Golly! Be a Hot Tamale in Kamali

On a recent Friday, the bathing-suit department at Bloomingdale’s on 59th Street was bustling. Pat Walsh, 54, a slim blonde administrative assistant from Staten Island, was inspecting a retro-inspired red polka-dot Anne Cole one-piece with thick straps and a bosom-enhancing sweetheart neckline for an impending trip to Punta Cana, in the Dominican Republic. “I always think more is better,” she said. “Like, more of a swimsuit, more coverage.”
“Sometimes they all look the same to me, these suits,” she continued. “But I just thought, ‘Wow, I haven’t seen a polka-dot suit—I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one! So I’m going to try it on. I think it would be flattering to me.”
This season, swimsuit designers have pillaged the demure 1940s and 1950s and produced a barrage of modest, coy options like the polka-dot Anne Cole one-piece admired by Ms. Walsh. These are suits that channel Marilyn Monroe circa 1945, back when the leg was titillating enough and the thong was but a twinkle in some evil man’s eye. When famous women had curves that swimsuits cinched and smoothed and accentuated. When swimsuits helped things, in other words, rather than stranding a girl alone with her stomach flab like their successor, the string bikini.
On the high end are Norma Kamali’s much-coveted Bill Mio suits ($350), which have the ruched bodice and generous proportions of the suits ’40s swimming champion-turned-sexy movie star Esther Williams wore. (Interestingly, Ms. Kamali started making swimwear in 1970, at the advent of a long, dark American love affair with skimpiness. This culminated in the ’90s with the Brazilian-exported thong, at which point women said, collectively, Please!)
On the low end, trendy, youthful retailers like Urban Outfitters and Juicy Couture have embraced modest, sweetheart-necklined one-pieces, perhaps meant to be worn ironically to one’s Hamptons share house or to sunbathe at McCarren Park. After all, for the fit 20-something, a gratuitously modest suit is almost more transgressive than an eentsy bikini. It says, approximately: My body is so hot that I don’t even have to show you how hot it is.
‘A Little Tension’
“I like how the ruffles cover your chest and add a little tension without revealing too much,” said designer Araks, who makes a popular retro-inspired two-piece with a halter top and high-waisted bottom that retails at La Petite Coquette. “It’s flirty, but it still has an innocence to it.”
At Macy’s, reissued Jantzen one-pieces, marketed by a glossy ad campaign featuring the model Carolyn Murphy (whose sex tape disappeared quickly, demurely from the collective radar), have been flying off the shelves this year and hard to find online since March in sizes under 8. “This whole retro trend is in general in the fashion world,” said Nicole Fischelis, the store’s fashion director. “There is a fusion of contemporary, today and yesterday, whether the ’40s, ’50s or ’60s.”
But at Bloomingdale’s, the retro trend—rather than striking customers as a welcome reprieve from the low-slung bikini or a subversive fashion statement—seemed to be perplexing more than a few (retro styles by Anne Cole, Carmen Marc Valvo and Juicy Couture abounded, but the string and bandeau bikini still ruled the sales floor). “Probably for someone who’s not particularly athletic or sporty,” sniffed Kathy Voss, 30, a tourist from London. “It’s a more ‘look at me’ swimming costume, rather than the ‘I’m going to swim 20 kilometers.’”
Then again, this is precisely the costume required by the lazy-skinny girl of the moment, the one who eschews Equinox for Spanx, just like grandma.
But “if you’re in your 50s or 60s, that kind of look isn’t going to work,” argued one shopper, Patricia Keenan, 55, an artist. “It’s more va-voom, a younger look. Otherwise, it looks kind of silly.”
Indeed: this season’s retro swim trend began with aggressively undemocratic high-fashion runways, not with an altruistic desire to make swimsuit shopping more pleasant for the average middle-aged beachgoer with trouble spots. Designers like Stella McCartney, Michael Kors and Miuccia Prada sent full-coverage swim bottoms with retro details like halter tops, belts and ruffles down the runway between 2004 and 2007, accessorized with turbans, oversize sunglasses, diaphanous shirts and high, high heels, and suddenly, swimwear was glamorous again. (Fitness trends, beach volleyball, and US Weekly’s continuous stream of emaciated, bikini-clad celebs hadn’t been helping things.)
