I don't like fabric between my legs. It feels invasive. Give me a well made skirt, silk lined, with a grosgrain waistband and invisible zip closure, any day. The first one I really fell in love with was at Alaia, one of his full skater skirts with curved seams. It was astonishingly sculptural, with a system of hook closures and taffeta stiffening, curved to dip slightly at the back. The material was smooth and supple, not the knit crap Mariah Carey wears, but the thick woven wool favored by Stephanie Seymour. I didn't realize until I got home that the skirt had slits concealed all around the waist- here I thought I was getting this modest gathered fashun thing, but it was actually super revealing. I wore it to work a lot because I loved the way it rustled when I walked from the fridge to my desk but then a coworker said something along the lines of "You can't wear that without expecting to get the business," whatever that means so I sold it for $800 on eBay and bought a plane ticket to Paris.
That's when The Real Real was just starting and I got my Louis Vuitton skirt (pictured here, lol these pics are already so embarrassing) for less than $100. The investment amortized rapidly- thankfully Dior thought to place a flat panel of fabric behind the skirt slit, allowing me to climb fences / statues / trees and even bike in mine while preserving a modicum of decency. I was taught every woman should have at least one black wool skirt, one tweed, and one linen, but I think, for the most part, unless you are a certain type of rich white person, tweed is a 90s trend that should die with the Rachel. Since I don't really do summery or seasonal dressing- it's 2017, we are almost completely distanced from the elements at all times now- the black skirt is all I need. Pencil skirts kind of bore me, and remind me of sausage casing. I got a high waist American Apparel circle skirt though (pictured here), the kind that doubles as a dress, to wear with sneakers and crop tops when I moved to South Pigalle. It's a surprisingly useful and durable workhorse, even though it skews at least 60 years younger than my general aesthetic.
I acquiesced to the charms of shorts, jeans, and pants only recently. I think Paris, which is pretty casual, softened my stance. I'm ashamed of the J Brand denim I wore before (it's funny, one of the first things I thrifted that I really loved were Junya Watanabe jeans, which my sister still wears today. Back then I was embarrassed to go thrift shopping. Now I'd be embarrassed to shop in a mall). Pure cotton Levi's high rise jeans and shorts (cuffed only, because I am not Denise Richards washing a car in Wild Things) are so much better. I try to spot clean / freezer wash as much as possible. If they need laundering, I like to sun dry to facilitate fading. I also put coconut oil on my legs before each wear, which gives a nice sheen to the fabric. Ohio thrift shops are a gold mine for vintage Levi's. Sometimes I find pairs with Ford or LTV Steel plant ID badges in the pockets, which makes me sad and kind of makes my stomach turn when I think about how costly the denim runs now on Poshmark.
I was against black pants because I associate them with pushy Victoria's Secret salesgirls, but I found some flared Louis Vuitton wool pants secondhand that changed my mind. The wool is light enough for summer but warm in the winter, the silk lining gives me the freedom to wear granny panties and bodysuits underneath, and I feel like a character from American Hustle when I stomp around in them and a pair of patent leather ankle boots. I have leggings I'm very happy with also, ethically produced organic cotton from Pact Apparel. I just hate sheer bottoms, and the substantial fabrics in my collection make me feel secure, not exposed. Reading that sentence back to myself makes me realize I really think too much about my clothing, though. I need a life.