Why I do fashion

Colin Firth has said as verdict on his quite illustrious career:

‘I always imagined I’d have moved on beyond this infantile career choice. By this point, I would have become a virtuoso on a musical instrument or written novels or become an astronaut’.

This quite succinctly sums up how I often feel about what I do.

The very winding tale about how this ties into the greater question in question, is that through the last couple of years women in India have come under focus, and by consequence the image of women in India, following which fashion magazines joined the spate, following which I began to question if what I do contributes to the image of women in India, following which I asked myself yet again, why I do fashion.

The simple answer is, because I can.

I’ve tried other things. And I probably could have done other things. But nothing would have come as naturally to me as fashion.

For instance, I have a terrible musical memory and remember once not being able to recognise the piece the orchestra was playing as encore. It was a familiar tune, popular culture like, so I wracked my brain through every elevator-door-open-car-reversing-call-on-waiting tune that I knew but couldn’t name it. It turned out to be Bach’s Air on the G String, the fashion equivalent of not being able to recognise Dior’s New Look. And I studied classical music for 15 years. The same applies to literature. I have for years tried to make myself comfortable with literary styles - was it Edwardian, Victorian, what came first? Let’s read up the history of England and now I’m marveling at the economic viability of dressing Kate.

I know I should know these things, I want to know them, but I forget so easily.

But with fashion, every sense is alert. Alexander McQueen was part of my fashion initiation and having no formal background in the field, I remember pouring over his shows when I joined the industry 10 years ago. Earlier this year as I walked through Savage Beauty at the V&A, it brought me to my knees. Standing in that final room being surrounded by 30-foot-walls filled with his genius, this was my place of worship.

I have no problem remembering styles, the novelty of a cut, the peculiar cinch at the waist, the weighted fall. Not only do I notice them, but I appreciate it, something my academically inclined siblings find hard to wrap their heads around. My looks have resulted in comments such as, ‘Where are the sheep?’ - to a particularly flouncy dress, or ‘Does Django know you have his suit’ - to sky blue suit, of course. But the ridicule has caused neither to leave my wardrobe because the flouncy dress is hand-painted and the blue suit, well really now, which woman  doesn’t like a well-fitted blue suit. In my family, the cornerstone of a house is the book shelf. It represents decades of careful collection, and each addition holds a story. For me that cornerstone is my wardrobe.  Through the years I have been building it through street shopping, exports stores, Indian designers, high street, when highstreet got too ubiquitous, single store brands found through travels and sprinkles of luxury. For most other things, I must defer to a professional opinion, books to read, films to watch, music to listen to. But with clothes, I always knew.

Now how does this tie into an image for women? Well quite simply even after all these years, every time I finish reading a fashion magazine, I vow to myself to stop eating sev puri. I want to be thinner. But does this define me? No. Every time, actually every morning, that I see the 6+ min/km timing on my tracker, I want to be faster. Every time I read one of those ‘30 under 30’ lists, I vow to work harder. Hell, every time I meet my siblings, I want to be smarter.

But I do recognise that there is a larger image question at play and here, I have one argument. In the year of turning 30, my body has decided to expand. There was a time when I just had to think to myself to lose weight, and it was gone. That time is now gone. Therefore, and I say this with the blessing of at least one fashion editor, in this year of turning 30 I have found solace in one Kim Kardashian. If that woman, with that figure, can have an interesting dress sense, as manufactured as it might be, maybe it’s all right that I don’t have spindly legs.

And funnily enough if you think of the women in India who drive these fashion magazines - editors, writers and stylists, they don’t fit at all the popular image of size-zero-party-till-the-wee-hours ‘fashion’ industry. They are an incredibly smart, savvy and beautifully complex set of women.

How I wish more people knew that about what I do.

Running after a fashion

Christopher McDougall's Born to Run

People fall in love with Paris for different reasons, and with my background the first conclusion would be fashion. But since I have still to manipulate the very esoteric fashion sensibility of Paris – the nonchalant chic-ness that constantly makes you doubt the height of your heels or the redness of your lips – it’s a relationship in progress. No, what was love at first sight for me and Paris was running.

