Taking The Last-Minute Plunge: Finding A Swimsuit All Year Round

“Mykonos!?” It’s 4:47 p.m. Tuesday, and your boyfriend has just surprised you with an impromptu trip to Greece. It would be a relative disaster if it weren’t such a dream proposition. There’s barely enough time to pack, and where are you going to find the perfect bathing suit this late in the season? Somehow, calling your best friend to say, “Can I borrow your polka dot Balenciaga bikini?” doesn’t seem quite right. Personally, I don’t own a bikini (my pale skin practically self-destructs in the sun), but I hoard plunging Eres one-pieces with the rationale that they’re perfect for a girl without a tan. Bikini or not, we’re still faced with a problem. Where to find a new suit this late in the season? Or, indeed, any time when they’ve been cleared off the racks of department stores and boutiques coast to coast?

So we turn to girls seasoned in this sort of dilemma: Where can the perfect swimsuit be sourced all year round? Take Lisa Marie Fernandez, the stylist behind her own line of surf-inspired swimwear with fans like Lauren Santo Domingo and Eugenie Niarchos. “I’ve always been super-spontaneous with travel and never know where I’m going,” says Fernandez. “I actually never really shop in the summer for bathing suits.” She suggests shopping online is the best bet for finding a last-minute suit, at either net-a-porter.com or clickini.com. “Some people shy away from buying online,” she says, “but sites allow you to see a great still life of a suit, or both front and back.”

“No one does a swimsuit quite as well as the Brazilians,” says Bev Malik, a freelance buyer and fashion director known for her skill at finding the best special fashion worldwide. She recommends doing some research at triya.com.br (the suits are sold at J Sisters; jsisters.com) and Osklen (osklen.com), the Brazilian outdoors brand with an outpost in New York that always has a suit style in store. Malik also likes lanouvellevague.com for Italian label Dosed’s “beautiful bikinis with gorgeous trims sourced in the finest factories in France and Italy.”

The off-season swimsuit hunt takes a new spin when you consider the Brazilian summer is the North American winter and vice versa. This was part of the argument made by Eres founder Irene Leroux when, in 1968, the Parisian public thought she was insane to sell swimsuits year round. She was quick to counter, citing traveling South Americans and, of course, the jet set, who just couldn’t—and wouldn’t—wait to buy their new suits.

“Ten years ago, before we opened the store, one of my friends argued that it’s absolutely ridiculous that you can’t buy a bathing suit year round in this town,” says Beth Buccini, co-owner of Kirna Zabête. The Greene Street store now offers clients the option to custom-order Lisa Marie Fernandez’s suits (it’s a service also available online at the store’s Web site; kirnazabete.com). Other stores with reliable swim options include Missoni’s New York flagship (Missoni suits are also available at Net-a-Porter) and Malia Mills (maliamills.com), while Norma Kamali’s store and Web site (normakamali.com) have over 300 styles of suits and a Try Before Service. For Tomas Maier swimwear, turn to the Manhattan-based catrionamackechnie.com (if you’re in New York, they’ll even messenger your suit from its Tribeca headquarters). Of course, there’s always the classic and reliable go-to, J.Crew, available at jcrew.com.

After all this exploration, I’m left smitten with the Azzaro Floristique swimsuit (available at Net-a-Porter). It fits in with my Eres stash—and I’ll have something special should anything arise, even if it’s only a surprise trip to Montauk.

So Young and Fabulous

AT Greenhouse, no one could hear you scream, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. The music at the club on a recent Thursday night — a procession of Michael Jackson songs played at airplane-engine volume — ricocheted off the low green-and-purple ceilings, sabotaging all attempts at spoken communication. Until Kim Kardashian grabbed the microphone.

“O.K., guys, let’s party!” she instructed from the well-fortified V.I.P. section of the SoHo club. Ms. Kardashian, who is famous for any number of reasons, was there lending her name to a new brand of vodka, which sponsored the event (never mind that she herself does not drink).

The densely packed crowd was young, fabulous and occasionally recognizable. Danielle Staub from “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” made conversation with a dapper middle-aged man with shiny, slicked-back hair.

“This is not my scene!” Ms. Staub screamed, as “The Way You Make Me Feel” transitioned into “I Want You Back.” Then she felt compelled to explain, “I turned down a few other things and ended up here, but I think Kim is beautiful.”

By 11 p.m., Ms. Kardashian and her entourage, which consisted of a sister, Khloé, and a celebrity publicist, Jonathan Cheban, grew tired of screaming and made a covert exit through the club’s kitchen with the help of some bouncers and other publicists. They ducked into a black S.U.V. for the short ride to Delicatessen, a restaurant on the Lower East Side.

There, nibbling on fried chicken and spinach-and-artichoke dip, the sisters talked about their own show on the E! network, “Keeping Up With the Kardashians,” the conversation morphing into one about reality TV in general.

