Love Style Life

by Garance Dore

  Save it for the night.

  CAN YOU WEAR A TUXEDO MORE THAN ONCE?

  The tuxedo is a secret agent. It makes you beautiful without being obvious about it. It’s the opposite of a sublime evening gown that everyone remembers even better than they remember you. You know, the kind you can only wear once, no matter how much you love it, because everyone will notice.

  Not the case with the tuxedo. With our dear tuxedo, you can:

  Wear it again without anyone noticing.

  Slip it into your bag in case of an unexpected party.

  Mix it up. Wear the top without the bottoms, and vice versa.

  Change what you wear underneath, which changes the whole feel of your tux.

  Put it on when nothing seems to be going well and you’ve gained five pounds.

  The problem: You end up wearing it all the time.

  And here, my friends, is the danger.

  The tux is a trap. It works its magic on you and leaves you with no common sense. Caught in its web, you forget what other clothing has to offer. If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up wearing nothing else. You never wear dresses anymore. You forget what it’s like to let a little skin show. You become predictable.

  You become the girl in the black tuxedo.

  Beware.

  Jana Wirth in a perfectly fitted tuxedo.

  A perfectly edited wardrobe can set you free. You will need less, and buy better. These are my style essentials, my forever classics on which I build anew every season. They make working, partying and traveling easier. They define my style, and some of them may come to define yours, too.

  THE PUMPS

  A perfect, pointy pump makes everything better — and I’m not just talking about outfits! These off-white suede Manolo Blahniks are my go-to pair (sexy AND comfortable), but my goal is to have them in every shade one day.

  THE PENCIL SKIRT

  This is the perfect piece that you can dress up (with heels and a blouse) or dress down (with a pair of sneakers). It’s flattering, it says you’re a real woman who owns her shit, and it’s perfect at night or for an important meeting. I love this one in lace by Dolce & Gabbana.

  THE WHITE JEANS

  These are my personal favorite, for summer and winter. I like them a little bit cropped to show some ankle. Seen here on Lolita Jacobs.

  THE BOOTS

  Chelsea boots are a girl’s best friend, especially in winter. They work with jeans and skirts, and they’re warm and comfortable. My favorites are Church’s.

  THE BAG

  I love love love the Lulu by Saint Laurent Paris. It’s perfectly luxurious and discreet at the same time. The essence of chic!

  THE BIKER JACKET

  This is an investment you’ll never regret because it becomes your best friend. Here, Laura Vidrequin in her Céline jacket.

  THE SNEAKERS

  We all need a pair and there are so many great options from Converse, Adidas, Vans. But these are my personal favorites, by Common Projects.

  THE COAT

  Lara Melchior in a belted wrap coat — an essential that goes with everything, night and day. I love it in a dark navy.

  THE VINTAGE T-SHIRT

  This piece adds the rock ’n’ roll (and a touch of irony) that a wardrobe needs, and Kate Foley pulls it off perfectly. Easy to find (with a little hunting) in thrift stores and it only gets better with age (even those holes are all good!).

  THE JEAN JACKET

  Seen here on Michelle Ouellet, the classic jean jacket is a great layering piece. It works for any season and gets more beautiful every year.

  THE PANTIES

  Simple, light, and white. Enough said! Commando makes the perfect pair, and Jessica Vasconcelos wears them pretty well.

  THE BALLERINE

  No need to explain why we all need a pair (or five) of ballerines, even if just to keep in our bags for relief after a long day in heels. Porselli is my favorite brand because they work perfectly with the shape of my foot.

  THE MEN’S SHIRT

  Always in my suitcase, because it works from night to day to beach to city. Perfectly accessorized here by Vivianna Volpicella.

  THE WHITE T-SHIRT

  So simple and easy, I wear one almost every day during summer. It’s like a blank canvas you can create any outfit around. My favorite is classic Fruit of the Loom.

  THE V-NECK SWEATER

  Cashmere with a deep V is the way to go (I love Equipment’s). Perfectly sensual, and warm, as seen here on Athina Elaiya.

  THE SANDALS

  It’s tough to choose my favorites because I have a weakness for sandals, but I’ve owned a pair of Rondinis for years and they never go out of style. And their barely-there quality is so beautiful and sexy.

  THE HAT

  Shot on Jessica Vasconcelos, the straw hat doubles as a style and a beauty essential. We need to protect our faces from the sun in summer and nothing is cooler and more elegant than a panama.

  THE CLUTCH

  A classic black clutch is the perfect finish to evening wear, but it also works beautifully with jeans, so it’s all love! It’s the one object where I don’t mind a little logo, especially one as sophisticated as the YSL Cassandre.

  THE GLASSES

  The Wayfarer, the Aviator, the Clubmaster — it’s impossible to choose between the Ray-Ban classics. They are all forever cool and they work on just about every face shape. You can buy all three for the price of a single designer pair.

  THE MINI SKIRT

  I spend my summers in skirts. With flats, they are easy and feminine. With heels, they are sexy. And I really don’t mind sexy, once in a while. Morgane Bedel wears it perfectly.

