The Fashionista Files

by Karen Robinovitz

  Back to astrology. For my twenty-fifth birthday, my sister, who knew how faithful I was to this New Age religion, bought me a session with a professional astrologer, who charted my future. Mrs. Bienvenides predicted that my future husband would be a Sagittarius and that I would meet him later that year. Two months later I met Mike. It wasn’t until I realized I was head over heels in love with him (He’s the one! every cell in my body screamed) that I remembered Mrs. B’s prediction.

  “What’s your sign?” I asked, like a cheesy seventies swinger.

  “Uh . . . Sagittarius?”

  We were married six years later.

  Kabbalah Chic

  KAREN

  Whether we believe in God or not, religion and spirituality definitely play an important role in the fashionista lifestyle. Whether we’re Jewish, Catholic, Muslim, or atheist, we have deep-seated practices and beliefs that keep most of us grounded and in touch with realities far more powerful than the urban warrior aesthetic of a Balenciaga jumpsuit. Some of us meditate, frequent Zen temples, and go to gospel brunches. We are interested in purifying our bodies, minds, and souls—so much so that it’s considered chic to embark on a silent retreat in the mountains, where, like monks, you’re forbidden to talk for days at a time in order to really be in your body and feel whatever it is that comes up as a result of twenty-four/seven meditation, including leg cramps more painful than spending an entire day in four-inch heels. Not every fashionista does yoga, but every fashionista has gone through a henna-art phase and has the utmost respect for Gandhi (although that whole nonviolence thing doesn’t hold any weight at a sample sale). So, you see, it’s very important for us to develop our more soulful side.

  That is where kabbalah comes in. Madonna and Demi Moore popularized the ancient study of Jewish mysticism by singing its praises in interviews. Madonna even hosted a party as “Esther” (her Hebrew name) for the release of a kabbalah book in the spring of 2003. Testing the lessons of kabbalah is said to make your life better and help you embrace the wisdom in your heart. It’s “the science of the soul and the physics of fulfillment,” said a psychic-loving, astrology-obsessed, palm-reading, PR fashionista girlfriend, who urged me to come to an open house at the Kabbalah Center. Intrigued, I went. (I have a weakness for all things of this ilk, including tarot cards, channelers, clairvoyants, and such.)

  A rabbi discussed the roots of unhappiness and the fact that all things are a result of planting a seed and allowing it to grow over time (for instance, you and your boyfriend didn’t suddenly start fighting and break up; a seed for unhappiness was planted early on and nourished well before the problems sprouted up), how everything is connected on a deeper level, and that the meaning of life is not in the pursuit of material objects, but rather in positive spiritual energy.

  Kabbalah is very trendy, as evidenced by the fact that the center hired a PR person to get kabbalah press and the woman sitting behind me at the open house tapped my shoulder and whispered, “Your bag! Where did you get it? I love!”

  “Thanks . . . Chloe . . . It was fate that I found it because they had sold out of them twice,” I replied before I got shushed by an older woman with cascading blond curls and a Chanel suit (That suit! Love!). The room was filled with shiksa (Yiddish for non-Jewish women!) fashion editors I work with, socialites, models, and celebrities I have written about, as well as high-profile moguls in the media and financial industries.

  It was quite a sight—everyone in their Louboutin heels (can’t miss those red soles, not even in a temple of worship); carrying their logo-covered bags; flipping their immaculately coiffed hair, talking about the taming of the ego, being nonjudgmental, letting go of personal attachments and insecurity, and things that really matter in life. I realized I was actually judging people by their appearances, thinking, Come on . . . you’re so caught up with materialism, who are you trying to kid? before I took note of myself. (I was pretty decked out, I must admit, in a one-shouldered sweater and puckered shoulder jacket from Stella McCartney.) When I caught myself doing the very thing kabbalah is against (judging!), I made a conscious effort to resist such thoughts and take things for what they were at face value: regular (albeit very well dressed) people, open to learning.

