by Sheila Heti
BLAINE HARPER I avoid shopping with a sense of desperate need or desire, in the same way that one might avoid visiting the supermarket on an empty stomach.
CHRISTINE GIGNAC When I was younger, I went shopping more often but bought cheaper items. Now I shop less often, but spend more on each piece. It probably evens out to about the same amount.
AMY TURNER Buy the dress, the place to wear it will follow.
CATHERINE LITTEN I dislike shopping. I’m on the large side (for many years a size 14 or 16, but recently a 12 or 10), and it can be discouraging to try on tons of clothes that weren’t made for my body type. So when I shop, I have a battle plan: This is what I want to get, and I will find it.
JACKIE SORO When I shop at thrift shores, I feel I’ve taken a big step away from the sweatshop production cycle. That’s the reason I get so many of my clothes from friends. I like to imagine why someone parted with the lovely flannel I’m wearing now.
CARMEN JOY KING This is weird: every time I close a dressing-room door, I have to pee.
AUDREY GELMAN I think, “Can I imagine wearing this in five years?”
BONNIE MORRISON I’ve tried to be more mindful as I have gotten older, because if you shop regularly, you end up with stuff you’ll never wear, because are there even that many events or occasions in a normal person’s life? What did you buy all those hats, parasols, bangle bracelets, opera gloves for? Now you’re just old and crazy and live in a rat nest of weird items you never used.
GILLIAN BLORE I have a constant series of lists of things I want/need/desire: perfect knee-high black boots, a trench coat, a bathing suit . . . Some things have been on the list for over a decade. Then the stars will collide and I’ll find a pair of boots that tick all the right boxes and I’ll throw down my credit card for what would seem to be an unduly large expenditure.
ANN IRELAND How come all these young women are laden down with bags from snazzy shops? Where do they get the money? I start to feel pissed off. To hell with the whole concept of shopping. Who needs clothes?
ON DRESSING
I REFUSED
MANSOURA EZ ELDIN
One must choose when to rebel with clothing. Three years ago, I participated in the antigovernment demonstration known as “Friday of Rage,” which turned out to be the most important and violent day of the January revolution in Egypt. I carefully dressed before going to demonstrate against Mubarak’s regime: a light brown sweater, a blue shirt with blue stripes, and jeans and sneakers to permit me to run if the police force attacked our demonstration. I wrapped a keffiyeh (scarf) around my neck to protect my face, to lessen the effects of tear gas in our clashes with the Central Security Forces. I put on a bit more makeup than usual to suggest to the police that our participation in the demonstrations was not just an everyday activity.
My friends and I rode the metro to the Amr ibn al-Aas mosque. The demonstration was scheduled to begin after Friday prayers. At the last stop, my friends urged me to use the scarf wrapped around my neck to cover my hair. I refused. My friends thought entering the mosque without a headscarf would draw the attention of the police. I stuck to my refusal—it had been years since I had worn a headscarf, and I refused to put any covering on my head, even for a minute, as compensation for the many years I had unconsciously covered my head as an innocent girl.
We exited the metro and instantly ran into Central Security Force officers hiding behind their shields. I quickly put the scarf on my head to avoid any trouble.
I remember the first time I walked outside without covering my head. It was winter in Cairo. I was thirteen. The headscarf had evolved over time to become part of my body. Then I realized I could shed it, as it no longer expressed me or my thoughts. That night, as I walked through the streets in the middle of the city with my hair showing, I was overcome with the feeling of being watched, as if I were walking completely naked.
People who watch you in the streets see you differently from how you see yourself. In 2009, while visiting Algeria, I stopped in front of a store that sold silver Berber jewelry. I was fascinated by the inscriptions in the metal. It seemed like an entry into a world of seductive promises. I chose a necklace and a bracelet, and wore them immediately. As I walked down Didouche Mourad, passersby started to talk to me in a language I did not understand. I responded in Arabic. Then one man started to yell at me. A stranger who knew from my accent that I was Egyptian told the man this. He slunk away after stealing one last look at my silver necklace. My savior explained to me that the angered man assumed, because of my jewelry, that I was Berber, so he had spoken to me in Berber. When I did not respond, he thought that I was denying my identity and trying to take on a different one.
I once unthinkingly went out in a red sweater when the Al Ahly Sporting Club (the most famous Egyptian soccer team, the Red Devils; they wear red uniforms) was playing. I received many flirtatious comments in the street about my red clothing: “Al Ahly is iron,” “My darling, my Al Ahly fan,” “I love the Red Devils.” After that, I stopped wearing red on big game days.
There was a red, short lace dress I owned when I was seven years old. I loved it because it made me feel like a hero in a film. I wore it once to my Quran lessons with Sheikh Abdul Rahman. During that lesson, he looked at my dress with contempt. He approached me at the end of the lesson to hear the verses I had memorized, then pulled me toward himself and scratched me on my arms with his pen, to punish me for not respecting the Islamic dress code. “Wrong! You will go to hell!” he yelled.
