This Transitional Outfit — which I wore to Watercolour Drop-In last week — wouldn’t have worked over the weekend, I have to admit, given the heavy rain, grey skies, and mid-teen temperatures . . . Today, though, the skies are supposed to clear early this morning, and the weather folks tell us we have a week of sunshine ahead, temperatures all the way up to 21 Celsius, the kind of fall weather we all love.
And last Thursday when I packed my paints, palette, and paper to hang out with fellow creative dabblers, there were a few showers, but the temperature was comfortable enough to wear my favourite linen dress. After all, I only had to run a hundred metres from parking lot to door — the weekly class is one of the very few reasons I have to drive anymore; I could get there by public transit, but I’d be shoe-horning an extra hour to the day, and I think it’s a good idea to maintain my driving-in-the-city skills.
Still, it was too cool for bare legs. I’m not quite ready to haul my tights out of their storage box, but I’d just seen Alyson Walsh’s post on combining shirt-dresses with jeans to extend their shelf-life beyond summer, and I thought that idea might work for a non-shirt-dress as well.
I quite like the pairing, although I can see the proportions aren’t convincing in the top two photos — the one below gets closest to what it felt like, from my perspective. I’m not sure the Hermes scarf works, but I don’t wear it as often as it deserves (a cherished birthday surprise) and I wanted something to break up that expanse of navy. . .
As for the shoes. . . My new pink Oxfords would have been perfect with this combo, no?
So why did I choose, instead, to wear those silver Fluevog loafers (which this post — coincidentally also on transitional fall dressing — testifies are at least six years old)? Whose metallic surface is now scuffed a scuff or two beyond “fashionably distressed”? Whose rubber soles, with their dance-step graphic and the words “let the dance begin” are probably on their last hundred kilometres?
I blame the “Francine factor” . . . Francine (not Frances!) was a young woman who worked in the same office as I did, in ’75 or ’76. She’d left her family behind in Montréal, taken the train across the country to try her luck on the West Coast. Raven-haired, vivacious, her striking figure attracted attention in the office, one of those vast open landscapes carved up with those portable dividers still modern and appealing, perhaps even sexy, in mid-70s Vancouver, in those golds and oranges that quickly became ubiquitous.
There was a boyfriend who worked at the heritage CN hotel in town. Ambitious, upwardly mobile perhaps, but still of modest income, he quickly bumped into some more moneyed competition, and we were all eager, each Monday morning, to hear of the weekend’s romantic adventures, the restaurants she’d been treated to, the offers that had been proposed to her — all told in her heavily accented English, punctuated regularly by her ever-so-cute “How you say?” “What is theees word?”
As much as her romantic adventures interested us, we were even more fascinated by her style, which confirmed every rumour we’d ever heard about les Montréalaises. If I had to sum it up across the blurry distance of the decades, I’d probably rely on that cliché, “Classic with a Twist,” although I hadn’t heard that expression at the time. She already had the beige trenchcoat, and her French accent transformed a plain white shirt with a black pencil skirt and simple cardigan. Somehow, her pieces and the way she combined them always looked fresh and confident, despite there rarely being a single standout garment.
One of us, in particular, studied Francine’s style, trying to see how she might emulate it. Marion was bright and funny but prone to depression which she tried to stave off by shopping. The office we worked in occupied the entire 7th floor of a bank tower, one of the tallest buildings in the city then; (dwarfed, now, of course, by five decades of subsequent construction). Far below us, an underground mall was gradually extending its reach in a retail configuration that was only a few years old, still relatively new–and exciting–to Vancouver. Our lunch hours — sometimes even our coffee breaks — often included a quick foray past the tempting windows.
Marion’s forays, in fact, would often head past the windows, make a sharp turn, and somehow end up inside a store, flipping through dresses or blouses or skirts on hangers or unfolding sweaters piled on counters. She’d come back after lunch and gleefully show us some cute little blouse or a pair of dreamy new platform shoes, maybe a suede bag with a swishy fringe. And by the next day, whatever she’d bought would be featured in her outfit. The new purchase would be in rotation for the next few weeks, but we could see it losing its shine, and by the end of a month, it would be replaced by a new favourite.
Marion’s retail excursions relied heavily on a credit card. She and her husband, she confided ro me once, had racked up a six-thousand dollar debt (on a combined income of perhaps 30K). So she was understandably mesmerised by our Québecoise co-worker. Francine shopped as well, no question, but she did so much more deliberately. She window-shopped as much as the rest of us, but generally, she wasn’t shopping to buy unless she’d clearly identified a gap in her wardrobe. She had a very realistic sense of her budget, as a single woman on a modest salary, but she also knew the price of quality and was willing to save, in order to pay it — or to wait for a sale!
