If you're a long-time reader of this blog, you already know how I admire Lisa of A Bloomsbury Life. Her writing skills, outlook on life, beautiful home (which has oodles of personality to it) and of course her iconic embroidery art- I find it all so inspiring, and this outfit with a past post is no different. Enjoy! -Chedva
Okay, let's get something out of the way right at the beginning: Not all outfits with a past may represent you at your finest sartorial hour, but that doesn't mean that they don't have woven into them a lot of great memories.
Case in point: This black crocheted shirt was my favorite go-to piece of clothing for the summer of 1995 (and maybe a little beyond). I found it on a trip to London and it immediately became a staple of my wardrobe. At the time, I was living in a loft on 17th Street in Manhattan, filling my days as an advertising writer at Saatchi and Saatchi and my nights as a denizen of the downtown New York nightlife scene. As for the glasses, I was as blind as a bat and their dork-chic vibe formed a crucial part of my style armor. Growing up, my mother had always told me "Boys never make passes at girls who wear glasses" and I had rebelliously chosen the most statement-making pair I could find to prove her wrong.
Here I am having a pre-party cocktail in a friend's "World Of Interiors-ish" carriage house in Nolita. As you can see, I decided that teaming the shirt with a black sports bra, a black cheerleading skirt and a pair of black bicycle shorts was the ne plus ultra of who I was as a person (I know, I know.) Wearing underwear as outerwear was big in those days (thank you, Madonna) and I was a proud suffragette for the cause. I remember feeling so confident and empowered in this outfit. It was part flirty, part nerdy, part sporty and 100% me. That face on the left belongs to my husband-to-be Piero who put up with every crazy fashion choice I ever made with such grace and unflappability that I had no alternative but to spend the rest of my life with him.
After a cocktail or three, we ate cheap spaghetti on Second Avenue and wound up at a local watering hole on Elizabeth Street called the M & R Bar (sadly, no longer there). That's me on the right with my arm around my friend Jane and her boyfriend Ben. Piero has his back to the camera. This night is ingrained in my memory partly because of the great time my friends and I all had together and partly because I lost my passport under that table (it's probably on the floor somewhere). As I didn't drive in those days, this was my only form of identification and necessitated three long weeks of staying in until I received my replacement in the mail.
A few years later, I commemorated the evening with an embroidery. It took about three months to complete. I appreciate this piece even more today than I did then because it's a tangible reminder to me of a certain heady time in my life -- back when I was living on dreams and ramen noodles, when New York City was the epicenter of my universe and when walking down the street in a see-through crocheted shirt and black bra was for one brief moment a fashion 'do.'
("The Night I Lost My Passport", 1997, embroidery floss on linen, 11 inches by 16 inches)
