Creative writing & opinion pieces

The High Maintenance dilemma: is smartness underrated?

Raise your hand if you are familiar with this scene: you have just arrived at the office after a good hour in the commute surrounded by too many people, made it all the way in stilettos from the suffocating underground to the company building carrying your take away coffee, laptop and birthday cake for Amanda from the accounting department, and then logged in on time to collapse on your desk.

This morning you had to skip Yoga because your child did not feel like dressing up and husband had the flu. Even so, you managed to make yourself presentable. You managed to dress up for you, to feel good. Then, Tom and Claire from the Creative Editing team say hello and absently comment on how nice your dress looks and, you know, how hard it must be to get ready every morning because well, it is SO hard maintenance — and aren´t you actually sick of spending some much time just to get ready in the morning when you have much more productive things to do, surely?

The thing is, you see, Tom and Claire do not mean IT is high maintenance. They mean YOU are. Déjà vu, anyone?

Shockingly, it seems to be socially acceptable to comment on other people appearance these days, especially women’s. With social media blooming, everyone spends a lot of time leaving opinions on posts to perfect strangers (“What a stunning outfit!” “Is that your husband?” “But have you gained some weight lately?”) and the scope of this phenomenon has naturally transformed our daily interactions. People seem to feel entitled to comment in real life too, just as they would on Instagram, and not always out of kindness. If you take a minute to scratch the surface, an interesting patina of tones appears underneath — the complete palette of social prejudice. Misconceptions die hard, even in the age of political correctness.

One of my personal pet peeves is related to criticism towards smartness.

Very frequently, people will frown at the sight of a nice dress, coat or bag, and discreetly let you know they don’t approve. The succession of reasons provided will pour like rain over you — it is too expensive, impractical, pretentious. But where is this perception coming from? And is elegance considered a disgraceful quality these days?

It might sound crazy when you read all those articles on the flamboyant latest catwalk designs from Paris Fashion Week, but in my experience, most people do not appreciate that kind of stylishness anymore, since they cannot consider it as an integrated part of ordinary life. While maintaining discussions on the topic, they will argue that several factors need to be taken into account. Frequently, the first ingredient they will bring into the conversation is classism. I don’t know about you, but I take class discrimination seriously and I don’t like it to be used on a frivolous manner.

Let me illustrate with an example. A few years ago, still a penniless humanities student, I found myself having a coffee with a recent acquaintance I’d had just been introduced to. By then, I would combine my college classes with a part-time job teaching foreign languages to kindergarten and school children. My allowance was very modest, and I carefully saved up and prioritized my expenses. I started spending some time hunting for good quality bargains at vintage and online shops. As a result and given the circumstances, my wardrobe grew up slowly but successfully. The girl I met that evening did not lose the chance to let me know she liked my dress although she would not understand why would I spend “so much money” on it. “It must be nice”, she said, “to get your expenses covered by your very understanding family, right?” Then she made a gesture with her hand, vaguely pointing out my clothes and manicure (a manicure that I would give myself at home every time). She shamelessly implied my family was rather wealthy. And I was far too shy to correct her rude judgmental statement. Then she proceeded to complain about the hard time she was having to find proper accommodation for her next holiday in Austria. I swear God I am not making this up.

My point is this person (as many other) linked dressing in a certain manner with a well-off economic and social status. And of course, she disapproved. Paradoxically, she was doing far better than me then. There is a big difference between dressing on designer pieces head to toe and carefully crafting your style. Still, many people don’t see it that way. If you are able to gather a luxury couture wardrobe, good for you too! I see no reason to shame anyone here.

Next argument detractors hold against smartness is practicality.

We all know how crazy life is these days: we find ourselves rushing on a daily basis and sometimes we don’t even take a minute to enjoy. Now, I am as busy as the next person (just as much as you probably are) and always try to wear clothes which easily adjust to my daily activity. I work in the comfort of an office, but flats will win three out of four times when it comes to commuting.

