Her Closet is Bigger than My Apartment

Yesterday at the Met, i was with a friend who had brought a friend who happened to have interned at the Met this past summer. She led us through the Egyptian hieroglyphics and a couple of other galleries, down some stairs and into a portion of Iris Barbara Apfel's wardrobe. Have you heard of her? I hadn't, until I saw the exhibit. I'm told she's not very attractive, about 5'3" and maybe 90 pounds. But her clothes are the most fantastic thing you have ever seen, which is why she got a whole gallery to herself from September through January, just to show some of them off.

She didn't like what the world had to offer her, for the most part, and thus began a quest for creating outfits that are colorful, huge, and bright. They would be tacky if not for the fantastic way they are presented, which, for some reason, makes it acceptable that you should pair an orange body suit with a turquoise and silver scorpion brooch the size of my forearm. I was amazed. The woman had everyone from Chanel to Manolo in her closet, not forgetting Dior. Onto these classics, she piled everything from late 19th century Chinese purses to one of those plastic charm belts from the 80s. I loved that, because i used to love those charms. You could get them in bubblegum machines at Food Lion or the Dollar Store, and they were bright plastic, clipped onto a white or black "chain". I had all kinds, everything from a bottle of soda to a roller skate, to, my favorite, a unicorn with a purple horn. I wonder what happened to them? I'm sure, at this point they're gone to wherever it is our childhood toys go.

She had a collection of furs that could restart a population of wolves and minks, she had boots that someone had designed especially for her using her own fabrics. She had a silver horse collar from Pakistan she wore as a necklace. Her diamond brooches were bees and insects and birds as opposed to flowers. There was even part of a dining room table she had salvaged that had been turned into jewelry. I was amazed and stunned that this tiny woman would even dream of wearing these items, especially true one of a kind antiques, and more amazed that she was expected too at this point. I imagine if she showed up wearing a t-shirt and jeans (what I'm most likely to be wearing) no one would even recognize her. Even her glasses are distinct and especially made for her.

Only in New York are such things to not only be admired but rewarded in such a way. I remember in high school a group of us wearing thrift store clothes for the most part. I wore men's shirts and old khakis with new shoes (hate used shoes!) and dollar handbags. I used to get t-shirts ten for a dollar. Now I'm lucky to get out with two pieces for a hundred dollars. Now I only want to wear clothes that have a nice tag on the inside. That's part of New York as well. If you wear vintage Dior that's one thing, but Gap from the eighties...something completely different. People are expected to dress differently. At home I would have been embarassed (and was) to carry a Louis Vuitton or wear a Burberry scarf. Here it's okay.

There are rumors of girls who live in tiny studios in the city that only have a bed and racks full of clothing. They use their apartments as their closets, rarely or never having company but dressing to the nines every day. I have attempted to make my own studio a "home" with a bed, tv, decorations, pictures. When I first moved up here I lived with a girl who was very fashion focused. She had beautiful clothes and bags strewn all over our room and very little else. At the time I thought it was odd and couldn't imagine not having pictures and cards and books lying around. Now I understand. When you buy a pair of Chanel shoes you give up your dream of having a couch, too. I understand the debate. I do it almost every week here, where it's important that the label inside your purse match the outside.

Canal Street survives off the people who are desperate to carry Balenciaga bags and wear Gucci sunglasses but who aren't interested in spending more than fifteen hundred dollars on those two items. Jon and I eat in Chinatown on a regular basis and without fail, i hear whispers of "Louis Vuitton, Prada, Tiffany" on the way down to a restaurant where both of us can eat for under ten dollars. But whenever I see the bags, wrapped in plastic in piles, they look fake to me. They don't have the same allure as simply being in Louis Vuitton and stroking that monogram. I bought fake Kate Spades on my first trip to New York, passing them off as real for months before the glued on tag began to come loose and the tote started to look a little shoddy. I tucked them away in the back of my closet and waited for the real thing to come my way. It did seem to make a difference.

In some ways I'm looking I don't have these things handed to me. After seeing the kids who grow up in the city, used to wearing Prada and Dolce and Furla, I'm glad that I understand it's not normal to pay five hundred dollars for a pair of heels, and that shopping in the likes of Banana Republic and Gap aren't all bad. Not everything has to be unique. But it's nice that so many things are.