Today is my last day at Lucky. I started here almost three years ago and, since then, nearly everything that could happen at a magazine has happened. It’s been an interesting ride and I’ve learned a lot about things I never thought I would. So before I head out, I wanted to take one last chance to impart some retail wisdom.
Lucky is a place where people live and breathe their own style. The team here doesn’t really subscribe to any notion of something being "on-trend" or not. Laurel Pantin, our market editor, will wear a jumpsuit she picked up at Home Depot with a fancy handbag or a crazy pair of shoes and look perfectly natural. Jean Godfrey-June, our executive beauty director, almost always wears a pleated skirt—not because "ladylike chic" is cool, but because it’s her uniform and she loves it. Elana Fishman, our senior digital editor, is obsessed with skirts and will never wear pants—so don’t ask. I could go on, but you see where I’m going with this. Everybody here wears what they love, and nothing else.
Sometime after I started working at Lucky, I began to buy a lot of ridiculous things. The most in-your-face of all of them is a wool coat with a very pronounced coyote fur collar. I’d seen it in the men’s store at Bergdorf Goodman and laughed at it. I thought it was absurd—too much for me, way too much. And then a woman came out of nowhere and tried it on, motioning for tailors to help her. She had them take it in where necessary, and commanded them with an ease and confidence that made the coat look that much better. After seeing her performance, I gave the coat a second thought and tried it for myself. Destiny.
It was one of those "holy shit" retail moments where your mind overthrows any sense of reason and you accept that somehow, some way, you will buy whatever it is you’re wearing. Some weeks later, after many freelance jobs and saved paychecks, I managed to buy the coat. Cue the victory dance.
Winter came soon enough and finally there was a day cold enough to wear it. Feeling like a Stark of Winterfell, I walked out of my apartment and headed up towards the office. There were a few puzzled looks here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary. After all, this is New York City, where you’re only weird until somebody weirder comes along. When I crossed Fifth Avenue, just north of Washington Square Park, two girls drinking coffee in the window of a Le Pain Quotidien across the way looked at me. I half-smiled back at them and they responded by pointing, and laughing at me and my awesome coat. With that, a wave of buyer’s remorse threatened to drown my rather expensive purchase in the back of my closet forever. Nothing takes the wind out of your sails like being pointed and laughed at. So there I stood, dejected and second guessing myself in the middle of Fifth Avenue. It was high school gym class all over again.
But you know what? Forget those girls, and forget their dumb fingers. Yes, I looked ridiculous and still think that the coat is a little over the top, but I love it. I love that coat, my black leather jacket, my jeans with their crotch holes, my boots that are falling apart and even the completely absurd sleeveless sweatshirt I bought along with all the other weird things sitting in my apartment. They hang in my closet like a proud collection—my evolving dream team. Let the pointing girls laugh at me, let them laugh at you and Laurel, Jean and Elana. It doesn’t matter in the least. Buy and wear what you love.