A recent tryst with the book Born to Run had made me vow to myself to keep fit irrelevant of my situation. That meant putting on sneakers in a city that so far I had only braved with heels. Added to which the anomalous Parisian ability to stay thin makes any overt effort to do so seem like trying too hard. So you can imagine my feeling of being judged as I made my way to the Tuileries, dressed in muddy shoes and an oversized t-shirt, through the Place de la Madeleine and windows of Chanel and Dior. Thankfully I found another runner as sacrilegious as I and followed him straight into the garden for a wonderful run. That’s the beauty of running, there’s an unspoken camaraderie that let’s you belong, even in Paris. Just when I thought my evening couldn’t get any better, I noticed an orchestra set up for a concert in the park. So I leaned my sweaty self against a tree to be lulled by the ethereal sounds of the music. Maybe because I live in a city that sees as any moving person as a nine-pin, this place that brought running and music together had won me over.

I have never attempted an association between running and fashion (which explains the shoes and t-shirt) although it seems that working-out has become fashionable. Hearing friend’s escapades when it comes to staying fit never ceases to amaze me. Power yoga, Pilates, zumba, cross training, spinning – it seems that every week there is a new miraculous way to keep fit. Running has slowly been creeping into this equation ever since the Mumbai marathon brought a spate of distance running activities. And with the marathon training season just beginning, I’ve been involved in a couple of conversations related to finding the right shoes. Not surprisingly most of these people have ended up with bright new shiny Nike Frees for that barefoot feel. You see, chronic running injuries had led to more and more people running barefoot, which really reached its climax with Christopher McDougall’s book, Born to Run. I’ll leave you to read the book since it’s really something intriguing, but the gist of it is we’ve been doing it wrong all along with padded feet. So after years of giving us pillows to run on, Nike now tells us that we need to use the opposite. Bottom line, buy new shoes. How convenient.

What the designers have done is create a good looking, fashionable shoe, which by-the-way might revolutionize the way we run. The neon colour palette with the less bulky silhouette has made these shoes a trend. And that’s the real genius of this collection. In fact, all over Paris, people seemed to be wearing little black dresses with Nike shoes. And if Paris does it, then that’s gospel truth. I must add here that I have not submitted, I still run in my two-year-old Nike Air pair. Yes, the sloppiness that is me running shall not yet be maimed by a fashion.

When I get older

An image from the book 'Advanced Style' by Ari Seth Cohen

If you asked me what would follow a word association of old age and fashion, my answer would be ‘sensible shoes’. After all, when your age adds up to less than a dozen, the geriatric generation must involve the ultimate fashion submission. Of course they are of consequence to us, they raised us. First we did everything they told us to do, then we did everything they told us not to do, and finally we are amused with what they think we should do. But fashion? The keepers of the handbook of wisdom surely have something better to do with their time.

It was Iris Apfel that actually got me thinking otherwise. In a talk with Tavi Gevinson (that child wonder who flouts all age barriers on wisdom), she and Apfel discussed the perils of being fashionable. Of course that’s a bit of a catch-22, because once you are Tavi or Iris Apfel, you are fashionable. Now what is commendable is that you can associate fashion with a 90-something-year-old woman, who had to be wheeled onto stage just to speak on the subject. But what hit home for me was one line that Apfel said, that we live in a youth-centric society. How terrible a thing it is to imagine that you become irrelevant past a certain age.

Thankfully Ari Seth Cohen’s blog, ‘Advanced Style’ is going about proving that wrong. Fascinated with the aging model since he was a young photographer, Cohen now goes around New York photographing what he calls ‘advanced style’. The blog is full of fascinatingly senior women in exaggerated outfits, and poses to match. It’s as if the women are daring the realms of our expectations. As for Cohen, you might see this as a means to differentiate himself in an increasingly crowded blog space, or even as somewhat of a fetish. It might be both, or none. But what he does for sure is make us aware of a moment of relevance that we might have breezed over in the cliché rush to get somewhere.

