Then trim the crotch part so it’s straight, as it will stick out into a point.
Note: Use jeans that are way too big on you. So do something with your ex’s favorite jeans, the pair he left at your house and keeps asking you for!
T-SHIRT TO COWL NECK
Make a cropped T-shirt with a cowl neck—a great layering piece over a tight turtleneck or long-sleeved tee. A quick style trick that takes no talent, as scissors are not involved.
Turn T-shirt upside down and put it on so that neck is around the rib cage area.
Insert hands in sleeves and let the fabric that was originally the bottom half of the shirt flow forward like a cowl neck.
YOU CAN’T ALWAYS BUY WHAT YOU WANT... BUT IF YOU TRY SOMETIMES, YOU JUST MIGHT FIND, YOU CAN MAKE WHAT YOU NEED
Preppy to Punky KAREN
I don’t know why I bought it in the first place, but in the moment, it seemed like a must. Convinced the novacheck gray Burberry slip dress was sweet and sassy, I imagined myself wearing it and being charming at a lovely dinner to meet my boyfriend’s parents. Never mind the fact that, at the time of purchase, I had no boyfriend to speak of. The stretchy frock remained in my closet. I put it on a few times, in the hopes of liking it on my body, but I could never seem to get out of the house in it. It made me feel so country club and so not me. It hung straight. It gave my body no curves. And the plaid! I appreciate Burberry, don’t get me wrong. But it was just a bit too prim.
One night I was eating sushi and listening to lounge music at my apartment with my fashionisto friend Joseph Germonto, who at the time was the manager of Kirna Zabete and my favorite shopping consultant. Between conversations about the new spring collections and who would win American Idol, he suggested an activity—going through my closet to get rid of things I never wear. Out came Burberry. “Oh, my God! This is so not you,” he exclaimed. “I can’t even see you buying it!”
“Don’t ask,” I said.
We looked at it for a bit to assess the situation. “My vision is slashed-up punk,” I told him. I went through my drawers to find old (original!) patches from hard-rock bands from the eighties (I had Whitesnake and Wham!, which is not hard rock, but still). I put the dress on and Joseph began to cut away at the length.
“Let’s get asymmetrical,” he suggested.
“Do it! Just lop it off,” I told him. “Take no prisoners.”
The new hemline began two palms’ lengths below my left hip and ended one palm’s length above my right knee. Then he slit the left side all the way up to the waistline, closing it back up with oversize safety pins. We were on our way. Next, the neckline. We made it much more cleavage-baring and we scooped out the back, as well. With the extra fabric, we took the two straps of the camisole and tied them together in the back to make them bunch up and create a circle of skin in the center of the back.
Once we had the shape, the fun really began! We attached the patches on the thigh, slightly askew, by using safety pins. To be cheeky, I cut out the Burberry label and pinned it in the center of the neckline to advertise what it once was. “Genius! I love it! It’s sooo good,” we both sang. “Kind of British schoolgirl gone bad! J’adore!” Designers like E2 and Imitation of Christ, who take vintage pieces and tweak them, had nothing on us! I threw on knee-high boots and a leather jacket, added big hoop earrings and red lipstick, and took Joseph out for cocktails to celebrate my Germonto-Robinovitz original, thinking to myself, I doubt my future boyfriend’s parents would find me charming in this naughty number . . . I’ll just have to buy something else!
More Tricks of the Trade
Transform fishnets or old hosiery with runs up the legs into groovy sleeves.
Remove crotch area with scissors.
Snip a straight line across the feet.
Put waistband, which should be upside down, over your head as if you’re putting on a shirt; slide arms into the legs.
Snip a small opening a few inches away from where the nylons hit your wrist—for a thumb hole, in case you want to do a Ziggy Stardust thing.
Throw on a tank top over it and pair it with jeans or low-waisted pants.
Morph oversize sweaters (the ones you haven’t worn in a hundred years) into sexy little shrugs (good for throwing on over T-SHIRTS when you need a cute getup to walk the dog or for nights out), which you can close with a brooch or thick belt.
Remove neckline with scissors.
Cut a straight line down the center of the sweater from the neck to the bottom.
