Always Pack a Party Dress: And Other Lessons Learned From a (Half) Life in Fashion Read online

  Alongside the fashion lessons learned, there is the evolution of my own personal style. All of you who read I Love Your Style know that I have never felt shame in being a chameleon when it comes to defining myself and my style through clothes. Throughout my life, I have tried out nearly every major and minor trend you can think of. I’ve been decorative, I’ve been minimal, I’ve worn wide flares and skinny jeans, I’ve had my hair cut from a one-inch, Jean Seberg style to all the way down my back and every length in between. I gained a lot of wisdom from all those phases, but as I entered my forties, and as my life in England had encouraged me to focus and simplify my style, I was left with one question: Which one of those girls is me? I don’t know if I ever would have found that answer living in New York City. There is too much inspiration, too much to try on, too many people other than myself to please in order to answer that question honestly and succinctly. However, it took no time to answer that question as soon as I moved to the farm.

  Clockwise from top left: My very useful Céline three-pocket purse bought at the outlet store. My Céline trench that I live in, also found at the outlet. My favorite bag, a Proenza Schouler PS1. Snakeskin Céline sandals; the heel is just the right height.

  Packing for life in England was an exercise in discipline and restraint, but it wasn’t as challenging as you might think. There were some pretty simple parameters. I have one small closet and a wardrobe that has six small drawers and some limited additional hanging space. I expanded my storage capacity a bit by buying storage boxes for under the bed and to store in the barn (for out-of-season clothes). But still, I had reduced twenty years of manic clothes-collecting to three suitcases when I boarded the plane to move here. I took all the things I knew I’d wear on a daily basis—T-shirts, men’s tailored buttondowns, cozy sweaters, jeans and corduroys, boots. And then I added some fashion favorites I couldn’t resist—my Alaïa skirts, a Chanel motorcycle jacket, all my classic sportswear from Céline, my feminine bohemian pieces from Isabel Marant. I knew I wouldn’t need to dress up that often here, but when I did, I would want to look my best, so I packed three killer evening looks, including a black-and-white beaded chiffon dress by Proenza Schouler, two pairs of Manolo Blahnik BB pumps (black and brown suede), my woven satin Bottega Veneta clutch, a vintage Oscar de la Renta evening jacket, and a Phillip Lim embroidered cape. As soon as I unpacked, I had a new and clearly defined image of myself through my clothes. I am mostly classic, in a pared-down, almost minimalist way, with a touch of romantic bohemianism and a dash of high fashion. There is also a certain sense of preppiness in my plaid flannel shirts, my ivory fisherman’s sweater, and my fleece Patagonia jacket. These pieces aren’t influenced by a fashion trend, but by my childhood in Palm Beach and Westchester. This return to my roots brings a great feeling of true self to my style. I feel at home in these clothes. This whole picture of the more clearly defined “me” makes sense of all the years of experimentation through trial and error, and also gives me greater self-confidence in where I’ve come from, the journey I have taken to get here, and the result: where I am today.

  And finally, please don’t feel that you should read this book in chronological order from front to back all in one sitting. When I read books of stories like these, I like to read just one chapter in the bath each night and spend the following day reflecting on it. Or maybe you just want to pick it up from time to time to look at the pictures, and choose a random chapter that resonates with you at that moment. My hope is that you’ll like a photo or relate to a story or feel encouraged to try something new in your career or your style, or possibly even take a moment to consider your future. It’s not as scary as it sounds. I promise.

  Clockwise from top left: My Rag & Bone military jacket. My favorite summer dress from J.Crew. This Céline blazer reminds me of how my mom dressed in the early eighties. A Thakoon dress that always stays in the front of my closet.

  The inspiration wall in my office, which changes almost weekly.

  FASHION LESSON NO. 1

  THAT’S SO YOU!

  IS THERE ANY better compliment than a friend saying, “That is so you!” It’s the double whammy of a feel-good sartorial pat on the back—not only is it implying that your friend knows you well enough to know what you is, but it also suggests that you, in fact, know yourself well enough to project what you is.

