After many long awaited months, I set aside some time this week to kick and watch the movie that has been on my “must see” list since all its hype came out. I hit the purchase button on my pay-per-view remote and watched “Sex and the City”. With a box of tissues in one hand and a stack of style magazines in the other, I sat glued on the couch watching every minute. And, just as predicted, it only took five minutes into the movie before I started to get the fashion itch. I saw dresses, jewelry, shoes and handbags that were beyond chic. Full skirted floral dresses with eccentric pins. Blue Manolo Blahnik stilettos with jeweled pointed toes. Drapes of pearls and chandelier earrings accessorizing thrift store finds to bring about a whole new trend. Even the makeup was natural yet stunning.
Immediately my mind began racing with vivid images of my own closet and what little add-ons I could infuse to get these trendy looks. I wanted to bring the marvel of Manhattan to my little Upstate New York town. The definition of “going to the city” where I live means driving to the Mall in my state’s capital, Albany. I wanted more. I wanted my area to know that Vera wasn’t just the waitress on Alice and Oscar was not always a grouch. Even with my full-time job as a Domestic Goddess, I know I could bring designer beauty to the ‘burbs.
I took some time and read over articles which featured interviews with Patricia Field and Rebecca Weinberg, the fashion designers for “Sex and the City”. I browsed through stacks of Elle, Vogue and InStyle. Flip after flip, I looked for something I could pull off with my closet and my budge. After careful looking, I found a picture of a stick-thin blonde model wearing an outfit that I practically had in my closet right then. A pastel sweater with a plunging low collar, a pair of cropped pants, stiletto boots, and a long strand of pearls all topped off with a bold, short denim jacket. Of course mine was probably seven grand cheaper, but no matter. I had city chic in my walk-in and I was taking it to the streets.
The next day I had an appointment in the city… my city… and decided to wear my new ensemble. I had so much fun dressing. I did my hair in rollers. I applied my makeup with sheer precision. Never in a million years would have ever thought of putting this look together on my own. That would have been a risk and I tend to play it safe. But to be a Sex-ette I had to be a fashion risk taker. Decked out and ready to go, I grabbed my mini clutch and headed for the door. See, right away I have problems. I quickly realize a clutch does not hold a date book. A clutch does not hold a bottle of Motrin. A clutch does not hold a wallet complete with checkbook, supermarket discount cards and pictures of my kids. A clutch barely holds a lip gloss, cell phone and a full-sized pen. So now I need to put my other necessary items in a Wal-Mart bag just to keep in my car for when I am not carrying my clutch. My fashion statement is quickly turning into a fashion mumble. “I can still do this”, I tell myself. “I can still be the fashion diva that would make Carrie Bradshaw proud.”
Twenty minutes, five disco songs and one lip gloss touch up later, I arrived at my destination. I gave myself the final once-over as I grabbed my clutch and headed in to my appointment. Now, here’s the kicker. My appointment wasn’t in the local mall that houses all the trendy playgrounds like Macy’s, Sephora and NY & Co. It was next door to that mall at a medical professional building, complete with a designer blood lab and outpatient surgical center. No matter. Even if I was asked to model the one-size-does-not-fit-all paper gown, at least I had good shoes for it. With a smile on my face and my posture tight, I walked into the building. It took me all of one milli-second to realize I had gone beyond the lines of what my big city was ready for in regards to fashion. I felt like I had just stepped out of the Delorean in “Back to the Future”. I was a space alien in heels. People looked at me like I was walking with a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. A runway-length piece of toilet paper. I wasn’t really sure if my look shocked people because it was fashion like they had never seen before or because people only wore this stuff when they hit the clubs at night. Or maybe I truly did look like odd man out. Whatever they were thinking, it was obvious they were unprepared to see a “SATC “look live and in person.
I pulled out my magazine when I got in the reception room to make sure I didn’t mix and match the wrong items to create an outfit that would be featured as a “What Not To Wear” photo online with a fuzzed bar over my eyes. Nope, I had nailed the look right down. Even though the twenty-something receptionist drooled over my purse and my physician, who is approximately ten years older than me called my outfit “fashion forward”, I realized I would never be able to bring the eclectic looks of my favorite TV show to the streets of my town. Most of my fellow city gals and suburbanites were classy and chic but when it came to their fashions, “risk” was still a four-letter word. Of course, some females did attempt to push the envelope at times with sky-high heels and bold colors. Who are these Gucci gurus? Middle schoolers. And I KNOW they aren’t watching my show. (I hope they aren’t watching my show!) I guess I’ll just have to take things slow and infuse my “Sex and the City” clothes into my town with ease. It will be like getting into a pool… one (peep) toe at a time.