The Fashionista Files Read Online Free PDF Page A

wedding. “It’s fantastic!” I told her. I knew it would cause a sensation, bring a hint of scandal, and give everyone something to talk about at the reception. A little bit of fashion fizz to add to the event.
    Karen is the type of fashionista who thrives on “event” clothing. “If it doesn’t scream ‘Look at me!’ then I don’t want it,” she has said, while trying on yet another ornately feathered, slashed-at-the-hip, cleavage-baring number. Her style is uniquely her own—a dash of super-high-end designer (think white fur chubbies by Alexander McQueen) over a pair of slim Levi’s jeans (from the junior department), with signature skyscraper heels that add height to her tiny, four-foot-eleven-inch frame. She’s unafraid of fashion and wears her clothing with utter confidence and a great sense of humor.
    Everyone should have a fashionista friend like Karen. Not only does she own all these wonderful clothes—her closet serves as a communal source for her friends when we need to borrow something a little outlandish, a little outrageous, for those extra-special occasions when a little black dress just won’t do. Nothing to wear? Just pop over to Karen’s and she’ll find you the perfect thing.

    She has accepted Chloe as her personal savior! (You can’t tell in this picture, but it’s backless and revealing . . . trust me!)
    We shop together, pore through magazines together, and conduct heated fashion play-by-plays on our outfits for the day. Her appetite for life is expressed in the vibrant way she dresses, and she’s the first person I turn to for an opinion about a designer purchase. Her judgment is honest but never cruel. I look better because I have her in my life. She’s taught me not to be afraid to be sexy, to stand out, and to claim the spotlight once in a while. My husband appreciates her influence as well—without her, I’d never wear the plunging V-neck tops that he adores (and that one insane Chloe barely-there T-shirt she got me as a gift when she came into a very large store credit after returning a present from her mother).
    Later, at the reception, Karen apologized to Father O’Hare for her outfit. She felt a little guilty about her backless bravado.
    “I’m sorry, I should have worn a sweater over my dress for the reading,” she told him.
    “My dear,” Father O’Hare said, with a wink, “you were the best thing to happen to the altar!” Ahmen.
    Sole Mates

KAREN
    Melissa is not a fussy-clothes kind of girl. She is happiest in jeans and a little top of any kind, be it an Eley Kishimoto kimono, a tee from Target, a Marni hippie floral thing, or Gap button-downs (she has one in hot pink and one in turquoise, which she calls her “TV tops” because the colors pop on TV, should she have to make an appearance of any kind). Sure, she has a stable of hard-to-figureout pieces that require a manual for wearing, dresses that have trains that may be hazardous to her health, and ruffled tops that don’t quite stay buttoned (but they’re Christian Dior!). But all in all, she’s a laid-back fashionista who loves the fanciful, but is more often found in the casual. Down south is another story. Down south the girl is always equipped. She has a flawless shoe collection—four-inch-high turquoise Dolce & Gabbana heels with a fiercely pointy toe, vintage Vivienne Westwood platform sneaker clogs, gold pointy-toed numbers from the fifties, YSL sky-high stilettos with sassy polished prints across the toes, zipped-up Louboutins in denim . . . the list goes on and on. Even her sneakers are groovy—green-and-yellow suede Adidas slip-ons. Unfortunately, we are not the same shoe size.
    I’ll never forget the romantic evening in April of 2000, when we consummated our relationship (in fashionista speak, that means cocktails and seared scallops at a very trendy restaurant). We met at a party at the Chanel store before heading off to dinner at 60 Thompson, a posh hotel in Soho. Up until this time,