Lay the sweater flat on a table and cut a half-moon shape from the bottom corner of the left all the way to the bottom corner of the right side. This will crop the sweater’s length and give it an angular, asymmetrical aesthetic that is very edgy, but make sure you measure this against your body first so you cut the right length for you.
Try it on, because you may want to make it narrower by making the opening in the front wider (just cut strips of fabric from each side).
Make sleeves bell and flare by cutting them from the back of the cuff up a straight line. For slight flare, keep it four inches, but for dramatic bat wings go all the way to the middle of the triceps.
Turn jeans into bell-bottoms by slicing them up from the hem to the knee on both sides. Let them flare freely or insert another kind of fabric or denim in the open slits by sewing or safety pinning or making holes up both sides and threading fabric through like we did with the lattice T-shirts.
Use a leg of old sweatpants as a scarf. It’s very cozy.
Scoop out the back of a T-shirt or pullover top to give it a sexy twist.
Create the perfect V-neck.
Graffiti an oversize button-down shirt and wear it as a cover-up on the beach.
Turn old cardigans upside down and put them on so the neck is down the back, toward the bum. This automatically turns them into shrugs with swooping cowl necks.
Boring cardigan
Turn it upside down and slit the sleeves to make a chic shrug!
Take a boring pair of old jeans and pump up their sex appeal with naughty lacing up the legs by cutting the entire side seam down the vertical and making holes two inches apart from one another up the entire cut on both sides (legs). Then lace through string, fabric, leather, or suede.
Ruche anything by making small folds onto one another, as if you’re making a fan with a piece of paper, and then from the inside of the garment, use a safety pin (or many) to hold it in place. A few inches of ruching between the breasts is always a nice touch on any V-neck.
Some Serious Supplies
Vintage buttons. Add them to a T-shirt, from the center of the neckline, straight down to the bottom or just around the sleeves.
Lace. Make cutouts on any T-shirt or top and insert lace in its place (you may need to visit a tailor to sew it well if sewing isn’t your forte).
Red tights are great as thread. Get rocker-chick crazy and slash tops (T-shirts and sweaters) down the center or the back, make holes up both sides of the slit, and thread strips of the tights through in a circular wrapping way to get a spiral stitch. You will need a sharp upholstery needle to thread it. Tie a knot at the end of the yarn and let the tail hang as part of the design.
Spray paint. Apply strips of masking or duct tape at random or in shapes, letters, and patterns to a garment and spray-paint around it. Afterward, remove tape so there are clean chunks of fabric surrounded by color.
Safety pins in all sizes. Slash something and close it with the pins. Use them to close V-necks that are a wee bit too low. Or pin them on something at random.
Ribbon. Punch holes in fabric to make ties, or use it as thread.
Patches. Vintage are best.
Sequins from an old dress.
Stain fabric with tea, beet juice, bleach, or red dye.
Sharpie pens. Draw, doodle, write your boyfriend’s name across your chest or a cute saying like, “Bad Girl.”
Important note: Never throw away remnants from old garments you cut up. Karen has recycled strips o
f Burberry plaid and sewn them onto many T-shirts.
TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE IN ONE!
Maxiskirt to the Max KAREN
Fall 2002, I bought a mesh-net elastic-waisted, fluid Jean Paul Gaultier floor-length skirt with swirls of earth-tone patterns and a fringed, uneven hemline. It’s not typical of my style. First, I never wear maxiskirts. I always think I’m too short. It’s also much more “hippie” than I am. But I lusted after it regardless and wore it all season with a black sweater, knee-high boots, a rust-colored corduroy military jacket, and a beret. In it, I always felt so French-schoolgirl chic. Like most things, however, I got sick of it. And one day, while I was standing in my closet, bitching over the fact that I had nothing to wear and how I hated my clothes, I pulled out the skirt and examined it.
