Ever since I was a wee one interning my heart out in the Teen Vogue fashion closet, I've wanted to be an editor. I didn't have the clothes or the knowledge or the sense of self that I saw in the editors — sleek as seals and always, always, all in black — around me, but I was close enough to touch this speedy, glorious thing called fashion.
I was hungry for it. I was ready to work for it. My teenybopper fashion teeth had been cut on Burberry Prorsum leather jackets and Marc Jacobs candy-shell-shiny clutches.
Seven years later, I am still witness to the gliding of sleekity-sleek editors — still in black-on-black-on-all-black everything — and I still feel like an intern in kid clothes, so very very nearly but not quite here ("here" being fresh-to-death editordom).
I know the fashion fundamentals:
- Invest in a few excellent pieces.
- Be entirely yourself.
- It doesn't matter if your boss doesn't like your scuba flower sweatshirt as long as you like your scuba flower sweatshirt.
I just haven't been brave enough to put the principles into practice.
Part of me is afraid that my taste is terrible, but a much larger part of me wants to finally arrive. After all, I've been here a while. Mostly, I want to stop wearing the same pair of shoes to work everyday.* All I want for Christmas this year is blend just a little with the tribe of fabulous people I work with.
Without further soul-bearing ado, here are the pieces, painstakingly gathered, that fit my as-yet-unnamed aesthetic. Sleekity-sleekness, here I come. Black-on-black-on-all-black everything.
So, where do I start? Which one of these luxe, purr-worthy, save-all-my-pennies pieces should be my first step into grownup-editor real life?
Tell it to me straight, studded, hand-tailored, and in all caps.
*I have worn the same shoes to work every day — except one — since we got to 225 Liberty Street. They are these shoes and when the soles wore down, I bought epoxy at the family dollar and glued them back together.