Always Pack a Party Dress: And Other Lessons Learned From a (Half) Life in Fashion

by Amanda Brooks

  2006

  That year the theme was “Anglomania,” but to me that just meant wearing a British designer, and since I knew I wasn’t going to get my hands on some amazing McQueen confection, I decided to ignore the inspiration that was given. I went to YSL for a fitting, having loved the previous runway collection, especially a black tulle cape with hot pink velvet roses embroidered on it. Despite having no idea what I’d wear underneath it, I felt dead set on wearing that cape. “It should be available,” the design assistant assured me, “but I’ll have to let you know tomorrow.” So I waited optimistically until I got a phone call from YSL explaining that an actress had recently worn it for a magazine cover shoot, and she had a contract stipulating that no one else could wear it until the magazine came out on newsstands. (I’d later find out that the actress was Lindsay Lohan!)

  So I got my second choice, which I still loved despite my disappointment at not having that incredible cape. It was a short black metallic tweed bubble skirt with tiny paillettes sewn onto it. The whole point of the skirt for me was that it had matching sparkly tweed suspenders. I love suspenders! It also had a giant purple taffeta bow sash that fastened around the waist. I didn’t love the billowy chiffon blouse that the look was shown with on the runway—I thought the look needed one more masculine touch, not another feminine one. So once again I paired my Met Ball look with a silk tank top, this time in black.

  I thought I would go for a Brigitte Bardot–esque, soft, feminine, sixties updo, so I went to a salon armed with a photo of the look I wanted. The hairdresser didn’t really get it. He put a modern spin on the style, which left me looking kind of stiff and too uptown. I went home and tried to fiddle with my hair, but there wasn’t much to do. I left well enough alone and set off for the night.

  The suspenders were my favorite part of this YSL look, worn in 2006.

  Since the theme that year was celebrating English designers, Vogue had invited all sorts of British icons—actors, musicians, David Beckham—to attend. My husband, being English, nearly fell over when he got the chance to chat with David Bowie during cocktails.

  As we approached our table with great anticipation about who our dinner partners would be, I went into a full-on panic when I saw who was seated next to me: Johnny Rotten. Of Sex Pistols fame. What the hell would I have to say to him? Especially with my bourgeois hairdo? My husband begged to switch seats with me (Johnny Rotten was a late seventies idol from Christopher’s punk phase), and I would have been delighted to, but I knew that it wasn’t worth the risk of offending our host.

  Long after the rest of our table was seated, there was still an empty chair next to me. We all started our first course and placed bets on whether Johnny Rotten would show up. Eventually Anna herself led Johnny to his seat. He took one look at the table and then at me, and then turned to Anna and said—NO JOKE!—“I’m not fuckin’ sittin’ there!” The whole table looked at one another nervously, and then—what could we do?—we all started laughing, including Anna. She whispered something to him and then led him away and that was that: the end of my evening with Johnny Rotten.

  2007

  In 2007, Christopher and I were invited to the Met Ball by Tod’s, the Italian accessories brand. With Tod’s, as long as I wore their shoes and bag, I was free to choose my dress from wherever I wanted. I thought, Who would I really love to wear? I was finally feeling ready to wear a gown again, and it’s hard to think of gowns without thinking of Oscar de la Renta. The theme was “Poiret,” the great designer of the twenties, and while I’m a fan of his talent and its effect on the course of fashion, I knew I wasn’t going to be too literal about it.

  My Oscar de la Renta moment, with vintage Bulgari jewels, 2007.

  So I went up to Oscar’s showroom and had a blast trying on nearly every long dress in the place. Eventually, I settled on a gown that was completely see-through black chiffon (yes, black despite the “no black” directive from Anna) on top, gathered and belted at the waist with a beautiful black ribbon, and then full volume on the bottom with very intricate and bold embellishment and embroidery. The shape of the dress wasn’t exactly twenties, but the looseness and the intricate decoration were. I think I might have scared the PR team when I suggested I could just wear an opaque bra and hot pants under the dress. “Well,” the head girl said cautiously, “I’m not sure that would be very Oscar.” I got the message, and besides, she was right. The team at Oscar generously insisted on having their seamstresses line it with a delicate slip, thus saving me from running around having to find just the right thing to wear underneath. I was free to focus on getting the accessories right.

