The Joy Of Local Boutiques, And A San Francisco Designer

I found my standalone top. Or, shall we say, a standalone top. Now that I've found one I realize I may need a few more. So useful for a life lived in jeans, when no jacket is required but one has too much midlife stomach to set free upon an unsuspecting world.

What's more, it's sourced, as Faux Fuchsia might say, from a local boutique. Not my midlife stomach, mind you, I found that on the highway of life. Or it found me. We don't know. The top I sourced here.

M A C stands in this case for Modern Appealing Clothing. The boutique, in the neighborhood known as Hayes Valley, has been around for a couple of decades. They don't have a website that I can find, but here they are on Yelp. They also recently won Best Men's Clothing from SFGate, so if you've got a stylish guy in your life, bring him here and make him happy.

It's run by a brother and sister. They are helpful in a quirky, diffident until you're interested, committed once you care, kind of way. Rather like shopping in your hip friends' living room.

Your hip friends who collect terrariums, grow orchids, and just happen to hang Mr. van Noten around their living room in support of abstract expressionism.

I had been brought to M AC by Googling Dries van Noten+San Francisco. A big sale was underway. However, admirable though the Drieses Pieces were, none looked good on me.

The blouse I did buy is made by a local designer, of a toothsome cotton/silk blend. The sailor silhouette was just visible enough for whimsy, but not so pronounced as to suggest Pierrot. I am not looking to remind anyone of a sad clown.

You can see the weave and pattern close-up. It's subtler than you might expect, given all those rather large circles. You can't see the round, brown, semi-translucent plastic buttons, but they are there, and convey the requisite mid-century edge.

Here's the cheerful label. DEMA has a boutique too, and a blog.

Dries, even on serious sale, put me in the $400 range. This cost ~$150. What's more, when the medium proved too big, and the length of the blouse too short, M A C made alterations for free. I wore my new sailor friend for the first time with my old Chanel jacket,

because sometimes standalone tops don't have to. It was a fun surprise, putting these two together. The best purchases sometimes show their stuff for real once you get them home.

What Makes An "Extraordinary" Piece Of Clothing Extraordinary? It's Personal.

Do you ever see a piece of clothing and know, on the spot, that you want it badly? And if so, do you buy or pass it by? And either way, how do you feel afterwards?

I was in San Francisco on Saturday, walking down Sutter Street, when I spied a store full of shirts. Different shirts. Unique shirts. Possibly extraordinary shirts.



It was a standalone shop selling NaraCamicie, apparently an Italian shirt line. I'd tell you how they position themselves, but all I can decipher from the Italian website and Facebook page is that they have been around since 1984 and are now entering the USA to, um, sell shirts. Oh, and they offer plus sizes too.

Here is what drew me in off the sidewalk. I tried it on. I pranced around the store in a happy fog of daydreams. Sold. Extraordinary.


"She's cracked," you may be saying. "How is that shirt extraordinary?" Let me explain.

• Fits like nobody's business
  
• A bit different from everything else hanging on retail racks at the moment
• Good use case and cost per wear
  
• Proven alignment with personal taste
• Evokes certain dreams, surfaces certain inspirations
  

What am I talking about? First, it fits perfectly, even, well, flatteringly, if that's a word. With flatteration. Which is clearly not a word. Made of microfiber in the body, and woven cotton for the trim, it's stretchy in the right way, but still fairly dignified and structured. You can see in the photo above, on the mannequin, these are tailored shirts, good for those of us with broad shoulders and the faded ruins of a narrow waist. There's even a louche sort of puckering at the dart adding a, "Non conosco che cosa." That's my mangled Babelfish version of Italian for, "Je ne sais quoi." Why not mangle EVERY language while we're at it?

Second, the pattern is more sophisticated and unusual than might be visible at a distance. See?


Third, I know exactly how I will wear it. To dinner, in San Francisco, with dark jeans, and flats. $145. For that much style - in my eyes - a good deal.

Fourth, this set of colors really does bring me comfort. Voila la proof. (Mangling every language, non?) Remember this sweater? Loved in part because these particular shades of blue make me feel beautiful. Whether it's true or not, who cares? Extraordinary is personal.

My favorite sweater ever

Finally, the shirt traces its heritage directly to my secret identity. My, "In another life I am" dreams. The muddy orange to my navy blue.

Do you remember the Versace campaign below?


In my unacknowledged dreams I want to be a trophy wife from a different culture. I want to lay down the tools of reason, wear thick black eyeliner, big hair and big rings, match everything to the point of far too much. I want a wicked, weary glamour. That little blue patterned shirt is my ticket. It's the peach I dream of eating.

