Well Crafted Style

When we moved from Rio de Janeiro to London and my ears ached from the cold, Marmar took me to a children’s clothing shop, sat me on the counter, and tried ear flapped hats on me. The shop assistant made suggestions but Marmar listened to some inner wisdom and chose the hat that perfectly suited me. Marmar had the style gene. She dressed me for the activities of each day, mostly in dresses, but dresses that allowed me to run and tumble. Marmar took me along when she shopped for her own clothes. I recall sipping lemonade as I sat on a settee in a dressing room watching her try on clothes and discuss alterations with the shop’s seamstress.

The mother of the family I lived with after my parents died had also inherited a similar style gene. I watched her (sans lemonade) have similar conversations with shop assistants, taking some pieces to alter herself. but leaving others for the shop’s seamstress. She transformed the cast offs her careless daughter passed on to me: I watched her remake ripped clothes into a wearable and, with my intuitive styling, beautiful wardrobe. She taught me hand sewing and embroidery. At the time, I didn’t value learning to sew; I wanted to play (and did as often as I could escape). But as I approached my teen years, I was grateful that I could make clothes for myself. Learning to sew was an important part of defining my personal style and letting myself grow into being a work of art.

That’s what “WellCraftedStyle” is all about. If I’m a unique work of art (and we all are), how do I express myself through my appearance? It’s an important question because, as long as we’re dressed appropriately for the different occasions in our lives, the answer has less to do with what others wear and more to do with coming to know and trust ourselves and the particular world in which each of us lives. What I have been referring to as “the style gene” comes from cultivating a sense of what works best for me by paying attention to my natural attractions and preferences, my sense of self, how different garments work on my actual body, and how they all intersect with my actual life.

When it came to dressing herself, most of the time my friend Dee showed little understanding of her own personal style. She was graced with a very large bust and tried to dress (and hide) that portion of her body first. But she was also petite with an elfin build. The suits and dresses she wore for her work as a spokeswoman fitted her bust but were usually over large everywhere else. Her attempts to hide and reveal left her looking like a school marm and hid the beautiful quirky, multi-talented philosopher, spokeswoman, photographer, Irish drummer, dancer, deeply caring woman that she was. Reconstructive surgery after a lumpectomy included bilateral breast reductions and as soon as she was able to wear a (much smaller) bra, Dee excitedly went shopping for dresses. I received a series of texts asking which dresses did I prefer. She stood taller and her entire being was happier in some; those were the ones I chose. She was excited as she found herself finally able to be, on the outside, the woman she had been hiding under extra fabric.

Dee had gorgeous legs. She excelled at ballroom dancing and had a growing collection of beautiful heels. For her, heels were the perfect shoes for dance; they were also the perfect shoes for most activities. Dee moved intentionally, even in her slippers, gliding up and down stairs, walking down the street, or moving through a room. Sometimes she broke into little series of dance steps just because. But chemo and the advancing disease affected her balance. She switched to flats but the imbalance persisted. Then one day a package arrived. It contained navy, leather, sneaker-soled Mary Janes. “They’re for stability!” she told me. “They’re cute!” she insisted when she saw the impassive stillness of my face. Silently, I thought them the most unlovely shoes I’d seen in a very long time. Then she stood and flourished her cane. A huge smile lit up her face. She pivoted around the cane and pranced a few steps. Her unlovely shoes were suddenly perfect. They gave us back the graceful Dee we thought lost forever. She was more Dee than she had been in two and a half years.

I approach style from a perspective different than those I see on Instagram, Pinterest, or any of the fashion blogs and sites I follow. It’s even different from style as represented in the European haute couture magazines I've collected since the late 90s. My approach may seem practical to some (clothes are very practical things) or frivolous to others (no wardrobe should be too serious). But like Dee in researching and buying sneaker soled Mary Janes, I’m focused on the way clothing enhances our lives. I'm also focused on what a friend calls "forensic fashion,” particularly when assessing the clothes we own but rarely or never wear: Why was a particular garment chosen? What about it seemed right? What about it said, "That's me!"?

I'm convinced the answers to such questions can help women make choices that will help us look in the mirror and, joyfully, even wonderingly, recognize ourselves. I'm further convinced that when we recognize ourselves, we can forget our appearance and take that joy and wonder with us as we get on with the activities in our lives.

Though I’ve been known to strongly encourage friends and clients to try something they’ve never before considered, I prefer not to tell anyone what to wear. I believe every woman can develop her unique sense of style. Every woman can have a wardrobe that enhances her life. And the best place to start is with the clothes we already own. So follow along for guidance, knowledge, exercises, and ideas that will help you define your style and build a wardrobe that really suits you.

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