However, since I have not much time to stop and smell the flowers, I like to do some small things to indulge myself. They do not need to be big impressive things, necessarily: cooking something nourishing, buying a nice book to read in the evenings, dressing up a bit. They are the small everyday pleasures I use to comfort myself and to keep inner balance. Even so, there will be always people judging you. Do not listen to them. As our friend Taylor Swift once taught us — haters gonna hate.

But my favourite plot is the high maintenance one.

Because well, you know, if you are wearing nice clothes it obviously means that you are some kind of spoiled creature, right? In the course of years, I have been seen people repeatedly gossiping about women who make an effort with their appearance. “But look at her!”, they would say, “She thinks she is some kind of queen, doesn’t she? I bet she even needs a maidservant to get dressed in the morning”. Do you think I am exaggerating here? I wish I was. I literally heard someone who used to talk behind my back calling me “a duchess”. In case you’re wondering why my only sin was to dress up for a casual outing with some friends… No need to say I have heard similar comments about friends, siblings and work colleagues.

Probably, the most unfair factor here is the insane amount of misogyny lying behind the question. Women are judged twice harder than men. If a man is smart, he will be usually praised for it. On the contrary, if a woman develops a taste for fashion, she will be considered frivolous. They will say she is wearing too much makeup or dressing up to catch men attention… However, if this fictitious woman freely decides to wear a bare face or comfortable sports clothes, she will be considered sloppy and lazy. Pick your poison.

Double standards will never let us women win and that is the reason why we need to stop contributing to the problem by criticizing other ladies and start fighting in the sorority team. I know it is not always easy, as we have been all raised on prejudice and socialized on a system whose deeper structures work against individualism. Every time we choose to deconstruct these ideas and stop the gears, we are placing ourselves in the line of fire. It is a conscious decision and it takes guts to do it. Still, it is the right thing to do.

Next time Tom and Claire make a passive-aggressive comment to your office colleague in front of you, do not look the other way. Let them kindly know it is not OK to express unsolicited opinions about other people looks. Maybe they are not conscious about being inadvertently rude. If they are though, you will make them notice this kind of behaviour is not welcome around the place. At the end of the day, we are all people who deserve some respect, no matter what are looks, beliefs or origins are.

And this was another episode of The Prêt-à-porter Series. In the next chapter, we will have a talk about some basic tips to dress up for a Brunch.

Stay tuned for more style advice!

February 4, 2019March 14, 2019

Allegra Caro9 Comments

Fashion Lessons I learned in Japan

“Let’s never come here again, cause it would never be as much fun.”

During my eleven hours flight to Tokyo last year, I deliberately watched Lost in Translation and could not help but feel Sofia Coppola got it right ‒ it is not about the inexpensive sushi or the massive LCD screens displaying music videos in Shinjuku, it is all about your memories.

Like most tourists, I brought a full case of souvenirs back from my trip.

Withal and as much as I enjoyed shopping around Asakusa area for traditional items with an authenticity flavour, I found out the best keepsakes were insubstantial ‒ playing a flâneur during the peak hour at Shibuya, the occasional matcha cup on a softly enlightened coffee shop, small talk with my sister while window shopping at Omotesandō, the beauty of a dusty pink kimono sight in the golden hour… Life, like a dragonfly, crystallized on amber.

As a millennial, there is no need to say I grew up loving all things Japanese.

I belong to the generation which raised Sailor Moon to the modern mythological category.

When I was a teenager, pop culture news from Japan arrived slowly and to us (poor Western children!) fell like rain in the desert. Street Fashion? J-Pop? Manga? You could burn down the cathedrals, we had our own religion. Even after many, many years, the serious woman with a nine to five office position who was boarding an overpriced flight noticed a shiver of the purest childish emotion: there I was, after all this time, finally visiting the oasis of my teenage dreams. Then my sister, a talented artist living in Tokyo, greeted me at the airport and that was the beginning of our best adventure up to today.

