Our Personal Style Manifestos
A special look at a pair of essays originally in issue no. 7 (and shopping!)
As former fashion editors and women who grew up with a love of style and getting dressed, what we wear and why is a conversation that’s always factored heavily into what we do here. It’s part of each newsletter and included in every issue of the print magazine.
We tucked a pair of essays in issue no. 7, each a testament from us on where we sit on personal style right now. Clothing, and how we clothe ourselves, has always been something we love (case in point: hear how we answered our friend Ariel Okin when she asked about our respective prom dresses when she interviewed us for her podcast). But the thing about personal style is that some things never change, while others do.
The individual pieces we wrote are similar but different; we’ve each been affected by getting older and having daughters and leaving our in-office fashion jobs for something with less of a show-off-in-the-hallways mentality. We’re sharing them both here (along with a shopping component to capture what we’re drawn to) and hope you enjoy, whether it’s a re-read or your first time.
P.S. The in-tandem writing is something we stumbled upon and love doing. In issue no. 8 we shared our stance on vision-boarding; in the new issue, it’s our individual reflections on celebrating a decade of marriage with our partners.
Here’s to Fancy
Words by Leah Melby Clinton; originally published in issue no. 7 of the print magazine
There are truths you know deep inside of yourself that are then supported and confirmed by outside factors in a beautiful loop of reinforcement. The best examples come from people we love—individuals who get us, cellularly, and are shaped by some of the same factors—yet there’s also something to be said about the power of recognition that comes from individuals thousands of miles away: strangers you’ve never met, stepping into your consciousness only to remain nameless (think of the people with similar backgrounds and stories and defining experiences that badge them as a soulmate—those who “get” us).
Motherhood, for me, has ratcheted the entire cycle and circle up to a different plane. Here I have a little person who’s from me, of me, and trained, subconsciously and not, by me. Nature and nurture must twist and twine together in all aspects of a person, including the more superficial elements. There’s no way of knowing whether my young daughter likes dresses and purses and jewelry because she sees what I like to wear, to ascribe her preference for “fancy!” to the accessorized presence I’ve been in her life since she was old enough to clock such things. I find myself taking some credit because, partly, it seems logical but also because I like it: I like thinking that my inclination toward things that evoke romance or beauty has rubbed off on her, molding the curves of her aesthetic brain and eye in ways that might forever define what she’s drawn to. It’s why people want daughters, isn’t it? To have a mini-me who loves dresses and purses and princess shoes. We can grimace when they insist on holding an expensive purse, grubby fingers completely unaware they ought to be careful, yet the superficial anxiety is tempered by a swelling of prideful love.
I’m not surprised to find delight in a pint-sized roommate who also appreciates a great dress or wants to wear one pair of shoes in the car and another into school. The thing I wasn’t expecting, though, is the benefit of having a literal little reminder to pick things that spark joy, to unabashedly go for “fancy” without doubting or demeaning it.
As someone who works in an industry where what you wear is part of the package, I’ve never spent much time arguing with myself about clothing or restricting my bolder impulses. But years and life—the need to just get dressed and get to the train on time—required me to stop dialoguing with the pleasure fashion can give you. Who needs an extra spin in the mirror when you’re two minutes behind schedule? No one…but isn’t it lovely to take the extra five seconds to appreciate how a dress flares out when you move or the bold saturation of pure cherry red? There’s the intellectual part of it my daughter is far too young to grasp, too. Engaging with and thinking about our clothes isn’t all pleasure but a chance to appreciate what you own, the things your hard-earned money bought for you, and the designers who worked on bringing them to life. And in a world where sustainability is a constant thought, it’s the best, most fool-proof way to treat our planet better. Pay attention to what you already own, and stop buying more.
Fashion lets my daughter play and dream, and that’s not a dress-up game that has to end in childhood. It doesn’t mean a costume’y wardrobe or vervy gumption to wear something most people would politely call “interesting.” It’s more about having fun with your clothing, picking things you genuinely love, and letting yourself dress for the role of your life. You look good, you play good, and we should all dress for the job we want (or the life we want or the day we’d like to have). She’s playing at being a Disney princess, and it’s obvious; my take on Carrie Bradshaw or an English chatelaine or Gwyneth Paltrow-going-to-work might be less obvious, but it doesn’t mean it’s less of a game. And I’m doing it like she reminded me we ought to: for ourselves and pure pleasure, not because you want anyone else’s acknowledgement or approval.
Fashion is fun, pure and simple.
I don’t think I’ve ever been someone who shops for an occasion or, honestly, a need. Rather, it’s about things that spark something in me.
That’s partly why Dorsey has taken up such a special spot in my heart. It’s almost the polar opposite of the “basic” jewelry I must have written 100 stories telling women to buy. A high-wattage tennis necklace isn’t “everyday”—or is it?
Blazers are the best. And they’re 100 percent the kind of thing I imagine when reminding my athleisure-wearing friends that “getting dressed” isn’t hard. This perfect camel wool blazer would actually be easier to put on than a sweatshirt…
