If this was a selfie, the backdrop was actually the white wall that separates my kitchen from my bathroom, and the reflection through which we both examine this outfit was that sorry-ass mirror from Bed Bath and Beyond that makes my legs two inches wider and shorter, I’d probably insert a caption right here that says something to the effect of, “Business man on holiday in Maldives, who didn’t get the memo that wool is not a suitable fabric to exist in that region of Asia but is wearing it anyway because it’s fashion week and while we’re at it, that also explains the boots.”
But we’re not assigning hypotheticals to a selfie, not an official one at least, and the real impetus behind this outfit, which started with high waist blue jeans and a leather jacket this morning but became a pair of “relaxed” fit white jeans because I both needed to relax and feel a little lighter, is mastering — or at least attempting to master– The Transition.
That hell awkward, lukewarm time between March and early May when it’s not hot, it’s not exactly cold, and you’d rather microwave your own thumb than wear another pilled sweater but it’s just not appropriate to break out the gold sandals yet.
So what do you do?
Possibly abide by a dressing tenet instituted by my friend Lara, which mandates that if you can’t beat them, you confuse them. Wear your most colorful, closed-toe shoes with a pair of white jeans and a nonpartisan shirt that could have once danced along the coast of Tulum but also across the frozen Imperial Gardens of Japan. Add bright, saucy necklaces because they are basically a smaller, portable happy lamp.
Then when that’s all done, you consider this reality: you still need a full layer of winter. Cull that layer from the fall that came before the one we’re about to champion. Remember where you were, who you were, what excited you at the time. Re-live it. Call it a fashion memory book, if you want to, go on and write a book. Then embroider a dragonfly into your wool and shimmy the F on.
Still with me?