Do not get me wrong, I would gladly return to Japan tomorrow morning but a small part of me knows the experience would be completely different. Maybe a bit more tangible. Maybe a bit less surreal. After all, you cannot see things for the first time twice, can you? The process of discovering a new country resembles childhood, somehow. Every little detail catches your attention and remains there forever, floating like the scent of good perfume.

To me, it was about everyday beauty ‒ a moment of perfection shinning in the ugliness of a pavement metropolis. I can close my eyes and still see that old lady on gold and black furisode, standing on a crowded train wagon. I can smell the freshly baked taiyaki on a cold morning.

Unlike the characters of Coppola’s film, I did not experience a moment of enlightenment.

However, after intensive exposure to Japanese Street Fashion during our walks through Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Ginza, I learned a bit of style wisdom I would like to share here. Japanese ladies are some of the more stylish on the planet, although their achievements are frequently underrated and I find it truly unfair. So in order to honour them, these are the fashion lessons I learned in Japan.

Statement coats are a MUST

Winter might make nearly impossible to show up that gorgeous outfit you have been planning for hours but Japanese ladies do not care about it. Instead, they pay much more attention to their coats than we European ladies do. A statement piece, you see, can make all the difference when it comes to transforming meh into yay. Their usual cold weather day look usually includes an awesome colourful coat paired with some nice shoes/boots and a designer bag. Following their example, I purchased the coat I am wearing in these pictures on a well-known Takeshita Dori vintage shop. Price was awesome for the quality and design, and I do not regret a thing to this day.

2. Everything can be accessorized

Maybe you think Western women know a thing or two about accessories, right? Forget about it! In Tokyo, fashionistas take the game to the next level. During one of my day trips to Ginza department stores, I fell in love with the newest trend consisting in adding wild silk and organza flowers to your plain boring coat buttons. Genius! By such a simple trick outwear looks instantly chic. This is just an example of how creative you can be, so do not be scared. Sometimes less is not more.

3. Experiment more

Pink hair? Neon pants? Transparent mini bag packs? Welcome to Tokyo. Japanese Street Fashion is well-known for a reason ‒ people are all but scared to experiment. Some of their trends are frequently discovered and imported to the Western market, via haute couture. My piece of advice is to follow their example and experiment a bit. Do you like it? Then own it, babe.

4. Invest in some quality pieces

I have recently written about how consumerism has become a tidal wave in Japan.

However, the main Japanese immanent style accomplishment to me is the ability to wear an investment piece as a part of an everyday outfit and make it look natural. Personally, I have always been a bit hesitant about wearing my best pieces on a daily basis. After my trip, though, I understood that you can only justify the price tag by actually wearing it. You know it makes sense.

5. Above all, always be you

Fashion is all well and good but sometimes we forget about our better judgement in its favour. Style should all be about finding what YOU like. Style shifting every season like a snake changes its skin can be kind of exhausting (not to mention expensive). Tokyo fashionistas discovered this fact many years ago and they tend to develop their own signature style. It is completely inspirational to me and a rule to swear by.

But the most important lesson I learned was style is a universal language. You cannot get lost in translation.

Coat: Juliette et Justine (vintage).

Necklace: Vivienne Westwood (similar here)

Dress: Stradivarius/ Jumper: Zara / Boots and Bag: Deichmann

January 23, 2019March 14, 2019

Allegra Caro11 Comments

Confessions of a Vogue addict

I am going to tell you a story — most of it is true.

It could have happened to anyone: to a Jewish schoolgirl living in Newark, to a shy working-class girl from La Butte Aux Cailles. However, for good or bad, it happened to me.

This tale starts with a box in the garret.

During last Spring cleaning I found a mysterious container in one of the top shelves (no identification tags to be seen) and when I tried to grab it, a totally unexpected glitter shower fell down all over me. Now, I have no idea where the glittery dust came from exactly, and I can only suppose it was closely related to some Christmas decorations stored in the same room but, in any case, I spent the next ten minutes brushing myself until I finally managed to open the aforementioned box.