A barrage of magazine spreads followed, including, memorably, Scarlett Johansson’s April 2007 Vogue cover, which featured the starlet in vintage-inspired Prada and Dolce & Gabbana suits accessorized with red lips and high heels.
“Every year you see more swimwear on the runway,” said Ms. Fischelis.
“We started seeing [retro suits] on magazine covers probably two years ago, and it became very aspirational,” said Donna Wolff, vice president and divisional merchandise manager of swim at Bloomingdale’s. Next Page >




















Fed Up With Condescending Sales Clerks? Chew On This:
On one of my recent morning walks, I jaunted up Oak Street taking a different scenic route home than usual. Keeping one eye on all of my favorite delicious designer boutiques and the haute-est of the haute jewelry stores, and the other eye on where I was walking, I breeze past my favorite specialty store up near the corner - when a positively scrumptious school bus yellow Balenciaga bag of the moment grabs my third eye.
Don’t ask me what made me put on the brakes and hang a ninety-degree left turn right through the store’s front door, because I have no idea. Well, other than my designer bag fetish, I have no idea. And I certainly know better than to fall in love with a highly-touted handbag that hangs in the window of that place. The last time I did, I came close to selling my soul for a Fendi with the most incredibly woven, curved, horn-like handles I’ve ever seen on a handbag. Till this day, that’s one of my top five fave designer bags of all time and it occupies a lofty place in the Fashionista Purse Universe Hall of Fame.
However, once I quickly make my way through the accessories department to the little waterfall display of “the” Balenciagas perched on top of a gorgeous glass and wood Nouveau-like cabinet-cum-counter, I was darn near helpless.
Boy, they sure know how to do it with their displays, don’t they? Most of their merch is so unique, it’s easy to see why they entice the elite to come and spend, spend, spend. If you have a serious yen for the most special of the special, fashion-wise, it’s all right here.
My hands, as if possessed, instantly make a bee-line for the bag in black, natch. (Laura Law: If you’re only gonna buy one, always buy black. Especially if it’s expensive.) Besides the leather’s scent and everything else elegant about that bag, the purse’s veins of dark charcoal marbling meandered through the leather giving it an extra nice visual texture in addition to the one it already had.
Anxiously, I slide the zipper open and fish around in the inside pocket for the price tag. There it is, $1195, written plain as day - except in my designer delirium and eidetic mind I think it reads, $195. Blinking in total disbelief, I blink once again just as the salesman arrives on the scene.
I must say, that bag had such a hold on me, for several seconds I toyed with the idea of whipping out my “secret” credit card - and you gals know what I mean – and plunking it down in the salesboy’s sweaty palms - because I’ve lusted after this bag for quite some time - number one. And number two – the salesguy snively looked down his long, pointy nose at me, narrowing his eyes and raising his right eyebrow thinking, like, maybe I couldn’t afford such a designer nicety. And you know how that can tick you off when it happens. There’s almost nothing I dislike more than an arrogant sales clerk who’s a little too full of his-self.
Thankfully, my sanity kicks in just in time returning me to my rightful mind and I tell the guy, “I’ll think about it.” Dizzy from the implied insult and sounding a little too weakly matter-of-fact, I walk toward the door.
Meanwhile, this Norma Desmond-looking salesgal sashays up and snatches said Balenciaga bag right out of salesboy’s slippery mitts where I left it.
“Where’re you goin’ with that bag!” I tease.
The next thing I know, the woman turns on me like a viper freshly sprung from her basket and rushes at me with the bag held out in front of her like she’s going to rub the dang thing in my face. Seriously! Screeching as she comes closer, “You wanna buy this bag, lady? Well, do you? Here. It’s yours. Take it! How you gonna pay for it?! Huh?
Please believe me when I say, I didn’t look like any friggin’ bag lady with a high-fashion fetish, nor was I dressed poorly, either. It was rather unseasonably cold in Chicago that day and I had on my trusty $450 Spyder snowboarder’s winter walking coat, so given my upscale out-doors-y appearance, I was quite taken aback at this old prune’s posture. I’ll bet a nice walk and some fresh air would do her a bit of good.
I wouldn’t buy a stick from that store after the rude treatment I received over that Balenciaga bag – even if the two sales clerks offered to chip in and buy it for me.
Well, maybe I could be forced to forgive and forget in that instance . . . however, there is quite a lesson to be learned here and I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.