  I went back a few times in order to absorb more. Mel rolled her eyes at me. “So trendy, you are.” She smirked. “I suppose you’ll be hanging out with Madonna soon.” I dragged her with me to show her it’s not a wacky cult, that no one is trying to extort money (well, not unless you include the $26 red string that kabbalists wear on their left wrist to ward off evil glances), and that the life lessons the scriptures provide are useful and beneficial. She kind of liked it, whether she admits it or not. But she didn’t come back, crying “Catholic” as her excuse.

  Regardless of what she said, I continued to jaunt to the center. I was learning so many great tools with which to navigate life. I was giving up control over things I cannot control, like how people react to me or something I write, and getting jealous over a love letter I found in my boyfriend’s desk drawer (something he had gotten from his ex, that little bitch . . . Why he still has it lingering, I don’t know, but . . . well . . . I wasn’t going to flip out over it, thank you very much). See, I really was learning how to go easier on myself. (I have always been riddled with a guilty personality—in high school, if a teacher said, “Someone cheated,” I automatically thought that she thought it was me—and it’s safe to say I’m pretty emotional!)

  It may sound hokey. In fact, I’m sure it does. Give me a dirty look if you want. I won’t feel a thing. Not as long as I have my red string on! Besides, it goes very well with my red-and-black Chloe corset!

  SPIRITUAL, HOLISTIC, AND RELIGIOUS PATHS TO CONSIDER EXPLORING

  Jewish yoga. That’s right. Jewish yoga. For Jews who don’t practice yoga for religious reasons, there is a type of yoga geared just for you! Instead of “Om,” you chant “Shalom!” And the poses are meant to mimic the letters of the Hebrew alphabet and evoke their power and energy. Oy, vey! So meshugh!

  The Dalai Lama. The spiritual leader of Tibet who preaches peace and nonviolence. Important to wear authentic ethnic garb and flip-flops when the lama is in town. Also consider jewelry adorned with symbols of Buddhism.

  Santaría. A voodoo-ish, Wicca-like syncretistic Caribbean religion, which means “way of the saints” in Spanish. Jennifer Lopez follows it.

  Regressional therapy. Whereby you are hypnotized to regress to past lives to heal current phobias, issues, anxiety, etc. Read the book Many Lives, Many Masters, by Brian Weiss, MD. A great way to discover how you dressed in your past lives.

  The chi machine. A contraption that swings your feet back and forth to get your chi (Chinese for energy) flowing through the body. Karen uses it every morning and swears by it. A big trend with LA fashion girls.

  Zen. The freedom from suffering, which arises from attachment to desires. Kind of ironic, being that fashionistas love attachment and desire. But we’re an ironic, postmodern bunch. Avoid logos, perfume, and using hair products when visiting the monastery.

  Acupuncture. The ancient Chinese healing remedy of sticking pins in pressure points to alleviate tension, stress, injuries, and ailments of any kind. Especially good for PMS and Blahnik relief. We also like all kinds of body work, like Rolfing, interconnective tissue massage to realign the fascia, which improves your structure and your mental health (it’s true!); shiatsu massages; and energy work like Reiki and polarity therapy, all of which fall under the holistic category.

  Smudging. The Native American ritual of burning sage, which cleanses the aura. A good thing to do postbreakup or during tax season, when you realize you can’t pay your bills because you’ve spent all of your liquid income on clothes.

  Feng shui. The Chinese art of arranging your space and positioning objects and furniture in a certain way to generate prosperity, abundance, success, health, and love. The southwest corner is your love nook—to find romance, use the color pink (it represents harmony an
d balance), things in twos (to attract coupledom), flowers (promotes growth), and images that represent romance to you.

  Burning Man. A weeklong artistic celebration of freedom, liberation, exploration, and self-discovery on a stretch of desert land in Black Rock City, California (near San Fran). It’s considered the religion of expressing art. Not really hippie, but kind of. The one place where it’s safe to wear your most outrageous garb. Couture is acceptable (wearable art, man). Heels, however, are not. Desert and stilettos do not mix. It takes place every year at the end of August. See www.burningman.com for details.

  Ab Fab. The comical British half-hour sitcom, a riotous spoof on fashionistas who are too old and too fat to do and wear the things they do, which is the very reason we love them. There must be no talking or distractions while the show is on.

  Spas. We touched on this in the beauty chapter. Still, it’s considered a religious experience for some.