I did not say that his own daughter—who spent most of her days on the balcony facing the room where we studied—wore pretty, elegant clothes that complimented her skin.
After that, I no longer attended his lessons. Free from his gaze, I continued to wear short dresses.
Today, I am going to meet with several writers and publishers in one of the foreign cultural centers in Cairo. I must walk ten minutes from my house to the main street, where I will take a coach. Since I will be in the streets, I cannot wear anything too revealing or short, in order to avoid any trouble or commotion.
Deciding what to wear, I stand before my armoire, confused. I do this every day—enter into complicated negotiations with myself.
When I was younger, I would grab the first thing that looked good on me, put it on, and go out.
PROJECT
MY OUTFITS | THESSALY LA FORCE
JANUARY
“The Love Child of Shackleton and Pocahontas”
Deep, dark Iowa winter. Late for Marilynne Robinson’s writing workshop.
Boyfriend’s grandfather’s tan shearling coat
Khaki green pants over yoga pants
Faux-shearling-lined knee-high snow boots
White wool neck scarf knitted by my mother Gloves
Many sweaters
Two hats
FEBRUARY
“A character cut from the publishing house scenes in The Last Days of Disco”
California winter day. Sixty degrees. Going to the DMV to renew my driver’s license.
White, billowy, sheer men’s dress shirt
Light blue jeans rolled at the cuff
Pony-hair leopard-print oxfords
Blazer
More makeup than usual
MARCH
“Princess Di at a grunge concert”
David Hockney sky. Thirty degrees. Viola lesson.
Black beanie
Ballet flats
Long pleated skirt
Large sweater
Rose-gold rings under my mittens
APRIL
“Joan Didion in Santa Monica on a cloudy day”
Fifty-four degrees. Nothing could go wrong. Buying groceries from the food co-op in Iowa City for the Russell Banks potluck.
Black turtleneck
Denim
Trench
Brown loafers
Sunglasses
Hair parted down the middle
MAY
“Channeling Michelle Obama”
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Sixty-one degrees. Just a touch too hot for a coat. Job interview.
Neon and blue floral silk dress
Low gray suede heels
White blazer
JUNE
“Anthropologist at her going-away party—Elsa Rush meets Jane Goodall”
First real summer day. Handing in my thesis.
Tan silk drawstring pants
White button-down
Turquoise-and-tan gladiator sandals
Silver necklace
Bare face
JULY
“Sandra Bullock of the nineties”
Hot summer sun. Can’t think. On a date to see The Artist Is Present at Film Forum with my friend.
Black silk dress
Birkenstocks
Sunglasses
Black bucket bag
Denim jacket
AUGUST
“Someone in Tilda Swinton’s intimate circle of friends”
Sweltering. Midday sun is oppressive. US Open.
Green jacquard capri pants with gold threaded embellishment and zippers Pink and white sleeveless tunic printed with small people all over
Slingbacks
Very firm brown leather bag
Blow-dried hair
SEPTEMBER
“Winona Ryder, the morning after”
Crisp. Feel the need to buy firewood. In a cabin in Callicoon, upstate, at my friend ’s birthday.
Body-conscious black maxidress with spaghetti straps
Cropped sweater
Gold loafers
No makeup except what mascara stayed on overnight
Messy ballerina bun
OCTOBER
“Francesca Woodman at home”
Sunny but air-conditioned. The office.
Navy floral skirt
Black sweater with open back
Black lace bra
Pink-nude ankle boots with wooden heels
NOVEMBER
“A Greta Gerwig character on a first date”
Rain, damp streets. Gallery opening in Chelsea. Followed by friend’s choir performance uptown.
Ecru and silver coat over a long pink silk dress with thin satin straps
Ballet slippers that cross around my ankles
Glossy lipstick I love but always forget to wear
DECEMBER
“Patti Smith at a book signing”
Strangely warm. Book party at Brooklyn Brewery.
Black tunic
Baggy black jeans
Black flats
Bracelets
SURVEY
BALM
“I usually wear what’s on the chair from the day before. It’s been tested already, and I feel good in clothes I know the effect of.” —RACHEL KUSHNER
RAMOU SARR I like to come home and deep clean in the tub, soak for a bit with a bath bomb, moisturize the hell out of myself, then lounge for an hour in a sheer dashiki before passing out.
HEATHER LOVE I use clothes to calm myself down, for sure. My kids always comment on how “comfy” I look and how weirdly soft my clothes are. My girlfriend refers to my style as “Build-A-Bear.” I think she is trying to get at how these clothes are not only comfortable for me but comforting to her.
CATHERINE ORCHARD I was in a sailboat that tipped over when I was a kid, a very minor thing, but it was startling and cold. I remember walking back and dropping all the freezing, heavy-soaked clothes on the floor, running my feet under hot water, and putting on my pajamas and feeling very calmed. I still like a full men’s pajama set—I find it comforting and calm.
LILI HORVATH I like looking at and fondling my mother’s clothes when she’s away. It’s comforting to run my fingers across them and bury myself in something comforting and familiar.