Anyone who knows me is aware of the fact that I have a soft spot for drama: my restless mind was already anticipating a shocking find, which could only leave me speechless and knocking on the doors of my own Gothic novel. After all, many great stories start with a girl finding something in the attic, don’t they? So I was disappointed, to say the least, when I simply found a pile of old magazines inside — thank you, Guillermo Del Toro, for my huge expectations regarding mystery tales and Tom Hiddleston on tight pants… But, where was I? Oh, yes: the box.

The secret was a bundle of about 40 Vogue Magazines, an entire lifetime in Fashion terms.

Some of them were my own, some were second-hand donations from friends. I had been putting off organization indefinitely, looking for a nice spot to display them on the living area, and then completely forgetting about their existence. I thought it was time to finally do it, and started dusting the pile a bit while flicking through. Before I realized, I had left the cleaning plans aside and was sitting Indian-style, a teacup in one hand, an old 2002 Vogue magazine in the other.

For some reason, there was something in the whole scene — the attic at dusk, the oversized ancient jumper I wore, the exhaustive look at the pictures — which made me feel nostalgic. But what was the source of such a mood?

I began thinking about the familiar feeling, a fragile Déjà vu of my school days, and suddenly it all hit me like a tidal wave: I was twelve years old and compulsively reading a pile of borrowed Vogue issues. I could see myself sitting in the exact same position, wearing long braids and a plaid pinafore dress. Memory was so vivid I could almost touch it with the fingertips.

It all looked so similar, but also so different. By the time of my flashback vision, as I said, I was no older than twelve and had just moved to a new little town with my mother and sister. We lived in a 60 square meters flat above a shabby corner store, my parents had just divorced and I felt the unhappiest young human being. Puberty is not the best moment for such radical changes in the state of affairs, since nature is already playing its own little tricks — I still frown upon the memory when I recall I was the tallest girl in the class, the one with the biggest knee bones, not a clue on how to walk gracefully on those new giant doe-like legs. As a consequence, my (very nice) schoolmates used to call me Betty Spaghetty…

Coming of age drama, anyone? It was a bit like The Virgin Suicides, only without all the flawless blonde hair, and fabulous white gowns, and obsessed boys. It was… well, ineffably plain, to be honest. And then it did happen.

My mum, who was also having a bad time to readjust, made a new friend.

He was an aspiring fashion designer — young, restless and absolutely gay. Also, he was the first sophisticated person I ever met. Every Saturday evening, rain or shine, he would come home with a few Italian films and fashion magazines, and we would spend the night chatting, watching Mastroianni masterpieces and sharing Chinese food.

And finally, one fine November Saturday, he brought a bag full of Vogue magazines.

It was the first time I saw one (provincial town girls rarely had any chance to get it in the local newsstand, anyway), and immediately felt in love with all those 90s goddesses from the Vogue magazine covers owning the catwalk — you did not know what chic meant until you saw Naomi Campbell on purple satin for Anna Sui. I spent the whole weekend checking them, and got a new pile next week, the week after that. Suddenly, my life expanded: there were no more lonely after-school evenings; instead, I got an effective shield made of designer dresses, lively colours and glamour. A whole entire universe of my own which no one could destroy.

It took me some time to realize how bitter-sweet my fantasy was. For a little working-class girl, there were very little chances to ever access the gilded heaven of haute couture. And then, I started thinking it would never be possible to incorporate sophistication to my own life.

Vogue gave me something to dream about, but was it possible to keep that dream alive?

As I entered adolescence, I lost all faith.

I stopped reading fashion magazines and watching classic movies. All those things belonged to the past — the lost paradise, the Arcadia of my own candidness. By fifteen, I had become a solipsist. When I started university, I was a fully-fledged nihilist.

But then again, I made new friends. We started going out together, having cheap cocktails and attending European cinema festivals. We met up at poetry lectures, and jazz clubs. We developed a taste for fine culture. And one early morning (on my way back from some party) I stopped to get me a takeaway coffee in the campus surroundings, and they were selling Vogue. It was like meeting an old good friend.

