The timeless, effortlessly chic aura of Coco Chanel is something woman have admired, emulated, and coveted for decades. Ann Taylor should be very flattered by Tuesday's NY Times piece drawing a comparison (after the author first walks through her previous anti-Ann sentiment, which I found dead-on accurate with my own misconception, circa junior year of college).
The iconic tweed jacket that Chanel became synonymous with is updated each season to offer woman a compelling reason to lust after it. (With a price tag north of $3,000, lust really is the verb the comes to mind.) Waking up this morning to find the forecast predicting temperatures in the mid 70's, I was non too thrilled. I have the most important interview I've yet to encounter today, and all my tweed, Chanel-ish, black and white ensembles currently hanging from the front of my armoire will not do in such unseasonably warm air. (Think of the scent of a dog whose been walked in the rain and then returns to his small Manhattan apartment. That is akin to how tweed smells once its become damp with human perspiration.) New choices must be scouted, always keeping in mind my impossibly chic icon.