***As you read the following frivolous post, I will be blissing out at Jazz Fest****
The other day, the New York Times featured an article on a chic New York store featuring the chic designs of the chic Isabel Marant:
ALL the hot girls are going berserk for Isabel Marant, the young Frenchwoman whose label has mastered the jet-set bohemian look associated with carefree Parisian chicks: that thrown-together, cigarette-hanging-from-pouty-mouth style that pretends to shrug off effort. “Quoi, this? Pfff. I slept in this shirt, you silly child, and these pants were on the floor.”
This is a fun article, very well written, with some good advice. For the writer realized that she could approximate the general look of the line--army jackets, sweatshirts--for very little, albeit in less amazing fabrics.
I'm sure my regular readers know where this is going. Yes, I am the proud owner of an Isabel Marant glazed linen anorak/raincoat/not sure what it is. It jumped out at me at Goodwill last year. I had never heard of the label, but there was a je ne sais quoi about it. It is, I must confess, Isabel's cheaper Etoile line. It also has a care label that says "Do not wash. Do not dry clean. Do not iron."
I haven't yet figured out how to wear the garment, but it looks neat--and very French--on the hanger. This is a typical thrift store tale: you see something amazing, you have to buy it, it IS an expensive treasure, now what the heck do you do with it.
At least I won't yearn for an Isabel Marant item. I have one.
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