Monday, January 24, 2011

New York, Paris, Milan... SAN FRANCISCO!

Scroll through this post from STREETFSN:

Could it be that the reason San Francisco seems left out of the worldwide Fashion Hub map is that we don't have the seasons to accommodate wearing "seasonally-appropriate" looks?   I will take upper-60's weather on January 23rd but there shall be no parade of men in Junya Watanabe-style winter sweaters accessorized with scarves and wool socks just wandering the streets.  And frankly, much of the frequently referenced NYC glamour that comes to mind involves heavy coating, of-the-moment hats, scarves, and that "bundled up against the bitter chill" glow that comes from finding yourself outside in the sunshine but still so cold you think your toes might just break off right in your boots.

I don't know that I would trade our ever-temperate weather for the luxury of wearing each season's starkly different looks, Chanel's faux-fur booties in December for Jil Sander's orange floor-length skirts in April.  But when thinking about relocating my Gypsy soul to real cold, I cannot tell a lie.  A little glow shines in my heart when I think about re-merchandising my own closet, the linens and espadrilles in storage in return for my elbow-length mittens and shearling-lined orange booties.  Which, in this mediterranean climate, have seen no action.

On to another issue: when moving, should these items, though loved, be relocated to a thrift store?  Or consigned?  These bulkier pieces won't be worn so why consecrate space?  Because I don't get free replacements, that's why.  One of my favorite items in my closet is a vintage Marimekko-print winter coat with a half-length zipper.  Très 1960's.  Now it stares out at me each morning from its hanger, reminding me of its loyalty just last winter when I zipped myself up each morning; braving the bitter canal-side winds of a small town in the North of France.  With the sun rising around 8:30, long after my 7:15 bus, it represents a bright spot during dark mornings.

This is my first foray into the neglect of the San Francisco fashion scene, a neglect that leaves me feeling personally slighted.  Although I worship the work of Yvan Rodic, the Facehunter, I can't help it that my enthusiasm has waned just the slightest bit after he was in the Bay Area for 3 days in November and published ONE (1!) photo of SF street fashion.  Staring out into the street from my storefront, I could fill my memory card in three days with others' inspired style.  

A lovely Monday to you.  Cheers.

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