Like the glitter in my hair, you can try to brush out something you loved, but it will stick to you for some time. That morning, I finally accepted there are many forms of sophistication, many of them more subtle than a 10,000 euros Delacroix jacket.

From that moment, the twelve years old and the undergraduate made peace.

The woman who writes this is now in her thirties and does not care if she can buy the latest Tom Ford dress. Instead, she loves vintage and second-hand, visiting every gallery while traveling and yes, classic movies.

She is still looking for a place to display the pile of Vogue magazines gracefully, but for now, they live in the parlor library.

Downstairs.

November 29, 2018April 29, 2019

Allegra Caro14 Comments

The lingerie Morals (Why wearing fine lingerie doesn’t make you dummy)

We like to think of ourselves as modern and sophisticated, but we apply double standards on how we perceive designer lingerie.

While fashion media proclaims luxury underwear as the quintessence of femininity, the cherry on the cake of seduction, most women simply frown on the sight of a suspender belt. Not so long ago, a co-worker of mine embodied the commonplace in one sentence, “It looks pretty on magazine models. I would never wear such a thing, though”. Implied by these words, the hidden truth — no femme sérieuse will be taken like one by openly admitting she has a soft spot for Lise Charmel.

Many years ago, still a literature student and not a spare penny to spend in high-end bras, some friends and I were discussing the topic over cheap rosé. At the time, Gossip Girl was big on TV and we were simply breathless at how beautiful Leighton Meister looked in Agent Provocateur. However, there was some discomfort over conversation since none of us wanted to say we felt both inspired and maybe a bit jealous.

But then again, why did we react like that? By looking back now, a bunch of reasons comes to my mind. As the typical Humanities Bachelors in their twenties, we all considered ourselves as clever, original, and wittily critical with society, which made us unable to be more honest. In our defence, it could be argued that we were young and restless: therefore, a bit lack of experience, as well as a bit prone to the holier-than-thou nonsense (probably derived from a consistent diet of endless European cinema soirées, and the influence of the unavoidably pseudo-intellectual male acquaintances, who enjoyed mansplaining mostly every possible thing to us).

The point is we said many stupid things I will not reproduce here, but also talked about the over-sexualization of Victoria’s Secret angels on stage.

Like many other women, we felt intimidated by this unreal image of sensuality which unequivocally entails a passive gender role. We did not want to represent any of the associated parts — the virgin, the slut, the bombshell. By accepting these we would surely lose control of our bodies, our identities and least but not last, our lives.

At some point though, one of my friends introduced a twist-plot in the chat. “Why do you assume lingerie is just for men?” she said, “Why do they even need to know you are wearing it?” That, for a start, was an interesting question.

As much as we were hard trying to deconstruct our vision of the world, we would not stop focusing the whole thing on male vortex. After listening to a good hour of moral preening, she got sick and kindly explained an obvious but game-changing idea to us, the revolutionary concept of start enjoying ourselves just for the sake of it.

Lingerie could be fun if you simply looked at it as another form of joy and self-expression. She suggested — and this is something that has walked with me not only in my twenties, but also all through my thirties — to wear it, if we pleased, as an invisible armour. Her exact words were to get dressed from the inside. I gave it a thought, understanding that even if I had a lazy old jeans and t-shirt day, I could cheerfully wear my best undies as well. It could be like painting my nails red on a blue Monday, or reading my favourite author while drinking coffee in a nice quiet place. And what was the best part? — Only I would know.

There are still many things I do not buy about the whole lingerie business conception.

I will never be comfortable about how the VS angels are presented, or about how much transparency a single clothing piece can display on such compromising areas. Nevertheless, I truly share the whole new concept many brands have developed: from Dita von Teese to What Katie Did, some are now paying more attention to what we feel like, reinforcing body positivity in the process. This is for sure a feminist contribution: no more slut shaming, body shaming, or any other moral implications.