  Paris. The holy land for all fashionistas. Make at least one pilgrimage per year and pray toward the Eiffel Tower five times a day.

  FLY THE FASHIONISTA SKIES AND TRAVEL IN STYLE

  Fashionistas love exotic vacations, taking the entire month of August off if possible, and bringing home mementos to recall their trips: flip-flops from the beaches of Bali, large straw hats from Palm Beach, Florida, jewelry from Ibiza, hangovers from the Ocean Club in the Bahamas. Sadly, Mel hasn’t been to any such resorts due to not having her pesky green card—and Karen hasn’t gone due to her pesky finances. But still. We know everything about them. Whether you can make the journey or not, this is what you need to understand about how fashionistas travel.

  Prepare for Takeoff

  Fashionistas prefer to fly private. If they are unable to charter a plane or hitch a ride on a wealthy friend’s jet, they like to upgrade their tickets to first class if possible. Should they be relegated to coach (ugh!), they request the emergency-exit row (it’s got more room) and order champagne. Nothing like some bubbly to make you feel like you’re living large. Also, use bathrooms in first class, even if you’re in the last row of the plane. They’re better in the front of the plane. If you get reprimanded, hold up a tampon. They’ll let you go.

  Get a vintage Louis Vuitton carry-on to enhance your image. And a matching one for le puppy. (Fanny packs, unless they’re logo-encrusted with Gucci’s Gs, which should be worn only with a sense of irony, are a no-no.)

  Don’t remove your oversize sunglasses until you’re actually seated comfortably on the plane.

  Bring cashmere socks so you can take your shoes off and feel cozy.

  Always have a delicious wrap of some kind in your bag. It will double as a blanket so you won’t have to use that scratchy, unclean sandpaper the airlines give you.

  Bust out the lavender aromatherapy, which induces relaxation. Spritz a little on your travel pillow (read: the one you bring from home) to make the flight more enjoyable.

  Eye pillows are a must.

  Keep a spritz bottle of Evian for the face. That plane air is so dehydrating. Follow it up with moisturizer.

  Travel with your own food (those plane meals are not acceptable). Pack pretentiously. Think toast points and caviar.

  Have a meditative CD on hand. See music selection for reference.

  Use your cell phone the second the plane lands and begins taxing on the runway.

  A-list Destinations

  EXOTIC

  The Four Seasons Hotel in Maui, Hawaii (the jet set are famous for ordering their nannies to stake out the cabanas at three A.M.). Hottest season: Christmas/New Year’s.

  The Ile de France, a posh hotel in St. Barths, in close proximity to the Hermès and Cavalli stores.

  Chartering yachts (read: never say “Renting a boat”—that’s very déclassé) anywhere in the Caribbean.

  A fabulous designer’s villa. Dolce & Gabbana, Donatella Versace, and Valentino all have them (those Italians really know how to live). Try very hard to get invited. And bring us if you do!

  THE GOOD OLD USA

  Aspen in the winter. Check into the Hotel Jerome (Jack Nicholson does).

  The Raffles L’Ermitage hotel in Beverly Hills. Fashionistas love the business cards the hotel provides for all its guests, with a personal fax number and your name with “In Residence” before the hotel’s address. The spa on the top floor boasts an Egyptian-style courtyard and pool with a view of the entire city. Jaan, the Asian fusion restaurant, serves tiny plates of exquisite tastes twenty-four hours a day.

  The Hamptons during the summer months. East Hampton and Southampton are the most trendy. Shack up well and complain that it’s too trendy.

  Ian Schrager hotels anywhere (the Delano and the Shore Club in Miami; the Mondrian in Los Angeles; the Clift in San Francisco; the Hudson, Paramount, and Royalton in New York City). High-style lobbies, glittery restaurants, tiny rooms with almost no closet space, but still, it’s cool to stay there. (Karen once put her parents up at the Hudson Hotel when it first opened in New York and her mother called her and snapped, “There’s nowhere to put our clothes! We’ll be at the Plaza!” Clearly the Robinovitz parentals don’t understand the fashionista way and that there’s nothing’s wrong with keeping your clothes in neat piles on a desk, near the plasma-screen TV!)

