I have found in life that sometimes a realization does not occur as an ephiphany or a revelation but rather a threading together of events over time that create an acknowledgement that perhaps you have willingly been duped. That has been my sad journey regarding fashion. I can't remember not loving it, being passionate about it, and definitely not wanting to look like "Lady Astor's pet horse"; a favorite expression of my late mother.  She was a graduate of The Parson's School of Design who lived, breathed and embodied glitz and glamour. Mom was obsessed with the society pages and could tell you the designer,describe with perfection the fabric, neckline, bodice, embellishment and every element of what was worn by society matrons and celebrites at every event.

In addition to brazenly and defiantly wearing white in winter years before it was deemed acceptable and infusing pastels into January's color spectrum, her greatest joy and raison de etre was dressing up her three little girls. I, infact, cannot recall a milestone without conjuring up what I wore. My mother's idea of a successful unforgettable event was if we received compliments on our outfits. She was disinterested in other accomplishments or evening's purpose. My happiest times spent with my mother were on shopping excursions. She had impeccable taste and we were both totally enthralled with what the new season had on display and how we would incorporate the trends. My mother's signature color was lavendar and to this day I cannot see any shade or hue of it without experiencing such a visceral visual memory of her.

And, so fashion is in my DNA. I cannot even imagine sitting out a season and not succumbing to the trends and the "must-haves." Learning and educating oneself is a painstaking process when one is a fashionista. You must read and peruse all the fashion magazines, attend or learn about each designer's runway show, study the trendsetters on the city streets, scout out the windows of Bloomies, Saks and Bergdorfs, and designer boutiques.  Scour the fashion blogs. Be attuned to all the shows that parade out the Season's Must- Haves and follow what trends are on the Red Carpet.

Once I have factored in all of this data, then I begin to come to terms with certain harsh realities. One is an unwillingness to deplete our life's savings in an effort to be a style icon. The three way mirror and I have also partnered up to determine what will and will not work on my body. One does not want to be so wedded to and enslaved by what's new that you are blinded to what does not compliment you. A reality check or brutally honest friend or sister can save you a lot of  expense and missteps. I am lacking in vertical heft even with stiletto lift. Knowledge is power. I will not seek out that which will overwhelm me.. Recruiters  for basketball or Vogue will not come looking for me.  I am curvy or what used to be defined as an hourglass figure. Drop-Waists or Empire lines are my "Go-Not-Tos' .  I have long ago passed the age of being carded in clubs which may allot me certain freedoms but also fashion restrictions. Selectiveness in what body parts to reveal is critical in a woman of a certain age no matter how fit and well-preserved. I veer away from too sheer, too tight ,too short and I prefer my peek-a-boos exercised with my granddaughter and not my body. My goal is to whisper sexy not scream Fredericks of Hollywood.

There are continuing lessons learned over the course of my fashion odyssey. When, against my own instincts, I have been coerced into an item of clothing by an intimidating salesperson, it inevitably becomes "What The Hell Was I Thinking" purchase and never see the outside of my closet. In my immaturity, I totally bought into the belief that I should never be seen in the same formal attire twice. I, often attended black-tie events and always felt compelled to purchase a new gown or cocktail dress. These were costly investments but making an entrance and fearing that I would be repeating myself were my motivation for never wearing the same ensemble twice.  Then, I had one of those pivotal wake-up moments. I was in Bergdorf's couture dept. looking over their gorgeous designer formal wear for an upcoming gala. Featured prominantly on display was my exact gown from two seasons ago. It was the same designer, color and the exact replica of the one I had  hanging in my closet. The only difference was that the price tag had now skyrocketed to fifteen hundred dollars more than the exorbitant price I had paid for it. I realized then that I probably had perfectly appropriate and gorgeous dresses to wear among my collection in my own closet and did not need to purchase something new everytime I got another invitation.

That discovery was reinforced by another one that really jolted me back to the real world. It was a request by my beautiful niece. Recently, my stylish fashion-obsessed  sister's daughter confessed that she had always fantasized about shopping in my closet. She still remembered dresses she adored that I had worn when she was growing up. I was more than happy to let her live out her fantasy and so she selected two of my gowns to wear to two of her friend's upcoming weddings. She looked like an absolute dream and when she  reported back that all the guests commented on how stunning both the dresses were and how she rocked the look, I could sense my mother smiling at her granddaughter's fashion report. Some things are really timeless and transcend  momentary trends.

Another fashion jolt  came more recently as I grabbed my pad and pencil to jot down this season's "Must- Haves" from the annointed fashion televangicals. First up was the poncho/cape. The most coveted piece was the navy military cape with big brass buttons.  Wonder of wonders I actually possessed the exact one they were highlighting because I bought it when I was pregnant  with my oldest son. That baby is now a PhD in Clincal psychology who would probably diagnose my obsession with fashion as disguising a deep-seeded inadequacy but I digress.... The point is what was declared out of date, in mothballs, vintage material is now all the rage. As if that discovery wasn't jackpot enough...this unearthing of style treasure extended to my husband who is The Antithesis of The GQ Model. He would be The What Not To Wear  example... Among some of his prized possessions were his duck boots which made me not only cringe when he bought them a few years back, but walk ahead to disassociate myself from his fashion faux pas. Now those duck boots have been declared the absolute hottest  foot gear on the planet. There are back orders. manufacturers have had to hire on extra workers to attempt to keep up with the demand. "Ugly is The New To Die For."

These realizations put into focus what has been escaping me for years. Fashion is so arbitrary. It is at the whim and whimsy of the designers whose sole purpose is to create the artifical desperate need for the sense that inorder to remain relevant we need to possess whatever they dictate is stylish.  For this season the uniform includes capes, fringe, plaid, flared trousers, floppy hats, strong exaggerated shoulders  and yes it is official--orange is the new black. Terms like military chic and total texture overload should be woven into your fashion jargon as well as your mind-set.

Of course timing is everything and I suffered a premature closet ejection. My plaids and bell bottoms were donated to the Salvation Army. Who could have predicted what just last season was pronounced dead on arrival, clothing non grata, an out of date fashion disaster was now fashion forward.  Truth be told, I still love fashion. Old habits die hard. I still adore shopping the season's trends. Yet, I am not enslaved by it and do not allow it to define who I am. I think with having developed ones own sense of style, you need not discard and dismiss every thing from season's past.  You can update and accessorize and can actually survive without buying into every Must-Have of The Moment.  It's about coming of age and being a style grown up. If you choose not to  co-opt the Annie Oakley fringe persona or dig out your Dynasty shoulder pads, you will not be labelled a clueless style pariah.  And there is such good news on the Haute Couture landscape--- Atleast for this season, instead of feeling the need to distance myself from my husband for his fka atrocious duck boots, I have to hire a body guard to protect them and him because his feet are now adorned with the crowned jewels of foot fashion...   Go figure...