My earlier post on my discovery of Rafael Canada jewelry was a bit of a preview of my current state of mind. Long-time readers know that I am woman of sudden and deep obsessions, and that is precisely what brutalist jewelry has become for me. In some ways, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. I haven’t been particularly interested in bags (or shoes) for a few years, and nature abhors a vacuum, as they say; it was time for jewelry to become the focus of my attention to sartorial details. Jewelry is also a more natural channel of expression for my current aesthetic, which is all about flirting with edge. (I say “flirting” because I am keenly aware of the fact that I am a middle-aged suburban mom, which is not the first thing that comes to mind when most people hear “edgy”.)

Whenever I get into a new obsession, I like to read up as much as I can on the topic. Brutalist jewelry has stumped me. While there is a lot of content on the internet about brutalism as a whole, much of it is not directly applicable to my interests. There are bits and pieces here and there, mostly from various vintage jewelry dealer/auction sites, but nothing that can sustain the sort of deep dive exercise I like to pursue. Books on the history of jewelry are hard to come by, and/or very expensive. Surprisingly, I haven’t (yet) found any online forums for collectors – that’s usually a great resource for information.

But all my largely fruitless searching has given me some food for thought. Could my personal style be described as brutalist?

As far as architecture goes, brutalism is highly divisive. I grew up in the 80s in the Eastern Bloc, where brutalism was the default aesthetic (buildings-wise), so I can’t say that I have fond feelings about it … but I also don’t hate it as viscerally as some people. People who hate it, really really hate it. But it’s having something of a renaissance, apparently – or, at least, a reevaluation. According to Brad Dunning of GQ:

“Brutalism is the techno music of architecture, stark and menacing. Brutalist buildings are expensive to maintain and difficult to destroy. They can’t be easily remodeled or changed, so they tend to stay the way the architect intended. Maybe the movement has come roaring back into style because permanence is particularly attractive in our chaotic and crumbling world.”

That’s kind of lovely (in a world-is-burning way), isn’t it? I’m not sure my style is stark and menacing, though, by dog, I kinda wish it was. I do think the simplicity and starkness of the lines is something that I strive to echo in my outfits.

But brutalism in jewelry is something different. The focus is on “abstraction and asymmetry … with interest flowing from the juxtaposition of disparate forms, colors and finishes.” (Antique Sage.com) Brutalist jewelry uses massive, jagged, highly abstract designs; mixed metals; avant-garde colour combinations; unconventionally shaped stones – “at once intriguing and perhaps slightly disquieting”. This is definitely my aesthetic aspiration, particularly as reflected in my Prince, Artist and Bohemian avatars. It’s why, at a certain level, mixing my 70s Rafael Canada pieces with my favourite contemporary clothes works so well; they “speak” the same language. And my new (asymmetrical) long pixie haircut is on the same wavelength as well.

You might be thinking, “well, fine and good, but so what?” For me, it’s always exciting to find a new way to look at fashion (one of my creative outlets) and new sources of inspiration. Non-literal inspiration, in particular, is fun because it blows the door wide open on experimentation. I’m starting to feel like I’m getting my mojo back, after a bit of slump. It remains to be seen exactly how this will all translate when it comes to my monthly recaps, but I expect there will be some interesting things in the mix coming up.

Have you looked for or found sartorial inspiration in art? Do you have a process for translating it to real life? As always, would love to hear your thoughts.

After I published the last post on style avatars, a reader reached out to ask about the Adventurer persona and how I put together my casual outfits. Inspired by our conversation, I put together this post to illustrate my go-to outfit formulas.

Before we move on to the photos, a couple of notes. I get asked a lot about how my style could translate to hot climate-appropriate outfits. My ability to answer that is limited, to be honest. One, because I’ve never lived in a hot climate; and two, because I suspect the real answer is “not easily”. Layering is a key element of my style, which is going to be challenging no matter what if you’re dealing with plus 40 Celsius weather and have to spend any significant amount of time outside of air-conditioned spaces. Other key elements of my style – like knits and blazers – are also tough propositions in that kind of climate.

My only suggestion is to adjust to different fabrics (like linen, cotton, breathable poly blends) and look for standalone pieces that come with built-in draping and/or other visually-interesting details. My Ayrtight maxi, for example: it’s a linen blend, it’s sleeveless and lightweight, it can be worn belted or unbelted for differing effect, and it’s a “statement” piece on its own.

Another thing I want to note has to do with how I wear my clothes. I usually get “dressed up” (to varying degrees) when I leave the house, no matter how minor my reason for going out. I mean, I won’t wear a ballgown to the grocery store, but I will put on jeans and a sweater. My loungewear is reserved exclusively for being at home, unless I’m sick or just in a DGAF frame of mind (which rarely happens unless I’m in a funk). But, while at home, I ONLY ever wear loungewear. As soon as I come home, my “regular” clothes come off, and the sweatpants or leggings come on. If I’m working from home, same thing. [NOTE: I only WFH one or two days a week now, so to me that’s a break from having to get dressed. If I was full-time WFH, my approach might be different because I know I would miss getting dressed up.] Bottom line, I have no cute “working from home” outfit ideas for anyone. I’m pretty sure my Lululemons and ratty company T-shirt is not going to inspire any of you.