Laura Dion-Jones Casey
550 N. Kingsbury St., #120
Chicago, IL 60610
312-595-0172
4-18-08©
dionjones@aol.com
www.poundbypoundonline.com http://motivation.poundbypoundonline.net
Fed Up With Condescending Sales Clerks? Chew On This:
On one of my recent morning walks, I jaunted up Oak Street taking a different scenic route home than usual. Keeping one eye on all of my favorite delicious designer boutiques and the haute-est of the haute jewelry stores, and the other eye on where I was walking, I breeze past my favorite specialty store up near the corner - when a positively scrumptious school bus yellow Balenciaga bag of the moment grabs my third eye.
Don’t ask me what made me put on the brakes and hang a ninety-degree left turn right through the store’s front door, because I have no idea. Well, other than my designer bag fetish, I have no idea. And I certainly know better than to fall in love with a highly-touted handbag that hangs in the window of that place. The last time I did, I came close to selling my soul for a Fendi with the most incredibly woven, curved, horn-like handles I’ve ever seen on a handbag. Till this day, that’s one of my top five fave designer bags of all time and it occupies a lofty place in the Fashionista Purse Universe Hall of Fame.
However, once I quickly make my way through the accessories department to the little waterfall display of “the” Balenciagas perched on top of a gorgeous glass and wood Nouveau-like cabinet-cum-counter, I was darn near helpless.
Boy, they sure know how to do it with their displays, don’t they? Most of their merch is so unique, it’s easy to see why they entice the elite to come and spend, spend, spend. If you have a serious yen for the most special of the special, fashion-wise, it’s all right here.
My hands, as if possessed, instantly make a bee-line for the bag in black, natch. (Laura Law: If you’re only gonna buy one, always buy black. Especially if it’s expensive.) Besides the leather’s scent and everything else elegant about that bag, the purse’s veins of dark charcoal marbling meandered through the leather giving it an extra nice visual texture in addition to the one it already had.
Anxiously, I slide the zipper open and fish around in the inside pocket for the price tag. There it is, $1195, written plain as day - except in my designer delirium and eidetic mind I think it reads, $195. Blinking in total disbelief, I blink once again just as the salesman arrives on the scene.
I must say, that bag had such a hold on me, for several seconds I toyed with the idea of whipping out my “secret” credit card - and you gals know what I mean – and plunking it down in the salesboy’s sweaty palms - because I’ve lusted after this bag for quite some time - number one. And number two – the salesguy snively looked down his long, pointy nose at me, narrowing his eyes and raising his right eyebrow thinking, like, maybe I couldn’t afford such a designer nicety. And you know how that can tick you off when it happens. There’s almost nothing I dislike more than an arrogant sales clerk who’s a little too full of his-self.
Thankfully, my sanity kicks in just in time returning me to my rightful mind and I tell the guy, “I’ll think about it.” Dizzy from the implied insult and sounding a little too weakly matter-of-fact, I walk toward the door.
Meanwhile, this Norma Desmond-looking salesgal sashays up and snatches said Balenciaga bag right out of salesboy’s slippery mitts where I left it.
“Where’re you goin’ with that bag!” I tease.
The next thing I know, the woman turns on me like a viper freshly sprung from her basket and rushes at me with the bag held out in front of her like she’s going to rub the dang thing in my face. Seriously! Screeching as she comes closer, “You wanna buy this bag, lady? Well, do you? Here. It’s yours. Take it! How you gonna pay for it?! Huh?
Please believe me when I say, I didn’t look like any friggin’ bag lady with a high-fashion fetish, nor was I dressed poorly, either. It was rather unseasonably cold in Chicago that day and I had on my trusty $450 Spyder snowboarder’s winter walking coat, so given my upscale out-doors-y appearance, I was quite taken aback at this old prune’s posture. I’ll bet a nice walk and some fresh air would do her a bit of good.
I wouldn’t buy a stick from that store after the rude treatment I received over that Balenciaga bag – even if the two sales clerks offered to chip in and buy it for me.
Well, maybe I could be forced to forgive and forget in that instance . . . however, there is quite a lesson to be learned here and I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.
Laura Dion-Jones Casey
550 N. Kingsbury St., #120
Chicago, IL 60610
312-595-0172
4-18-08©
dionjones@aol.com
www.poundbypoundonline.com http://motivation.poundbypoundonline.net