Summer Lilly & Winter Prada

I spent some time over the past week transitioning my closet from winter to summer. Of course, the fleece jackets can never be too far away. The weather can turn on a dime, as we were reminded the other night. After a glorious sunny early summer beach day during which I got a sunburn (despite what I thought was judicious sunscreen), we were driving up the Post Road in southern Rhode Island and marveled at how, over a distance of just ten miles, the fog rolled in, the wind kicked up, and the temperature dropped considerably. Thanks, New England. I get it.

So yes, I keep the fleece and the cardigans handy. Still, while I love my fall and winter clothes, there's joy to be had in hanging up cotton shift dresses and tops in bright patterns. Here's a shot of how one of the closets is starting to look:

Moreover, the season means that I can finally restore all of my Lilly Pulitzer clothes to their rightful places of prominence. My collection of vintage Lilly is impressive. I began collecting during my time at the University of Maryland from 1996-1998, when I frequented the Suitland, MD Value Village and Hyattsville Goodwill at least weekly. The Value Village was a real dump, but in those heady days before eBay - at which point it seemed everyone became a Lilly collector and consequently marked up prices - I could often find vintage Lilly items for as little as 99 cents. And I do mean vintage. Look at the tags and fabric along the inside of the hem (what is that called, anyway?):

 

                                            

                                       

     

                                                                                    

Because it was so inexpensive, and because some of those pieces were already 30 years old, I collected without regard to fit. In the fall of 1998, I made a Lilly "beach blanket" from many of the pieces I had collected that I knew would never fit:

Lions and tigers and cats and butterflies, oh my! 

Summer is when my true inner prep can be revealed. Oh, I think, I'll set aside secondhand chic and put away the Hermes for a few months, because I really just want to wear shorts with orange and yellow koalas.

One of the things I love about Lilly clothes is the sometimes unexpected color pairings, like reds and pinks together, which seems more Asian than American, particularly in this fish design:

The fish print is from a pair of extremely high-waisted Lilly pants. These are currently at the tailor being hemmed. The floral print on the bottom is from one of my favorite Lilly dresses.

The legend of Lilly is quite well-known by now: Husband Peter Pulitzer owned several citrus groves in South Florida. His wife Lilly, a socialite, operated a juice stand but soon found that juicing oranges stained her clothes. So she designed shift dresses in brightly colored, brightly patterned fabrics that would hide the stains. And thus a preppy icon was born. The brand exploded in popularity after Jackie Kennedy was photographed in a Lilly shift.


Last year, the Rhode Island School of Design had an exhibit called "Cocktail Culture" that featured women's cocktail clothing from 1920-1980. Several 1960s Lilly dresses were on display as part of the "New Casual" era of clothing. I took issue with the interpretation that the curators offered, which was that such clothes were in response to modern design by Charles and Ray Eames and their ilk and "California" living. There was no mention of the fact that Lilly Pulitzer was always known as a fashion choice of the country club set, giving uptight WASPs the chance to wear bright, crazy patterns that were still socially sanctioned, "safe" styles. Casual, yes, but steeped in a decidedly East Coast sensibility.


In any case, Lilly clothes are a lot of fun (as are their whimsical Main Line counterparts, Vested Gentress of Valley Forge, PA). And what's more fun than a queer girl from Fairfield County embracing (if with a wink) the style of clothing that would, it seems, be her birthright?


Well, I can think of one thing that's at least as much fun: finding seriously upscale clothing in a dumpster a day after an anonymous rich male Ivy League student graduated. I decided to go scavenging with my daughter, and we hit the jackpot. I may never again travel on Memorial Day, because now I know what might be thrown away by the 1%...


...like a black down Moncler parka. These things start at $700. It has a couple of small holes (cigarette burns?) in the back. I took it to Anna, my tailor, for a $10 repair. "It's not going to be perfect," she said. "That's okay," I assured her, "because I didn't pay anything for it!"


...or a pair of brand new Italian driving moccasins in Sam's size:

Never worn. Still in shoe bags. Tags still on the soles.

Styles like these sell for about $350 at Neiman Marcus.

...or a bag with folded, laundered shirts, including a Paul Smith shirt and a cute gray Gucci t-shirt with a discreet logo:

                        

...or. OR. If you saw this hanging bag in a dumpster, would you think anything was inside? Probably not. But maybe that's because you can't imagine being so wealthy that you'd just throw away anything Prada that needed its own hanging bag. 

Inside was a black hooded down Prada parka with some stains (paint?) on the left shoulder and sleeve. Are you freaking kidding me? For this it's dumpster material? You see my look of disbelief. 

If I were a hunter, it would have been a 10-point buck kind of day. I felt high for hours. So just as I'm organizing my closet for summer, I have to make room for winter coats. Of course, for free Prada, there's always room. 

Namaste,

Kelley