“ ‘Big Brother’ is one of the best shows on TV — I’m completely obsessed with it,” Mr. Cheban said.

“I’ve never watched that,” Kim said.

“It gets crazy,” Mr. Cheban said, explaining how the show’s producers deprive the cast of food and contact with the outside world. “After a few weeks they get stir-crazy, and people get nasty, and someone once tried to stab another person on the show.”

“What?” Kim shrieked.

“We’ve never tried to stab each other,” Khloé said, looking at Kim. “Yet.”

Mr. Cheban, who grew up in Fort Lee, N.J., said that “every show about Jersey is amazing.” Then he ticked off “The Sopranos” and a show on MTV called “True Life,” which featured some episodes about the Jersey Shore.

“It’s so stupid, but it’s so good,” Khloé interrupted, referring to the MTV show.

Khloé, the more free-spirited of the sisters — a characteristic played up for comic effect on the show — seemed to embarrass Kim when she started talking about one advantage to partying in New York rather than in their hometown, Los Angeles: no driving.

“Ever since I had my D.U.I., and now like I’ve never drank and drove since that,” she said. “I mean now I can’t have one sip of alcohol and drive.”

As she was speaking, Kim mimed shooting herself in the head.

“I’m on probation,” Khloé continued, then noticing her sister, asked, “Kim, are you upset?”

“No,” Kim said, shrugging.

It was after midnight when they made their way back into the S.U.V., though only after an encounter with a photographer outside the restaurant. “He must have followed us here from the club,” Mr. Cheban said.

They were soon at the night’s final destination, Avenue, a new celebrity hot spot in the meatpacking district. There was a crowd outside, but the doormen unhinged the velvet ropes for the Kardashians and opened the doors to the club, revealing a crowd of young, fabulous people flouting New York’s antismoking laws. The music of the moment? “I Want You Back.”

Denim Shirts

The introduction of denim into our wardrobes was, make no mistake, a revolution. What was once an unremarkable fabric for the working class became a sought after fashion fabric that conquered the globe; denim was to the late twentieth century what Huddersfield cotton was to the 19th. Tough, hard-wearing and distinctively American, jeans particularly are the greatest reason for this material’s success. They were an American teenage trend in the mid 20th century, and by the end of that century, everyone was wearing them.

Indeed, it’s difficult to imagine life without denim jeans. They are such practical inventions of fashion – easily washed, tough and durable – that it seems our current mode of life, far more active and requiring ever more resilient clothing of the ‘wash-and-go’ variety, might not exist without them. Cotton and wool trousers are often too smart, and often too easily spoiled; I remember spilling cream on a pair of virgin wool trousers and making the mistake of rubbing away at the material vigorously, as I would on my jeans. The difference is that the jeans can take it.

Of course, there are scattered detractors of denim. Dandy ‘evangelists’ for example tend to hold denim in contempt writing that “…this age of stonewashed blue jeans and practicality through the T-shirt is not the age in which a Dandy can come to aristocratic fruition.” They maintain a genuine refusal to acknowledge “…anyone who wears…jeans to be a dandy of any stripe.” Lapo Elkann admirers will probably disagree. The workaday value of denim is doubtless the problem for such critics. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this is the very value – something Yves Saint Laurent applauded – that explains their extraordinary success.

Aesthetically, they can be simple, even elegantly so. The material itself, no silk or velvet, is perhaps not the most lustrous or gorgeous of fabrics but pants rarely ever were the most glorious part of an ensemble. It is because of, and not in spite of, their supposedly ‘crude’ adaptability and relative simplicity that jeans, whether the detractors like it or not, are wildly popular and it seems, here to stay.

Other items of the denim family will look on in jealousy at the meteoric rise of the prodigal ‘denim jeans’; dungarees, though practical, are the old pretenders; the denim jacket is like a distant relative who uses the shine of the family name, so lacking in aesthetic and practical value is the product itself. The denim shirt, for some, is even worse. A friend once told me that while he adored denim jeans, he abhorred denim shirts; “They’re so ‘Me too!’ – what is the point in a denim shirt?” Not armed with a reason except the predictable and natural explanation that perhaps some people rather like them, I have often pondered the sartorial love/hate reception that meets the denim shirt. I myself rather like denim shirts.

Usually manufactured from a softer denim than jeans, they have a character and comfort all of their own. However, they are often very badly done in a manner that doesn’t suggest Fifties teenagers, milkshakes and Chevy-packed parking lots but beer guts, Stetsons and all-you-can-eat steakhouses. Denim should not be worn with denim – everything that ‘matches’ isn’t always a perfect ‘fit.’ Just ask Liza Minnelli and David Gest.

And while it is certainly true that the denim shirt is principally a casual item of clothing, it should not be treated in a slovenly manner. Denim shirts are boyish and as such, should be worn in a more fitted style. Baggy denim shirts, with clownishly voluminous arms, however comfortable they are, will make you look like a prisoner.

