031: Letter of Recommendation
Treats for the inner child
On an unseasonably warm day last year during spring in Milan (I swear I will try to refrain from talking about Milan so much…this week), a respite from the torrential downpour more fitting of the season, I received news that made my heart soar: my maternal cousin had given birth to a gorgeous baby daughter, the beginning of the next generation in our family. This news reached me while I was strolling through the neighborhood of Brera with my husband, and more coincidentally, we happened to be right in front of MiniModes, a chic little children’s clothing store with Piet Mondrian-inspired interiors, a perfect site for deliriously delighted aunties to lose their heads and indulge in a few treats for their beautiful nieces.
I’ve firmly been of the opinion that it’s a bit mad to buy designer goods for babies and children who grow a mile a minute. “No child needs a Versace dress, a Burberry raincoat!” I’ll scoff when passing the children’s section at a high-end department store. And yet, ever the fool, I ate my words entirely after my niece was born in a haze of elation. Eventually, I settled on a delicate romper in a primary-colored floral pattern by Stella McCartney. Outrageous and totally nonsensical? You betcha! Completely adorable? Absolutely! Since my niece’s birth there’s nothing I enjoy quite like shopping for teeny clothes and accessories – albeit not designer, I can’t have her parents murdering me just yet – for such a joyous, tiny being.
My mother delighted in dressing me up to the nines; she purchased tiny hair accessories to match my tiny outfits, and when she couldn’t find something that brought her vision to, she’d make it her herself, such as the confetti of bouncy multicolored curly ribbons she’d glued to a tiny clip for my first birthday. Or tiny fabric rosebuds she’d sew on to my shoes to match the outfit of the day, and swap out for another set of rosebuds for another outfit. What she wouldn’t spend on herself, her own wardrobe modest in size, she indulged in me.
As a child, my family and I would often drive to the seaside town of Portsmouth for the day to visit relatives, packed into our clown car of a five-seater: my father; mother; two cousins and their mother, my aunt; and a rotating cast of one to two other aunts and uncles per trip. Going to Portsmouth wasn’t just about seeing relatives, but it was also an excuse for my mother to stop at Chantelle, a children’s clothing store that specialized in one-off pretty (to my mother) and itchy (to me) dresses. They cost a small fortune, but to my mother it was worth it to be able to dress me up in a Chantelle confection even once before I’d inevitably outgrow them.
My childhood wardrobe was outfitted for an unlimited cast of characters: the requisite ballerina’s pink tutu; dungarees and a baseball hat; an orange, green, and yellow clown suit-adjacent jumpsuit; floofy princess dresses; smocked pieces, as Princess Diana favored them for her own children. When I was a bit older and had an opinion, my collection included but was not limited to a Polly Pocket necklace, a turquoise top with faux-sunglasses pinned on, lavender cargo pants, a Pochacco backpack. There is such a small window during childhood when we aren’t saddled by notions of what people may think of us and allow others to define how we dress, and I wonder if my mother’s sartorial experimentation when it came to me was partially an attempt at optimizing the beauty of that short-lived liberty.
Over the past few months, my own childhood has served as a guiding hand in how I dress and pieces I appreciate, a bit more silly than sleek. Fashion as of late has felt quite heavy, glossies espousing we dress like a socioeconomic bracket instead of how we feel. Little room remains for play, to adorn oneself for no greater purpose than to delight one’s inner-child. This nostalgia for my childhood isn’t so much a desire to return to simpler times: I was born in the final few months of Thatcherism and raised in the midst of a recession led by the Conservative British government, the first of many economic crises to come in my thirty-four years across four countries, thus far. I have no delusions of a time that wasn’t; all I want is to return to an unencumbered way of dressing that is simply FUN.
And so for anyone in need of a distraction from existential dread, a healthy dose of retail therapy, or the injection of much-need FUN back into the wardrobe, may I present to you a mouth-watering selection of treats for your inner child:
Left to right from top:
A cuddle-worthy Jil Sander jacket and a matching bag to snuggle up with once all credit cards have been maxed out from Fall 2018.
This Prada dress straight out of a comic from Spring 2017, about which Miuccia Prada had to say, “I am suggesting militant women in a very practical way.” On who the collection was for: “Someone who can be active and present today…just wanting to change the world. Especially for women, because there’s so much against us, still.” Seven years later, here we are again.
In a nod to my mother’s propensity to dress me like Princess Diana would, a Comme des Garçons happy medium.
Simone Rocha puffy dress for the grumpiest child at the birthday party.
A Marni jacket for those who preferred to make loo-roll garlands, macaroni cards, and get glitter everywhere (ie. still me).
Polly Pocket-pink Gucci piston-lock Jackie.
Simone Rocha puffy dress for the happiest child at the birthday party.
Issey Miyake skirt set from the early 90s which looks like the blueprint for a playground.
Rei Kawakubo does overgrown child so well! Comme des Garçons pinafore-style dress that looks like my old school uniform with a bow on top.
Comme des Garçons quilted Princess Cake/Wayne Thiebaud cake display.
A feathery baby-pink Prada top from Spring 2017.
Fit for a doll, a Mondrian-inspired Prada skirt from Fall 2011.
From Prada’s Fall 2016 collection, a Christophe Chemin-floral nylon poodle skirt. Pretty and resilient!
Simone Rocha metallic gold ballet flats to make up for my dashed dreams of being a ballerina.
There’s something to be said of Prada’s collections, of how outrageous, out-sized and delightfully ugly they were during Trump’s presidency and the surge of right-wing politics in that period. Prada was also the mourning the loss of her two dearest friends, Manuela Pavesi and Ingrid Sischy, radical women in their own right. The too-big jewels on such lovely satin shoes from Fall 2017 remind me of those fantastic jewel stickers I had that never met a surface it didn’t like.
For a grown-up Gossamer (of Looney Tunes fame), this Giorgio Armani coat.
When aforementioned jewel stickers meet a dreamy Christopher Kane jacket.
Madeline would have worn this Courrèges coat from the 60s/70s on a crisp autumn stroll through the Jardin du Luxembourg.
A cheery Jacquemus Fall 2014 coat in the most primary shade of blue.
Hermès diaper bag. Need I say more?
Until next time!
Let there be joy❤️