Deal or No Deal

In the midst of the R word (if you have to ask, you're doing okay), retailers has been bending over backwards to accommodate thinner wallets. Saks Fifth Avenue knocked 75% off of their high end items. But come bill time at the end of the month, indulging in these deals can get us into trouble.

A lot of folks will look at a pair of $895 Loubies at Bergdorf's and keep on walking. For some it's a month's rent; for others, a student loan payment. Even for the people who call that sum mere pocket change, it's difficult for them to justify spending that type of loot during this period of economic uncertainty. Put the same pair of pumps on the cluttered shelves of a Loehmann's or Century 21 and drop that price to around $200, and things change significantly.

$200 is an entirely different ballgame. It's still a lot of money to a lot of people (cable bill, a couple of phone bills, the proverbial student loan payment), but it's a number that's easier to digest than $895...which is almost $1,000 once you throw in taxes. The rationalization starts even before we see if the shoe fits. A whole week without happy hour and abstaining from take-out should cover the bill, right? Of course, that's never the case and we simply incur more debt. We go out to happy hour showing off our deal and receive the delivery man at our door in the new Loubies. We barely make the minimum payment on the credit card we charged the shoes on. As we pore over the unopened bills, we think only God (or a big-hearted sugar daddy) can deliver us from this mess. I can't stress how many CLOSET DETOXES I've performed that have involved deals; this includes clients' wardrobes as well as my own.

For the time being, we'd better start listening to Suze and start paying down the principle on our cards. Most of us have the essentials in our closet already—or at least a working wardrobe. And for those of you who don't, you know it's time for a CAPSULE COLLECTION! Hey, I have to plug. I'm trying to pay down my debt, too!

Trench(es) Warfare

Last night, at 1:30 in the morning, I began to try on my trench coats and quasi trenchcoats. I had no plans to go out and streak or anything of that nature. I wear clothing underneath my outerwear. I was simply analyzing why these long coats were just okay and not exactly what I wanted in a trench.

I've been chasing this trench dream for about seven years now. It first started when I saw a Yohji Yamamoto coat in either Elle or Harper's Bazaar. It was marvelously structured with molded shoulders and sleeves that bent inwards at the elbow. I wasn't able to afford it because my funds were tied up in my offshore accounts (read: I was broke). I ripped out the magazine page and saved the picture. In fact, I still have it.

Then one day I was perusing the aisles of Beacon's Closet in my old Williamsburg neighborhood. After some digging and breath holding, I stumbled upon a classic Burberry mackintosh for $49. This is back when Beacon's was quite cheap. I thought the coat was overpriced and figured I could get it for less money in a matter of time. That was six years ago and I've been on a quest to find the perfect trench ever since.

Now I own 5 trenches or quasi-trenches that do their job, but weren't quite what I was looking for when I acquired them. With every purchase I thought, "This is the one." But it never was. A collarless DKNY zip up with a cinched paperbag waist is cute. I wear it often, but Lord knows it's not what I had in mind. A perfectly acceptable Theory coat is a real trench in that it has the right collar, properly placed buttons, a storm patch, and a belt. But it has no sleeve loop. What's that about? Then there's the taffeta (yes taffeta) Catherine Malandrino with the pimp collar and gypsy-print lining. Not very practical in the rain. There's also a BCBG jacket in this weird ecru color that fits like a dream...except the button panel on the left is awkwardly sewn, so it puckers a bit. The real show stopper is a Viktor & Rolf (no, not from their H & M line-we've been over this before) black number that screams Matrix. It's a beautiful coat with every trenchy element...and then some. If I wear the collar up (as I'm prone to do), I end up looking like Count Chocula. And De Heer Horsting and De Heer Snoeren could have made the belt a tad longer.

I know all of you current and future clients are asking, "Style Therapist, why haven't you purged those jackets during your quarterly CLOSET DETOXES?" The short answer is that they're all good jackets and like my old boss would advise, I'm making them work. They look good on and serve a purpose. One is worn on mild, rainy days, another on sunny, warmer days, one's for dressier affairs; etc.

The truth is, if I tally the price for each of these facsimiles, I would have been able to purchase the real deal Burberry several times over...or maybe even a beautiful Yohji Yamamoto. I ask that you learn from my lesson of settling. If there's something you really want and your funds are tied up overseas, create a saving plan and purchase it; otherwise you'll be spending lots of money and time (and closet space) on items that don't measure up.