  W hotels are also a smart choice in savvy stays. Their customer service is phenomenal, and in some hotel locales they have holistic rooms, where you can choose an aromatherapy scent and have a minibar stocked with organic goods. The LA establishment has huge rooms—all suites—that rule. And the hotel stores make for very good gift shopping for friends back home.

  Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. They have the best parties—and poolside eye candy. Just make sure to befriend (or, um, tip) the right people in order to secure a cabana by the pool— and a reservation at Nobu, the famous Japanese restaurant, co-owned by DeNiro, on the premises.

  EURO

  3 Rooms, the retro Scandinavian-designed modern B&B attached to the store, 10 Corso Como in Milan (see shopping chapter). With sixties shag rugs and Eames and Arne Jacobsen furnishings, it’s a curatorial fashionista fantasy. It looks like it fell right out of the pages of Wallpaper* (refer to High Gloss section earlier in this chapter).

  Hôtel du Cap, where the stars stay when in Cannes, France. Visit during the film festival and bring glorious gowns for lobby loitering. Look good enough and you’ll get an invite to a premiere.

  Hôtel Costes in Paris. Very posh, very old world, very snooty. No need to actually stay there if you own the CD (refer to previously mentioned music section). But you should, at the very least, stop in for a cocktail. To be honest, we prefer shacking up in the Sixth District because it’s more low-key and laid-back.

  La Scalinatella, five-star charm at its finest. On the Isle of Capri. You’ll thank us as you eat your fresh mozzarella-and-tomato salad by the pool, where Dolce bikinis and heels are required.

  St Martins Lane Hotel in London. See Ian Schrager hotels above.

  The Suite Life and Haute Hoteling!

  If your hotel is subpar, put a positive spin on it and call it “charming” or “rustic chic.”

  Bring mini travel candles for your room, preferably a designer kind like Matthew Williamson. Donatella Versace brings no fewer than fourteen suitcases when she travels because she likes to be surrounded by her own things.

  Pack slippers.

  To make the room feel like home, fashionistas like to bring photos of their friends, families, and pets and put them on display.

  Steal logo-encrusted things from the hotel room (ashtrays, something from the room-service cart, bathrobes). It may not be legal, but it sure does feel good when you open your closet at home to find a pristine pile of fluffy white Ritz-Carlton towels. To pull it off, call housekeeping upon arriving and say you never got a robe, enough towels, or whatever it is you want.

  Collect matches from the hotel so you can use them when you’re at home and strike up conversation about your glamorous trip.

  Comp
lain about an awful stench in your room and you just may get a free upgrade to a suite. It worked for us on numerous occasions (although we were put on a smoking floor at the time and neither of us smoke).

  Immediately befriend the concierge. This person will help hook you up with great reservations and extra-special treatment while you’re checked into the hotel. Tip this person well, too.

  Roughing It. Sometimes Abstinence

  Is the Ultimate Indulgence

  The Ashram, a boot camp in Calabasas, California, where you’re forced to stay in icky accommodations and hike for miles before eating as little as a melba toast. Cindy Crawford and Julia Roberts have gone. It’s great for weight loss.

  The Spirit Rock Meditation Center, a retreat that offers inner peace by telling you to shut up! Guests are forbidden to talk. Karl Lagerfeld once said, “Silence is chic.”

  Hotelito Desconocido, a Mexican getaway where there is no electricity or any of the luxuries fashionistas are accustomed to. Here they like to get back to the simple things in life and find their Little House on the Prairie roots, and read by candlelight. Though there are working toilets in the rooms.

  Vladi Private Islands, a company that sells and rents islands, offers a $250 survival kit with a two-person tent, fishing rod, hammock, and magnifying glass (the better to start a fire with, my dear).

  CHAPTER 8

  Fashionistas After Dark:

  Sequins on Monday,

  Flannel on Friday

  The only reason fashionistas like to go out is so they can dress up. The hour(s) spent getting ready and obsessing over the outfit is always much more enjoyable than a crowded, loud, smoky restaurant where the beautiful waiter/model/actor/writer/diva forgets to hold the pears and Gruyère cheese and puts the aged balsamic vinaigrette directly on your mesclun, Gruyère cheese, and pear salad, instead of on the side, as you had asked.