Heart String Band
Having been chained to my bed with a feverish mucous monster for the past seven days, my recent sartorial choices haven’t been, shall I say, “blog worthy.” Leggings and an oversize t-shirt, which I change out of only if a soup stain or snot dribble occurs, doesn’t seem like the kind of outfit updates you come here to find. So, on Saturday as I made yet another venture outside the confines of my duvet and six pillow mashup for more cough medicine, I slipped into a real outfit (including a bra!) to take some style snaps.
There are certain pieces of clothing that I obsess over so relentlessly that I don’t even get the pleasure of dreaming about them. No, these pieces pull so hard at my heart strings that they keep me up at night, taunting my mind with all their beauty and outfit possibilities. Miu Miu’s cat printed Spring 2010 collection is one member of my Heart String Band, and Stella McCartney’s latest resort collection certainly plucks at the base chords, but there are some members of this band that wear down my strings to a point that I can no longer take. Just like some dreams are made to become realities, certain pieces of clothing are made to be on my body, not strumming away at some ridiculous metaphor which I think I’ve worn out at this point.
At last this brings me to these Isabel Marant jeans. The first time I saw them I literally said out loud to François, “Hello, Goooorgeous” (for those of you who have seen the movie Funny Girl, you will get that quote. For those of you who haven’t, go watch it). But alas when the time came for these printed pants to hit stores, my bank account was in no shape to buy them. For months I watched them fly off the racks; I even saw a pair on the L train one Tuesday morning and considered offering the girl wearing them all the cash in my wallet, but I only had four dollars. So I let the tormenting dream fade.
But then while I was bopping around a cute boutique in San Francisco a few weeks ago, the owner and I got to talking about our shared love for Isabel Marant. It was then that I opened myself up to vulnerability and relayed this jean dream to her, praying she’d understand my pain and would at least empathize with me. But she did better than empathize; she presented me with a solution. She told me to call up Barneys all across the US asking if they had the jeans in my size. I gave the owner a giant hug and ran home to call every Barneys imaginable. And with just a bit of fashion fever luck I was able to track down a pair (on mega sale no less!) and have them shipped to my very own Brooklyn doorstep.
So you see, while my sinus headache may be keeping me up at night, I can rest assured knowing that the pair of jeans I was convinced I’d never own are now a member of my denim family.