There is nothing more tempting than the lure of a cheap dress. And there is nothing more dismal than wearing a dress that looks cheap. Clothes that are too tight, or too shiny, or too short, or too sheer are never worth their slashed price tag, but I understand the potent attraction of a fast fashion fix. Disposable clothes are designed to trap us all. They sing their siren song on a Friday night, on a “fat day,” or during the holidays when you want to gift wrap your body. Their promise is that of instant transformation, but more often they wind up as gaudy landfill in your closet. And not just in your closet. The environmental impact of “disposable fashion” is that millions of pounds of cheap textiles wind up as unrecycled waste in America every year. If you buy something that is poorly made (often under unfair, nonunion conditions and by child labor), chances are it will have a very short life span and be of little use to someone else after you are finished with it.
There is a dark side to cheap fashion on several levels: first for the pesticides and chemicals used in the fabrics, second in the conditions for production, third are the carbon emissions needed to transport, and fourth that it simply doesn’t last very long. But I knew none of this ten or even five years ago: I sang the ballad of the twenty-dollar dress for so many years. I’d never owned more clothing (polka dots, floral, chiffons, satins, denim)—but I rarely had anything appropriate to wear. Nothing worked. Nothing matched. And because I was a discount-store shopaholic, none of that really mattered. Every new, shabby, and delightful dress was a rebirth and a mad stab in the dark at chic. Failures all. When I became a mother, I learned the sober truth about the real value of clothes. I needed to look professional, decent, and sometimes simply awake; and I no longer had money or time to waste. Finally, at the age of forty, I had to build a wardrobe based on stealth rather than just lust. Today I spend half as much on clothes and have twice as much to wear. It is sobering and it is sometimes dull, but dressing well for less money actually involves buying less and better clothing rather than more and cheaper. It takes discipline. Not so many polka dots. Unless they line a raincoat you can wear every day of spring.
Now when I shop I have watertight ground rules that stop impulse buys in their tracks. Clothes need to be well made, have staying power through the seasons, and interlock with other existing mainstays in my wardrobe. Because I may want to wear one piece of clothing for several years, I will choose slightly more conservative, classic styles (easy when buying vintage) and then put them hard to work. Every top I own has to go with my favorite rip-off Balenciaga-style black tuxedo pants or an A-line skirt. Each dress has to fit at least three occasions. And the jackets need to be day-to-night or trans-seasonal. One pair of shoes and one bag “matches” but the rest don’t have to. The palette of my wardrobe is brown, cream, and electric blue for winter and fall. Then white, black, honey beige, and bright yellow for summer. That’s this summer. The splashes of bright color can change season to season but the bedrock of my everyday clothes is monochrome. And monochrome does not literally mean black and white. Black and white can make you look like a waitress. A wardrobe based in black doesn’t really stretch into summer and all white is high maintenance. My vote instead rests with a trio of neutrals that best suit your skin tone. My champagne blond girlfriend Hilary builds her entire wardrobe on beige, ivory, and chocolate (often with splashes of aqua), and she loves it so much she decorates her house the same way. With a uniform set of base tones, there is never any anxiety about what matches because it all blends. It’s total chiconomy.
If you can only spend one hundred dollars and want to change your wardrobe, buy a dress or some brilliant pants (not jeans) or a vintage coat, then, as money slowly trickles in, build the wardrobe up from one (or all three) of these items. Personally, I am a coat-and-dress girl. The coat covers all (including much cheaper clothes) and the dress banishes the need for an outfit, spanning the seasons with bare legs and sandals in summer and tights and boots in the colder months. When I’m slim I wear a sixties’-style sleeveless shift, and when I’m curvy I wear a wrap dress. Because I believe in total body forgiveness, I probably own more wrap dresses than anything else. And because I want my style to last, I resist prints in favor of solid colors. To lay the ground for your new basics-heavy wardrobe, you need to judge square and fair all the shapes and styles that flatter you most and build from there. Be very, very honest with yourself. Every style book on earth will hold Audrey Hepburn up as the template of chic, but so few of us are actually shaped like her! Pants are only a classic on women who look good in them, and trench coats look odd on very large-bosomed babes. Actually, I think trench coats do pose a challenge on most people except Catherine Deneuve. So a safari jacket, swing or pea coat can also be your classic. It’s about what suits you, period.