I bless the fact it is more about us women now, and a bit less about them. And I bless the fact that another woman was able to make me change my mind.

If you are reading this dear, you know who you are.

November 22, 2018March 14, 2019

Allegra Caro15 Comments

No Carrie Bradshaw here

Fashionable, sophisticated, politically correct.

These were the three golden rules for a successful blogger an acquaintance provided me with during casual brunch a few weeks ago. The aforementioned girl — a blooming online talent with much of a potential to become an influencer in no time — passed this piece of advice to me, convinced it could turn any blogging pumpkin into a first-class carriage for the internet royalty overnight. I, on the other hand, could only look at my salmon bagel doubtfully, while wondering what were the chances the crystal pumps would hit a pebble on the road and send me straight to the emergency room.

If you have read until this point, maybe you are thinking how the hell did I found myself having that conversation…

I should probably start by explaining that, for most of my lifetime, I have enjoyed telling stories (and more specifically, writing them). Fables, tales, articles — you name it. Another passion of mine was always style. Many years ago, when the internet was all fields, I briefly hosted an online diary, which reflected a lot of my personal impressions and my younger-self embarrassing fashion choices. It is gone now (and for the better!), but after transitioning to adulthood and going through a lot of freelance copywriting, the good-old blogging bug stung me again.

With all of this in mind I picked up the phone and asked my generous friend to share some pro-tips in exchange for a nice Sunday brunch.

However, the allegedly golden rules seemed inadequate to me (if not completely unfit). Yes, I have got plenty of experience on writing. And yes, I was expecting to create a moderately successful site. I could not avoid a bit of hesitation, though.

Be fashionable, she said.

This, for sure, sounded like reasonable advice for someone aspiring to post on clothes regularly. The only problem is I am not a fashionable person. I DO love fashion, don’t get me wrong, and Haute Couture is undeniably an art whose power of attraction frequently mesmerizes me. BUT I cannot, for my life, consider myself as a trendy individual. Stylish? Maybe.

To be honest, I am not very interested in high street trends, or the Fast Fashion phenomenon. Hence, first rule was probably… well, not fitted to me, to say the least.

Be sophisticated.

This was the one which made me feel truly insecure. Sophisticated. Who? Me? The girl writing this post on a Budapest train with no air conditioning during the most glorious heat-wave August afternoon, and who totally gave up on looking presentable (or even a human being)?

When I think about sophistication, Carrie Bradshaw (Sex in the City heroine) always comes to my mind.

I can see her stopping a cab in Valentino. Would she be in this train, she would not even sweat, and she’d be telling amusing stories with a cosmo in her hand, seducing everyone in the process. As for me? Well, I’ve mostly run out of lukewarm still water, and I am far too concerned the passenger next to me will think I am some kind of terminal-touristy case.

At least, I can hear you say, you could try being politically correct. And I could… if I was planning to post outfits only. The thing is I am kind of chatty (you would not guest, based on these 500 words of nonsense, would you?), and chatty people can go controversial.

There is also one more thing: I am not planning on posting outfits only.

The main reason I follow blogs is because I enjoy reading other people, putting myself in their shoes. And so, I would like to find a personal balance by analyzing the link between fashion and culture. I’d dare to be honest. To write on things I really care about.

And I might be controversial, sometimes.

The truth is, there are little chances I manage to be fashionable, sophisticated, or politically correct. Probably, I will never be Carrie Bradshaw. I hope you will excuse me, though.

November 12, 2018March 14, 2019

Allegra Caro24 Comments

How to achieve the designer look on a budget

There is something undeniably mysterious about haute couture: it is breathtaking on the catwalk, but if you are lucky enough to cross paths with someone wearing it in real life, it’s pretty much like seeing a unicorn — you can only freeze and stare at it in awe.

For most of us, couture fashion seems out of reach. We can for sure follow every Paris Fashion Week religiously, buy every Vogue issue and even spend dozens of hours a year looking at those flawless red carpet actresses wearing Dior or Escada (Er, am I the only one with a slightly weird obsession about the MET gala pictures? I am not, right? RIGHT?), but too frequently for us, poor souls, that’s all there is to it.