Blame Sex and the City

As was the case with a lot of women who experienced their early twenties during the early Noughties, Sex and the City (SATC) was one of my favorite programs. Out of the four characters, we could all relate to at least one of them on some level. And those clothes, those wonderful clothes. Costume designer Pat Field realized how important dress was to the development of these characters. Remember how Miranda dressed during the first season as opposed to the later seasons? She and Charlotte, for a time, dressed in a near-stereotypical manner. The former clad in sterile all-black, and the latter in wasp waist enhancing dresses with a bow or ruffle planted somewhere.

Many of us were heavily influenced by the SATC philosophy of having fun with personal style. I was no stranger to the oversized flower corsage on my coat lapel during early 2001. And Carrie Bradshaw helped to usher in the vintage craze. Very few people indulged in used clothing before she made it acceptable. If they did, they were either high-end collectors of Courrèges and Rabanne or grungy types who had a steady rotation of flannel.

However, some have taken their personal style too far. Whatever your aesthetic is, it's imperative to edit. Thankfully, we're in the middle of winter and people are desperately trying to make it to the inside of their destination. There's basically a sea puffy black coats, black gloves, and black tams. It's during the summer where things really get egregious. There's a profusion of over-styled young women roaming the streets in shorts and stilettos. Their idea of juxtaposing different prints, styles, textures and labeling ends up looking like a hot-messed mish mash of madness. These girls fail to realize that the styles they're emulating are from television—a hyper-reality. The styles were meant to entertain and inspire, not be taken literally.

This February marks five years since our quartet of friends bid us adieu. The film that premiered this past summer brought with it a few more validated trends: belted waist, graphic print dresses, and statement jewelry. These have been lasting sartorial movements amongst those in the know, but SATC validates the styles to a global audience. While there have been some major guffaws on the street level, the show did teach a lot of us to take risks and push our fashion limits. The Style Therapy message is to figure out your own style organically. What works for YOUR figure, coloring, lifestyle; etc. Just because it looks cute on Carrie doesn't mean it works for the rest of us.

Smell Ya Later

Hey Mister, looking good. You know it, too...but I can smell you. You're waaaaaaaaaay over there and I'm waaaaaaaay over here.

Listen gents, as a Style Therapist I can really appreciate you taking the time to bring your A-game. But does this attention to detail HAVE to involve so much cologne? My nostrils are on fire and my eyes are watering. It's not even that your Eau de Homme smells bad, there's simply too much of it on your body. Take it easy for the public's sake...please!

We can still smell you 10 minutes after you've left the building. I know what you do, too. You lay your outfit on the bed and spritz the cologne all over—front AND back. In your mind, this is the subtle way to get your scent out into the atmosphere. But you don't stop there. You put it in your hair, on your neck, the palms of your hand—you refuse to leave any molecule unbathed in your special spice.

Please give the public's olfactory nerves a break. Your cologne seeps into our skin, attaches itself to our hair, our couches, car seats and any other surface that absorbs odors. My advice is to spritz in the air and run through the mist. That way only someone close enough to whisper can smell you. You're more appealing and mysterious that way. While you may be suffering from colognism, it's manageable disease. And in some cases, I've known it to be cured.

An Open Letter to Parents: Please Stop Buying Your Adult Children Clothes

Dear Parents,

Please stop buying your adult children clothing. Not just during the holidays, but in general. You seem to think you and your children share not only the same personal taste, but also the same size. Especially you baby boomers; I want you to cut it out!

Chances are, your offspring's sartorial preferences are so diametrically opposed to yours, you might as well be on two different planets. Of course the thought is appreciated...kind of, but a gift card will be appreciated a thousand times more. Your adult children are not your contemporaries. While they may be able to relate to you as they mature, the parent-child dynamic hasn't changed.

Dads, stop trying to force pleats and church (or temple or mosque) shoes onto your sons. Moms, your daughter's are just not into the holiday sweater thing. And if you read the previous post, you would know this. I'm not done with you yet, moms (as you hold most of the purchasing power in your household). Your sons are not husbands. Just because you bought your husband that golf shirt, it does not mean that your Williamsburg-dwelling son needs one, too. I don't care if it's a two-for-one sale.

