J.Crew, J.Who?

Shopping in England provides unique challenges, to put it mildly. 

To be sure, there are gems to be found, like the fab Dolce & Gabbana culottes I found at a few weeks back at my favourite vintage shop, Corina Corina in Warwick; or the blissful retail therapy that is Oxfam online.

But, overall, I find "high street shopping" here very disappointing. Shops, like the ever-classic Laura Ashley and fun 'n funky White Stuff, with their exorbitant prices and ridiculously miniscule dress sizes - that offer no allowances for the female form - have left me lamenting the loss of my favourite Manhattan shops: J.Crew and Anthropologie. 

That is until now!

The DEB and I have been invited to a wedding for one of his work colleagues. It's a big 'do' and everyone is getting "glammed up." There was talk of us girls hiring sarees, but that plan was very short-lived. For weeks, no months, I have been fretting about what to wear, wanting to make a suitable splash. Indian weddings are very colorful affairs. And so, I was determined to branch out, and not resort to wearing my bog standard black!

I search hopelessly to find the perfect dress, and quite by accident, I stumbled across the perfect solution. I discovered the British fashion solution that is Monsoon. 

Monsoon is an odd hybrid: part J.Crew, part Anthropologie. Passing their shop in the Stratford-upon-Avon high street, initially, I'd  thought, "No way their stuff will work for me."

Being a shapely petite, I had previously been put off by some of their wares, which seem to lean toward a sort of "ethno-tribal" aesthetic. (That's fashion code for "large prints and crazy colours.")

But, quite by chance, I stumbled across "the perfect dress" by Monsoon. A seller on eBay UK who goes by the moniker "HiYouTart" caught my eye. She seems to have been peddling

Monsoon gear on eBay for donkey's years.

On offer recently, was a "silver-grey, silk linen, pencil shift dress" with my name on it!

 

Not a colour or shape I'd go for normally, but something about it said, "Yes, please!" Without hesitation, I bought it. I waited with bated breath until it arrived.

When it arrived, everything about it was right: the cut, the colour, the fabric, the empire waist, the cleavage-friendly ruched detailing at the wide neck-line...and, it fit like a dream

Trinny and Susannah would be proud!

Success at last!

That settled, the quest for bag and shoes begun. To my surprise, lightening struck twice, and I had immediate success after perusing the website of another popular British fashion retailer, Boden.

Boden's website was breath of fresh air, their look is very J.Crew. And I found the most delightful shoes.

Boden seem to speak my language, here's the description of their cute Embellished Heels:

There’s more than a touch of Marilyn Monroe to this desirable pair, and the kitten heel means you can run for a taxi and still pull off a glamorously dignified look. The single strap fitting across the toe will make your legs look even longer, and the wink of diamante clinches the film-star appeal. Kittenish.

Well, meow, indeed!

And of course, gorgeous matching bag...Hubba, hubba!

In Hamlet, Polonius advises his son Laertes to shop wisely as "apparel oft proclaims the man". Apparel always proclaims the woman, or so we are lead to believe. 

I think the one of the greatest gifts of aging/growing up is that you stop caring about tren

ds and what others think. You discover your own style, what works, what doesn't; what suits you and what you like.

So, let's just hope that our recent revelries  at The Boar's Head pub for "National Cask Ale Week" haven't taken it much of a toll! 

It will be just my luck not to fit in the "perfect dress". 

Trust me, it has happened before! 

Beers be damned! 

 

Help a sister out...

Dear Reader,

I have taken the plunge, and am now dabbling in the wacky world of eBay retail.

Please help support my "Blue & White" china habit by bidding on some of my offerings. My Seller id at ebay.co.uk is: theshakespearediva

My wares include two pairs of Brand New, never worn Vera Wang shoes; a new and never worn, gorgeous Demetrious wedding dress; and a fabulous little dress from J.Crew...soon to add more...maybe a little red number from Anthropologie...hmmm...

Holiday report

We're off "up North" later this morning. Celebrating New Year's in Cumbria with "the rellies."

Been up since half 6, working on a letter of recommendation for a former student -- some things never change! 

