A Frivolous Fashion Post
If I dig around at my mother’s house, I’ll find a file with this clipping declaring the death of yuppiedom from Time Magazine. Now that I Googled it to refresh my memory, the date astonishes me, it was published on April 8, 1991, while I was in middle school. The Yuppie seed that grew into this mid-level associate was planted at least 18 years ago.
While I spent some time being “alterna” in the 90’s (flannel, docs, tomato red tights), I was always preppy to the core. Likewise, my non-work naughty aughties form of geeky chic (folks, remember, when I was Geeky Chic?) morphed from baggy boy cordaroys paired with some sort of cardigan and a girl-tee picked up on Haight Street over Christmas break at the beginning of the decade, to skinny jeans tucked into boots with extraneous buckles, topped off with some sort of American Apparel tee picked up at a show at the Independent, layered under a cashmere-blend cardigan. And while I will make vehement denials when accused of hipsterdom, Mrs. Jonathan Adler will remind me that, we are all hipsters:
What caused us all to turn into a nation of rabid cool-hunters and hyperventilating chic-chasers? Some would say these activities provided us with a therapeutic distraction from all the terrorism, materialism and financial skullduggery and buggery. Some might be right. I wouldn’t know: I was much too busy working on my look to provide you with an objective opinion. One thing I can tell you for sure: trendiness, hipness and edginess were so ubiquitous that, by the end of the decade, even our gorgeous first lady was working a Comme des Garcons cardi.
Just as the 70s ushered out flower children, Simon Doonan predicts that the Hipster era shall end with the coming of the Teens. But this prognostication confuses me to end. If the creative director of Barneys, the temple for lazy hipsters with money to spare, declares, “What does all this mean for you, the ordinary woman in the street? Girlfriend, it bodes well. Relax! Roll down your Alexander Wang knee-highs and prepare to welcome in the DORKY TENS,” then he’s telling me in the next decade I will not be shopping at Barneys. Thank God, I can fall back to my bland uniform of Uniqlo dress shirts, black tights, and herringbone skirts from J. Cruel.