  THE BLAZER

  Every season, every occasion, everywhere. A basic, beautifully cut blazer goes with absolutely everything, never gets old, and always adds a sophisticated touch, as seen on Camilla Engstrom.

  THE MAILLOT

  The Eres one piece is the perfect investment, in black or white, as seen here on Natasza Wasilewski. A simple one piece makes you feel beautiful, works for the beach or the pool, and never goes out of style.

  ON STYLE

  ONE ON ONE WITH A WOMAN WHO INSPIRES ME

  GD: Your style is so recognizable. How would you define it?

  EA: So many people think they need to dress according to fashion or a certain brand. But style is about harmony and having self-confidence. It’s knowing yourself.

  GD: What about dressing for your body type? Do you try to do that?

  EA: I wear what I feel good in. One of the most important things for me is to feel at ease. There’s nothing worse than spending an evening in a piece of clothing that makes you feel unlike yourself.

  GD: You don’t really wear evening gowns. And I’m similar —I don’t like dresses either.

  EA: For me, femininity is in no way tied to wearing a dress or a skirt. I think you can be incredibly feminine in pants.

  GD: Everyone loves to ask me, “What is the secret of French style?” How would you answer that?

  EA: For French women, there’s not the same pressure. If someone tells me I have to go to a party and I have nothing in my closet, I’m going to improvise. I’ll put on a black blazer, a white T-shirt, some mascara, some heels. And I’m ready to go. There’s not that state of panic.

  GD: What do you consider sexy?

  EA: Sexy, I think, is a smile. It’s a sense of humor. It’s someone who is at ease, funny. That’s sexy. Much sexier than a dress code.

  GD: Have you ever seen yourself in a photo and thought, Oh, God, what was I thinking?

  EA: Sure, but then…I’ve stopped looking at myself in photos.

  PARIS VS. NEW YORK

  LIFE OF THE PARTY

  Parisians don’t party like New Yorkers. And vice versa. I have a theory about the difference, my friends. It comes down to this:

  THE PARISIAN NIGHT IS PRIVATE. THE NEW YORK NIGHT IS PUBLIC.

  I had to confront this cultural gap as I was about to move to New
York City. One night, I was out at the Boom Boom Room and I told a friend about my plan to move to New York.

  The next day, bam. It was up on a magazine’s blog. Someone had overheard our conversation and had simply decided to go ahead and make it into a story. A few hours later, it had raced around the Web, and I only found out because I got a flurry of texts saying things like:

  “Congrats on your move to NYC, Garance!”

  “Amazing news!!! Can’t wait to have you over for dinner!”

  “How come I have to learn about that online?”

  And that’s how a private conversation that shouldn’t have been of interest to anyone except my friends became a piece of news. That’ll teach me to babble about my personal life at the Boom Boom Room.

  But how was I to know? This sort of thing would never happen in Paris. Gossip blogs don’t even exist in France. We don’t have “Page Six” (the super-popular gossip page in the New York Post that everybody pretends not to read), and we have vie privées, private lives.

  In Paris, the concept of vie privée really means something—basically, unless you’re the president, private matters stay private. Which isn’t to say that gossip doesn’t circulate, but it stays pretty hush-hush and we keep it in smaller circles.

  New York is different. New York is a planet unto itself. New York has its own celebrities, designers, entrepreneurs, sons of, wives of, all of which you wouldn’t ever talk about in Paris.

  New York has its own magazines, and any given party has its photographers. Parties are dissected like they’re the event of the century: “Who was there? And with whom? What dress was she wearing? What shoes? What jewelry? Wait, what?! The same as last time? OH MY GOD, I can’t believe it. Who’s her publicist? Don’t tell me she doesn’t have one. Wait, what? She wasn’t wearing her wedding band? Wait, zoom in. Let’s take a closer look!”

  New York created the socialite. It’s a city where you go out to be seen and take part.

  WHEN IT COMES TO FASHION, THE RESULT IS TWO VERY DISTINCT STYLES.

  When the Parisian goes out, her goal is to be cool. The coolest.

  It’s that simple. She’s not going to a party unless her friends are invited too, and she would rather die than be seen without her crew. You don’t intermingle too much in Paris. You don’t network, and if you do, you do so super discreetly: Networking means you need others, and needing others is terribly uncool.

  Don’t even try to do a seating arrangement at your dinner in Paris. People will completely ignore it and just sit with their friends.

  Also, you’d better know that the Parisian will do everything she can to avoid being photographed, because wanting to have your picture taken is way too try-hard. She dresses in her eternal outfit of jeans and high heels with her hair down. Because, really, getting dressed up means you care. She’s got better things to do.

  Of course, in truth, she spends an hour on each smoky eye and five on her perfectly undone hair.

  But what she’s really into is having fun in small circles, pretending she isn’t looking at the other little group over there in the corner. It’s no surprise that the most popular clubs in Paris are small, darkly lit, smoky, and full of hidden nooks.

  Our New Yorker, on the other hand, wants to be seen.

