(from little m. . . or "big m," as I like to call her and now feel incredibly righteous in doing so after reading this post) ; )
Irene is a family friend, surrogate mom crossed with fairy godmom.
When I was 10 or 11, with what I felt was a cereal box for a figure, no one in my family wanted to take me shopping for school clothes because they could gamble and win on the odds I would come home howling, in tears, with nothing to wear.
Somehow Irene could take me out and we would find something that not only would my family not die of shame to see me in, but that I actually liked! and could wear to school without fear of violating a public decency law.
Irene is like Donna Karan or Elena Miro, or Chanel (I don’t mean the designs, awesome though they are. I mean the people themselves)--she will be hip to death forever.
She recently ordered this amazing leather coat in a size she no longer wears (her closets are full of suits in that size, and they haven’t fit in years).
So she had to go to all the trouble of dragging it to the post office, sending it back, and ordering it in the size she is now – which of course both fit and looked SMASHING.
I’ve done it. You know you’ve done it.
In the age of the vanity size--and as savvy and sharp as we are about other things in our lives--WHY do we still cling to the number? Why don’t we just cut the size tag number out and get on with the business of looking--and being--fabulous?