  But how do we get to know who that you is? Besides the everyday trial and error we face as we buy clothes, wear them, show them to our friends, see what our husbands think, and find out if we’ll ever wear them again, and if so how often, there is also the mandatory task of exposing ourselves to and reacting to inspiration.

  Inspiration has always been my number one means of fashion evolution and self-knowledge, even though it’s always changing. When I was in my early twenties with my weekends still to myself, I spent hours putting together scrapbooks filled with magazine tear sheets of women, clothes, homes, places, art, photographs, and anything else that grabbed my attention and made me want to fold the page down. I also included personal photographs, cool ticket stubs, beautifully designed party invitations, letters in elegant handwriting, and so on. At the time, I did this exercise for the fun of it, but now I can look back at that time and see, visually, who I was then.

  These days, in order to see who I am now, I always keep a “scrapboard” in my office. It’s a living, breathing thing that changes all the time—one picture comes down, another tear sheet goes up. As I am writing this, it is plastered with S/S ’13 Céline ads; printed Instagram photos of my kids; my place card from a lunch at Diane von Furstenberg’s house, hand-drawn by DVF herself; a postcard of my favorite John Currin painting; a vintage picture of an anonymous, eccentrically dressed woman; an invitation to the tenth anniversary celebration of Daylesford, our local farm shop in England; some tear-outs from an old Isabel Marant catalogue; and a wristband from a New Year’s Coldplay/Jay Z concert. My board is filled with all my favorite visual reminders, and sometimes when I am stuck creatively, I look to it to borrow an idea or two from the people, places, and things that inspire me most. It reminds me of where I came from, who I am, and who I want to be.

  Heading to an Erdem show in London wearing a Céline outfit (+ J.Crew jeans) that embraces my classic roots.

  FASHION LESSON NO. 2

  EMBRACE YOUR HISTORY

  I SPENT MOST of my twenties trying to subvert the fact that I was a WASP. I bought so many ugly things—futuristic green suede Prada Sport sneakers, iridescent purple lipstick from Chanel, and a bolero jacket from a thrift store that looked like it had turquoise grass growing on it—in an effort to make myself look less preppy. I remember when Jimmy Paul was doing my hair for my wedding. I chose him because he was a friend but also because he was “editorial,” meaning he had created many of the high-fashion hairstyles for Vogue and for the models on the runways of the best designer shows. But ironically, all Jimmy wanted to do was make me look like Grace Kelly on my wedding day. “Not toooooo tasteful,” I repeated over and over again, when he wanted to coif my hair into a perfect side-parted chignon. He knew me well enough to push me (even though it was my wedding day), and we went back and forth until we agreed on a Spanish-inspired center part and braided bun. Perfect. Still classic, but with a little bit of the exotic thrown in.

  I also remember going to my parents’ club for Saturday night dinner during those years. This was WASP central, with men in printed pants and ladies in colorful cardigans. I would do anything not to fit in—I’d wear ridiculously high platform shoes, oversize chandelier earrings, or a sundress with Chanel logos printed all over it (logos are a country club no-no). What a show-off I was! Anyway, after I got married and had kids in my late twenties, I settled myself down a bit and started to think about clothes differently. It was too exhausting to try so hard to reinvent my look all the time. I also started to feel like when I dressed in clothes that were familiar to my life and my history, I felt more comfortable, more like
myself. It’s exhausting to try to be someone other than who you are. Not to say that in order to be yourself you have to dress a certain way. But for me, to embrace who I am and where I came from and to combine that with all that I had learned in my years of intense fashion experimentation gave me the sense of wholeness that I craved and hadn’t felt in a long time.

  My childhood friend Alexandra Kerr and me playing dress-up in our rented summer house in Quogue, 1979. I’d be perfectly happy to dress like that now.

  WHERE I’M COMING FROM

  Mom and Dad in Palm Beach, 1972; my mom still has that ostrich Gucci bag.