Inspiration is personal. That campaign ran in 2000. I've waited a full decade to dress like those women in yellow. Except I look terrible in yellow, so, you know.

Purchase made, we left the store. Wandered up through the Chinatown gate. The streets were full of tourists, and inhabitants speaking mostly Cantonese. Some Mandarin. We passed produce stores, ong choy, dried mushrooms, purple eggplants in bins. Just wait, in another decade I'll find some way to refer my clothing to these oranges. It's those little bits of stored vision that resurface. Fruit. Dreams and inspiration. I regret what I don't do far more than what I have done.


Images:
Me, except Versace via Style Search & Ryan Kennedy

*Thank you to Deja Pseu at Une Femme D'Un Certain Age, for her great post on the "extraordinary" piece of clothing.
**Yes, I know, the peach is a gratutious, over-used, metaphor. An equal opportunity language mangler.

Why I Didn't Buy The Gorgeous Chanel Jacket

I read, on the blog Rock the Silver, a post distinguishing between Hunter and Gatherer shoppers. Hunting means searching for a certain item, with focus. Gathering, means, well, gathering. Whatever you happen to find. How about you? I find that some things I hunt, other things I gather. Take, for example, shopping and hair days.

This Saturday, I went to San Francisco to get highlights and a haircut, browse (the modern word for gathering) Gumps for pearls and Murano glass, and hunt for khakis. On my way up Highway 101, I got the call that my guy had called in sick. Too late to turn around. I could have let the news wreck my day. But why?

I got to the city. Turns out the salon had moved to a larger space. Noisier. I could have let that wreck my day too. But why? So someone else cut my hair. In the noisy space. It was fine. I was elated, with swingy hair. I recommend glazes, by the way, for a little extra shine.

Then I ate lunch. At a place where you pay huge sums of money to get exactly what you want. That's their menu above. Just taking a breath costs $6.50. Eating is more. I had swiss chard with roast tomato aoli.

And mussels in cream.

Oh my god.

I ate them in the kind of reverent hurry that good food deserves. Sat back, wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin, almost humming with happiness. Then I went shopping. Sort of. I browsed Gump's pearls. They are so gorgeous that just looking satisfies my cravings. I don't need more pearls in my life. Then I asked a saleswoman about the Murano glass doves. They don't carry them in the store. I could have let that wreck my day. But why?

Back out on the streets of San Francisco, hunting for khaki. Gap has abandoned their heritage. And besides, the store in downtown smells of retail death. I skedaddled. Banana Republic, despite their signs that say, "Live In Chinos," has stretch khakis only.

I do not want my khakis to stretch. Dress pants, good jeans, yes, please stretch, for optimum fitting and corralling of various body parts. For casual clothes I want the obdurate fit of woven cotton. Unmoving around my hips and baggy on the legs. In fact, I want to channel Katherine Hepburn, in disciplined khakis and a white shirt. Confidence, insouciance. Stretch pants are perfect when perfect, but terrifying in failure. They optimize, but they also shift, anxiously, they crawl into places they don't belong. One could not fight off crocodiles in stretch pants.

I happened, finally, upon the Chanel boutique. Oh my god.

A gorgeous navy tweed jacket in the window. Classic shape, minimal fringe. (I'd show it to you, but apparently it was too special to have its picture taken.) I've been wanting to replace my old black and white houndstooth for ages. So I girded my loins and reapplied my lipstick. Even High WASPs have to reapply lipstick when entering a Chanel boutique. Especially if we know we probably won't buy anything. (Remember, you just have to look as though you could, even if it's only a look in your eyes.) The saleswoman informed me, with a certain glee, that my size was sold out. All across America, apparently. The gray version of the same jacket was lovely, and could be mine for approximately $5500. I say approximately, because after the number 5 I heard no more.

Were I still a visible executive, I'd have bought it. I'm a big believer in spending for beauty and impact. But this would have hung in my closet for decades, worn 3 times/year. Beauty, no impact.

I walked back to my car, drove home. Beautiful day. No rain. The sun shone on San Francisco bay in that way we almost take for granted. So much twinkling, so much slate blue. I walked in my front door, opened my laptop, got online, ordered the Murano doves. They remind me of a gold glass bird we had when I was growing up. I'm in the mood for whimsy. Researched Eddie Bauer (at Mrs. Lynch's recommendation, thank you) and L.L. Bean khakis. Bean's are stretchless. Ordered a pair for $39.50. Save money where you can, spend where it matters, abstain altogether from unnecessary purchases. Isn't the Internet a great shopping safety net?

It was a good outing. Hunting for clothes, gathering time, seizing the day. I'll let you know how the khakis turn out. What looks like Katherine Hepburn in one's mind can turn out dowdy in person. Then you have to don your pith helmet and head back out.