothes change your behavior. When I was wearing the jacket, I acted like a nonchalant and easygoing person. The fruit sellers in Chinatown even attempted to rip me off. The wife kept throwing more and more grapes into my bag while it was on the scale, and the husband “forgot” to give me all of my change. But, it might have been not because they thought I wouldn’t care about such details – maybe I just had the word STUPID written on my forehead? After all, the next day was much warmer, and a different husband-and-wife team tried ripping me off (sans jacket) in a Brighton Beach bakery. I guess they thought I wouldn’t notice that they charged me seven dollars more than my purchase. Little did they know… But I digress.

What were we talking about? Oh, New York and fashion. Yes, New Yorkers – for the most part – really do look put-together. Their style is quite different from that of Rhode Islanders. Here, people just dress nicely. What the label says is not as important as how the clothes look. The outfits can come from Old Navy or from the Gap – as long as they appear neat and proper, we’re all set. New York style reflects a great divide of high and low. There does not seem to be a middle. On one end of the spectrum, there are the punks. These are the rockers, the alterna-chicks, the hipsters, the envelope pushers, and the envelope rippers. On the other end, there are glamour queens, designer divas, model citizens, and sweet-n-low daddies. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention very well, but I didn’t see too many Banana Republicans or Young Navys.

I did witness a jewelry street merchant who caught on to the so-called great divide, and was using his discovery to peddle his craft. We sat right next to him in a Greenwich Village outdoor restaurant, so we were able to observe his sly maneuvers during the time it took to drink two beers. If the lady was “mature” and classy, he’d offer the bracelets for twenty dollars, a 50% discount in honor of Fashion Week. Then, he’d emphasize that she’d be getting two for the price of one, and that they’re made out of silver. If the lady was younger, he would say that he was giving her a student discount of $5, and that the bracelets are really durable because they’re made out of silver-coated steel. If a number of ladies approached his table, he’d create special “group” discount and help them choose the bracelet that really suited their individual auras. Of course, the end result would always be the same – every woman would pay $20 for two bracelets. But, the beauty of the deal was – none of them knew that. They all felt like they were getting some kind of special treatment. Instead, they were the victims of a marketing ploy. The guy was a genius.

Watching him work got me thinking. What if all the homeless-chic-looking gals dress that way because they believe that the style makes them unique?! That would be such a shame. Just imagine – all these Urban Outfitters-wearing ladies actually look around and realize that everyone else is also dressed like a sweaty hobo! And then, they all look in the mirror and gasp at the horror that they could have been dressing like the rich girl next door for the past five years – the one who has a boyfriend! And what if that “rich” neighbor did the same? What if she looked around one day and noticed that she no longer has to eat Ramen noodles because she can now find similar-looking pieces at less expensive clothing stores? Would she then be brave enough to venture into an Ann Taylor store? (Be nice, I could have said Talbots) Who knows, maybe? Maybe she would even be bold enough to buy a biker jacket at an H&M store. We’ll never know.



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