When my mother died, I was at a point in my life when I hadn’t yet defined my sense of style. My fashion was stuck somewhere between college and the reality of who I wanted to be. My mom never just wore clothes; she wore an outfit that might consist of a crisp button-down, jeans, and a colorful silk scarf tied around her neck. That one extra accessory would turn something basic into something fabulous. I knew I couldn’t pull off what she could in fashion. I lacked her je ne sais quoi and I was fine with that. Mostly, I just felt lucky to have her as my mom.
This mother-daughter duo looked nothing alike, with completely different hair and body types, eye colors, and skin tones, yet we could share shoes because we were both size 10. A classic Leo, my mother commanded attention when she walked into a room. Her vibrant personality matched her fashion choices – big shoulder pads, bold patterns, bright colors, and statement jewelry.
I used to love rummaging through her closet for something fun to try on while pretending to be someone else. Shortly after graduating from college, I was invited to a fancy party in New York City, and my mother insisted I borrow a dress. She put me in a sheer navy-blue Albert Nipon design that was way too big, but we somehow made it work. I remember feeling awkward all night, as though I was wearing a costume. After many years in the workforce, my mother’s career began to skyrocket, and the more money she made, the more she spent on clothes. This was the late 80s/early 90s – the era of big shoulder pads, power suits, and pussy-bow blouses. She loved opulent designers like Ungaro, Escada, Balenciaga, and Ferragamo, who epitomized European maximalism. But when it came to shoes, my mother didn’t mess around with comfort. She had been a dancer and had terrible feet, so her shoes were practical, well-made, and not the least bit sexy.
Her motto for accessories was “the bigger, the better.” She wore “good fake” jewelry, including giant pearls, chunky chains, huge stones set with pave diamonds, clip-on earrings, and large cuff bracelets. One Christmas, her third husband gave her a Cartier tank watch, which she hated. How did he not know she loved big watches! Of course, I still wear that Cartier watch because it suits me perfectly.
When my mom was alive, one of my favorite things to do was watch her get dressed for a party. It was nothing short of magical. I would lie on her bed as she threw together a snappy ensemble, then spritzed on her signature Carolina Herrera perfume and flew out the door, leaving a scented breeze behind.
After she passed, I kept all her clothes and spent a fortune altering them. I wanted to feel her energy, wear the things that had been on her body, and be as close to her as humanly possible. But the clothes were all wrong for me, and I’m sure I looked silly wearing them. Those years of forcing myself into a style that just wasn’t me left me confused and stunted my ability to find my own sense of fashion. Over time, I slowly cleared her things from my closet – the Ferragamo flats with grosgrain ribbon bows, clunky faux jewelry, shoulder-padded blazers, and DVF wrap dresses. However, I accidentally threw out a Hermes Kelly bag, not understanding back then what I had or how much I would want it now.
Wearing my mother’s clothes in my thirties was the years of trying to be someone I wasn’t, though I didn’t realize it until my forties, when I finally said goodbye to everything that didn’t suit me. When I was healed enough to know that my mother’s spirit didn’t live in those clothes, that she was all around me as my guardian angel, I was free of the guilt over discarding the things that didn’t work for me. Those were also the years when my marriage was crumbling. I was beginning to understand who I was and what made me happy, though I knew it was still beyond my reach. During that time, I shopped excessively to fill the void left by shedding my mother’s clothes and coming to grips with the end of my marriage. Those were the years when I made a lot of fashion mistakes while experimenting with style and spending way too much trying to figure it all out.
When I finally stopped trying to be someone other than myself, I became more comfortable in my own skin, and my true sense of style began to reveal itself. Now that I’m much older than my mother was when she passed, I laugh at how I ever thought I could wear her clothes. My style is 70s bohemian with a preppy edge. It’s minimal, easy, undone, and accidentally sexy. I love petite jewelry, tiny earrings, layering delicate chains, and basics with a twist. I kept a few of my mother’s things that I will cherish forever—a black velvet Armani couture blazer, Helene Arpels patent leather flats (Jackie Kennedy was photographed in Central Park wearing the same pair), cashmere-lined leather gloves, a Tiffany silver cuff bracelet her best friends gave her for her 40th birthday, and a green Mark Cross messenger bag.
I believe fashion is a form of artistic expression. When I develop characters for my novels, I carefully consider their style and weave plenty of fashion into my stories. But I also know that getting dressed every day can be stressful for many people. One of the best pieces of advice my mother gave me was that fashion should be fun and that your best accessory is a smile. It doesn’t matter whether anyone else likes what you’re wearing. All that matters is that you do.