But even Francine experienced the occasional coup de foudre. A few times, that summer and fall she worked with us, she would come back to the office after lunch and regale us, not with a tale of the older suitor who’d offered to fly her to San Francisco for the weekend, but with the description of an exquisitely fitting skirt. Plaid, in a fine wool, and then she might giggle a bit describing how well it showed off her, well, her ass-ets. . . We’d egg her on, tell her she had to buy it, tell her she should pop back down to the mall on her afternoon coffee break and buy it before it was gone in her size — but she’d wait a day or two, double-check her bank account, look carefully in her closet to see if it would really work. Finally, she’d treat herself to the new piece — and we’d look forward to seeing her model it.
Here’s the whole point I’ve been building to, though: Francine wouldn’t wear the new plaid pencil skirt or the black patent pumps or the ruffle-sleeved blouse to work the next day, the way Marion always did. Sometimes Francine wouldn’t even wear her new purchase the whole next week. Sometimes it would be several weeks before we’d see it as part of an outfit, and it would take us a while to recognise that it was, indeed, a new garment. Somehow, she’d simply blended it into her own inimitable style — she absolutely wore the garment or accessory, rather than it wearing her.
Yes, of course I’ve come across this approach numerous times over the decades since, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it practiced with such a combination of restraint and flair on such a careful budget. Thinking back, I calculate that Francine was no more than 21 at the time; she’d already mastered lessons many style-bloggers are preaching today, forty-some years later.
And last Thursday, although I hadn’t thought of Francine for ages, she was suddenly with me, shaking her head and raising an eyebrow as I slid my toes into my new pink Oxfords, shoehorn against my heel. In my imagination, she cocked her head in the direction of my old silver loafers, which I still love, and I conceded. After all, if I’ve chosen carefully, I’ll have many years of loving and wearing those Oxfords. . .
I’m curious: Have you been a Marion or a Francine in your shopping habits? and has your pattern changed over the years?) Or have you known a Marion or Francine? Or known another type of shopper, either a cautionary example or an inspiring one? And does the simple act of getting dressed ever make connections across the decades for you? Who or what does that mirror sometimes reflect from the past? Not necessarily about shopping, but just ways in which whatever you’re wearing pulls the past forward or sends you backwards in reverie. . .
It’s another Monday, obviously, and I haven’t written a list yet. I probably should, as this week already has the potential to get away from me. Time for a quick workout now, and then I’m meeting a GF for coffee. . . Hope your week’s begun well. Happy Monday!
When I was at art college I had a very stylish friend who came with a healthier bank account than most of us. She had a green Citroen 2cv and wore full length lace up green Olaf Daughter's boots which I coveted. Her look was casual ethnic – long embroidered skirts with little mirrors and those brightly knit Peruvian jumpers. Then one Monday we arrived at the sculpture studio to find her transformed. Gone were the hippy dresses and dungarees. Her hair was permed. She wore a twinset and pearls and a tweed skirt.
The inspiration? Julie Christie in Don't Look Now. She just about pulled it off but there were some half envious gasps of astonishment and just a little gentle ribbing. No subtle blending of style. It was a full on instant makeover. I stuck to my Levis, grandad shirt, duffle coat and red headscarf throughout the three years. I did eventually get some red Olaf Daughter boots though. Three quarter length was as much as my budget ran to!
Oh, that's so interesting! So the only substance to her style was her ability to imitate/replicate convincingly — and the wallet that replenished itself magically.
How did I not know about Olaf Daughter's boots — I'd have worn those in a heartbeat (but I'd have had to save for months first 😉
Absolutely Francine! I used to admire my new shoes for days,sometimes weeks,displayed on my shelf,before actually wearing them
If I didn't have enough money,I've never bought something to wear
I did have one or two acquisitions "at once" ,but it was love at a first sight
This must sound boring,no?
I love this dress,and scarf (how does it look like,when not folded?)and loafers ( my love for white jeans is well known so far)
Dottoressa
I hope you didn't have any "false acquisitions," though?! (Have you heard this latest Twitter mis-spelling from a certain president? Your English is ever so much better than his!)
