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The dangers of being a snobby fashion critic
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Photo courtesy of ToryBurch.com
A couple of weekends ago, I met my sister, brother-in-law and nephew at the new Elephant Bar in Dublin for some fine chain restaurant cuisine. My sister walked in with a pair of Tory Burch flats, while my brother-in-law donned an Ed Hardy T-shirt. I was less than impressed.
Like a die-hard sports fan has a martyr-like affinity for one basketball team and an undying abhorrence for others, I have my favorite fashion labels and designers. And Ed Hardy and Tory Burch don't exactly fall into that category.
I don't hate Tory Burch or Ed Hardy, but neither of their styles tickles my fancy. Plus, the Camelot-esque Burch insignia reminds me of a horrendous costume I had to wear for a "knights and castles" themed marching band show in high school, thus stirring up unnecessary nostalgia of embarrassment.
My sister already knows how I feel about certain brands, yet she donned the Burch flats anyway. When she asked, why I didn't like them, I went into this passionate soliloquy of how I thought Tory Burch didn't deserve the 2008 Council of Fashion Designers of America's award for Accessory Designer of the Year and how I thought the collection of Ed Hardy trucker caps and T-shirts was not the best way to represent a tattoo empire.
I never thought I would cross this threshold, but at that exact moment I metaphysically jumped out of my body and looked down on myself and said, "Are you listening to the words coming out of your mouth?"
I realized that I was turning into the kind of person most detest: the fashion know-it-all, a.k.a. the fashion snob.
For years I've tried to avoid this role and remain fair in regards to everything involving style. I wanted to be witty, not snide; appreciative, not degrading, and most of all, I wanted to be a respected critic of style, holding the same selfless perspective of the all-knowing "Project Runway" oracle, Tim Gunn.
I tried to convince myself that this isolated incident of raging fashion discourse was part of my job as a fashion writer, but the more I told myself that, the more I felt wretched. Even though I don't like the aforementioned labels, I was dragging these designers' hard work undeservedly through the mud.
Granted, as a fashion writer, I have to critique clothing and accessories, but that doesn't mean I have to be a jerk.
When people ask me for advice, I am more than happy to give it to them, but I don't expect them to take it. Fashion is a world where it's all up to the person. What might work for me, may not work for someone else. If you like wearing Tory Burch, more power to you. If you like to wear hot pants with a dowdy Fair Isle sweater and orthopedic wedge heels, then by all means do so. I am a source for fashion, but unlike some people, I realize my opinion is not the end all.
I hope to never be one of those hipsters who will post all these obscure designers and never-been-heard-of fashion magazines under the "Favorite Things" section of my Myspace page. Excluding my unfortunate condescending sartorial speech, I like to think of myself as a fashionisto who celebrates style with distinguished banter and, on occasion, lighthearted, clever insults that don't hit below the belt.
As for my outburst regarding Burch and Hardy, I am going to write that off as my monthly purge of fashion frustration. When it comes down to it, it's just fashion, not an apocalyptic threat to civilization.
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