It’s very full, voluminous, with loads of floating fabric, which is slightly transparent. The first thing I did was pull the waist up over my chest. It hung like a tent, so I took the excess fabric from the side and wrapped it around my body to pull in the silhouette and make the fabric thicker, hence opaque. It still needed something. But what? I searched my closet and grabbed a thick black leather sash from one of my coats. I wrapped it around my waist as if it were an obi belt. The hemline, being that it was uneven in the first place, was jagged and asymmetrical. I added chunky gold earrings, a motorcycle jacket, and I was out the door in a hot new strapless dress. “What is that dress?” people said, ogling. “Ungaro?” When I explained it was a skirt, they shook their heads and sighed. “Such a fashionista.”
That was only the beginning. Inspired, I came home and played some more. I slipped the skirt over my head with the waist around my neck. I pulled it down a bit so that the waist went across my chest and off the shoulders. Again, I made use of the sash, wrapping it around my waist. The finished look: a belted poncho. Amazing! What else could I do? There must be more, I thought. I’m not sure what I did exactly, but with a little finagling, I turned it into a one-shouldered blousy dress. And then I put it back on as a skirt, wrapping the fabric around my legs and tucking the edge into the elastic waist to make it extremely asymmetrical and more of a pencil fit. I kept going. I used it as a headdress next and thought it very Moroccan sixties jet set. And I also wrapped it around my neck as a scarf.
That many looks for the price of $400! I haven’t been sick of it since, and I know that if I ever dread wearing it one more time, I’m sure I’ll come up with something new. Thanks, Jean Paul!
The hippie skirt as it was meant to be (left) and wrapped around my legs for a slightly more svelte silhouette (right)
The back of the strapless dress, and here it is as a one-shoulder show stopper
As a poncho, a headdress, and a scarf
How to Expand Your Closet—and Horizons
Wear tube tops as skirts and wear little baby skirts as tube tops.
Starch the collars of your white button-down shirts so they don’t wrinkle and so they have a sharp, stiff appearance. It’s also a plus for times you want to wear your collar up.
If your crisp oxford button-down shirt is wrinkled, dampen it, roll the whole thing up in a ball, wrap it with some rubber bands, and let it sit for a few minutes while you use a hair dryer to heat it up. Then unwrap and wear it as if it were supposed to be all crinkled in the first place. It’s très Japanese.
If your pants are too short, take a pair of scissors and cut about four inches up the seam from the ankle. This will give you a cute, flare-legged look that works with sandals, flip-flops, sneakers, and boots.
Cut old jeans or pants into capris or pants that just skim the bottom of the knee. Wear with heels or knee-high boots.
Use scarves as belts and headdresses.
Wear lingerie slips over jeans for a groovy downtown-girl vibe.
Befriend a very good tailor who will turn A-line skirts into pencil skirts and copy styles of designer clothes you love but cannot afford.
THE BITCH-AND-SWAP!
You know the drill. You’re digging through your closet and finding a ton of things you haven’t worn since Britney was a virgin. It’s time to bundle up those clothes and—before trying to sell them on eBay or donating them to the Salvation Army or Goodwill—have a little fun with them! Throw a bitch-and-swap party with a few girlfriends!
At a recent bitch-and-swap party we threw, we all came out winners! Here we are, holding our new scores!
The Rules
Everyone brings stuff they don’t like anymore and are okay swapping. No Indian givers. And no musty gross things either. Things should be laundered or dry cleaned. Basically, ready to wear, but for some reason, they just don’t fit anymore, you’re over them, or they never looked good on you in the first place.
Each girl goes one by one, holding up said item and explaining why it doesn’t work in her wardrobe anymore.
Whoever wants the item in question speaks up to claim it. If more than one person wants the same thing, the group votes on who gets it. This happens very rarely—and when it does it helps to have invited close friends who aren’t afraid to yell at one another or tell one another the truth, i.e., “You know Sheila has the smaller butt—let her have it!” without causing rancor or ill-feeling.
Food is a must! Cocktails are good, too, if you’re of drinking age. By the end, everyone will wind up leaving with something exciting and new—without having spent a penny.
CHAPTER 5
Makeup, Not War:
Beauty, Skin-deep? Ha!
By now you’ve masterfully shopped for thrift-store treasures and knockoff finds. You’ve turned old stockings into sleeves. You’ve perfected the art of walking with grace in sky-high heels and jeans that drag on the floor. Your style is under control. It’s time to consider polishing the pout, flattening the hair, and acquiring the fashionista beauty routine.