  She gets her outfit ready a week ahead of time. She borrows a dress from a PR friend, who can’t wait for the next morning to count the number of mentions her little protégée got her. She books a makeup artist and a hairdresser to give her the perfect blowout and makes sure that she gets to the party with all the right people—meaning important enough to make her look good but not so important that they outshine her.

  If it gets too complicated, she goes alone.

  She’s on a mission to meet people and look good. Probably better to be alone in those pictures anyway.

  That’s not to say that everyone doesn’t have a good time, from one side of the Atlantic to the other. In New York just as in Paris, people like to party and they do it well. And when the two sides meet, that’s when it gets really fun.

  But you have to know a few unwritten rules before heading out into the night.

  Or else, in Paris, you’ll show up in an evening gown just like it said to on the invitation (while everyone else is in jeans or miniskirts), and in New York, you’ll get there in a tracksuit when it says “casual” (and everyone else is in cocktail dress, updos and all).

  When in doubt, just get there late.

  We all know that it’s once the photographers are gone that the party really starts.

  * * *

  1 Six inches of heel. My friend says it’s a little drag queen. “Garance, put those down before you get hurt!”

  2 This is the kind of vocabulary that comes out during the big sales in Paris, by virtue of the low prices around you: “wow,” “ugh,” “no way,” “too expensive,” “I’d break it,” and, of course, “Wow, seriously crazy-good deal, you bitch.”

  3 Don’t tell me you haven’t seen The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

  WHEN IN DOUBT, JUST GET THERE LATE.

  Because my world was only just starting, and everything was yet to be invented, I made my own rules.

  This is how my story began. A computer, a name, and a dream.

  START WHERE YOU ARE.

  I was born in Ajaccio, a little seaside city on the west coast of the island of Corsica.

  My parents were very beautiful, very much in love, and also completely broke. They were both the children of immigrants. My dad’s parents were from Italy, and my mom’s were from Algeria.

  When they were both twenty, they got married and they had me.

  My mom’s family was Muslim, my dad’s family was Catholic, so their wedding upset everyone and they were pretty much alone in the world. My dad had learned how to cook in his grandma’s restaurant kitchen, and that’s how one day he ended up becoming chef of the only restaurant in a tiny village called Girolata, lost in the middle of the Corsican wilderness.

  There was no road or electricity there, but it was breathtaking. During summers, the jet set would sail in on their yachts and spend the night. And they would eat at my father’s restaurant.

  So there I was, a happy wild child watching princes and princesses and celebrities go up the tiny dirt path of our village, dressed beautifully, as they still did in the ’70s. Think Brigitte Bardot, Gianni Agnelli, and Caroline of Monaco. The locals barely acknowledged their presence, which they loved.

  I was dreamy and shy. I loved to read and draw. As I grew up, my parents asked me to pitch in and help at the restaurant. I did as I was told, but I absolutely hated it.

  Eventually my parents opened their own restaurant in Girolata. We would spend summers there and winters in Ajaccio, where I went to school. My dad became a renowned chef and his restaurant a destination.

  We started making money just as the bohemian ’70s turned into the excessive ’80s.

  I grew into a very typical teenager—anxious, rebellious, annoying. But deep down I was still the same quiet and obedient kid I had always been. The day came when I had to start thinking about what I wanted to do with my life.

  I told my parents that my dream was to follow an artistic path (I wanted to create animated movies, and I imagined myself spending my days drawing), but they wouldn’t hear of it. Way too risky and impractical. Unfortunately, I had no other ideas. I knew nothing of the world. Corsica is an island where people are either farmers or shop owners, and if the books and magazines I was reading were showing me that there was more to the world elsewhere, I couldn’t imagine how I would ever become part of it.

  I wasn’t used to opposing my parents, and there wasn’t much I could say to convince them, so I gave in. And that’s how I found myself picking my studies at random and following a friend to a big gray university in Marseille.

  GET LOST AND FIND YOURSELF.

  Losing yourself only takes a second, but finding your way back can take years.

  That’s what happened to me. I
was twenty when I left Corsica for Marseille in the South of France. I found myself swallowed up by a giant university that I knew could spit me out at any second.

  I was stressed and continually worried, but my world was changing.

  I was meeting new friends. A lot of them were musicians and artists, and they made my time at university better. But still. Years went by and I was getting nowhere, treading water. I was studying communications, with disenchanted teachers who kept telling us how difficult it would be to find a job.

  I started to believe that to live the artistic life I was dreaming of, I would have to give up comfort and security and scale back my expectations. So that’s what I did. Drifting away from my studies, I told my parents to stop helping me financially. I couldn’t stand being a burden.

  As I was trying to figure out what to do with myself, I was living on boring jobs and learning to make it with little.

  Which is pretty easy, actually, when you’re part of a group of fun and happy and creative people. I spent those years constantly alternating between crazy anxiety (I was freaking out about my future) and wonderful moments. I had time for myself, a balcony with flowers I would water every day. I loved cooking for my friends, entertaining. I even had a cat.