  I set out doing styling research before going shopping, and I chose the eccentric Italian heiress Marchesa Casati as my early-twentieth-century muse. I loved her loose curls and her dark, black, smudgy eyes with a natural lip. With the black dress and dark eyes, the look was turning quite Goth, so I knew I also had to find something to lighten the whole thing up a bit. It was May, after all. I had often borrowed jewelry from Harry Winston but was told this year they didn’t have enough insurance to cover me. I next called Fred Leighton and was declined there, too. So then I did what most girls in fashion do when they reach a dead end—they call Vogue. My savior—Meredith Melling, who at the time covered the entire fashion market—hooked me up with Bulgari, who, I was told, was pulling vintage pieces from their archives for the event. Now I was excited. After my initial jewelry heartbreak, I really struck gold with a vintage diamond necklace worth three million dollars that Madonna would wear to the Cannes Film Festival only weeks later. It was two strands of large round diamonds, and it added the perfect amount of “light” to the look. Now I just needed one more thing to balance it out.

  Fresh flowers are my favorite go-to accessories for finishing an evening look. They are inexpensive and feminine, and you can guarantee no one else is going to have the same ones. So I called Lewis, my florist, and asked him what he had in white. He sent over a bunch of teeny-tiny miniature white roses, and immediately I knew exactly what I was going to do with them. I was going to have my hair curled quite tightly and then pin the flowers all around my head in between the flat crown on the top and the beginning of the curls. Was I nervous to take such a risk? YES. But I’d been around long enough to know that nothing great comes out of playing it safe—especially in fashion.

  When the look came together, it was quite extreme. My eyes looked like a raccoon’s and my hair was really curly. But I liked it. And I had to remember that in the evening, especially once you’re inside the museum itself, the lighting is significantly dimmer than in my bathroom. I’d learned from experience that it’s actually a good idea to go a bit heavier than I normally would on the hair and makeup. I felt like myself in my clothes, on theme and just distinct enough from everyone else.

  The night itself was a blast. J.Lo was at our front-row table and Jennifer Hudson, fresh off her Oscar win, sang the highlights from Dreamgirls, standing right above us. Boy, that girl can sing!

  2008

  Let me first say this. I love Marni. I love the prints, the florals, the furs, the nerdy version of chic, the unconventional proportions, and the exquisite colors. But the year I wore Marni to the Met Ball offered me another dose of fashion humility. It’s tough to admit this, but my unsuccessful outfit was entirely my fault. I picked a great look, and I ruined it with the styling.

  Marni was our host that year, so I went into the store a week before the Met Ball to choose a dress. The trouble was, they hadn’t shown or created many formal dresses that season. There was one long gown, but it just didn’t feel like me and the PR girl agreed. I went through nearly every look in the collection, and toward the end, a jade green skirt caught my eye. It was an odd length (mid-calf) and had a lot of volume, but I thought it was stunning, in a retro, fifties couture kind of way. To wear with it I wore a sheer, pale gray organza blouse that lay loosely over my shoulders and then billowed out i
n the back. It had absolutely nothing to do with the superheroes theme of the exhibition that year, but I loved it. It was romantic and pretty, which, truth be told, wasn’t really my look at that time, but I was excited by the challenge to make something unfamiliar feel like me.

  Mistake 1: I know now that I should have worn my hair loosely pinned back, in keeping with the soft femininity of the look, but instead I slicked it back into a bun, thinking I would create some sort of contrasting modernity. Not a success.

  Mistake 2: I went to Seaman Schepps and borrowed a black onyx-and-diamond link bracelet that I wore as a necklace, tied around my neck with a black grosgrain ribbon, because the outfit wasn’t quite dressy enough for the Met without it; I thought some heavy jewels would amp it up. I suppose it achieved its purpose, but it looked too weighty in pictures compared to the lightness of the blouse.