I'm sorry to be so acerbic parents, but it needs to be said. Money and electronics are always the way to go. Trust. I can't begin to tell you how many Closet Detoxes are comprised of items you bought your kids that they have never worn. You've wasted money and they've got dead energy in their wardrobes. How about a Freaks and Geeks DVD collection? Or What's Happening!! on disc. Get the second season, it has the Doobie Brothers two-parter. And no child would be mad at you for getting them a flat screen.

If you MUST, if you absolutely INSIST on buying them clothes 1)You're not listening to me and 2)You still think your kid needs you to buy them new clothes for "school". It helps you feel validated and wanted.

It's time to let go. They don't love you any less. You've (hopefully) raised them to be independent, upstanding citizens. They will never admit to you how much they hate the oversize fleece you bought them, so I'm telling you. You can make it up to them by purchasing the aforementioned DVD collections. You (and they) will be happy you did.

Warmest regards,
Your Style Therapist

Holiday Sweaters: Public Nuisance

'Tis the season to show truly bad taste in apparel. Whether received or given, Holiday Sweaters rear their ugly turtlenecked heads during the first week of December. Long a sartorial blister, this nuisance of a knit endures.

The Holiday Sweater is an 80s relic that refuses to die. While this is one of my favorite decades fashion-wise, there are certainly some things that are better left in the garment grave: acid wash, ripped denim, hairsprayed bangs, and last but not least, the Holiday Sweater.

There are some that are marginally acceptable. And then there are those that should be shot...if one is bonkers enough to shoot a sweater. Please make sure it's not being worn if you do decide to go that route. If there's a sweater that ever deserved to be shot, it's the Holiday Sweater with a holiday sweater motif.

Should you receive one as a gift this year, it's time to reconsider your relationship with the giver. If the person is a grandmother, she's two generations ahead of you and should be given some slack. Moms, aunts, sisters; etc. should all know better. If you manage to get one from a member of this list, consider it a ploy to sabotage your wardrobe. And in retaliation never, ever wear it around them or anyone else. In fact, it should be a reminder to bring your A-game when you're around them. No person would give this to you if they really loved you. It's akin to getting one of those complimentary bookmarks from Barnes & Noble as a gift. It's that low.

There's Nothing Worse Than...

being trapped in a stuffy L train car with a greasy bag of McDonald's. Last night it had been raining, so the poor olfactory nerves were working overtime. Mickey D's on the train is bad enough when there are no other odors to contend with. But combine wet hair and damp clothes with the scent of slick and slimy fries, and it's intolerable.

When the offending subjects started whipping out fries to share, I bolted out of my seat and headed over to the back of the train. My troubles only increased. A young man had a medium sized pie from Pizza Hut and proceeded to shove a limp slice down his mouth.

Dining on the train is just plain gross. I've popped a couple of Fruit Snacks here and there in my day; but Fruit Snacks don't smell or leave stains. Eating cooked food on the train is akin to public grooming. It's no better than cutting nails and mascara application. No one should be subjected to such crude behavior. Just as the gentleman who clips his toenails into the atmosphere risks injuring someone with the remnants of his sharp talons, the fry eaters of the world are ruining freshly laundered clothes. I had just gotten my wool coat back from the cleaners.

Fry eaters, nail clippers, and make up applicators, if you're reading, I have a message for you:

You are NOT at home! Clean up your vulgar manners at once! However, The Style Therapist has a good heart and is willing to offer a discount on my services if you promise to change your ghastly ways!

High/Low: Style Therapy Hero #1

As I've stated many times, both on this blog and to many of my clients, it's not always about the label. A defining characteristic of a true stylemaster is the ability to mix high and low items effortlessly. My favorite Style Therapy hero does just that; I'll refer to her as Clara Wang.

I remember Clara when she was a student at Parsons and I was Tim Gunn's assistant. Years ago, during my undergrad years at university, most students had a default outfit for class. Boys and girls alike wore flared jeans and oversized sweatshirts. For bar night, they'd keep the jeans and trade-up to a tight shirt and platform boots (boys and girls alike here, too). They were essentially mixing low and lower. At Parsons, the design students did not mess around. Even though they were doing labor intensive work around the clock, for the most part, they understood the importance of looking sharp. I think they were inadvertently motivating one another not to be slobs. They remain the best turned-out people I've ever worked with.

Yet, Clara Wang always stood out. I can't overestimate the importance of the word POLISHED. I'm not referring to the overdone, talking-head anchor look. Being polished is more organic and personal. The hair is neat, without being stiff. Makeup is applied with a steady hand, not caked on. Clothing is pressed, clean and tailored. There are just the right amount of accessories, and it never jingles and jangles when walking. It's a modern elegance.