To gather funds for new clothes be prepared to sell all the major pieces you no longer use—for example, a wedding dress or a designer handbag—or hold a high-quality-clothes swap meet at your house, asking your friends to bring their very best things in wearable condition. If the quality is high, everyone will benefit and have building blocks for a new look without spending a cent. Also save money by shopping out of season, combing consignment stores, and resisting all items that do not lock into your wardrobe plan in terms of color or cut.
The other great saving device in clothes shopping is to know what looks best cheap and what cannot be compromised. I bought a jersey 1980s’ cocktail dress for thirty dollars, a chocolate leather belt for fifty, and my shoes on sale at Aerosoles for twenty. Three pieces for one hundred dollars, but I’d spend the same amount on one great jacket at Zara in the knowledge that the piece can work with over twenty other pieces in my capsule wardrobe and possibly work across seasons.
On a quiet night, lay out the best things in your wardrobe and the things you wear constantly. Then work out a way to build a bridge between the clothes you love (but never wear) and the standbys (pieces starting to wear thin with overuse). If your wardrobe is heavy on casual wear but running dangerously low for work and evening, invest in pieces that can be used for both—for example, the LBD, little black dress. Very simple additions stretch the clothes you do have. I revolutionized my winter wardrobe with a beige cashmere turtleneck and a pair of black knee-high boots, which I wore almost every day through late fall and winter. As if by magic, my strange Indian skirt, a kilt, a leather mini, and an electric blue overcoat all looked right because I had the neutral canvas on which to paint.
Often, the major mid-to-low-price labels such as Zara, Topshop, Gap, J. Crew and H&M will also have a certain body type to their fit. Zara (being Spanish) allows for bottoms, so I often shop there; J. Crew is more slim-hipped, so I buy their sweaters instead of their pencil skirts. I never take a sizing or a cut personally and always accept that my body is very particular, so the idea that I can go into one store and get all my budget basics in one hit is pretty much impossible. Chiconomy is about saving money as well as spending as little time as possible, especially when it comes to actually getting dressed.
A recession-proof wardrobe needs to include two fail-proof job-interview outfits, one scary situation outfit (bank loan application, mother-in-law, first date), two evening dresses, and five complete work outfits. (I don’t include downtime clothes because most of us have mainly casual clothing). It only sounds like a lot of clothes when in fact it could be as straightforward as
One suit: (according to your form) a jacket and pants or jacket and pencil skirt
One cashmere pullover in a contrasting bright color
One silk dress shirt
One cotton work shirt
Two skirts: A-line and knit skirt
One wrap dress
One little black dress
One pair of boots
One pair of heels
One pair of ballet flats
One pair of dressy jeans
One very good quality long-sleeved T-shirt
From this basis you have seven days (and seven nights of clothes):
Monday
Work: suit/silk blouse/boots
Play: jeans/silk blouse/boots
Tuesday
Work: wrap dress/ballet flats/suit jacket
Play: wrap dress/boots
Wednesday
Work: little black dress/suit jacket/heels
Play: little black dress/cashmere pullover/boots
Thursday
Work: cotton work shirt/A-line skirt/boots
Play: cashmere pullover/A-line skirt/ballet flats
Friday
Work: pencil skirt/silk blouse/heels
Play: jeans/silk blouse/boots
Saturday
knit skirt/cashmere pullover/boots
Sunday
jeans/long-sleeved T-shirt/suit jacket/ballet flats
I have given a generous list of clothes here, but you can work the same system with fewer pieces, especially in summer. Using different heel heights completely alters the proportion of a dress or the formality of a pair of jeans. And a suit jacket that is more cool than businesslike (slightly tuxedo, cut nice and snug to the shoulder) pulls together your less-structured pieces such as a wrap dress. I’ve suggested two to three skirts because of the body parts that fluctuate most: the waist and hip. And even if most of the pieces in your base wardrobe are in a neutral shade, do choose an eye-popping handbag, pullover, or scarf to make every outfit zing a little. To jolt your senses, imagine these combinations: hot pink/navy, lemon yellow/cocoa, aqua/beige, burnt orange/black, electric blue/white, purple/pale gray. You don’t need much color, just a dash creates an electric jolt and confers a more expensive, individual look.
