Away We Go
(We meaning my things and me.)
Every season right before the international fashion weeks start, I tell myself I will write a packing story. Every season right after the international fashion weeks start, I ask myself why I didn’t write it. (A brief interlude for anecdotal beauty: The international fashion weeks have started, and I loathe myself for accidentally going to Newark last night, absolutely certain my flight was a mere two hours from departure–and simultaneously infuriated by the obnoxious naivety of one particular flight attendant, who assured me that my flight was actually 26 hours away. “You don’t understand, Dries is tomorrow,” I all but cried. “What?” She wondered. Unfortunately, she was right and I was at a $65 cab-fare deficit).
But here’s a new (old) theory to bring myself one step closer to commitment to write what I say I will write: in packing for this trip I learned that my clothes are only as impressive as that which I pair them with. Maybe my style has taken a turn for less adventurous because subconsciously I’ve always known that. For as long as I could remember, I’ve used shoes and accoutrements to define whoever I am trying to be. Most of the time, she is vastly different than who I am but I think that’s why I love her.
I have this curious (albeit obsessive compulsive) habit of feeling like I need to wear precisely everything I take with me when I travel. If I don’t, I feel substantially defeated and when I do? It’s like I’ve just earned an honorary accolade in the art of knowing myself. Yes, knowing myself. How’s a woman, fickle as a pickle, supposed to pack for a week away and know what she will want to wear at any given moment? If you commit to denim, or suits, or one particular blazer you’ve always loved and a selection of plaid and white shirts that tend not to fail, you can do it. And why? Because with the right accessories you won’t get bored–which is why I’ve highlighted the seven most important details of what’s in my suitcase. Starting at left:
White high top Golden Goose sneakers to subtract from the weight of the aforementioned suits and dark blazers. (I feel like I am dating like sixteen different breeds of sneaker right now.)
Green satin/brown suede Vionnet pumps (Yoox is the secret behind the details of my shoe closet) because they are dynamic and if I plan to wear as much denim as I think I do, I will probably need a shoe so formal, I’m not even sure how humanity granted my sloven self ownership to feel more comfortable breathing in the regal air indigenous to Paris.
Those four little rings you can barely see are mostly knuckle rings because believe or not, I am becoming grossly dainty about the way in which I adorn my limbs. Two are simple gold bands from Cat Bird (one thin and one thick) and two are from my brother’s recently launched jewelry collection titled Khai Khai. One is a diamond lifeline (though I prefer to call it the stock market ring) and the other is a spider, which reminds me of Morgan Freeman. Ask me why and I will tell you.
Those sunglasses are Oliver Peoples (and designed in conjunction with Mytheresa to celebrate the 25th anniversary of Oliver Peoples with an homage to a pair that Madonna wore ca. Material Girl). When I wear them (I feel nothing like Madonna except only in that I’m not a virgin), I’m not sure if I feel more like Fran Lebowitz (white blouse dependent) or Diane Keaton (turtleneck dependent) but what I do know is that if I can note a semblance to Fran or Diane everyday for the rest of my life, I am doing something very right.
That’s Tom Ford’s Narcotic Rouge lipstick–RT @myself: red accenting never seems like a bad idea–and on the tail end is a colorful Dannijo faux-rosary, featuring mirrors in place of symbols representative of deities because, well, I’m so vain, I
probably definitely think this necklace is about me.