By Cintra Wilson
Published: June 12, 2008
AN arresting image in fashion, these last few weeks, was the wives from the Yearning for Zion polygamist ranch. It is a muscular look primed for cultural combat: identically starched high-collared, pastel box-pleat dresses with huge princess sleeves; shellacked, high, French-braided hair; and Oakley wraparound mercenary sunglasses. You could imagine them stalking out of the courthouse in a horizontal row, slow motion à la “Reservoir Dogs,” their brown oxfords hitting the ground to the drumbeat of “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida.”
Inside the Tory Burch Store in SoHo
There is no war of ideas at the boutiques of Tory Burch — “the most copied designer in America,” according to The Los Angeles Times. Mrs. Burch (who does not prefer “Ms.”) is a blonde of great beauty, who galloped from the Philadelphia Main Line to become a high-profile New York socialite. She introduced her clothing line with her venture capitalist (soon-to-be-ex) husband and has been enjoying a stratospheric ascent since 2005, when Oprah, a fan of her signature tunic, tapped her for the Couch of Destiny.
Now, Mrs. Burch seems to be on a mission to offset her hyperprivileged image as the personification of her thriving lifestyle-brand with a “common touch.” Speaking to The Los Angeles Times this month, shortly before winning the Council of Fashion Designers of America award for accessory design, she claimed: “Women relate to me on many different levels. I’m a working mom and I’m getting a divorce. I think not having a perfect life is something they can relate to, and I’m very honest about it.”
While Mrs. Burch may never credibly align herself with single mothers who actually need to work, it is undeniable that her fashions please a great many customers: 300,000 Reva ballet-flat fans can’t be wrong.
Mrs. Burch seems to have been so deeply imprinted in childhood by her own mother’s closet that she has devoted her life to building shrines to it. Her NoLIta boutique has huge Mandarin-orange lacquer doors, high mirrors, olive-green carpeting and her gold, Double T signature medallion everywhere — on bags, shoes, walls, doors, garment hooks, belts, jewelry and, of course, on tunics, inspired by outfits her mother wore while vacationing in Morocco.
Everything evokes a late-’60s, early-’70s country club: a type of relaxed hippie chic with all the hippies tweezed out. (In her school days, Mrs. Burch is said to have paired tie-dyed T-shirts with Hermès scarves.) Dickey sweaters and ruffly high-neck tops are ideal for the Partridge Family (or, for that matter, any all-clarinet band). Oversize pseudo-ethnic prints in AstroTurf green, mustard and white would be perfect for the beshagged Carol Brady to go from the sailboat to poolside, then straight to the Dinah Shore golf classic.
There is a generous attitude toward weight that is rare in upmarket brands. I liked a white silk shift tiled with big, square sequins, mainly because it was a size 14 ($725). It looked like a shower curtain Berry Gordy would have bought for the Shirelles. I liked the idea of the hard-drinking Texas sorority girl who might wear it: “Yeah, I’m fat,” she’d shout, wagging her eighth Cosmopolitan toward a group of cowering young men. “But I’m also loaded!”
A section devoted to nautical garments went about 20,000 leagues too far. A navy blue terrycloth tunic with white anchors all over it, and cotton rope laced through brass grommets ($275), it would have looked over-the-top on one of the society matrons in “Caddyshack.”
The kind and helpful staff was able to find almost everything in my size — another genuine rarity.
I tried a caftan squiggled with Moroccan embroidery ($695). It was flattening at the bust and a bit busy, but if your ideal dress distracts the viewer from the rest of you, it was great.
I always try a garment I would never choose for myself: this time, it was a long Missoni-esque low-cut poly-blend beach-disco dress, perfect for Rachel Zoe to wear to berate her waiter in the Maldives. It was very flattering, and I might have been tempted if I’d had a tan, and the zipper wasn’t stuck.
One garment, a jewel-collar maharajah blouse in turquoise silk ($595), was very pretty both on and off the hanger, but it was a little too “Pat Nixon goes to an upscale Chinese restaurant.”
In interviews, Mrs. Burch has become defensive when confronted with the word “socialite.” “I don’t know the definition of that word,” she once insisted, deriding it for being a “light word” and “commonplace.” To question the validity of the term suggests that Tory Burch suffers from a wont of self-acceptance that would make J. D. Salinger write “The Catcher in the Rye” all over again.
I FIND it difficult not to place visual references to the Vietnam era into the political context whence they sprang. Tory Burch’s style was the conservative sociopolitical counterpoint to the way hip peacenik women were dressing at the same time: Carly Simon, Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell were long-haired, braless and empowered, while golf-club wives were still anchored in nautical prints and old-money paradigms of female repression.
Say what you will about polygamist wives, but at least they know they are dressing to please the patriarchy. Tory Burch clothing inhabits a privileged, prim, declawed, deodorized look that culturally symbolizes a state of voluntary submission to the males of her tribe.
But, hey, there’s nothing wrong with that, if that’s who you are. Be comfortable and open in your squareness, and nobody will find fault with you in your Tory Burch tunic and Reva flats, whether they are made by Banana Republic, Gap or H & M — or even by Mrs. Burch herself.
TORY BURCH
257 Elizabeth Street (between Prince and Houston Streets); (212)334-3000.
PEPPY High neckline, late-’60s shift dresses in oversize prints always seemed to be choking the poet Anne Sexton, but if the Connecticut Junior League picnic look doesn’t happen to kill your soul, it’s perky summer fun!
PREPPY The clientele tends toward girls who never rebelled — and the moms who shop with them. All the matching terrycloth drawstring pants they’ll need to equip themselves for life in the eternal resort.