  1974—Born in Palm Beach, Florida, second of two girls. Lived in a relatively modest house right on the beach that my grandfather, an architect, built for my parents as a wedding present. Mom and Dad had matching Belgian Shoes loafers and gold St. Christopher’s medallions.

  Hanging with pals in Florida, 1970s.

  1977—Parents split up. My mom, my sister Kim, and I moved to a condo in West Palm, right across from a Puerto Rican bakery that had the best flan. Walked in my first fashion show for Lilly Pulitzer.

  1979—Mom got remarried and we moved to Bronxville, New York, a conservative, Stepford Wives suburb of New York City. Walked to the local public school every morning with my new BFF, Alexandra. Entered the era of eighties preppy sportswear.

  Alexandra and me in Bronxville, 1979.

  1980—Joined the local gymnastics team and wanted to look like all the Yonkers girls with feathered hair and blue eyeliner. What I most envied, though, was that they were allowed to chew gum. Continued to spend summers and holidays with my dad in Palm Beach. An opera singer friend of his bought me red Ray-Bans for my birthday and I didn’t take them off for months.

  With my “Brownies” friends, 1982.

  1983—Discovered Esprit and Merona at my local Gimbels department store. Loved the preppy stripes and colors mixed with more fashion-relevant shapes.

  Ice skating with Alexandra, 1983; it was all about the pom-poms.

  1984—Got braces and my first pair of Guess jeans—blue denim with purple pinstripes and ankle zips. Spent the first of many Saturdays dressed up like Madonna.

  Learning to dive in my Florence Eisman swimsuit, Gulf Stream, Florida, 1984.

  1985—For middle school graduation, Mom and I designed a dress together, bought fabric at Laura Ashley, and had the dress made by a local seamstress. I wanted it to be strapless, but Mom insisted on spaghetti straps. She was right.

  Wearing Esprit at my roller skating / Cabbage Patch Kid birthday party, 1985.

  Sporting my new Merona look in Palm Beach, 1985.

  1986—Went to summer camp in Maine. Caught in the middle of a changing sense of identity, I couldn’t find a group of girls to fit in with. The cool, preppy girls wore Bermuda shorts and polo shirts, and I got teased for my fold-and-roll jeans and my Michael Jackson sweatshirt.

  Feeling cool in Benetton and Ray Bans, 1986.

  Alexandra and I both wearing Laura Ashley at our lower school graduation, 1986.

  1987—Mom’s fortieth birthday. She wore Vicky Tiel couture. I wore Laura Ashley. Again. Transferred to Horace Mann, a private high school in Riverdale filled with New York City kids of a whole other breed than I was used to. Showed up on my first day, dressed by my older sister Kim, in head-to-toe Benetton and white leather Keds. Fit right in.

  Playing dress-up with Elyse and Danielle at a bar mitzvah, 1987.

  Channeling Madonna with Danielle, 1988.

  Celerie and I still into Laura Ashley, 1988.

  1989—Had the summer of my life in Palm Beach. Waterskiing camp during the day, Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers on the beach at night. Discovered thrift shopping and got a whole new wardrobe at the Animal Rescue League charity shop—beaded cashmere cardigans, ripped 501s, leopard shoes. Went to Deerfield Academy, a WASPy New England boarding school in the fall.

  Kimberly, Nicole, and me in our new wicker hats, Palm Beach, 1989.

  1990—First Grateful Dead concert. Long, floral Putumayo skirts replaced the Laura Ashley ones. That summer Dad made me shine and polish my perfectly worn L.L. Bean camp mocs to go to the Palm Beach Bath and Tennis Club for lunch. Trauma.

  1991—New boyfriend from NYC. Tried to make my look more sophisticated. Bought Joan & David loafers and Ann Taylor jackets. Discovered the high-end outlet mall in Paramus, New Jersey. Made my “society debut” at the Westchester Cotillion in a dress designed by my mom.

  1992—Graduated from Deerfield in a Ralph Lauren dress I bought on final sale from Lord & Taylor. Arrived at Brown. Overwhelmed by girls dressed in Chanel and Marc Jacobs. Found solace at Contempo Casuals. Met Diane von Furstenberg while briefly dating her son, Alex.