The truth about modern fashion is that practically anything you see at the top of the style food chain proffers a knockoff discount version further down the line in almost no time at all. My wardrobe is about ninety-percent vintage and select (ethical trade) el cheapo glamour, and a precious handful of items that are the real thing. Basically I fake everything except the handbag, the coat, and the shades. The rationale behind buying the best bag you can afford is that it will (and must) go with everything you own, it will be well made, it will finish off your look, making even jeans and a white shirt look more expensive, and bring you deep fashion joy. Good quality bags that are midrange in price can be found at a reliable source like Kate Spade or Coach; and European bags are best sourced at consignment stores, where the rich shed them season by season.
To make yours last for years, choose a style that is not too heavy on hardware, not shiny, and not in a print. Of course it can be in a bold color if the rest of your wardrobe is dipped in neutrals, and probably it’s a little more chic/hip/timeless if it is not black. Black handbags look a bit morbid in summer and a bit eighties, in a bad way. Chocolate or even navy are much more French and flattering in general.
The second big splurge in your capsule chiconomy wardrobe has to be your coat. And this is an item that can be as bold and adventurous as you like, because nothing say’s HELLO WORLD like a statement coat. My Moschino royal blue mod coat (bought at a sample sale for a princely $400) is on heavy rotation from school run to cocktail party to art opening to supermarket, and it makes me feel fancy everywhere. You will need two coats: one winter, one spring—and the spring coat may as well be a trench. A trench coat looks lovely with bare legs or jeans, worn open over capris or belted with a pair of high boots. There is also the incredible security of knowing that you have an instant iconic look hanging just inside your front door. You can fling it on with a big pair of shades and some ballet slippers and forget about getting it right.
Your third secret weapon and stealth investment purchase is a set of shades. The best you can afford. I wear Ray-Ban aviators because they go with everything and don’t look like bug-eyed older-woman glasses. Because I pay retail for them, I tend to take better care of them, never lose them, and rarely overaccessorize an outfit because of them. The shades you love need to give you instant movie-star lift. They don’t require a visible logo (best without), but they must make you look great even with a limp ponytail. That, is the ultimate test.
Now, maybe you can’t believe that every single other thing you buy can be scrimped. But if you shop out of season, use thrift and consignment stores, buy classics rather than trends, and stick to a limited palette—then nothing you add to your wardrobe need be expensive. Even knee-high boots, which average between three hundred and seven hundred dollars a season, can be had at the end of winter for a third of that. Be a style squirrel and stock up on bargain-priced acorns. And don’t be too much of a snob. I only wore Italian-made shoes until I discovered Aerosoles, and now I get more compliments. Fancy evening shoes I own much less of as I know they will trip the light fantastic maybe five times a year, and as for sneakers no one makes them better than good old Converse. This is a great choice as well for vegans who don’t want to wear leather. I see young girls in Converse sneakers and evening dresses and want to hug them—there isn’t a cuter punk prom-look in this world. I wear Converse because there is something very cool about wearing the same shoes as your twenty-one-year-old nanny.
The sport of scoring clothes that look elegant and cost less dwells in the fact that very few can spot the difference. Take for instance, when wearing my $69 chocolate brown discounted chain store dress, a wily film producer murmured, “Bottega Veneta?” “Perhaps,” I replied with sangfroid. “Can’t recall precisely … Shall we have a prosecco?”
A functional, reliable wardrobe is comforting but a little low on surprises. For this reason I am forever stocking up on scarves, vintage costume bangles, berets, hosiery in rainbow colors, and classy (but easily faked) details such as (a second pair of) oversized sunglasses or a large men’s watch. Wearing uncluttered, slightly plain clothing with very clean lines gives you the head-space and the confidence to go bold with accessories. I can take my beloved thrift shop late-sixties’ oatmeal-colored linen A-line dress and wear it with a Pucci-style head scarf and gold flip-flops one day (very Palm Beach heiress) or a bright red cardigan, red lipstick, and blue heels the next. The dress never changes, but I do, and it costs almost nothing to appear well dressed.
My splurge limit for accessories is twenty-five dollars, but often I spend a quarter of that, at a market stall or a cheesy teenage-style earring store. Just yesterday in an African bead shop in Brooklyn, I saw a crazy choker made of wood and polished blue glass stones the size of partridge eggs. I pictured it with a sophisticated black silk jersey wrap dress and black satin high heels. Cheaper things look chic with smart things and they can also become your signature, like Miss Bradshaw’s “Carrie” necklace or Agyness Deyn’s trashy white Ray-Bans. Patricia Field calls it High/Low. I call it good fun and even better fiscal fashion sense.