ELLEN RODGER Coming home and putting on sloppy layers of clothes is calming.
LENAE DAY I love to swim, but even more than swimming, I love to sit, wet, by the water. Owning so many swimsuits makes me feel like I will always be close to water, which is a thought that calms my soul. There is something about the fit of a one-piece swimsuit—the way it hugs the stomach, hips, groin, and heart—that is akin to swaddling. I feel safe in a swimsuit, like nothing is going to fall out or get out of control—like organs or wayward emotions or that burrito I just ate.
STELLA BUGBEE I spent a week in the hospital for abdominal surgery. Each morning, despite terrible pain, the nurses would make me get up and walk so I didn’t get too weak. The hospital gowns depressed me, so I’d slowly pull a striped Breton dress over my head, brush my hair, and put on bright red flip-flops and lip gloss. My friend had given me a giant Missoni robe, and I’d pull that on and make my way around the recovery unit. By taking the extra step of wearing clothes that made me feel “normal,” I felt like I wasn’t giving in to my illness. It was one of the few times I used clothing to calm myself.
BRONWYN CAWKER I went through a major episode of manic depression in my early twenties, and was given an oversized men’s sweater from H&M called the “old man’s sweater” by my best friend, Dustin. When I felt really upset, we would get stoned, put on our old-man sweaters, drink tea, and watch bad movies. We live in different cities now, but when I want to feel calm or closer to him, I wear mine.
PROJECT
BAG DANCE | LEANNE SHAPTON featuring HEIDI JULAVITS
Photographs by Gus Powell
COLLECTION
GINA RICO’s hairbrushes and combs
CONVERSATION
I HAD A LITTLE PEGBOARD
ARTIST CINDY SHERMAN SPEAKS TO ACTOR & WRITER MOLLY RINGWALD
MOLLY: You’ve always been such an icon for me in terms of how I want to look. You’re very fashionable but you never look like you’re a slave to it. You just have this flair. What is your first clothing memory?
CINDY: Oh gosh, I was maybe eleven or so. And because I loved paper dolls, I made paper-doll versions of all the clothes I would wear to school. I had a little pegboard with days of the week, and on the weekend—Sunday night, I guess—I’d figure out my outfits for the whole week ahead. I think it was because of a math teacher I had, and I was amazed at how she seemed to be wearing different outfits every single day, never repeating for months at a time. I mean, you’d see the same skirt show up, or the same sweater, but she would always work it with a different configuration. I was so impressed with that. I think that’s what inspired me to do these little cut-outs.
MOLLY: That’s so sweet. You probably don’t have them anymore.
CINDY: No. But when I was in college, I remember thinking about it, and I did an art-project version of the same thing, only without the days of the week. I just made a doll of myself with my underwear, and photographed all my clothes, and made it into a little children’s book of school clothes, play clothes . . . Then I made an animation from it. It’s sort of how a lot of my work evolved, out of that.
MOLLY: When you first started making art and taking photographs, did you know that it was going to be only you in the pictures? Did you ever think you were going to include other people?
CINDY: I don’t remember thinking about it one way or another, but I didn’t expect to be doing basically the same thing for thirty years. I guess in the beginning I thought, I’m doing one project that is using myself, and who knows what I’ll do after that? I did try shooting other people at times—friends or family members. I even paid somebody to model, but it made me so self-conscious. I just wanted to entertain the person.
MOLLY: That sounds exhausting.
CINDY: Yeah. Because when I’m on my own, I will just push myself. But I didn’t want to impose on other people, so I’d sort of rush it along to get it out of the way, and I wasn’t happy with the results.
MOLLY: You’ve told me that you see yourself as a blank canvas in a way. Do you spend the same amount of time with each transformation? Have you gotten to the point where you think, “Oh, this one is going to be really time-consuming,” or are you constantly surprised by how it ends up?
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sp; CINDY: I guess it’s a crapshoot. With some of those history portraits, I feel like I just whipped one out in a couple hours. Then there are others where I think I know what it is I want and I’ll work at the same thing for days, and maybe never really feel satisfied. It’s always different.
MOLLY: When you’re thinking of a new character, do clothes always play a part?
CINDY: A lot of times the clothes actually determine it. When I did the clowns, I was researching them online. I didn’t want to just buy clown outfits, which you can easily get. The imagery online that I was interested in, or influenced by, was of clowns who looked like do-it-yourself clowns. People who just looked funkier appealed to me because I started to wonder (laughs), Is that an alcoholic hiding behind this clown mask? What’s under the clown makeup and the funky costume? So I would go online, like on eBay, and look up, I don’t know, colorful clothes, and I found square-dancing dresses with these crazy ruffles and everything. Or I’d go to the Salvation Army and get a bunch of brightly colored striped T-shirts. I would amass all this stuff and then play with it, mixing things up, and then from that I would figure out what the clown should look like, and have more of an idea of the personality of that clown.
MOLLY: When you do a portrait, do you feel you know the character—in terms of biography? Or is it more the essence of somebody?