Clara Wang was special because she made this ladylike aesthetic her own. When other people her age were slumming it in heavily whiskered jeans and tattoo t-shirts, she exeduded quiet elegance. But that's not why CW is a Style Therapy Hero. Once, when she was an intern in the design department of the contemporary label we both worked for, I commented on a blouse she was wearing. It was an off-white silk number with interesting pleating at the neckline. I assumed it was Doo Ri or Philip Lim. When she told me she had picked it up at the thrift store for $7, I was floored. She used her design background to tailor the sleeves a bit, but the integrity of the shirt was in tact.

Another time, we'd met up with some other Parsons/contemporary clothing brand friends for brunch. Naturally, Clara was styled beautifully. She wore what I believed to have been the Yves Saint Laurent Tribute sandals. I was left astounded, once again, when she revealed that they'd been picked up from Bakers, which is kind of like Kinney.

Clara Wang has that uncanny ability to style herself through instinct. I believe that's something one is either born with or picks up from a very early age. Sure, she owns beautiful pieces by PRADA, Saint Laurent, the aforementioned Doo Ri, and other higher end designers. But to wear head-to-toe designer intentionally can wreak of fashion victimhood. There's a level of insecurity if one relies on the runways to dictate their every move and poo poos anything they deem beneath them. In fact, there's a word for that in the Style Therapy Book of Diseases: Labelwhoritis. You may know someone who has it, or suffer from it yourself. I had a brief, but acute, case of it back in the summer of 2002.

I applaud Clara for her bold take on fashion. She knows what she likes. She knows what works on her. And she's not afraid to integrate a Chanel bag with a secondhand shirt. This is true, original style. She never has to worry about looking dated, unlike the desperate fashion victims who wouldn't be caught dead at a Kinney or a Zara. And there's nothing wrong with insisting on good, quality pieces. But to insist on a name is another thing entirely. I, for one, proudly position my YSL pumps next to my Aldo boots in my closet. There's never any shame in a good high and low Style Therapy game.

But It's Fendi!

I can't begin to say how many times I've had Style Therapy clients refuse to get rid of a piece because it was designer. Nevermind that it didn't fit, made them look sallow, and didn't work with anything in their closet. As the incomparable Tyra Banks once remarked on her talk show, "Just because it's designer don't make it right."

A great deal of value is placed on the designer label; but remember, anyone can bop into Century 21 and buy a Dries van Noten blouse with shoe print stains on it for less than $100. I find that when a client buys a particular designer piece either marked down or at a sample sale, they're even more reluctant to part with it. Often the garment has the original tag with the manufacturer's suggested retail price; almost a reminder of how much of a steal the item was.

A pair of $825 Christian Louboutin pumps purchased for $200 at Loehmann's is worthless if they've never been worn because they're half a size too short and they're the source of bunions. On the other hand, if the shoes were purchased at retail (and at the proper size), and worn often, the cost per wear would have made the purchase well worth it.

I've been guilty of this misstep, only to take the unworn designer piece to the Salvation Army or Beacon's Closet. My advice is to pay more attention to the fit, quality, and versatility of the piece. Ensure that it has legs and can be worn often and well. Remember, designer items are capable of being tacky, overdone, and gauche. Being a slave to labels makes one a fashion victim. And there's no glory in being a victim.

The Stockings Stalker

I entered kindergarten during the 1983-1984 school year. My favorite videos were Eddie Grant's "Electric Avenue" and "What A Feeling" from Flashdance. I had no idea the film was about some stripper in Pittsburgh, nor would I have cared. The styles of the time included trickle-down mass punk; ripped, spiked and safety pinned. I, for one, was obsessed with having Big Girl shoes. Today they'd be equivalent to the classic Ferragamo Varina flats. My shoes always had some contraption to keep my little feet in place. Whether it be show laces or a buckle strap, the secured shoe stayed on during rigorous PE sessions of kick ball.

Since I was relegated to white knock off Adidas (they had 4 pink stripes instead of 3), I needed to step up my game. It was the 80s and the sneakers were too casual for me. Enter church stockings stage left.

