The Upstory

Note 1.0: This is all about women’s wear, which is aptly named because the whole process of obtaining a successfully pulled-together look is wearing. This is for all my sister shoppers who like to look good but hate the process needed to make that happen. Men, you might be interested to know about our sartorial struggles, but be forewarned this is a gender-specific blog post.

Note 2.0: Google says I can get 80 outfits from recombination’s of 12 separates. See how easy this is? Look at the picture!

Once upon a time, shopping for clothes was easy. My go-to store was Casual Corner. There was nothing casual about Casual Corner, it was corporate-wear heaven.

Casual Corner had a store full of matching skirts and blazers. Everything was fully lined. These women’s suits could easily be paired with racks of coordinating blouses. Some of the blouses had scoop necks, or square necks, or for awhile bow-tie necks which were all the rage and were worn with shag haircuts and Dorothy Hamill wedge haircuts.

I could refurbish my wardrobe in an hour – specifically my lunch hour. There was no hunting for the right selection of coordinating or contrasting pieces. Everything was already curated for me. All I had to do was hit the changing room, make a decision, and run my card. Badda-bing, badda-boom.

Life was good.

Then someone decided separates would be a good idea. Google says that someone was Hubert de Givenchy, a French fashion designer. Google further says that when Givenchy introduced separates, he “created a sensation.”

I’ll bet he did. I’ll bet those French women were tearing their hair out. If I’d been there, there would have been an uproar.

“No-o-o-o, put this idea back in Pandora’s Box,” I would have shrieked and then led a protest where we marched in our sheath dresses from the Arc de Triomphe to the Bastille carrying banners that said:

Don’t Separate Our Stuff
Keep It Together
Wardrobes Unite
Don’t Make Shopping Any Harder Than It Already Is

Givenchy thought his idea was awesome because, he said, tops and bottoms “could be mixed and matched at will.” By who?

Women who have nothing else to do with their day? Women who like to drive from store to store trying to find different pieces so they can pull together one outfit? Really? Hubert if you were here right now I would smack you.

What I don’t understand is that Google says Hubie’s separates hit the Parisian fashion scene in 1952. Whaaat? I thought the ‘50s were all about one-piece outfits (aka dresses), form-fitting on the top and with billowing skirts worn over crinolines and petticoats and sporting a poodle applique. And in the ‘50s women were wearing gloves and hats. Maybe that’s what Hubert was thinking were “separates.”

Anyway, I don’t remember fashion pivoting into separates until the 1990s, the decade I clearly remember when I couldn’t find anything to wear. So, I think Hubert and/or Google got their dates mixed up.  

Furthermore, Google says (and I have to believe Google is smirking when it says this) separates “will help you easily build your clothing choices and enhance your personal style.”

Not the way I did it. One week I would find a blouse and nothing to go with it. I would go home tired and discouraged. Then a couple of weeks later I would gird my loins and go shopping again. I would find a skirt or slacks that I thought would work. But they never did. One piece would fight with the others because of fabric and style.

The only thing I would get right was the colors. I knew how to do a palette of colors so that the outfit didn’t look like it belonged in a circus. But, then even colors became a problem for me. Somehow in between purchases I would forget the colors of the other stuff at home in the closet patiently waiting to be paired up.

So, I would buy the separate in front of me in a solid black. Then I’d go home and test the new separate with the one in the closet and that’s when I’d find out it also was a solid black. My brain did this for awhile before I started writing down Colors I Have and Colors I Need.

Anyway, during that time my fashions tended toward a Goth look. Black from head to toe. Co-workers would feel sad for me when they saw me because they thought I was going to yet another funeral.  

A colleague took me aside and told me her secret was to buy clothing pieces already pulled together and on the mannequin. Mind you this was what separates shopping was like in the days before Pinterest, Google, and online shopping whereby you could choose from screens and screens of curated outfits.

Oh, and get this, Google thinks I can get 80 outfits from recombination’s of 12 separates.

Google has lost its mind. I don’t have the time, the patience, or the skill to lay out 12 pieces of clothing and then remix them 80 times to figure out what will work.  

I remember when Goldwaters department stores were closing and all their inventory was shipped from satellite stores to the main store, not far from my workplace. There were incredible mark-downs to the point they were practically giving stuff away.

It was a madhouse. Everyone went on their lunch hour and we shopped like maniacs. This upscale department store no longer had clothes beautifully staged or presented. There were no well-dressed mannequins to show us what look to go for.

No indeed. The entire department store had been deconstructed into nothing more than carousels and racks as far as the eye could see. It’s true that things were organized by size and gender, but beyond that it was a retail mosh pit.

Summer, winter, fall – all the seasons were combined. A heavy sweater was next to a cotton blouse. Seersucker, linen, and flannel were all packed together on one rack.

After a couple of wasted lunch hours spent hunting for good deals that would “enhance my wardrobe” I gave up. I’m not good at shopping which is probably why I don’t like it.

One woman I knew dived right in and she began finding pieces of women’s suits. She scored a beautifully tailored, brand-name suit jacket that would normally be with its matching skirt. Then she looked in vain for the matching skirt. Instead, she found a skirt that sorta went with the jacket. Both were irresistibly priced.

So that’s how she wound up with several dress-suit combos that looked fine from a distance or in low light. If you’ve ever shopped store close-outs you can sympathize with the absolute frustration of finding the perfect thing for the perfect price and not being able to match it with anything but trying anyway.

But all that clothing drama is behind me now. Now I am retired and I live by the Retiree Dress Code. This means about 95% of my attire is active wear. I can buy most of my wardrobe at Costco or online through Under Armor or Lululemon. Oh, wait. Not Lululemon. Lululemon gives me sticker shock.

In case you wonder why this brand is so pricey, Google tells me it’s because of constant innovation and an “aspirational brand image helped along by global influencers and celebrities” that has led to a “cult-like following.” Holy Retail Marketing, Batman!

Moreover, Lulu has a science lab, humidity-controlled chambers, exercise machines, and a dunk pool where it tests out nylon, Lycra, and spandex to make sure these materials can hold up to strenuous exercise. And exercise doesn’t get any more strenuous than when you’re running your card through to pay for your Lululemon athleisure-wear.

But never mind all that, I generally look like I’m going to the gym (although when I’m actually going to the gym, I’m sporting swim wear because laps are my go-to exercise) and I am swathed in whatever color of Under Armor I found at Costco where I was initially going for paper towels and a case of water.

Thus, I solved my wardrobe problem but it took a couple of decades and retirement to do so.