Admittedly, the first time you encounter this blog you might be amused. It’s like the other end of the spectrum of a five-year-old putting on her mother’s wardrobe. At this moment in my life, I cannot fathom that age, or their thoughts or purposes. But perhaps we’re not so far away from each other, fashionably speaking. My grandmother’s clip-on earrings, now a wardrobe staple for me, are testimony to that. Can I imagine her wearing a ludicrous hat? Unfortunately I only knew her till an age when all I expected of her was molded jello. But now, at this age, I’d like to think she had the same audacity as these women, to put one on. And frankly, I hope I do too.

Fashionably yours: Vogue Fashion's Night Out

Vogue Fashion's Night Out is the fashion community’s chance to indulge. Now when fashion and indulge are put in the same sentence it usually translates to shopping. But strangely enough this is not what the night amounts to. It’s not to suggest that one must not shop, the charity-focused nature of the event almost demands it, but what is delicious about the evening is just to be amongst those with a sartorial concern.

FNO was started with Anna Wintour in 2009 in an attempt to jumpstart an industry that was beaten badly by the recession. What is does in India though, is allow a ‘common’ party. While shopping at a luxury store, at least in India, is usually a serious affair, this is one night where stores will let their hair down, in other words, let the wrong crowd in. On any other day, a certain customer might enter these hallowed environs and slink around the periphery, trying desperately to avoid eye contact lest they betray their limited buying power. The magic of this night somehow grants one the power to walk, nay, stroll into stores and even pull something of the shelf. Innards of bags are inspected, shoes are flipped over and price tags contemplated.

While I tried to maneuver my six inch heels through wired floors, I took a minute to compute that I was pleasantly surrounded by striped jersey maxi dresses, polka dotted blazers and fedoras, all accompanied by champagne and infectious music. The shelves of Vogue Steals were bare, while the Vogue Loves store still had a line outside even though the event was running into its 4th hour. How had we, who saw the light of a Zara only a year ago, become so cool?

There is recent speculation that our reputation as a luxury utopia is beginning to fade with the lack of infrastructure and tough taxes. Also, we're not turning out to be a consumer infected society the world expected us to be. Well, what this night gave evidence to is that while maybe a generation or two behind would frown at this blatant hedonism, there was a crop being brewed that had different aspirations. Give us a decade and we won’t want to slink so much.

There is one point of interest to note though. Just adjacent to this mall, was another that sat calmly, in a Saturday late night buzz of family dinner-and-a-movie. It brings to point that fashion exists within a bubble, which is actually quite reassuring. Not so much the fact that everyone’s life doesn’t revolve around the colour of the season, but by the fact that they aren’t even concerned by it. In fact I take a quiet pleasure in noting that somewhere my fashion wired frame I have a gene that connects me to a Phd toting sister who is uncertain of whether grey pants can be accompanied by a lemon yellow top.

When you're Happy and you know it

There’s only one thing I love better than attending a Zubin Mehta concert, and that’s attending a Zubin Mehta rehearsal. One reason for this is of course is listening to the maestro deconstruct a piece. The way he breaks it down to its bare bones and then packs it all together again, strings, winds, percussion and all, it’s magic. Now while this remains my official excuse for getting out of work on a Tuesday morning, what truly fascinates me is looking at people’s socks.

Before you think me perverse, you must understand that the general rule of an orchestra is uniformity. Classical music is a rigid affair when it comes to dressing and unless a soloist, it’s hard to break away from the black and white. When you watch an orchestra on performance day, there’s a clear difference between the audience and the performers. For one, they place themselves above you, about five feet actually and for another, for that hour and a half or so, being part of the orchestra is just greater than being part of the audience. But now this is all on performance day. Catch them on rehearsal day, and it’s a whole other ball game.

