Inspiration: Advanced Style

"I was never fearful of being extraordinarily different. I would rather be considered different and somewhat mysterious than ignored."-Lubi, Advanced Style

I wasn't sure how much Advanced Style, the blog, has had an influence on me, until I read the book. "Read" is a bit of a misnomer, as there isn't much to READ per say, as there is to LOOK. The beautifully bound hardcover (quite a bargain at $20.58 on Amazon) is luscious to look at- wonderfully turned-out street style as photographed by Ari Seth Cohen.

I had quite an unexpected reaction while browsing the book. There I was, sipping my coffee at the Java Bean, leafing through the glossy pages, and what-daya-know, I started to cry. Yes, a mist of tears rained from out of my eyeballs and started to sprinkle the pages of my book. Good lord. I felt oddly tingly as my eyes were bailing out cap-fulls of sea water, all because I was inexplicably moved. Why was I so moved? All I can say is that I found it deeply touching to see the wide array of older women being treated like 12 year-old super model cover girls. Perhaps, it was the mix of the sharp photography, and the glossy magazine quality of the paper that gave me this rather strange sensation. I sensed women (and men) of a certain age being honored, and well, quite frankly RELISHED. It felt like looking at a fashion magazine and seeing rare subjects out of context. The pictures were of women in their element: colorful and stylish and full of life. But rather than depicting tween models or movie starlets cavorting however, I was looking at "older" women, outfitted with the patina of real life, gloriously at ease in their own histories- and gasp- THRIVING in the limelight. What deliciousness, what visual eye candy; I ate the pages up like colorful bon-bons, such a treat to see these ladies- TO TRULY SEE THEM, not as once-was (as in you must have been beautiful, back in your day) but, AS IS, and true beauties in their own right, right here in the right now.

It seems I wasn't the only one who had such a visceral reaction to the Advanced Style book. Twitter pal, Tanya (twitter: @tanyalochridge) had a very similar reaction. She wrote about it on her blog last month- in her post, Tanya writes about being moved by the women of Advanced Style: "These are women who have lived full and long lives -- they have interesting stories to tell and experiences to share with the world. And, for all too long, they...we...have been invisible." The revolutionary quality of Cohen's work, for me at least, is the simple fact that he CHOSE to see, and then capture on film, what the fashion industry has chosen to deem, at least up until this point, as INVISIBLE. 

In a society where you're taught that losing that nubile size 2 figure you sported in your twenties, and being relegated to the sartorial sidelines by your mid-30's, is to be expected, it is a revelation to see older women being relished. Fact: the machine of fashion discards the middle-aged woman. There seems to be focus for the young (and the skinny), and as an aging American proper, one must cheerifully accept your new ghost-town status, and step aside for the parade of the svelte and the restless. Oh, lucky, lucky you, if you can stave off your obsolescence a few years longer by managing to stay rail thin, but assuredly, the natural gains of gravity (the fuller jaw, the stouter stomach, the thickening thighs) will diminish your societal shine. At best, you'll be given the "must have been quite a looker in her day," award, then forced to abdicate the crown of May Queen and dutifully transition into the grey garb afforded the Spinster/Crone. 

This ceremony is unceremonious- as nobody is watching you when it happens. All eyes are on the 12 year old woman/child strutting the catwalks, whose bread stick thighs can chastely pull off that platform-and-hot-pant look that your womanly hips will automatically translate as hayseed bimbo. Which the fashion gods have heartlessly dictated as de rigueur for the season. You meanwhile, unreasonably are feeling more and more like rigor mortis. Tears may wreck your mascara. Don't worry, there's nobody watching. 

So cry all you want. And feel free to trade in the stylish LBD for something a little less starlet, and more practical. I assure you, when your spirit is properly bled, you'll unblinkingly consider rolling out in the out-dated mom jeans/over-sized T-shirt combo, or go shamelessly supernova in a pair of shapeless sweatpants. To paraphrase poet T.S. Eliot: You are OUT, not with a bang, but a whimper.

Imagine the irrelevance you may feel in your 80's, 70's, and 60's.  Why, just picture the effort it takes to be considered a fashion force in your 50's (hello, Madonna!), and dare I say it: your forties. Because, even at my baby-faced 47, I feel it. I certainly feel overlooked by the fashion industry, as if my body shape, my tastes, and my real life life-style, no longer matter. Going into a fast fashion store in the mall is an exercise in resisting body dysmorphic disorder. Why a Misses' XL and size 14 sleeves are often too tight on my average woman's frame is a mystery to me.  And as much as I love fashion,  there's no practical use for  a pair of platforms and a studded leather bathing suit worn as evening wear in my wardrobe. What I need are some viable options: not the ubiquitous bum grazing mini-dresses,  but some wearable and well-designed above-the-knee numbers- so why are they so hard to find THIS season? 

I do wish for a place where we can be seen, on our own turf, as we are, for who we are- not as we once were. I feel this invisible class is fostered by our society at large: our cult of youth has come at great expense- we no longer honoring aging.  We shuffle a whole generation to the sidelines. I feel this tragedy is bolstered by a fashion industry that has long ago eschewed the manufacture of true style by cranking out landfill  after landfill of disposable + profitable shill. The chronic worship of the new comes with a stiff price tag- the untimely scrapping of everything else, including quality, wisdom, and dignity. 

Evolution is stymied when we sequester our own timelines. When we segregate generations from each other, it is a senseless loss for all involved. While this flaw runs throughout the cultural fabric as a whole, it has clearly unraveled our code of fashion. When fashion is made only ala mode, it corrals whole populations/generations into this realm of invisibility. Open your eyes and see for yourself.

I feel that Cohen, with his camera, has cracked open a chasm, allowing opportunity for each of us to SEE our elders. Not as people who populate the periphery, but as players on the center stage.  Stars in their own right, each, a bright and beautiful and ageless spirit. They come richly ornamented, celebrated and well versed in the art of living. The men and women who populate Cohen's universe offer a glimpse of vital and creative expression. They existed before he ever set his lens on them- but now they exist in OUR universe, and offer each of us a chance of escape from our ghastly, youth-obsessed ghetto.

Hence the misting over coffee + bagel that morning at the Java Bean. Advanced Style is the call of a revolution. It is perhaps the gentlest revolution you'll ever take part in. In the Advanced Style revolution, there are no casualties of consequence. It harms no one. I'm certain it'll make celebrities of the people featured in the book: Ilona, Mimi, Maryann, and the many others who share their vivid style on Cohen's pages. But the revolution goes farther than token appreciation of these lovely talismans of style. 

The revolution continues with your own pair of eyes. To just look around you and SEE for yourself: men and women of a certain age surround you.  SEE them on their terms, see them for what they are: exquisite creatures of expression and aplomb. SEE them as relevant, as visible, as BEAUTIFUL, and you'll find yourself neck-tie deep in a colorful world that has long been waiting for you- the glorious (and stylish) continuum of the human experience. And today, it comes with a marvelous handbag.

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