OVERSTEPPY If you can overlook the entitled persona of the brand herself, it is undeniable that Tory Burch fills a fashion gap large enough to push most socialites into; millions of lemmings will jump in after them.
Correction: An earlier version of this article referred incorrectly to J.D. Salinger. He is indeed alive.
Inside the Tory Burch Store in SoHo
There is no war of ideas at the boutiques of Tory Burch — “the most copied designer in America,” according to The Los Angeles Times. Mrs. Burch (who does not prefer “Ms.”) is a blonde of great beauty, who galloped from the Philadelphia Main Line to become a high-profile New York socialite. She introduced her clothing line with her venture capitalist (soon-to-be-ex) husband and has been enjoying a stratospheric ascent since 2005, when Oprah, a fan of her signature tunic, tapped her for the Couch of Destiny.
Now, Mrs. Burch seems to be on a mission to offset her hyperprivileged image as the personification of her thriving lifestyle-brand with a “common touch.” Speaking to The Los Angeles Times this month, shortly before winning the Council of Fashion Designers of America award for accessory design, she claimed: “Women relate to me on many different levels. I’m a working mom and I’m getting a divorce. I think not having a perfect life is something they can relate to, and I’m very honest about it.”
While Mrs. Burch may never credibly align herself with single mothers who actually need to work, it is undeniable that her fashions please a great many customers: 300,000 Reva ballet-flat fans can’t be wrong.
Mrs. Burch seems to have been so deeply imprinted in childhood by her own mother’s closet that she has devoted her life to building shrines to it. Her NoLIta boutique has huge Mandarin-orange lacquer doors, high mirrors, olive-green carpeting and her gold, Double T signature medallion everywhere — on bags, shoes, walls, doors, garment hooks, belts, jewelry and, of course, on tunics, inspired by outfits her mother wore while vacationing in Morocco.
Everything evokes a late-’60s, early-’70s country club: a type of relaxed hippie chic with all the hippies tweezed out. (In her school days, Mrs. Burch is said to have paired tie-dyed T-shirts with Hermès scarves.) Dickey sweaters and ruffly high-neck tops are ideal for the Partridge Family (or, for that matter, any all-clarinet band). Oversize pseudo-ethnic prints in AstroTurf green, mustard and white would be perfect for the beshagged Carol Brady to go from the sailboat to poolside, then straight to the Dinah Shore golf classic.
There is a generous attitude toward weight that is rare in upmarket brands. I liked a white silk shift tiled with big, square sequins, mainly because it was a size 14 ($725). It looked like a shower curtain Berry Gordy would have bought for the Shirelles. I liked the idea of the hard-drinking Texas sorority girl who might wear it: “Yeah, I’m fat,” she’d shout, wagging her eighth Cosmopolitan toward a group of cowering young men. “But I’m also loaded!”
A section devoted to nautical garments went about 20,000 leagues too far. A navy blue terrycloth tunic with white anchors all over it, and cotton rope laced through brass grommets ($275), it would have looked over-the-top on one of the society matrons in “Caddyshack.”
The kind and helpful staff was able to find almost everything in my size — another genuine rarity.
I tried a caftan squiggled with Moroccan embroidery ($695). It was flattening at the bust and a bit busy, but if your ideal dress distracts the viewer from the rest of you, it was great.
I always try a garment I would never choose for myself: this time, it was a long Missoni-esque low-cut poly-blend beach-disco dress, perfect for Rachel Zoe to wear to berate her waiter in the Maldives. It was very flattering, and I might have been tempted if I’d had a tan, and the zipper wasn’t stuck.
One garment, a jewel-collar maharajah blouse in turquoise silk ($595), was very pretty both on and off the hanger, but it was a little too “Pat Nixon goes to an upscale Chinese restaurant.”
In interviews, Mrs. Burch has become defensive when confronted with the word “socialite.” “I don’t know the definition of that word,” she once insisted, deriding it for being a “light word” and “commonplace.” To question the validity of the term suggests that Tory Burch suffers from a wont of self-acceptance that would make J. D. Salinger write “The Catcher in the Rye” all over again.
I FIND it difficult not to place visual references to the Vietnam era into the political context whence they sprang. Tory Burch’s style was the conservative sociopolitical counterpoint to the way hip peacenik women were dressing at the same time: Carly Simon, Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell were long-haired, braless and empowered, while golf-club wives were still anchored in nautical prints and old-money paradigms of female repression.
Say what you will about polygamist wives, but at least they know they are dressing to please the patriarchy. Tory Burch clothing inhabits a privileged, prim, declawed, deodorized look that culturally symbolizes a state of voluntary submission to the males of her tribe.
But, hey, there’s nothing wrong with that, if that’s who you are. Be comfortable and open in your squareness, and nobody will find fault with you in your Tory Burch tunic and Reva flats, whether they are made by Banana Republic, Gap or H & M — or even by Mrs. Burch herself.
TORY BURCH
257 Elizabeth Street (between Prince and Houston Streets); (212)334-3000.
PEPPY High neckline, late-’60s shift dresses in oversize prints always seemed to be choking the poet Anne Sexton, but if the Connecticut Junior League picnic look doesn’t happen to kill your soul, it’s perky summer fun!
PREPPY The clientele tends toward girls who never rebelled — and the moms who shop with them. All the matching terrycloth drawstring pants they’ll need to equip themselves for life in the eternal resort.
OVERSTEPPY If you can overlook the entitled persona of the brand herself, it is undeniable that Tory Burch fills a fashion gap large enough to push most socialites into; millions of lemmings will jump in after them.
Correction: An earlier version of this article referred incorrectly to J.D. Salinger. He is indeed alive.
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