A Style (R)evolution -- Part 2: Blame it on the Purse

Moving to Europe, I had far more excitement than misgivings about making the big change.  And yet I was apprehensive about how I would adjust to a new culture, a new lifestyle, a new language... We were leaving Southern California, the land of shopping malls, freeways and friendly "Housewives of Orange County" (yup, some even lived in our neighborhood!), not to mention walk-in closets and storage space galore.  Our new home, Brussels, Belgium couldn't have been a more perfect polar opposite.  Atmospheric rainy cobblestone streets filled with bi- and tri-lingual baguette-toting Eurocrats... a place where carb intake was considered normal and even appreciated (hence their mastery of chocolate, beer and waffles).  But I digress...

Our new apartment in Belgium was a 19th century maison de maitre, with beautiful plaster work and molding and wood floors.  We were lucky, though, that it had been remodeled to include some modern amenities, including a few small closets.  As our Belgian friends liked to frequently remind us, this was NOT the norm and we should consider ourselves lucky.  We did.  

We moved in, and I tried to artfully arrange my pared down wardrobe in the new space.  I had to get everything - clothes, purses, shoes, folded items, undergarments, pjs - all into one space PLUS it somehow had to fit all our bed and table linens.  It was crammed to the gills, but I did it!

My Belgian Closet, a couple months into our move.

We settled in, and one of my favorite new hobbies became cafe-going.  My definition of really living it up involved sitting outside at one of those small tables... ah, that was the life.  I would step out my front door, march up the street about 50 yards to a pedestrian riddled shopping zone filled with cafes and restaurants.  I could sit there for hours and admire all the outfits as they passed by.  Yes, I am an outfit oogler, I confess.  A few of the things I learned while sartorially staring at the Bruxelloises saunter past?

1.  They care about how they look when the leave the house.  

By American standards, they look "dressed up" even for the most banal errands.  Meaning, they are not in sweatpants or pajama bottoms or sports-purposed shorts.  No one looks like they ran out of the door with wet hair and a cup of coffee from Dunkin' Donuts.  Yes, people may start the day a little later as result, but darnit the outcome looks good.

2.  They invest in quality, well-fitting clothes.

The way a shoulder was joined to the rest of the suit, or the fine loft on a well-knit cardigan, or the way a skirt draped... these things were obvious even if I was not very close to the wearer.  Oftentimes I found myself lingering for one last look of a person wearing a fantastic jacket or some such thing -- not because of a logo or reflective stripe, but because it was beautifully made and beautifully worn.  

3.  They pay a lot of money for their clothes, so they choose wisely.

The bargain-hunter in me was surprised to see people enter fancy boutiques and exit with a bag!  I mean, there wasn't even a sale going on.  In the States, I loved popping into a Marshall's or TJ Maxx or Macy's and picking up a little bargain.  Here, sales happened twice a year, and while they were nice, people shopped outside the sales seasons too.  Prices were steeper, but it made them focus on only what they really needed.  They might go into a shop and buy a jewel of a sweater, and it be the only purchase they make that winter.  But they would treasure it, and wear it for years, because it was carefully considered and selected.

4.  They are picky about what they buy.

While in the shops, I noticed people having much more in-depth conversations about the products with salespeople.  Questions like "where was it made?"  "how was it made?"  "how do I take care of it?" were very common.  Trying something on was a serious event.  The husband, child, and salesladies from two different counters could hover around a woman as she tested a dress from different angles.  She might spend 20 minutes discussing, considering, moving around in the garment, before deciding not to take it after all.  There was no shame in passing up something mediocre and holding out for just the right thing instead.  And the salespeople never seemed put out by this behavior either.  

5.  No one looks chic if they are walking funny.

Meaning, just about everyone wore sensible shoes.  Brussels is a wet city with lots of uneven sidewalks.  Stilettos were virtually unseen, but practical boots, flats and wedges were all around.  Rarely, I would see a woman daintily picking her way between cobblestones in sky high heels, arms akimbo as she balanced precariously -- invariably it was an American or Brit on holiday.  (Brits seem to have a lot of the fashion foibles we Americans do...)

6.  Everyone looks good in black, or grey, or navy...

People seemed to gravitate towards darker colors and neutrals more often than the fun green shirt that goes with just one thing in your closet.  Coming from California, I was used to lots of resort-wear colors - but that also meant investing in coordinating single-purpose accessories and accompaniments.  People here didn't have the room for those kinds of fripperies, and dark colors and neutrals could be invested in for the long haul, looked slimming and always looked stylish.

7.  Everyone could afford at least a little luxury.

As we slowly built up new friends and acquaintances, it seemed like they spent more on luxuries than our American friends.  We wondered how this could be, because we knew the cost of living in Europe to be higher and credit card debt per capita lower than in the US.  I won't get into statistics here, but I think this anecdote explains what might be happening:  In the US, I had friend who hoped someday to have a Louis Vuitton wallet.  He talked about it often, but said he couldn't afford it.  But he did afford big sprees during the Nordstrom's sales, and going out to eat almost nightly.  Our European friends saved up and planned for purchases -- and it included high end, high quality items too -- rather than binges or bad habits.  It's about making choices.  

While I could go on with this list for a very long while, I will stop there for now to share with you my biggest personal style epiphany in those early months.  It happened shortly after our move.  I have always had a love of purses, and considered myself a collector of sorts (at least quantity if not always quality).  I had a purse in every color of the rainbow, from Coach to Furla to Gucci.  And I had this "collect-them-all" kind of mentality, where I wanted to have a purse from each of the major purse designers.  I was slowly working my way around the list, when I got to Hermes.  No, I wasn't working alphabetically, but Hermes was just one area I was too intimidated to cross.  I was certain it would be too expensive right now, but maybe someday...

That's when my spouse reminded me that I was talking just like my American friend with the wallet lust.  Someday, someday, well, why not make it today?  By chance, the Hermes boutique was less than a 10 minute walk from our apartment.  On one of our evening strolls soon after, we decided that I should stop fogging up the window and actually go in.  The rest, as they say, is history.

I found a purse I fell in love with then and there, and it came home with me that night.  It was a messenger style in this lovely taupe color (I'll post a pic tomorrow) and gorgeous leather.  It was better quality than anything else I owned, and more expensive than all but my diamond jewelry, and when I wore it I think I hovered a few inches above the ground... I was in purse heaven, and in a totally new way.  

Ordinarily, when I bought something new, the thrill was in the acquisition and also maybe the first time wearing it.  After that, it joined the ranks of the ho-hum and I really didn't get too excited after that.  But this Hermes purse was special.  It was my jewel, my little treasure.  I would want it to last forever, and I planned on building my life around it... Ok, maybe I exaggerate a bit.  But not by much.  I had a thrill each and every time I wore it, and it didn't diminish over time.  It made me want to have more jewels in my wardrobe -- things I could feel joyous about wearing every day for years to come -- rather than those cheap fixes that cost a lot but left me feeling empty. 

It was my ah-ha moment, and I was hooked.  Suddenly, when I went shopping, I started examining every item as if it would be chained to me forever.  Does this item fill a gap in my wardrobe?  Would I buy it for twice this price or only if it were a deal?  Would I want this 2 or 5 or 10 years from now?  Would it last?  Is this worthy of being worn with my lovely Hermes bag?  

My shopping habit trickled to a standstill.  I still spent the time researching, examining, discussing with salespeople, but I was happy to walk away empty handed if nothing met my criteria.  It appears some of the shopping habits of my newfound compatriots had worn off on me...