At rehearsals, the tailcoats are replaced by jeans and t-shirts, and even slippers. For a moment, looking at the Hawaiian shirts and floaters, you can actually deem to think that you could be one of them. What’s most interesting is how their sense of dressing gives away their character. And it’s here that the socks play a pivotal role. The little piece of their character that they can carry into the monochromatic sea, is their socks. Let’s face, men have it fairly tough when it comes to formal dressing. Everything must remain sober and well, dull. But there is one aspect of their dressing where they do they to play around, and that’s the socks. It’s sort of a guilty pleasure, white shirt, black blazer and trousers, and red and black striped socks.

That’s why I was thrilled when I found happysocks.com. I always have more respect for a man with coloured socks. And respect can always grow to something more when it’s a chiseled faced, six-foot-one double bassist.

Fashion goes in reverse

I attended a Pablo Bartholomew exhibition this weekend where I caught a presentation by the photographer on his father's work. While making a comparison between son and father, he put on display a picture he had taken of this friends in 1975. When I saw the photograph, I immediately thought of a similar picture my mother had of her friends in the 1970s. I remembered looking at the picture and laughing at the way everyone was dressed in busy prints and bell-bottoms. Unfortunately, I realised there was a need to check that ridicule. You see, in the floral printed jumpsuit that I had chosen for the occasion, I could have stepped right out of that picture, almost four decades later.

If karma ever had its way about anything in my life, it’s fashion. I've inherited part of my mother's ill-fitted nose and dressed in my high-waist jeans and white shirt, I could be her. This worries me. Tremendously. As is befitting any mother-daughter relationship, anything that gives my mother leeway to say, ‘My God, that’s something I used to wear’, frightens me.

Thankfully my redemption came in the form of a pair of high-waist-lemon-yellow-floral pants that my aunt handed down to me. It was an outfit James Ferreira had made for her in the ‘70s and she deigned that I would be the only one in the family who would appreciate it. And she was right. The pants were delicious. But what was interesting was that while my aunt had worn them with a matching peter pan lace collar top—you may take a moment there to visualise that—I went for a more minimalist approach, a white gunji. So the conclusion I reached is that till we actually begin to dress in motorised costumes, as Hussein Chalayan wishes, the same shapes and colours are going to recycle themselves every decade, but with a twist. This time, it’s a more minimalistic approach to ‘70s fashion-less frills, simpler cuts, flatter hair.

There is one thing I do promise myself though. No matter how many bell-bottoms I put on, or how busy my prints get, there’s no way I’m ever doing the hand pounding dance my mother refers to as ‘the popcorn’. As for the picture of her party, I'm sure I wouldn't have been as harsh if she had had Bartholomew's sleight of hand to lessen the blow.

(Pablo Bartholomew, 1975. Catch Pablo Bartholomew, CHRONICLES OF A PAST LIFE - '70s & '80s in Bombay, Sakshi Gallery, Feb 19th- March 17th. It's a collection of photographs he's taken while strolling the streets of Mumbai in the '70s & '80s)

How it began:

(Clockwise from left top: Zeenat Aman in Hare rama, hare krishna, 1971; Bianca Jagger's infamous wedding suit, 1971; 1970s trend setters Farrah Fawcett and David Bowie)

'70s in spring-summer 2011:

(Clockwise from left top: White suit, Thakoon; Printed mini-dress, Dolce & Gabbana; Highwaist trousers, Derek Lam; Polka dot pants with printed top, Rodarte)

Get the look with bright prints, wide leg pants, platforms shoes and minis:

(Clockwise from the top left: Wide leg trousers, Zara, Rs 2,590; Yellow printed dress, Mango, Rs 3,790; Tasseled bag, Mango, Rs 4,690; Polka dot top, FCUK, Rs 1,999; Oversize sunglasses, Fendi at overstock.com, Rs 6,588; Platform shoes, Mango, 5,990)

'They all look alike' syndrome

Bootleg images from Tom Ford's SS11 show

Two reasons made the 20-something-hour haul back and from America bearable. One was the stack of discounted shoes that filled most of my luggage, and the second was my smug belief that no one would have the same pairs when I came home.