It is best to avoid overly ‘washed’ denim shirts. For one thing, indigo is a wonderful colour that should be displayed proudly and be allowed to age steadily. Secondly, there is something indescribably nasty about a denim shirt that seems to masquerade as an ordinary mid-blue cotton.

The context in which denim shirts are worn is rather unfortunate too. In their most popular habitat - the line-dancin’, country music luvin’ bone suckin’ states of the US of A – they seem to be predictably paired with denim, boots, and other items of rugged practicality. They could be better worn, as an item of intriguing colour and texture, with a club stripe tie, sports jacket, casual trousers and loafers to a booth at the 21 Club.

Michael Jackson Style

In the last few weeks, about one particular person, there have been written such headlines, obituaries, paragraphs, bloglines, Tweets and tributes that, if piled all together in some mausoleum of dedication, would surely be visible from space. Superlatives have been exhausted; the end of an era has been marked. Michael Jackson’s passing has dominated the thoughts of all from the breakfast to the boardroom table. Of his status as an entertainer, much has been said. Of his unconventional childhood, much has been lamented. He has been praised and pitied; scorned and celebrated. An awesome showman, he could write and produce his own music; he danced like no other, inspiring a generation of Jackson-lite dancers. He was equipped with a unique voice, a taste for fantasy and an enduring Peter Pan personality.

What has received less mention is Jackson’s very evident, somewhat controversial, taste in clothing. By some he is cited as the last example of extrovert dandyism; in whatever theme of clothing he currently favoured whether it be creamy fedoras, glittering socks, diamante gloves, Napoleonic tunics, wing collars or sequinned blazers. Jackson dressed like no one else. In many ways his extravagance was a renaissance of fashion showmanship unseen in centuries. For while it was undoubtedly idiosyncratic, it was actually well conceived. To some it was predictably vulgar, but to many it was an appealing extension of the Jackson aesthetic; a taste that embraced antiques, classic cinema, exotic animal pets, theme parks and history. He was evidently a curious and eager materialist who found delight in the sort of bauble and bangle that the most outrageous fop would question. But it was not only a willingness to wear what others might not wear; Jackson’s wardrobe was a premier example of personal couture. If Mr Jackson had the taste for a suit of armour, Mr Jackson would get a suit of armour. Indeed, when interviewed, Jackson’s costume designers, in acknowledging that Jackson never wore the same thing twice, indicated that Jackson was always the final arbiter on his clothing choices. But he was not simply an isolated fantasist. Jackson even had method to his adoption of faux-regimental clothing, considering that they ‘demanded attention’ had ‘clean lines’ and ‘fit…almost like dance clothes.’

It was not only that Jackson created his own unique wardrobe. He also, due to his magnificent fame, manipulated the mindset of a generation. I remember adopting some of Jackson’s milder clothing curiosities, a small trilby or penny loafer, and receiving my fair share of the humdrum commentary; “Look, it’s Jacko”, “Hey, MJ!”, “Ow!” For as much as penny loafers belong to a generation of Ivy Leaguers, for many younger people they are the stage-shoe of the King of Pop, and try as contemporary celebrities might to consistently adopt fedoras into their everyday headgear, they cannot shake off the glitter of mid-career Michael.

Some outfits of his in particular stand strong in the memory. The Billie Jean outfit, throughout the years of stage performance, remained roughly the same; a simple white t-shirt, skinny black trousers, a black trilby, black loafers and importantly, white diamante socks and a black sequinned jacket. A stage look, no doubt but wonderfully effective; the eye followed the gleaming socks in the moonwalk, the trilby was a clever prop. And as stagey as it appears, Jackson actually adopted more outrageous ensembles.

On a visit to the Reagan White House, Jackson was auspiciously centre stage. With a white wing collar shirt, black trousers, trademark white socks and opera pumps Jackson wore a museum-worthy creation half cartoon, half regimental elegance; a glittering blue mess jacket with light blue-edged lapels, dazzling gold epaulettes, gold sash and gold buttons – on his right hand he wore the legendary white sequinned glove. Such brazen pomp had probably never before been seen at the White House. As bizarre as the costume sounds, Jackson cut a marvellous, and extraordinarily gilded, figure; striding out onto the lawn between Reagan and his wife. For others, it would be impossible to imitate – for Jackson it was natural.

The one outfit that I remember, as a child, I ached to imitate was the creamy, faintly pin-striped suit from ‘Smooth Criminal.’ With a blue satin silk shirt, cream knit tie, spats and white fedora it was practically a parody of the gangster element which Jackson’s video highlighted. And yet it was simply the most wonderful thing I had seen. It wasn’t the white knight poetry of it, the obsession with Jackson himself or even the fact that I adored the song; Jackson simply dazzled.