The Fashionista Files by Karen Robinovitz Read Free Book Online

college always wore them—but they were way too cool for me. Back then I was still in my pleather-shoe phase. In college, the only guy I “dated” was my gay best friend, and he always wore slip-on Ferragamo loafers. Not exactly the weapons of mass seduction.
    Mike was sitting cross-legged at a crowded party in Brooklyn, and the minute I spotted his shoes, I fell in love. I had to meet him. To me, Jack Purcell sneakers are more than just footwear. They symbolize artistic, nonconformist aspiration. Jack Kerouac wore Jack Purcells. They are the shoes with the “sole” of a poet.
    Back then, Mike was working a retro-fifties thrift-store look— spread-collared cotton shirts he’d pick up from vintage shops for eighty-nine cents with a wingspan from neck to shoulder, a beige polyester jacket, baggy 501s, and his trusty Jack Purcells. It took him from college to grad school to his first job as an architect. When we first met, he didn’t know Dolce & Gabbana from Viktor & Rolf.
    With my help, he’s added high-fashion awareness to his wardrobe. Almost eight years later, the poly-cotton blends have given way to sleek Helmut Lang shirts, crisp Gucci suits, and trim Jil Sander pants. (He was crushed when Jil left her label—and like other fashionistos everywhere is eagerly anticipating her return.)
    But when we moved to Los Angeles in late 2003, Mike was in a funk. “I need a new look,” he said. He was tired of dressing like a typical New York architect, clad in minimal shades of charcoal and black. He wanted to look casually professional, like the other architects in his firm in a happier land where the sun often shines. These men wore designer T-shirts with Gucci jeans and interesting sneakers. Of course, we headed to my favorite place on earth: a designer outlet mall.
    We started at the John Varvatos store, where he stocked up on fine-gauge knit T-shirts. Talk about high-end casual—they were a hundred bucks a pop, retail. Skeptics would scoff at such an expensive T-shirt, but buying designer does make a difference—the cut of the shirt was square, with a more flattering fit, and the finishes on the collar and sleeve seams were exquisite. Plus, they will last him a hell of a lot longer than any cotton variety. I also pulled a glen plaid sports coat, wool and cotton trousers, and he loved it all. At Prada he scored a pair of straight-leg jeans and two pairs of cotton pants. The pants were trim-cut with a slight, almost undetectable flare on the leg—a little David Bowie action that suited us just fine.
    He picked out a checkered Ben Sherman broadcloth shirt with a matching tie in the same pattern by himself.

    Mike as a scruffy slacker and then all duded up with a “Zoolander” expression
    “This is the coolest shirt in the world!” he said.
    “It’s just like the one Ashton Kutcher was wearing in
US
Weekly
!” I squealed in agreement.
    Mike is now made over into a sleek, LA-style architect. Although he’s now wearing Italian cashmere rather than vintage shirts from Sears, his feet are still shod in Jack Purcell sneakers. Of course, this time, they’re limited-edition versions from John Varvatos.
    Full-throttle Fashion

KAREN
    The second I met Todd, I felt a connection so strong that I knew he would become my boyfriend. I can’t explain it. I remember sitting with him, snuggled up on a banquette at a lounge, thinking,
Something feels really different about this.
I was so attracted to him—and not just because of what he looks like, which, admittedly, is gorgeous (the olive skin, the sexy dimples, the hazel-greenish-brown almond-shaped eyes, the long lashes, the goatee, the chiseled arms), but because of his warm, open energy, which was so inviting, I actually felt shy. He still makes fun of me for projecting the kind of body language that gave him no sign of whether I was into him. Yet the entire night I thought he was so yummy and amazing that I had to pull away. I was too scared to give him the green