I don't think it's boring at all, but well planned for elegant and creative dressing. And long live the white jeans! 😉
Oh! When I was young, I really didn't have much money. I loved clothes a lot and would write out schedules for my outfits based on block rotation at high school. When I got my first job at the RCMP, I got paid every other Thursday and would often have a new outfit on Friday. I had no credit card so I did not get into debt. Marriage, baby and two
sets of tuition put an end to that life. I was just sorting my clothes this morning and I'm going to squeeze some more life out of my linen dress.
Would you believe that the credit card I had before I got married had to be changed to my husband's name after the wedding? We've come a long way, baby!!
Unfortunately I've been a Marion most of my life. Now that I'm retired I'm having to curb my impulsive buying and am trying to become a Francine. Wish me luck!
Definitely wishing you luck — and the assurance that Francine was always the more stylish of the two, even on her stricter budget 😉
OK, this post is fascinating. I def lean towards Francine! And my kid has to keep her new purchases in the bag until they are "ready to come out" (yeah, I find that vaguely problematic too…)
Apparently, I read in a biography a few years ago, Georgia O'Keeffe would store new purchases for a year before using them. . . .
I always feel so pleased when I notice one of my daughters wearing a skirt or sweater I know they've had for years . . .
I used to lean more to Marion, but am becoming more like Francine. I did a major shop for clothes recently, but have worn only one or two pieces. It's as if they need to buddy up to the other clothes hanging in my closet. I'm quite tickled when I look at them all there together, getting along so well (at least in my presence), and waiting for their moment to shine.
Love your story!
So cute — now I have an image of your clothes, chatting happily together behind a closed closet door, mum as soon as you open it but little smiles on their . . . well, whatever might pass for faces 😉
I’m a Francine for sure. When I buy new clothes, they hang in the closet with the tags attached until I decide that there is enough other clothes that – go together – with the new purchases. I know very boring, but it makes styling my clothes easier.
Ali
Yes, and from what I learned from Francine was that it meant each new purchase is made a bit more seriously with thought for the future. . .
Probably a mix of both Marion and Francine over my lifetime so far–though not one to get into debt for fashion. Much more of a Francine these days. I find it very easy to talk myself out of buying things now that I am retired.
Me too, probably a mix of both at times (although I've been pretty careful about avoiding retail debt.
And yes, so much easier to resist in retirement. . .
Lovely writing ! I’m wearing navy sketchers trainers – head says they’re great for walking and if outfit quirky they’re ok . Heart sighs and says they’re frumpy! So pink or metallic – both great . I’m not Francine !!
Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it.
I'm not sure — I think Francine could make room for pink/metallic, but she'd assess how long she might love that colour/texture and whether it was worth the price (and whether she could afford it). Her style incorporated fun and drama and up-to-date fashion, but it had some very strong bones of its own.
What a delightful and illustrative anecdote. I was a Marion (and women in an office can create a culture of consumption like few others) who morphed into a Francine and I'm now critical of the Magpie Marions. I would love to know what became of Francine and see her now! You are definitely a Francine… and not just by similarity of name.
Oh yes, that "culture of consumption"!
Poor Marion, I suspect she and her husband didn't survive the debt. She was sweet and wry and funny, and could be symbolized by a Sigh, a very Eeyore-ish Sigh. A new purchase would lift her, but so temporarily. . .
I think that I am probably a Francine, although not as striking nor as confident an example as she was — much of that depends on exposure and education, and we didn't have much disposable income for clothes in my family, but my mother, grandma, and aunts sewed, so I knew about good construction, and my mother had a fine eye for good labels at rummage sales and pointed them out. And for a birthday or Christmas in my teens — and also with my part-time earnings, I might get a dress or sweater or shoes I'd coveted for weeks and so knew to value and to make that pleasure last. . . Funny that we're coming back to those lessons now with the fast-clothes cycle even crazier. . .
I Loved your story of these two different women…
I used to be a Marion and now I am more Francine…perhaps not as stylish as she sounds…more in snyc with her shopping habits.
We didn't have credit cards and lived on what money we had in our wallets and bank account…grocery shopping was a challenge making sure that I had enough money on hand to pay for everything so as not to embarrass myself having to put something back at the till…things have changed so much over the years.
Loved this. I’m definitely a Francine and have been since my teens, when I had a tiny allowance and a passion for clothes. I still buy carefully and infrequently, as I did then. I think of things I bought 3 years ago as ‘new’. Now I’m working a full-time corporate (although casual) role I definitely need more clothes but I am super-reluctant to spend money on anything I wouldn’t also wear outside of work …