OK, let’s move on to my casual outfits.

As I mentioned before, layers are a key component of my style, casual or otherwise. That works for my lifestyle, because I live in a pretty cold climate. On occasion, though, I will put together an outfit that doesn’t have that 3^rd (or 4^th!) “completer” piece. For example:

This is (barely) a step above jeans and t-shirt – and equally comfy, I might add – and it’s the little details that count. The pants are a “dressy” fabric, but the rolled cuffs and drawstring waist make them look more fun/casual. I’m wearing flats as opposed to sneakers, which fit my aesthetic better (there’s nothing wrong with the latter choice) but are still very comfy. I’ve tucked in my tops, and added minimal accessories, and that’s about it.

Another low-effort formula is casual pants+sweater. For me, casual pants is a categories comprised of denim, jeggings, and chinos. Here are some examples of the latter:

These are all very basic outfits, but I try to be intentional about accessories. A “polished” shoe, whether it’s flats or boots, can make a big difference. Also, I like finding pieces that are a bit unique; these Pilcro chinos have a contrast stripe on the inner calf and at the waist, and it adds a little je ne sais quoi. Clearly, I’m also a fan of rolled cuffs.

A fun way to add visual interest to a basic outfit is with a scarf:

Han Solo was a fan of scarves, rights?

You know what else he liked? Leather.

I like to incorporate leather (real or faux) into my outfits in different ways:

An easy option is (p)leather leggings:

I like to balance out the skinny leg silhouette with volume (and texture) on top, so a chunky sweater (and scarf) is my go-to.

There is, of course, also the leather jacket. I used to wear jean jackets a lot, and then I thrifted my (faux) leather Joe Fresh moto jacket and never looked back. More recently, I acquired a butterfly-embroidered real leather jacket, which adds a bit of whimsy that I’m sure Han would appreciate:

But, like I said, layering is my ultimate outfit-making tool. Versatile pieces are key. This Club Monaco short-sleeve field jacket is a good example:

In the spring, I can layer it over a long-sleeved top or light sweater. In the summer, over a thin camisole. In the fall, I can double up the (knit) base layers. As an aside, the grey sleeveless vest I am wearing in the photo on the right is another key layering piece. It’s soft and lightweight enough to be worn on its own during warmer weather, but it can also be layered over and under other things easily without adding bulk.

Another favourite layering piece is the blazer, of course.

Blazers over sweaters and paired with casual pants is SO EASY. The juxtaposition between a structured blazer (especially in a “posh” material like tweed or velvet) and some “rough and tumble” pants is always fun.

Last but not least, my secret is this: once you’ve hit on an outfit that works, tweak it slightly to turn it into a half dozen outfits. For example:

I am wearing the same jeans and boots in all 3 cases, and the same sweater twice. But with small tweaks, I can legitimately call these separate outfits. Here’s another set:

[yes, I am using one of the same photos from above, but work with me.]

Same coat, slightly different looks. For me, the key is to avoid feeling repetitive while, in fact, sticking to a winning combination as much as possible.

If you’ve been following the blog over the last few years, you will have noticed that much of my thrifting focus has shifted to vintage. Why is that and why now?

There are a few reasons for my loving vintage now. I sometimes think regretfully about all the cool vintage stuff I probably missed over the past decade because I wasn’t looking for it. But the reality is that my personal style had not yet evolved to a point where vintage made sense. I first needed to develop a very strong sartorial identity, and only then figure out how vintage could play a role in that. I have no interest in looking like I’m wearing a costume; for me, the key is to incorporate vintage in a way that feels, if not necessarily trendy/contemporary, at least unique and personalized.

It also just so happens that quite a lot of pieces from the 80s and 90s — though by no means all, hello neon legwarmers! — blend easily into my current style avatars. Some of my favourite designers, like Ralph Lauren, have maintained a consistent aesthetic over the years which makes older pieces highly desirable. 90s stuff is also currently very trendy, and I prefer thrifting the originals over buying the current version in stores, generally at a considerable premium.

And, of course, there is the question of quality. In most cases, the quality of even mall and department store brand clothing from before, say, the mid-2000s is better than mid-tier designer clothing now. While acrylics and polyester were not uncommon, natural fabrics like cotton, linen, and wool were used a lot more than they are now. Construction and finishes are also often (though not always) better in vintage clothing than contemporary stuff.

Ok, so I’ve told you all the reasons why I love thrifting for vintage. If you want to give it a try for yourself, here are some of my tips for thrifting clothing from the 80s and 90s.