  My beautiful (if somewhat too casual) Marni blouse and skirt with bad styling by moi.

  Mistake 3: I shouldn’t have tried to make the look something it wasn’t. I selected these sky-high satin platform sandals that I thought would give the look a bit of edge, but in the end they, too, just looked heavy. A good classic stiletto pump would have done the job just fine. The good news is that I wore the shoes over and over again after that night.

  Despite my unsuccessful look, I had a blast. I had learned from my pink princess gown moment that life was too short to let my outfit ruin my night. After an early chat with American designer Phillip Lim, who knows me well enough to come up to me and say, “Amanda, that outfit is so not you!” we had a laugh and I got over myself. At dinner, Lou Doillon, the model/singer daughter of Jane Birkin and one of my all-time style icons, sat across from me in the gown I had stupidly declined (she made it her own by adding a beat-up leather jacket on top), and Robin Thicke sat at the end of the table with his then wife, Paula Patton. Meeting celebrities at the Met Ball is really fun because fashion is not their world, so they feel excited to be there and open to chatting. Also, everyone there assumes that everyone else is really important, so the atmosphere is very friendly.

  2009

  There was always a point every year when I wondered whether I would be invited to the Met Ball. Some years I was asked well in advance, giving me loads of time to plan, prepare, and agonize over what to wear. Other years have cut it quite close.

  Here’s how it works: Vogue fills the majority of seats by asking big fashion- and beauty-related companies to buy entire tables. These tables go for hundreds of thousands of dollars. No joke. Then Vogue invites all the people who can actually afford the $25,000 individual tickets to send in their checks. I have never been one of those people. I have always been one of the girls that Vogue either sits at one of its own tables (as their guest) or I have been filler at a fashion brand table. After all, there are only so many celebrities you can sit together at one table before it explodes.

  So in 2009, the invitation just never came. Not in the mail, not in an e-mail, not on the phone. Nothing. I waited and waited, and then I suffered through the “What are you wearing to the Met?” questions and the “Which afterparty are you going to?” queries and just figured that maybe my time was up. Maybe I wasn’t the cool young fashion girl anymore. I was sad, but what could I do? I knew that most girls would kill to go to the Met Ball just once, and I had been going for many years.

  My last-minute Phillip Lim dress, 2009. The shoes and bag are by Calvin Klein.

  So on the day of the ball, Christopher and I resolved to do what any New Yorker does when at loose ends—eat sushi and go to the movies. Around ten thirty A.M. that day, I was at a graphic designer’s office working on the layout of I Love Your Style when my cell phone rang. It was Vogue’s special events director, Stephanie Winston Wolkoff. Before I even finished saying hello she interrupted me.

  “Do you have a dress for tonight?”

  “Um . . . no, I don’t have a dress for tonight. I haven’t been invited.”

  “Well, get one—you and Christopher are coming.”

  And that was the end of the conversation. I nearly had the nerve to say that I needed to check with my husband first. Thank God she hung up before I could get the words out—I’m not sure she would have handled that so well.

  After the initial shock of actually being invited to the Met Ball on the day of, I settled down for a minute or two until the insanity and panic set in. What would I wear? Who would do my hair and makeup? Would I be able to reserve a car? (I had learned from the minivan experience that a car for the Met Ball needed to be reserved days in advance.)

  My first stroke of luck was getting Suzy Gerstein, my favorite makeup artist, to slot me in. She would have to come late, but she would be quick. And she would bring a friend to do my hair. I then called every single designer I knew and loved and asked them to send anything they had. The theme was “The Model As Muse,” which pretty much meant anything goes in the outfit department. I didn’t have much luck with the designers, though. Because Vogue dresses nearly every celebrity for the evening, all the designers had sent their best dresses over to the Vogue offices. When Suzy arrived at six P.M., I still didn’t know what I was wearing. I had laid aside a magenta taffeta YSL blouse from the seventies from my own closet that I could have worn with a black column skirt, but I really wasn’t that excited by it. A few options had arrived earlier in the day from various designers, but either they didn’t fit or they were deemed not right for the evening. I had one final option on its way from Phillip Lim. He had promised me I’d like it. And when it finally arrived I did indeed. I loved it. It was so me. It was a short strapless dress covered in pale pink ostrich feathers and backed with gunmetal sequins. It was festive and fabulous and easy to wear. It was perfect.

