From the subways of Tokyo to the airports of Athens, join our fashion and lifestyle columnist "No Style" in her quest to get some. Say "fashion victim no more," now, say it again. Ahhh. Doesn't that feel better? The antithesis to the traditional style column, this Ms. puts the capital S back in style...
Ms. No Style
Mama Told Me You Better Not Shop Around by Yourself
My stylist left me for Paris. Dumped me in the thick fog of fashion dilemmas all by my lonesome. Ran away with her husband to one day open a little auberge, which she'll do beautifully like she does everything in life.
My friend Didi is all style. Mini Martha I called her the year she made an extraordinary Christmas tree out of driftwood found on the beach. Even a camping trip with her is high style: succulent cheese, the finest meats, wines that will make you get up and sign the Marseillaise. And the presentation, ah.
She's got the eye. She's got the taste. And she knew how to make me look gooooood.
A stylist is more important than takeout, more important than the cleaning lady, more important than an all night drugstore. I refused to buy a single garment if Didi was not with me. It was futile to even try.
Before her, I was master of the desperate shopping expedition. I'd stand in dressing rooms, looking at myself in brutal lighting in ill fitting garments in unflattering colors. If I bought anything at all, it wouldn't match anything else I had. Another stand alone. It was a closet full of stand alones before Didi took over.
Like an old whore looking for a last trick at the end of a long night, Didi is inexhaustible and relentless in her pursuit of clothes that will compliment. She approaches the whole shopping experience like a general with a defined battle plan.
I on the other hand wander, lost, approaching random objects like a fish attracted to shiny metal. I hold out a pair of orange pantaloons in front of me. "A person in your situation does not need orange pants," says my little general and I crack up laughing. So true. so true. She lifts an aubergine wool suit off the rack and tells me to try it on. It fits beautifully. I happily take it home.
So I have not shopped since she left me one cruel September day. I'm getting worried because I'll soon have to go out there all by myself to buy a few pieces for the new season. It can only be horrific. No, there's only one thing to do. We can always have Paris.
Contact Ms. No Style at 5a7@avivalasvegas.com. Make sure to put Ms. No Style in the subject line.
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