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FABULOUSLY GLAMOROUS

I WANT TO BE AUNTIE MAME WHEN I GROW UP. I WANT TO have an apartment with a sweeping staircase that I can descend daily, to be greeted by my dedicated staff and adoring assistants. I want to act as if money means nothing to me, because I am above concern with such things. I want to don glamorous cocktail dresses at five, and drip with jewels. I want to age gracefully, live without regret, and take full advantage of every opportunity that comes my way. I want to position myself in history as a gay icon, and that takes style.

Thanks to certain considerate movie directors, I have a very clear how-to guide. I have a ways to go—particularly in the “sweeping staircase” and “adoring assistant” departments—not to mention that Mame had one polite boy and I have five of the insane variety. Still, this clear picture is helpful in setting the standard for my personal style. Would Mame wear wrinkled capris and an ill-fitting T-shirt to her nephew Patrick’s kindergarten performance at school? Would Mame show up at a black-tie affair in some plain-Jane dress and fade into the woodwork? Would Mame put her heirloom diamond cuff in a safety deposit box to languish, unused? Would she, at the lowest financial moment of her life, just give up on style and not dig to the bottom of her resourceful little soul to make sure she turned heads when she entered the room? Hell, no, and neither would I.

Style is not about money. It’s about making a conscious decision to present yourself to the world in a particular manner. Does my style say my kids have taken over my life and I haven’t had sex in decades? Or does it say I’m fabulous, and these boys are going to have a hell of a time finding a girl like dear old Mom? Style is about having a clear understanding of who you are and what you want out of life. It’s about trusting your instincts and conveying your personal message. Style knows no age or size. It’s easy to dismiss those with great style by saying “If I had a ton of money, I would have great style, too.” I beg to differ. Gabrielle Chanel, an orphaned and penniless girl in France at the turn of the twentieth century, didn’t let the poor-house atmosphere stop her from becoming Coco. In fact, it may have helped. At this point in my life, I have more than I ever dreamed of, but it hasn’t always been this way. Back when I was a struggling single working mother, I still dressed with great style. I feel lucky that I had to do more with less. It taught me a valuable lesson: money is by far the most overused accessory. You actually need very little to have great style.

I have too many kids and too little time, but I still manage to maintain a level of style. I dress up every day. It keeps me from getting sucked under. When you are forty-five years old and have six children, it’s a slippery slope to sweat pants and a minivan. Dressing well actually takes very little effort, but it makes a huge difference in the way I feel and the way others feel about me. It is just as easy to pull on a simple dress or tailored trousers as it is to pull on a pair of tatty mom jeans. I have worked out a simple system that makes it easy to dress nicely every day and takes just a small amount of extra time. Think of it as developing a uniform.

First, you need to find the cinematic version of yourself. I don’t expect the full frontal glamour of Auntie Mame to be for everyone; it takes a lot of guts to leave the house with your neckline plunging to your waist. I recommend instead that you find your own icon of cinematic style. How about the understated chic of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s? If you are looking for casual elegance, take a page from Katharine Hepburn’s fabulous oeuvre and dress like you’re vacationing On Golden Pond. Catherine Deneuve is the ultimate in retro sophistication in Belle de Jour, though I can’t recommend her career choice. How about the menswear look of Diane Keaton in Annie Hall? I love the smart sexiness of Rene Russo in The Thomas Crown Affair