I have 10, 000 things to do to finish off our preparations, but actually I'd love to just sit here and write. So many things to catch up on and tell. Need to fill in how the D.E.B. and I spent Christmas Day and "Boxing Day" (Boxing Day, such a civilised and sensible idea. Something that surely should have spread to the colonies). The Queen's speech (I love the Queen!), the Times recently declaring this "The Year of the Wife" (interesting...)

And then, the New Year. Gosh, so much more to think and write about: change, uncertainty, hope for the future, new beginnings, the forthcoming Obama presidency (I love Michelle Obama, she shops at J. Crew!). How far things have come, and how far we have to go. Knowledge gained, lessons still to be learned. New challenges, and the same old doubts.

But briefly, for now: happy, happy, joy, joy. Blessings all round.

p.s. My tiara finally arrived (from California) late yesterday.  Just in time for some New Year's sparkle. 

Giving thanks

Yesterday was Thanksgiving – the quintessential American holiday. My favorite holiday, in fact. I love its autumnal colo(u)rs, its food, and its focus on gratitude. I did not miss being in the US yesterday, but I was very thankful right here, where I am.

The day began with a sound knock on our door. Parcel Force had arrived with a HUGE package. My mother, god bless 'er, sent over a wildly extravagant Thanksgiving care-package from America. I’m not kidding; there can be no doubt from whence I get my “champagne tastes”. She really outdid herself this time – nearly surpassing the Christmas package I received from her while I was living in London during my undergraduate Junior Year Abroad.

That Christmas my mother sent a 10lb smoked turkey and a homemade lemon pound cake from America, hand-delivered to me by childhood BFF (Best Friend Forever)! Now that is a care-package. My poor friend had to wrestle a 10lb turkey and a lemon pound cake as carry-on luggage through Customs on both sides of the Atlantic. You’d never get away with such shenanigan now, that’s for sure!

My mother is a bit more restrained these days, but not by much. This time, via Parcel Force, she sent two, whole, smoked pheasants from Vermont, Canadian ham, fruitcake, freshly baked Stollen, Christmas pudding, and an array of Tipton’s sauces. Bless her, I have tried to explain, but she fails to listen/accept, that I live in the land of freshly killed pheasants and homemade Christmas pudding; and Tipton’s sauces are available at my local Sainsbury’s. But, as they say, it’s the thought that counts, and what a dear thought it was.

Thankfully, the early parcel arrival helped me to build up enough steam to make it to Morning Prayer at St. Peter’s -- an ordinary event for a Thursday in Barford, but one that held special significance for me yesterday.

As thankful as I am for this new and amazing life, I must confess that I spent most of yesterday in a rather low and melancholy mood. We have guests coming on Saturday for a Thanksgiving Feast—more on that later—and so I busied myself by finally tackling the boxes of clothes that have long overrun the guest bedroom. Luckily, it was also collection day for clothing donations for the Warwickshire & Northamptonshire Helicopter Ambulance unit, so a good old sort out was in order.

For some reason, facing my wardrobe yesterday was like reading through old love letters, or rummaging through old family photographs.  Trouser suits. Skirt suits. Silk shirts. Leather bags. Suede boots that would make Sarah Palin weep. Ann Taylor this, Anthropologie, that.  J. Crew for days. Fragments of my former, sassy, New York, “diva professor” life. 

I picked up a slinky, black, schoolgirl-style jumper dress that I have yet to even wear; I looked at it longingly, hoping, praying it will still fit. My life, before I discovered British carbs. At my smallest, last year, I was a size 0. Those days are long gone.  I stopped, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and what I saw was a chunky, little, Warwickshire hausfrau in comfortable sweats and wild hair. What’s happened to me?

As you can imagine, this line of thinking only led to a larger, more pathetic re-evaluation of my life in general. “What are you doing?” I asked myself aloud. “Get a job, get a life!” I barked at the woman in the mirror.  “I’m doing the best I can,” was her weak response.

