Last month, I tapped my card to buy a pair of teal micro-shorts from a shop on London’s Portobello Road, happy to leave behind the store’s distinct Y2K smell of B.O. and Secret deodorant and Viva La Juicy perfume. The shorts are a brand no one has ever heard of, and the tag says, Made in China. The purchase—which also included a teal polka dot tank top—was not my first foray into clothes that resemble chewing gum.
For much of my life, I would not have gone near anything that did not closely mimic the style of Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. I’ve worn a lot of black wool, black leather, navy cashmere, and blue jeans. The most exciting thing in my wardrobe used to be an orange scarf, a brown sweater, or maybe something fur. Even as a child, I dressed rather politely, usually in a navy pleated skirt, a white-ruffle blouse, and brown slip-ons. Now I look into my wardrobe and I see flashes of hot pink, teal, and aqua. Colors that were previously reserved for my intimate drawer are now out in the open. When did my style get so sticky?
