064: Ways of Wearing
An outsized Dries Van Noten skirt
Ways of Wearing is a series in which I explore, well, different ways of wearing an item of clothing. Ever since I was a child, my mother, a very deliberate shopper, imparted upon me the importance of buying only clothing I loved and could envision wearing in different configurations with things I already owned.
While some may play a round of Sudoku to keep their minds sharp, my brain game was challenging myself to come up with the many outfits stemming from pieces such as a felted tweed suit or a crisp white cotton skirt. Now, if I’m considering buying something, I have to think of four or more ways of wearing it in a manner that holds my interest.
With the constant turnover of trends and seeming-disposability of clothing, ways of wearing is an exercise in appreciating not just a garment, but the work and resources that go into creating it.
While I was in London a few weeks ago, I dropped by very determinedly headed to the Dries Van Noten store in Mayfair. Located in a listed Victorian building across from the Hanover Square garden, this location joins the roster of recent Dries Van Noten store openings in New York, Milan, and Tokyo, and its interior feels less like a site of commerce, and more so the convivial home of an extremely fashionable eccentric.
When the fall collections began trickling into shops on and offline, I’d spotted a heavy tan wool skirt with a flair for drama. One thing about me is for certain: I do appreciate a big skirt. It had debuted on the runway for Fall 2025, Julian Klausner’s first collection for the label, but the awesomeness of the skirt’s structure had been somewhat concealed by a fantastic chenille sweater. I thought about the skirt for some time, and then tried to forget about, but I couldn’t. Instead, I imagined how it could evolve with me. Before I even decided I would buy it, I thought of how I could wear it: with a pair of bulbous lilac mules, and when it got cooler, with tall brown boots and a heavy pink coated canvas jacket.
After my husband and I made plans to take a trip to Antwerp and London, I told myself that to commemorate my purchase, I would buy it at the Het Modepaleis location. On the very day we arrived at Antwerp, after freshening up and pretending that I didn’t have an agenda, we entered the mothership. As I was perusing, acting as though I didn’t know exactly what I wanted, I was approached by a sales associate asking if I needed assistance. I had done a full turn about the store, unable to locate my skirt. Surely my eyes were deceiving me. I let the associate in on my predicament, who – cool, calm, collected – replied, they had none left in stock. How could this be? What of my visions of all the ways I would wear this skirt? Where could I possibly go from here? Not knowing what to do with myself, I panic-bought a pair of wide leg jeans (be assured, gentle reader, that I had been entertaining buying similar versions for years). Returning from Antwerp, I would have to take solace in my new incredible elastic-waist Dries jeans.
On our second to last day in London, we had a blissful itinerary planned: the Nigerian Modernism and Emily Kam Kngwarray exhibitions at Tate Modern, followed by lunch at Nina; stocking up on far too many books from Daunt; onward to the Bella Freud and Margaret Howell shops in Marylebone and then…what’s this? How did the Dries store sneak onto this itinerary?
The Dries Van Noten store in London is composed of two levels. The top floor houses womenswear, perfumes and cosmetics, and feels like an extraordinarily opulent dressing room. Nothing about it is remote, unlike the interiors of many designer shops, and the people who work there are lovely. Simply walking through the store is a great way to get inspired. Downstairs, in a monastic small network of rooms, is home to menswear and an enviable collection of vinyl records. Of the Dries stores I’ve been to, London was my favourite.
Back upstairs, I’d once again been unable to find my skirt. I took this as a sign, but my husband, who knew he would be the one-man audience to my grievances and lamentations, insisted that I inquire about my skirt. An associate told me she might just have it. I entered the fitting room with another skirt, my heart set on The One, eagerly hoping and waiting. And now I am convinced that there is indeed something as divine intervention, for lo and behold, my skirt had found its way to me. Perhaps my poor husband had manifested it, worn down by how anyone could possibly be so hung up over a singular piece of clothing.
I put the skirt on, and like all things that are meant to be, it was only love at first try. Emerging from behind the canary-yellow curtain of the fitting room to show it off, I must confess, I felt quite regal in the skirt, even though I had paired it with my worn-out black thermal top and rain-soaked socks. I wasn’t going to be coy about it any longer, I was absolutely going to buy it.
While waiting to check out, I spoke to Haider, an associate who works there, and we discussed our mutual admiration for Dries and Julian Klausner. I confided that I was “a Dries super fan” (I really shouldn’t be allowed out in public), and in return, I was gifted with any choice of a travel-sized perfume. Of the two perfumes I own, Fleur du Mal is one of them, and I love it so much, that while packing for our trip, I sprayed the inside of my suitcase with it so that my clothes would retain my favorite scent. Now I could always have my perfume with me.
Now, without further ado, some ways of wearing this epic saga of a skirt!
I.
As I had first envisioned it, my skirt with a black sweater and bulbous lilac mules from Martine Rose’s collaboration with Clarks. The sweater with the skirt could easily become a bit too tasteful and ordinary; incredible and ugly (incredibly ugly?) shoes keep things off balance and on the odd course. Earlier in the summer, I bought this lilac silk-satin purse with silver and gold embellishments from Dries Van Noten, which I thought would go well with a black and gold sari I was going to wear to my cousin’s wedding. I realize now that this outfit is a casual variation of its formal counterpart.
Fun fact: When I was a child, my version of hell was either spending the weekend at Ikea or being dragged into Clarks in Croydon by my mother, and thus it must be said: praise be Martine Rose for delivering me from my childhood trauma!
II.
When it comes to knitwear, I’m not the most imaginative of thinkers. Usually, I tend to fall back on a rotation of black, navy, and grey sweaters, and let the bottoms and accessories do the heavy-lifting (exhibit I). In an attempt to shake things up a bit, last year I bought this vintage cardigan set by John Galliano. It’s incredible and ugly (incredibly ugly!), with patches of fur, velvet, silk tartan, and sheer metallic panels. It pairs perfectly with these vintage Miu Miu Bowie mules I bought for $30 when I first moved to New York.
III.
In Antwerp, I bought this Dries Van Noten jacket from Labels Inc., a secondhand shop that has massive selection of Belgian and Japanese designers. Based on the label on the jacket, it’s most likely from the 90’s. I thought it would be interesting to play around with the proportions, as ordinarily I would wear just wear something that ends at my natural waistline. There’s something a bit late 80’s/barely 90’s rom-com heroine about the overall look I quite enjoy!
IV.
Another constituent of my Weird Knitwear delegation is this JW Anderson cardigan from Fall 2024. The first time I tried it on, I thought it was so deeply unsexy, a cartoonish take on an old English granny’s essential with its puffy quilted silk-satin brown lining, which meant that it was perfect and right for me. Life’s too short to not dress in ways that amuse oneself!
These cracked silver Tabis are a prized possession. I bought them on eBay in 2019 from a seller who had nabbed the wrong size at the Barney’s closing sale for – breathe with me reader – $250. May I never cross paths with the Tabi thief!
Until next time!
Style. Capital S.
Wow
You really are so damn creative❤️