seven outfits inspired by phoebe philo's new collection
& how I learned to love the runway stuff
My family would drive from Buffalo to Midtown Manhattan every October when I was a teen so my dad could attend the state’s school board convention and the rest of us could take advantage of the free hotel room and run around the city, gaping at the horse-drawn carriages in Central Park, The Plaza Hotel of my Eloise dreams and the department stores — especially the department stores — filled with treasures that were more interesting (and equally as unattainable) to me at the time than anything at the Met.
I was immersed in fashion from a distance, reading Teen Vogue and fashion blogs, but there was nothing that could have prepared me for seeing fashion up close and in action.
The fashionable women of Manhattan wore black, but not in a plain way. Their outfits had dimension, interest, texture and an enviable polish that I had no idea how to achieve and have spent a lot of time since trying to replicate (and I still often can’t pull it off). I remember it all looking like a Bill Cunningham spread, which probably speaks as much to the rose-tinted quality of memory as it does to my dazzled 13-year-old eyes. The mystique only grew in places like Barneys (rip!) where the clothing of “Gossip Girl” and Teen Vogue hung on racks with $1,000 price tags. I was afraid to touch them.
I knew the clothes were cool, but it was difficult to imagine them — limp, thin, fringed tops and tiny leather pants — coming to life in any noteworthy way when they were on the racks. Then the Olsen twins would be photographed by paparazzi wearing the same items that looked flat, unsubstantial and even ridiculous on a display table, and make them look like the coolest pieces of fabric money could buy.
Aside from lacking the money to buy the Barneys clothes, I didn’t understand them yet. Some clothing, particularly of a classic, substantial nature, is easier to decipher than others. Who doesn’t appreciate a thick, wool sweater of the “When Harry Met Sally” variety or actually, even better, of the Daniel Day Lewis for W Magazine kind? We speak the language of quintessential American clothing because it’s what we’re used to in mainstream culture and it’s been peddled to us as the clothing of the elite (and clothing has been advertised to us as a way to convey and earn status). This is changing, and has been changing for a long time, but the straightforward aesthetic of J.Crew catalogues always persists under various names, such as coastal grandmother or quiet luxury, and is simply what a lot of us wear. I love that kind of look, a Diane Keaton-in-a-Nancy Meyers-movie ensemble, though it needs pizazz to become a good outfit, otherwise it can feel like cosplay.
Phoebe Philo’s clothing is undeniably quiet luxury, but it also has pizazz, and seems to be both straightforward and challenging. It’s the stuff of the fashionable New Yorkers in black whose outfits stood apart from the rest for the quality of the fabric and cuts. Philo, who is known for her popular (and very chic) designs at Celine from 2008 to 2017, debuted her anticipated own line Monday.
I felt a couple of things when I visited Philo’s website Monday for the launch of a collection that I absolutely can’t afford but was super excited to see nonetheless given her near-mythic status in fashion. First, I liked it. In the past, I might not have realized what made the pieces special, but I recognized some of her signature details and feel like I understand where they fit within the fashion lexicon of luxurious minimalism. Plus who doesn’t appreciate a thick, wool sweater of the Phoebe Philo variety? I also think that a lot of what’s in right now, and the style elements that have been exciting me (high necks, cocoons, long lines, oversized items, natural fibers), have been inspired by Philo’s past designs (she’s as popular as ever) and so it makes sense that her new collection would be digestible, attractive and a continuation of one of 2023’s prevailing aesthetics. Philo was revolutionary at Celine for dressing women in clothes they actually want to wear, right? So why should she stop?
The second thing I felt was an instant flashback to that afternoon spent walking around Barneys when I was a kid. Philo’s clothes are so expensive that fashion writer Rachel Tashjian described the prices as “shocking” in her Washington Post story and there’s been considerable discussion, even backlash, online. But I didn’t have the same reaction that a lot of people had re: price because I was never looking at them as being something even remotely attainable to me. I joked to my boyfriend that maybe they could be in a few years when they pop up on The RealReal (and when I hopefully make more money lol). It’s clothing that may as well be in the Met, but I’m also fine with that. I enjoy the creative hunt.
As my passion for fashion is at an all-time high, I’ve been spending a lot more time reading and learning about fashion with a capital F, the kind that Miranda Priestly talks about in “The Devil Wears Prada.” Fashion Week and its runways full of towering models wearing exorbitantly expensive clothing always seemed so unrealistic to me that, for a long time, I didn’t consider it worth my attention. I saw people write about runway trends and brand names I sort of recognized, and repeated colors, pant lengths and textures that would populate the market, but I blocked it out as noise while I spent my time on more practical sartorial matters, like understanding the kinds of clothing I liked on my own body and finding good deals at the thrift store.
By removing myself from the game of fashion, however, I was cutting myself off from a lot of the fun. Learning about the designers at high fashion brands and their past collections, and small designers and the ways in which they’re disrupting the industry, has had a practical impact on my own style. Instead of looking at photos of models on runways and immediately discounting how that could have anything to do with me, I’ve started to view it as real inspiration, as well as somewhat achievable.
Because those pieces from Barneys that I was scared to touch over a decade ago? They’re on The RealReal for like $30. By knowing the history of more high fashion brands and becoming less afraid of complex outfits that require a lot of components, I’ve been able to expand my shopping options and find a lot of great clothing and accessories for less. I now keep a folder on my Vogue Runway app called “things I own” where I store the runway photos of items I bought from The RealReal.
And not to always say, “You should thrift that,” but… you should thrift that. Philo’s collection of silk tops, wool coats, pleated trousers and leather pumps is striking, but it isn’t groundbreaking. With the strategic employment of high-low shopping (maybe try to find one or two designer pieces over time that will elevate the look) and a keen eye at the thrift store, you could recreate versions of those outfits that look great. You’ll need to throw in some pizazz, sure, but you can thrift that, too. We all know the thrift stores have no shortage of funky stuff.
And there’s a lot of shopping and styling inspiration to be gleaned from the collection. As I was taking notes on it, I was picturing pieces that I already owned that resembled pieces within Philo’s collection (which ranged in price from $450 to $25,000). I had a great time putting together outfits inspired by her designs and styling. Here are the results:
Thanks for reading xx
Francesca 🛍️
Love it 🥰