One of my very best friends, another sassy New York diva (she would probably say “the” sassy New York diva) left New York two years ago, and now lives in Hong Kong. She recently described to me a scene similar to the one I had, and my advice to her at that time was short, snappy, tough-love: “You’ve got a great life. Get over yourself!” The truth is, leaving the paying, professional world behind to follow your heart and your dreams is actually quite tough. And it didn’t really dawn on me until now. I owed her an apology. So I dropped her an email and said:

You realize, as always, I am about six months behind you. It is slowly sinking into my rather thick skull that my world now revolves around Sainsbury’s, my BBC Good Food Guide, creative ways of making dinner, laundry, pet food, and the Barford W.I. Who have I become? Who am I kidding? I'm still waiting to have the last laugh. But, maybe the joke's on me.  I miss who we were. I miss dressing up for work.

She’s away on holiday, so I’ll have to wait for her reply. In the meantime, I have treated myself to my own short, snappy, tough-love: “If you love that cashmere sweater dress – put it on!” and so, I did. I went on: “Listen. You made the decision to leave the workaday world, so live with it. Now, you work for me!”

I threw off my sweats, brushed my hair, squeezed myself into my grey cashmere sweater dress, and felt so much better! Okay, I work from home. I’m trying to build a career as a freelance writer, and that is work. It is just as much work as my old, “sassy suit” job in New York. Sure, it pays a whole lot less, well, okay, it doesn’t pay anything yet, but at least this time, it’s about me and for me. And for that, I am truly thankful.

Thrift, Thrift, Horatio

"Thrift, thrift, Horatio, the funeral bak'd meats,
did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables." - Hamlet (I.ii. 176–181)

In this famous line from Hamlet, the Danish Prince is, of course, being fiendishly sarcastic about the haste with which his mother has married his uncle, following the death of his father. However, the frugal economy Hamlet implies seems a  suggestion most apt for today, in these financially uncertain times.

India Knight is a woman of many talents, and she has inspired me yet again. Just when I thought knew what to expect from her as a writer, she comes storming out of left field. This past weekend, as the D.E.B. and I curled up with our copy of the Sunday Times, I was stunned to see her name emblazoned across the cover of the Times’ Style magazine. India is now a Style guru with a new book coming out this Thursday, extolling the virtues of being “thrifty”- The Thrift Book: Live Well and Spend Less.

Her article–based on the book—is itself a great read. India shares openly her own financial demons, such as being hounded by bailiffs, and being flat broke even at a time when she had two books on the top bestseller lists. Knight does an excellent job of assessing our “must have” culture, and outlines some very simple ways we can “kick the habit,” do better, and be better.

I was surprised to find that without even trying, by just giving into my own current, personal circumstances, I have been (largely unknowingly) “doing my bit,” becoming a better consumer, and in India’s words, “become more green.”

For example, in the section entitled “Sensible Supermarket Shopping,” Knight suggests making the following adjustments to one’s food shopping regime:

a.) Shop locally, daily, buying only precisely what you need.

b.) Shop online from a properly compiled list.

c.) “If you find yourself naturally resistant to the idea of buying discounted food because you’re middle class, get over it.”

d.) Stop shopping at “posh” supermarkets.

Living how and where I do – more or less vehicle-less in rural Warwickshire, with the world’s tiniest refrigerator – I have very few options other than to shop locally, almost daily and online.  (see previous posts: “Patience and Fortitude” and “Is this an appliance, I see before me?”)

Thankfully, the Barford community has pulled together in true English village fashion, and re-opened its Village Shop. In just under two years, the Barford community dug deep, and raised the £300,000.00 needed to build and open the new shop. The shop is gorgeous, and cost effective. It has one paid staff member. Apart from the Manager, the rest of the staff is composed entirely of community volunteers. It seems that the frugal and communal lessons of WWII continue to inspire generations of Britons, and change the face of British communities.