Fashionistas must be well-groomed, even if they’re not blessed with the flawless genes of Carolyn Murphy. Need we remind you that Diana Vreeland, one of our most acclaimed icons, was no beauty queen? In fact, she was famously ugly. Some might even say an eyesore (God rest her jolie-laide soul). But DV worked her looks by exaggerating them to full effect—highly rouged cheeks, lacquered hair, prominent dark eyebrows—to create a fashionable impact.
There are variations on the beauty theme. Fashionistas from across the pond tend to stay on the rough side of polished with chipped nails, straggly haircuts, cigarette-stained teeth; fashionistas in New York like the slick, polished look that comes from weekly visits to the dermatologist and the beauty salon; West Coast fashionistas appreciate casual, well-tanned glamour. Regardless of where you live or what salon you frequent, be it a posh spot where you invest in a $200 haircut or pay the minimum for a quick blowout at Fantastic Sam’s, your budget doesn’t have to break the bank to make you feel like a million bucks. This chapter will help you keep a rigorous schedule of beauty maintenance.
Besides, what’s a fashionista without her sea salt scrub and cleansing cream?
Eye Openers
“We are starting a new year. Faint, faint, if any eyebrows. Beautifully made up corners of the eyes, eyelids and above the eyelids. Rich-looking skin with a golden sheen.”
—Diana Vreeland, September 11, 1966
Three years later, she was apparently done with faint, faint, if any brows.
“It is an appalling thing to see four hairs on the brow of a beautiful girl. What is this new kick . . . I am speaking of hair on the forehead of a good-looking girl.”
—Diana Vreeland, June 12, 1969
Brow-beaten
MELISSA
When I was eleven, I was indoctrinated to the perils of eyebrow-line application. My grandmother, who was living with us at the time, was getting ready for a posh soiree and rooting around my mother’s dressing room for an eyebrow pencil. Lola (Grandma in Tagalog) had overplucked her brows in her youth, so all that was left above her eyes were a few stray hairs. She looked like an alien without her eyebrows. She was also half blind.
“What
are you doing?” I asked when I saw her applying her eyebrows.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Lola, that’s a Pentel pen!”
She had mistaken a brown Sharpie for an eyebrow pencil. We both collapsed in hysterics. Then she surveyed her reflection thoughtfully. The pen was a light brown, the same shade as her eyebrows. “No one will notice.” She shrugged, and painted a half-moon over her other eye. That night, at the big fancy party, it was true. No one had a clue that my grandmother had literally painted on her eyebrows that evening.
Let your eyebrows do the talking.
It’s always been my ambition to have perfectly arched brows, but it took a long, hard road to get there. I first started plucking my eyebrows at thirteen, when my mother took a good look at my face and decided it was time for “polishing.” But I was a lazy plucker, and didn’t pay much attention to it. Also, it took a while to get accustomed to the pain.
The worst eyebrow phase I endured was in college, when I applied such a dark eyebrow pencil that in photos of that time I look very, very angry. One night I tried the same trick as Lola. I was out of my espresso brow pencil, so I decided to use my black eyeliner instead. I started penciling it in, but it didn’t look right. I kept filling in instead of washing my face and starting over. Big mistake! I looked like a cross between Frida Kahlo and Groucho Marx. None of my friends said anything, but I still cringe when I see the photos.
Maybe I should have used a brown Sharpie instead!
Tweezer (Wo)Man
KAREN
Growing up, I was fascinated by my mother’s beauty routine, the way she kept her makeup immaculately stored in Lucite cases, categorized by color. She had a kit of brushes and a magnifying mirror. She didn’t spend that much time on her face, yet she always emerged from her bathroom with creamy, even skin, glamorously shaded eyes in earth-color combinations, enhanced by her perfect eyebrows, which she spent ample time shaping and trimming. She was obsessed with her Tweezerman tweezer, a professional quality stainless-steel tool with points so fine and sharp that they could pull up the tiniest and shortest of hairs, even the ingrowns.
The Fashionista Files Page 16