season

The first summer items, as usual, will appear before the New Year. A very elegant, ironic and free summer awaits us. The need to choose between concept and glamor completely disappeared due to the reconciliation of the parties.

I was invited to a party. Or rather, to celebrate the New Year. One thousand nine hundred and ninety-six. I lived in London, and the very fact of the invitation was wonderful, because my life in London at that time was quite lonely and I did not suffer from an excess of invitations. There was only one thing that was annoying - the hostess of the evening, a fashionable London girl, ended her quite ceremonious telephone invitation with the following: “Keep in mind that we are dressing up.” That is, dress up, please. Otherwise you will come in some particularly elegant rags, driving those present to thoughts about the benefits of charity in general and Salvation Army stores in particular.

Actually, my native friend was right - when I opened the closet, I discovered that the only item that was not black or dirty gray was a blue trouser suit, which did not suit someone who had gained weight and therefore was given to me. Having put it on for lack of anything better, I went to the ball, expecting to see ladies there in low necklines and frills and rehearsing in advance a whole set of witticisms with which I, of course, would have to comment on my modest attire.

So as not to delay. I was the most dressed up at this celebration. As one of the lords present noted: “Darling, people can dance around you just like around a Christmas tree.” I didn’t have any witticisms prepared for this occasion.

Basically, I misunderstood the British fashionista. But the problem was not the fragmentation of my English, but (what is much more shameful) cultural ignorance. In a lack of understanding of how a smart girl dresses (including dressing up).

And a smart girl - that’s why she was considered smart, so that she could choose an outfit that would highlight the advantages not of her body, but of her mind. And she showed not at all slender ankles and a flexible waist, but the ability to think outside the box. Then, in the mid-90s, a smart girl was literally a bearer of philosophy and, when dressing, she had to, in the apt expression of one expert, first of all show that she “had such a head.” Well, everything else will, of course, be added to this head. Or it won’t work - in the world of smart people this is not so important.

In terms of style or, let’s say, manner of dressing, this world of smart people existed completely separately. Separately from others, which (quite arbitrarily, of course) experts define as the world of wives and the world of mistresses. A world of quality camel-colored sweaters and nice flannel trousers and a world of sharp heels and blouses through which the bra is visible.

Different designers worked for different worlds. Both of them tried very hard.

These worlds did not intersect so often. Both there and there - their favorite cafes, performances and certainly their parties. At that very New Year's party, for example, all the girls were smart - with outward seams and asymmetrical sleeves, only me, like a fool, in a blue suit. They won't look like that this New Year. And not because fashion has simply changed. The approach to dressing seems to have changed.

Smart people now have to be ordinary beautiful. And ladies from other camps should moderate their neckline and at the same time come to terms with the fact that the feminine line of the skirt rustling around perfect hips refers to the 50s. That is, it makes you think and gives rise to associations, but until recently they were the property of only smart people.

So: the concept of the designer, expressed by a third sleeve or something felt or, conversely, tight-fitting transparency, is pushed into the background by the concept of a woman who puts on objects made by designers, combines them with each other or throws them aside. The smart ones, as we have seen, are not the losers. And the flirty ones are fine - they became a little less naked, but much more romantic.

This New Year, my London friend will not invite me - she caught the lord (who was then considered her boyfriend) in the act of making a joke about the Christmas tree with another lord, was very upset and for some reason rejected the whole company as a whole. But I'm sure things are going just fine at her current parties. All the ladies are wearing something well-fitting and fawn, their balloon skirts gently rustle, their neat heels click melodiously. And I would look like a fool in my blue pantsuit.

ELENA RUBINSTEIN

Beauty according to the mind