What To Look For

When it comes to stuff from the 80s and 90s, some of my favourite things to thrift are, in no particular order:

• Skirts – wool, linen and silk skirts; common silhouettes include: pleated A-line midi or maxi skirts; full (twirly) skirts; tube (long) skirts; leather pencil midi skirts; lots of plaids and florals.
• Sweaters – wool and cotton sweaters in fun patterns as well as neutrals; chunky fisherman-style sweaters as a special favourite.
• Blazers – oversized blazers and long-line blazers (but beware of shoulder pads if, like me, you have broad shoulders already, as these tend to create a linebacker silhouette) in fun plaids and checks; cashmere and camel hair blazers; and leather blazers (late 90s and early 2000s silhouettes are the best).
• Vests – wool or silk waistcoats and vests in a variety of colours and patterns (including embellishments like beading and embroidery); wool sweater vests; denim and leather vests.

On the flip side, I don’t tend to buy vintage pants. Tapered silhouettes for dress pants were popular in the 80s and 90s, and that’s not a style I personally gravitate towards these days. I like high-waisted jeans, but I find that a lot of vintage styles are not “curvy” cuts, which I need because of my waist-to-hip ratio. (I won’t invest in tailoring for denim because I can easily find current jeans that fit me off the rack.) Vintage denim also tends to be less stretchy. I know some people love vintage Levis, but I have not found a pair that worked on my body. That being said, these could be things that work for you.

I also don’t tend to buy a lot of vintage dresses, but 80s/90s styles that I commonly see are prairie/cottagecore-style dresses in cotton and ramie; tube, tank, and slip-style dresses in velvet and rayon (silk is more rare); and chambray and denim button-up or pinafore-style dresses. Most of them are midi and maxi lengths which, if you’re like me, is a big bonus — plus, it fits current trends.

Sizing

I think most people know this, but it bears repeating: vintage sizing is smaller than contemporary equivalents. For example, my vintage size in skirts and other bottoms is one or two sizes bigger than in modern clothing (depending on how snug I want the fit to be). For jackets and tops, it’s usually a one size difference, but keep in mind that the cut of blazers, in particular, tended to be oversized. Again, we are talking about clothing from the 80s and 90s; earlier vintage will generally fit even smaller.

What I have noticed is that vintage sizing tends to be more consistent than modern sizing. I can reliably buy the same size across different brands and be fairly certain that it will fit. That isn’t often true for contemporary clothing, where sizing can be all over the place. However, if you’re buying vintage online, it is still a good idea to check measurements to avoid surprises.

Brands

When it comes to 80s and 90s vintage, I love looking for what some people might consider “old lady” brands: Talbots, Liz Clairborne (including LizWear and LizSport), Eddie Bauer, Laura Ashley, and Tabi. These brands can be overlooked because of associations with “dowdy” or boring clothes, but the quality is fantastic (materials and construction) and individual pieces can look surprisingly contemporary. Shoulder pads are my personal bugbear, but in many cases, are easily removable. Some of my favourite vintage pieces come from this brands; if you read my weekly outfit recaps, you will have noticed most of these names pop up regularly.

I also love finding 90s clothing from mall brands like Gap (my absolute fave), Mexx, Esprit, Le Chateau, J. Crew, and Club Monaco. Early 2000s Banana Republic is also great. The quality of these pieces is far superior to their current equivalent. These days, brands like Gap and BR are putting out clothing that is, essentially, a replica of these older styles … at much higher price points than what the originals can be bought at the thrifts.

Vintage designer is much harder to find, although I have regularly come across brands like Ralph Lauren, MaxMara, Escada (fantastic blazers), Ungaro, Louis Ferraud, and Donna Karan. I’ve used my vintage fashion magazines as a resource to learn more (or refresh my memory) about designers who used to be popular in the 80s and 90s but have since receded from the fashion front lines — think Romeo Gigli, Rifat Ozbek, Todd Oldham, Nina Ricci, etc. I don’t see a lot of those in the thrifts but they are on my BOLO list.

Dating vintage

How can you tell if something is vintage? Unless you’re an expert on fashion history, it might be challenging to date a piece based purely on design and construction. But I find that clothing labels can provide clues even for the layperson. Union labels are a reliable indicator of vintage, but they tend to be rare in clothing made in the 80s (and even more so in the 90s). There are online directories for clothing labels where you can look up a specific brand and see how its labels changed over time. This will give you the most accurate idea of dates, assuming you can find information on the specific brand/label. If you don’t have the time for extensive research, the place of manufacture can provide a more general time frame. The offshoring of clothing manufacture followed certain geographical patterns from the 1960s onwards. Clothing made overseas in the 80s and early 90s tended to come from Korea, Taiwan, Eastern Europe and Hong Kong, as well as Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, the Philippines, and India in the latter 90s.

I hope this gives you a starting base to give thrifting vintage a try. Share your tips and fave brands in the comments!