Ribbon-cutting ceremony at the new Village Shop

The Vicar, blessing the Shop and all who shop within her

Barford's answer to Starbucks

The D.E.B. during the Opening Day shopping spree

While basking in the glow of my newly found sense of  “how green am I,” India Knight presented me with a fresh challenge. Clothes. Now, I have to say, I have never considered myself, nor ever really aspired to be a “full-on fashionista.” That is not to suggest that I am a slouch. I like to look good, I care about my appearance, I enjoy beautiful things, and would like to think of myself as a “woman of style.” Although I have never paid $700.00 for pair of shoes, I have been known to get more than a little crazy in Anthropologie on Fifth Avenue; I weep to think of how far away I am from J. Crew, and I have never met a cashmere sweater (jumper) that I didn’t like. In her article, and I assume in her book as well, India Knight challenges her readers to re-discover thrifts shops, eBay, and to consider making their own clothing.

I have always, always loved, loved, loved thrifts shops in England, i.e., Oxfam, and the countless Hospice and Cancer Society shops that dot every large English village, hamlet or town. To me, these shops are unique in that they are actually thrift shops, whereas “thrift” or second-hand shops in NYC are really just expensive shops in disguise – dressed down, with dim lighting, dull furnishings, and microscopic dressing rooms to fool the wannabe spend-conscious shopper. (It will come as no surprise that my favorite second-hand shop in NYC is St. Luke’s Thrift Shop. It doesn’t get any better than last season Episcoplian.)

I have decided to take India at her word, and have created a “Thrift Shop Challenge” for myself. I just found out a few hours ago that I have been invited for an interview for a short-term vacancy at The Shakespeare Institute! (No one is more surprised than me.) Of course, after receiving the news, my first thought was: What will I wear? Normally, my second thought would be: www.jcrew.com. 

Here is was what I found today (weepingly) on jcrew.com. Gorgeous... 

                              The "Kate Flannel Dress" ($198.00 USD) from J.Crew.com                           (They don't deliver internationally...sniff, sniff!)

Can I be thrifty, and find a comparably fetching interview ensemble here in England without succumbing to high street offerings at the likes of Next, Laura Ashley, Monsoon or Hobbs? We shall see. My interview is in exactly 7 days from today, so the challenge is on!

     

Autumn rain

1st of October. Autumn pitching down on my nearly-dried laundry. The day started so sunnily. What happened? And so, too, I feel my confidence waver and wane. 

I am scheduled to give a lecture at The Shakespeare Institute in 3 weeks time. This is not just any lecture for me. This is a "Thursday Seminar" at The Shakespeare Institute. "Thursday Seminars" were a huge part of my life not so long ago, when I was graduate student there. I can't believe I received my Ph.D. 10 years ago this year. Has it really been 10 years? And here I am, back again. Here is the thing, you know those old sayings, like the one Janis Joplin is said to have coined: "You can never go home." And, another in the same vein: "Never return to the scene of the crime."  That's how I feel about giving this lecture. I'm not ready. I don't feel "old" enough or "grown up" enough to do it.

I still feel like that hopeful student I once was, longing for acceptance and approval. Wanting to prove my worth, my smarts. When I was a student, Thursday Seminars were a pleasure and a pain. If we were lucky, our director, Stanley Wells,  had roped some Shakespeare hot-shot to come and talk to us. I will never forget how on one occasion he'd invited Harriet Hawkins to speak. Harriet Hawkins was--and probably still is--this sassy, American scholar-diva. She was tall, blonde, and gutsy, with what I think was a broad Texan accent.  The title of her lecture was "Classics & Trash." Awesome. So American. The kind of woman that makes an Englishmen swoon.

I admired her. And wish I could find that kind of courage now. I mean, I've had it before, I used to teach at NYU, for goodness sake! If that doesn't take balls, I don't know what does! But this is different. Like presenting a lecture before your family--and I have a highly critical family.

I want most of all to make a good showing. To confirm my status and place as a Shakespeare scholar and performance historian. I am torn between talking about my experience seeing an amazing production of Othello in Alaska last April, or pulling together some thoughts that I've had about the final moments of Hamlet, inspired by two recent productions I have seen both here in Stratford (with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart) and at Shakespeare in the Park in  NYC. Either would be fine, but I want to be better than fine. I want to be excellent. 

So, instead of knuckling down and pinning down exactly what I am going to talk about, I am focussing my energy on worrying about what to wear (Oh, how I miss J. Crew); unpacking the countless boxes that have just arrived from New York; and watching the rain...