My wardrobe of worship consisted of a multitude of dresses, and never mingled with my school clothes: t-shirts, jeans, and denim skirts. Within my church wardrobe I had stockings of every 80s persuasion: yellow lace, plain Rubble Bubble pink, and my favorite, white with little red hearts all over.

Back then, my mother dictated what I wore while I ate Cap'n Crunch and watched Inspector Gadget. But, soon I began a campaign for the clothes I wanted to wear. As this was a quarter of a century ago, I can't remember exactly how long the campaign lasted, but it must have been long. Mommy is an Aries/Taurus cusp. She doesn't budge.

Everyday I'd ask her if I could wear my stockings with my sneakers. My church shoes were black patent with a buckle. While they served their purpose at a house of worship, they would have been too too at school. Every time I asked her, I got an emphatic NO as an answer. I can't recall her reasoning, something along the lines of sneakers and stockings not going together or me running the stockings while playing. But I persisted, and finally, she surrendered.

I was psyched out of my mind to be wearing this special hosiery. In addition to the fake Adidas sneakers, I wore what I now consider to be my uniform at the time: Miss Peggy t-shirt in which she's wearing a tank top, shorts that are far too tight, and some roller skates. USA was emblazoned on the shirt, probably in lieu of the '84 Olympics in Los Angeles. The bottom half of my outfit was a simple, denim pencil skirt.

When I got dressed in said uniform, I thought my look was fire. I made sure Mommy gave me the special hair style, too. Instead of two pig tails, I got 4 (concurrent with my fake Adidas), which were reserved for Church or picture day at school.

After my mother walked me to school, my intention was to show all the other five and six-year-olds my fashion savvy...maybe some upper classmen, too. As soon as I got outside of Mrs. Week's kindergarten class, my colleagues started in on me. They laughed and laughed. And when they were done laughing, they laughed some more. These were kids I considered friends of mine. Good friends. One after the other, boys and girls alike, asked me what I was thinking. No one wore sneakers with stockings. Only crazy people did that apparently. I wanted to be a vanguard, but it backfired.

I had yet to get those Big Girl shoes from Zayre that my parents had promised me. Stockings would have looked great with those. But I insisted on wearing my stockings then; I wasn't terribly concerned with footwear. I was making due with what I had.

After a day of what seemed like non-stop ribbing, I finally made my way home on a walk with Mommy. As embarrassed as I was, I told her what happened. She didn't spare me from any "I told you so" or "Next time, listen to me." I got plenty of those. But I'm grateful that she allowed me to wear the stockings so I'd be able to see why the combination wasn't a good idea.

I would eventually get my Big Girl shoes...the next year. I didn't have any more patience then than I do today, but they were worth the wait.

With Stanton + Williams Style Therapy, I try to give clients on the younger side more leeway. They haven't had a chance to develop their own style and have a feel for what works for them and what doesn't. It's crucial to make mistakes, and even spend all day being embarrassed out of your mind. On the other hand, for my more mature clients, my mother's voice of reason filters down through me. If I can spare them from a day of heckling, it's worth my hourly rate.

Style Therapy Rule # 1: Get Rid of It!

If you haven't worn a piece of clothing in over a year, the odds are, you never will. Most of us wear 20% of our clothing 80% of the time. What's wrong with the remaining pieces that we've stuffed into the closet on a mishmash of hangers? The stretched out cable knit sweater weighing down on the wire drycleaner hanger. Joan Crawford would give some of you a good beating for that one. And what about the ubiquitous white plastic hangers? The ones we bought in bulk during our university days. They've moved from dorm room to dorm room. Apartment to apartment. And some of you have the unmitigated audacity to hang them up in the custom made closets of your co-ops! 

So now we have a closet bursting at the seams, with hangers that aren't uniform. The velour sweatsuit with copy that reads "angel" or "bad girl" on the bum is hanging next to the church (or temple or synagogue) dress purchased during your Laura Ashley phase. Somewhere in the nether region of the wardrobe is upwards of 30-40 pairs of shoes. You don't even like most of them. Some lime green mules from 1999 that you haven't worn since, well, 1999. You bought them for your cousin's wedding; never to be worn again and collecting so many dust bunnies, they could be mistaken for grey fuzzy slippers.

Underneath the mules is one, not two, one Prada Sport sneaker you bought down on Canal Street. You can't even find the other shoe! Most likely it's buried between that pair of clear heels you thought didn't look too strippery and the platform flip flops you sprained your ankle in last summer.