An average professional woman may be able to invest in a designer bag as a nice form of emancipation self-indulgence, but will she spend thousands on her closet regularly when the car insurance bill pay, or the latest kindergarten payment arrive? Most likely not. So, should we then assume that middle-class women must simply give up and start dressing in rags — a modern Charles Dickens parody, with office workers window shopping clothes they cannot afford —, forever doomed? Well, I don’t like tragedies other than Shakespeare´s.

So, how do you glam up? Is it possible to achieve the fashion couture look on a budget? Or even get designer clothes for less? (Spoiler alert: it is.) After a few years of rights and wrongs, these are the lessons I have learned along the way.

1. Shop second hand

One of my sisters, who is also the biggest French couture fan ever, once said to me: “Do you know what looks like Chanel? Exactly, Chanel .” Yes, I know. Captain Obvious reporting for duty! But before you stop reading and click away, please let me explain. What she actually meant was you might have no budget to grant a quick trip to Les Champs–Élysées for a brand new Gabrielle Hobo bag, and that’s OK. But there are other options out there. Have you ever considered second-hand market, for instance? Nowadays, the internet is riddled with specialized apps where you can find virtually anything. Including designer clothes. My personal favourite is Depop (just don’t tell the others, they are jealous…), but the list is never-ending.

2. Don’ t miss the sales

This is another one that goes without saying. Check the designer website sales regularly. If you pay attention enough, it is not difficult to find huge discounts during the appropriate seasons. It is possible to make 70% off, and even more in the last items. Just make your research with a good cup of tea and remember to thank me afterwards (or simply buy something gorgeous, that’s fair enough, anyway).

3. Commission tailored clothes

Find a nice dressmaker locally who can honor your figure and personal tastes. It is not necessarily expensive, and nothing fits better than custom made dresses. Or you can just drop that brand new dress to the seamstress to make it fit like a glove. Usually, it requires a few adjustments only to transform a decent dress in the most fetching piece. This is something I do myself frequently, and an easy way to upgrade your closet quickly. Do you know want to look like Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s but without debt in your bank account? (Well, and maybe without that weepy scene, looking for your cat under the rain. I don’t know about you, but I prefer not to lose my cat…) Then go for it.

4. Find quality shops in the high street

This might sound to you a bit like the quest for the holy grail, but I promise is not. It may require a bit of patience and research, sure — the effort is totally worth it, though. When I first moved to Bucharest five years ago, I noticed women wore what it looked like designer clothes. However, I knew the national average salary was not that high. Where were these ladies shopping, then? The answer came to me quickly: the capital was full of little boutiques where you could purchase fancy coats, dresses, and bags for a fraction of the haute couture prices. In no time I became kind of an expert to be out and about, entering every shop, selecting the most affordable quality pieces. Not only my closet is thankful for it, but also my account balance.

5. Make your research.

Some time ago, a friend asked me: “How can YOU afford your clothes?” By this, she meant how could I afford a nice wardrobe given my modest salary. I replied without missing a beat: “I invest time.” And it was true. Whenever I had some spare time and felt like going for a walk, I would take the chance to visit some shops and see what they could offer. I would compare prices and quality. I am still doing so nowadays. Patience and time to make your research is the best advice I can give you. Go outside once in a while, get a coffee to go, do some window shopping. At some point, you will start figuring out what works for you and your budget.

And a last piece of advice in the shape of a bonus: just experiment. You do not necessarily need that coat/dress/handbag that makes Blake Lively look like the ultimate it girl to feel good (for a start, most of us haven’t got her hair or personal stylists, have we?) So don’t push yourself too hard. In my case, it is a lot of Vintage, and I don’t really care if people might think I look a bit extravagant (or even a bit out of a time capsule, for that matter). After all, style should be fun. And like Cindy Lauper very kindly pointed out: Girls just want to have fun.