  Despite the humbling circumstances of the invitation, we were seated at a great Vogue table with Hamish Bowles, Alber Elbaz, and Marisa Berenson, whom I regularly cyberstalk for inspiration. Kanye West and Rihanna were the performers, and we danced and danced until everyone moved on to the afterparty at the Monkey Bar. There I chatted with Tom Ford and met Madonna for a second time. Eventually, Christopher and I found our way to bed, exhausted from a day of last-minute panic.

  2010

  In stark contrast to the previous year, I was asked so early to the 2010 Met Ball that it was still actually 2009. The new special events director at Vogue was my friend Sylvana Ward Durrett. She is a fantastic girl with great style and a big heart. She called me in November 2009 to say that seats were already filling up for the following May, and she wanted to secure my and Christopher’s places.

  So now the question remaining was the perennial “What to wear?” The theme was “American Woman,” not a big stretch for me. When thinking of a muse, I immediately thought of Lauren Hutton, who I wrote about here. I did my research and had an idea of exactly what I wanted to wear. There was a picture of her in the seventies wearing gold lamé shorts and a matching gold lamé T-shirt with stiletto heels in the evening. Her hair was glossy and straight and, to me, in that moment, she was the epitome of American chic. You must be thinking, Shorts and a T-shirt for evening?? I know. But I like the idea of reinventing formal evening wear, coming up with an imaginative way to dress for a ball other than wearing a gown. I knew I wouldn’t find my ideal outfit on the runways so I went back to my friend Phillip Lim, hoping he’d think it would be fun to make this for me. He loved the idea.

  I went to Phillip’s studio and we looked at the pictures I had brought. He started pulling out his fabric bolts. Instead of a T-shirt and shorts, he suggested a jumpsuit. It would have a backless long-sleeved top, a set-in waistband, and then shorts on the bottom. I loved it. We both agreed it had to be shiny, and I was thinking maybe even sequins. Then Phillip left the room and came back with a bolt of khaki sequins. What could be more American than khaki and more glamorous than sequins? The combination was so good.

  After the second fitting, the jumpsuit was perfection, and it
was time to think about accessories. We looked through his collection and I was immediately drawn to a very simple pair of nude suede pumps with an ankle strap. Phillip thought they were boring with the look. He wanted me to wear a stiletto sandal with a suede eyelet ruffle around the opening. I was sure it wasn’t right. “How about I make it for you in nude suede to match the jumpsuit? It will be perfect,” he said.

  I went home with both shoes, convinced that I’d politely try his suggestion but then go ahead with the preferred simple pump. But when I had the outfit on with the glossy hair and the ever-so-slightly seventies makeup and one shoe on each foot, I realized that he was right. The ruffle shoe just looked better; it was less straightforward but more interesting. I left the house feeling confident and never reconsidered the whole night.

  But the drama wasn’t over. The hosts of the Met Ball are always uberfamous—George Clooney, Cate Blanchett, Kate Moss, Julia Roberts. And I always got a twinge of excitement walking up that long flight of stairs to the lobby knowing that I was about to shake the hand of someone I would never have the chance to meet in other circumstances. But this time it was different. The host was Oprah Winfrey!

  I’d watched Oprah’s show every single day that it was on for ten years. It would be waiting for me on my DVR every evening when I got home from work, and it would be the last thing I would do after working all day, arriving home to attention-seeking kids, and making conversation with my husband over dinner. Oprah was my salvation at the end of the day. I loved the variety—Julia Roberts talking about raising twins; Dr. Oz talking about the shape your poop should ideally be; Eckhart Tolle extolling the virtues of meditation; sister-wives explaining why sharing a husband worked for them. The show was easy to get into, compelling, entertaining, and often spiritually inspiring. Like millions of other people, I learned more about personal introspection, compassion, and forgiveness from Oprah than I did faithfully going to church every Sunday as a child!