When our closets are stuffed with superfluous rubbish, our eye naturally zones in on pieces that are familiar. Those pieces tend to congregate together somewhere in the middle, and hence, we wear them ad nauseum, forgetting about the stripper heels and faux Pradas. 

My brand of pedagogy is laced with tough love because I've been there. Time after time I've purchased items because they were the right price or the right designer or brand name. Something can look great on a model or mannequin and once you get it on, make you look like death. Before we get to the cash register it's imperative that we try on everything, and be honest with ourselves. I'm as loath to go into the dressing as anyone else, but think of the money (and space) to be saved by not bringing home foolishness. That teeny tiny room is the place to discover whether or not the color and silhouette are flattering and if you foresee yourself wearing it next year. Or better yet, next month.

A lot of us are feeling the pinch in our wallets due to the economy. Some of us will stop shopping and try to pay down our debts. But the fact remains that sometimes new clothes are a necessity. Whether it's a new job, new baby, recent promotion or fluctuating weight, going forward, when you do decide to shop, decide what works  best for you. But before that, take a survey of what's lacking in your closet. 

The initial step should be assessing your lifestyle.  A suburban soccer mom's wardrobe needs defer from that of a recent college grad living in the city. Once lifestyle has been determined, figure out what your personal style is. Do you favor timeless pieces in traditional cuts and fabrics, like the smart Donegal blazer from J.Crew? Or do you err on the more progressive side, with items like a pleated Issey Miyake cocoon jacket?

If you're ill over analyzing your style, a Closet Detox will cure that. When I go into clients' closets, I have them try on EVERYTHING. From that wrinkled and faded t-shirt picked up at a Color Me Badd concert to a perfectly fitted black Jil Sander suit. We see what works. What works is what best presents the image the client is trying to convey. If you want to be taken seriously by your coworkers at the law firm, that Color Me Badd tee is a liability. 

Once we've gone through every garment, we eliminate the excess. A client can donate to charity and put it towards taxes or I help them consign or sell on eBay. Whatever they decide to do with their leftovers is more lucrative than having it take up space (and energy) in the closet; unworn and unwanted.

After a successful Closet Detox I either advise my client on what to buy or we go shopping together. At times, their budget can be relatively moderate, so we have to be strategic and buy the best my client is able to afford. It's better to have a few quality pieces that you love and that love your body back, than to ram and cram pounds and pounds of unloved clothes into a limited area. We detox our bodies of junk and foolishness, why not our closets?

For an appointment, go to www.swstyletherapy.com.

TV Style Icon: Dorothy Zbornak Was the Chicest GG

To put it in the plainest terms, the other Golden Girls simply tried too hard. The other day I caught a rerun of the show on Lifetime. One of the topics of conversation regarded Blanche keeping the tags on an expensive dress she planned on seducing a man with and then returning to the store the next day. The gold spangly number was on the shorter side and made noise when it moved. It screamed "Look at me! Look at me!" and if you can't do that at least "You can hear me coming."

Rose had on a frock that Laura Ashley's granny would have thought too hausfrau to wear. In fact, Sophia's ratty yellow cardigan elicited more sex appeal. And then there's the inimitable, peerless, urbane Dorothy Zbornak. 

Yes, Miami has a true tropical climate. The summers are hot and humid and the winters are warm and dry. The average temperature in January hovers around 70, but Ms. Zbornak was above flimsy spaghetti strapped dresses and flip flops. 

During the run of the show, from 1985 to 1992, she wore modern, ageless pieces. She understood the importance of the fabric's hand and drape. Her multiple cocoon jackets easily mixed with her harem pants. Neutrals predominated her wardrobe, with the occasional print or pop of color. Dorothy knew how to edit and exercised great restraint...unlike her wear & return, conspicuous consumer housemate Blanche. 

Never did she pile on the accessories. Zbornak's slouchy flat boots (for helping her navigate the daily grind of South Beach), smart purse (large enough for lesson plans, keys, and a hardcover bit of non-fiction), and perfectly sized earrings balanced out her grand frame. And that beautiful silver coif; the perfect compliment to her closet's color story. 

Dorothy's Zbornak's clothes read: highly intelligent, fashion forward, and progressive thinking woman. As the house's voice of reason, it would have been inauthentic for her to wear an acid wash miniskirt or a strapless leather jumpsuit. But I have the most confidence that this Brooklyn babe would have been able to pull it off with great aplomb.