  In my custom-made Cotillion dress with my escort, Jeff McDowell, 1992.

  1993—Dated preppy/hippie childhood friend Andrew, who went to UVM. Went to more Phish concerts than I would have cared to and rediscovered my bohemian side.

  1994—My attention came back to fashion. Started working as a studio assistant at Patrick Demarchelier. Discovered Zara.

  1996—Graduated from college. Cut off all of my hair. Got hired at Gagosian. Embraced the nineties “gallerina” uniform of all-black fitted sportswear and bootcut trousers.

  1997—Met Christopher. Went to Paris with him, where I attended my first (and only) Chanel couture show where I actually had a seat. Got photographed by Vogue for the first time. Spent all my disposable income at Ghost, Calypso, and Zara.

  1998—Moved into my first solo NYC apartment on Jones Street. Obsessively visited the flea market on weekends with my neighbor Plum Sykes. Started collecting vintage handbags.

  1999—Left Gagosian. Accepted a job at Fekkai. Traveled to Paris—a lot. Lived in a pair of Stephane Kélian hunter green suede stiletto boots that were a gift from Christopher.

  Headed to Wimbledon, 1999.

  2000—Got lured away from Fekkai to Hogan. Spent the millennium New Year camping on a plain in Kenya with Christopher and friends from Nairobi. Fell in love with the bohemian romance of English expats living in Africa.

  Celebrating the millenium in Tracy Feith tie-dye, 2000.

  With my girlfriends at my first Vogue party, 2000.

  2001—Got pregnant and married, in that order. Dismissed idea of a formal engagement ring in favor of a Chanel celestial double-star ring. Shifted work to a freelance basis and included Tuleh in my daily schedule. Gave birth to Coco. Moved to big, raw loft on Chrystie Street. Overwhelmed by the task of decorating, we lived out of boxes for nearly a year.

  In Chanel at Coco’s christening, England, 2001.

  2003—Gave birth to son, Zach. As a baby present, Tuleh designer Bryan Bradley gave me a red leather Chloé bag with heavy metal chain straps intended to function as a diaper bag.

  2004—Moved on from Tuleh. Set up an office across the hall from our apartment on Chrystie Street. Spent most days in “cozy clothes,” only changing into a real outfit for out-of-office meetings.

  2005–2007—Set about writing I Love Your Style and pretended I was a full-time writer, even though I could manage to write for only three hours a day. Freed from being attached to any one brand, borrowed clothes from every designer imaginable and experimented with different fashion styles.

  2007—Founded Amanda Brooks Inc. Began to feel less interested in trends and more concerned with making wise, timeless investments in clothes.

  2009—Earned enough money to buy designer clothes for the first time. Began to grow restless raising two kids in NYC.

  2010—Became fashion director of William Morris Endeavor. Spent a lot of time in Los Angeles. Had fantasies about the laid-back, bohemian/suburban lifestyle. Made Christopher fly out to look at houses with me.

  2011—Let go of L.A. dreams when I got hired at Barneys. Made a deal with myself that if I could last five ye
ars at Barneys, I would give myself a year off living on our farm in England as a reward.

  2012—Personal and professional worlds came to a head. Overwhelmed by realization that now was the right time for me (and my family) to leave New York, decided to move to England ahead of schedule. Winnowed the contents of two walk-in closets and ten storage trunks down to three suitcases. Lost ten pounds and broke out in shingles when leaving my job and moving my family across the Atlantic coincided.

  2013—Felt an overwhelming sense of balance and peace as life was scaled way back and I focused on the things I cared about most. Learned to make jam. Started quest for the perfect Wellington boot and vintage tweed riding jacket.

  2014—Decide to stay in England for the time being. Visit New York often and realize it’s always there when I need it to be.

  My mom, Liz Stewart, wearing Jax (the chic sportswear brand of the day) in Palm Beach, early 1960s.