Elasticity, Or, Saturday Morning at 10:57am

This is how you know we’re friends. That’s my sweatshirt, those are my sweatpants, and yes, my dilapidated slippers (on sale here for 25% off). (Also a shoe closet with pearl-studded booties gleaming goldly.)

All, my friends, is not glamor. You know that already. It does feels new to have proven to myself that I dress solely for comfort. Comfort in its more expansive form.

By this I mean, well, back when I was meeting the man who blogged as Reggie Darling, and with his husband, at a tony East Side restaurant in New York City, comfort was Prada or nada. In that case comfort was social; appeasing the High WASP kitchen god; AKA Mr. Appropriate.

At home comfort is low-cost sweatpants and high-value sweatshirts.

But value has several valences, in the atomic sense. Ideals, for example. Above you see the Women’s March from 2016. I have a navy hoodie for the Aids Quilt. Raising money for and wearing my beliefs.

And how about style? Remember this, from Alexander McQueen? The swallows are only now rubbing thin. I do not like to wear visible logos when I leave the house, but on my sofa? I’m happy reminding myself that I have dearly loved fashion in my lifetime. Recently I bought this (mine is cream):

Gives me great joy to pick up the blush pink of the Women’s March sweatshirt in my <$20 H&M sweatpants above. With my cream Fiorucci Vintage Angels, oh memento of my youth in New York City, I find a desert tan quite attractive. As my mother would have said. Might seem absurd to spend $100+ on a sweatshirt, especially considering this post from back when, but not so given the attendant comfort and joy of multiple wearings. I live in them.

A few more possibilities:

Kenzo, obv.

Isabel Marant, AKA French rock ‘n roll. (on sale, as are others in this list)

Tory Burch, for the ineffable UES look. They’re earthy this year, on Lexington, it seems.

Acne. Love on fire.

And what may be the final swallows of McQueen, RIP.

Obviously, slippers are sui generis and need match nothing. My father would have agreed. (But Frances did something beautiful with her old Glerups.)

Have a wonderful weekend, and I wish you elasticity, whether at the waist or in the grand scheme of things.

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