It's funny how much of a disconnect you can have with your own style. Not that I think I dress like these people, but if I was to name a style icon - as I am often asked to do and I do so in such a state of blithering idiocy I'm surprised people ask me to do it again - it would be along the lines of Yasmin Sewell, Taylor Tomasi Hill and Phoebe Philo. But the reality of the situation is that I dress nothing like any of those women, partly because I don't have the funds, partly because I'm still really rough around the edges and I don't look polished no matter what I wear, and partly because my style is, in reality very different to them. So why do I name them as icons? I think it comes down to the fact that I want to look like them, which is, after all, what an icon should be. I want to look as quirky cool as Taylor, as wonderfully laid-back and comfortable in my clothes as Yasmin and as turned out as Phoebe. But I often don't. I end up looking like someone else entirely. I usually end up looking like Ashley Olsen.
Ashley Olsen? I would never have named her as a style icon. Not because I don't like her style, but because I don't religiously check her thread on tfs or blog about how much I love her. I don't keep up with what she's wearing and my interest in her is often The Row based. But the other day while having coffee with a friend of mine and dissecting the latest Who Weekly magazine we came across a picture of Ashley Olsen in a long skirt, big jumper and coat. "You dress just like her" she said. And then frowned. "Minus the loafers, of course."
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The fact is, I do dress just like her. Not all the time, but most of the time. I'm not big into flared pants and she does wear some crazy ass fur, but her casual style that I can only express as 90s minimalist meets ladies who lunches seems to kind of sum up my love for simple winter layering and long, languid lines. It's all Reed Krakoff's first collection, 90s editorials featuring long turtle neck sweaters and mannish style overcoats that swamp you in fabric. I abhor anything fitted. So does she. She seems to swan around in masses of fabric and drapey layers - as I do. She doesn't wear tights, see previous post. She has messy hair and no make up, my usual state of appearance. I don't wear loafers and I don't have a beaten up vintage Kelly bag, but I do wear a raft of different strappy flat sandals or ballet flats and a small frame buckle bag of some kind. She's frumpy and mumsy - and that's been said of my style before - although in a slightly nicer way "drapey", "languid", "relaxed". We both love a good degree of slouch to our clothes, lines that are long and lean and wearing things that are probably a bit too big for us. How have I not seen this before? Even when I was putting together a collage for my review of The Row's resort collection way back last august, it didn't occur to me that maybe our style had more of a crossroads than I thought. It took a completely disinterested 3rd party, a lot of caffeine and a who weekly magazine.
Currently on my list of desired purchases - wide brimmed hats, mannish oversized knits, the perfect leopard print coat, a kelly bag (ha ha ha), a huge scarf.
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