With shoes enough to last me through fashion week, the first reason for my being in the land of the free had been fulfilled. It was the second that had me on shaky grounds.

Often while driving through the States, I fell asleep looking at manicured roads, lined with Target and Subway and McDonalds, only to wake up later, looking at manicured roads lined with Target and Subway and McDonalds. Such is the state of comatose that a moving car inflicts on me, that on more than one occassion my initial reaction was that my family had reached a restaurant, finished a meal, and were back home, all while I was asleep in the car. What began to unnerve me even more though, was that the people too were beginning to look alike. For example, autumn collections had just hit while I was there and I saw in one store, a well styled pair of mid-calf boots. I was soon to find out though, that I was not the only one of that opinion. By the end of one week of driving around, I had counted at least 20 people wearing the exact same pair of boots. Since it’s a country wide store, it chills me to think how many people are wearing those shoes.

Unfortunately for us, the phenomenon has started here. You can smell Zara on person from a mile away, and what will happen when stores like H&M and Topshop hit? What is this brave new world that we are creating? Will there have to be a reserve for single-city boutique owners?

It was for this reason that I was relieved with Tom Ford’s marketing plan this year. After a hiatus of six years, he revealed his Spring Summer 2011 collection, not to the usual humbug of fashion week paparazzi, but in a private viewing to the ‘queens’ of the fashion. So all we have is word from the powers that be that the collection is breathtaking. No clothes will be seen in magazines till January 2011 and the same will be in stores in February 2011. It’s a start in the direction away from mass merchandising.

Just a step though. Thanks to Zara’s track record of drawing board-to-store in 2 weeks, we’ll be wearing a Tom Ford ‘inspired’ look in March, instead of January. If you need to pick me out, I have a birth mark under my left foot.

The gleek in you

(Clockwise from left top: Steve Urkel, Chuck from Gossip Girl, Fashion designers Viktor and Rolf, spectacles from Agnelos, Sabyasachi's 'nerd' look, jazz shoes

Strangely enough the word ‘nerd’ first came up in a Dr. Seuss poem.

It was used in context of rounding up exotic animals for a zoo. Who?

In a fashion context, the ‘nerd’ style of dressing is associated with someone of a high intelligence, with a nonexistent sense of fashion. How the two came to be inversely related is perhaps the result of famous intelligentsia’s questionable appearances, like Einstein’s hair. The image was also encouraged by TV personas like Steve Urkel from Family Matters and in more recent times the gang from Big Bang Theory (with special reference to the ingenious dressing of Howard).

But lo and behold the genius of fashion, to make looking unfashionable, fashionable. Think of the plaid vest, bow-tie wearing Chuck from Gossip Girl. Spectacles, the epitome of geekiness have long found their way onto the runway, offering a chic intelligent look. (Not to be confused with the bespectacled secretary, with after hours stripping skills).

The basic clothing for any nerd look is checks. Plaid shirt, plaid pant, plaid vest, but be smart about it and don’t wear them together! Checked shirts are all over the place, you can get them off the road (Hill Road, in the lane opp Elco Arcade Rs 200), and in most of the export shops like Cotton On and H20 (Bandra). I picked up lovely tartan printed pair of skinny pants from Besos (Bandra) for Rs.1500. For spectacles, I got a lovely pair from Agnelos (Bandra) for a steal – Rs. 400. They’ve got them in different colours too, so you can get an entire set. If you’re willing to stretch your budget, you can pick up the true blue Ray Ban Wayfarers, because that’s where it all began. They should set you back around Rs. 4000. Suspenders and bow ties you can get at Al’s Shop on Hill Road (approx. Rs 300-500). Zara’s has a really cute racer back with a bow tie printed on it, just to change the look around.

For shoes, Oxfords or brogues are the way to go, but the problem is that they’re usually for men. Aldo has some really cute ones (on SALE now!) but I found some interesting shoes, again at Besos, that weren’t exactly Oxfords but jazz shoes. They’re made on order, fitted specifically for you and are around Rs. 2500, which I thought was quite reasonable.

As much as we of the non-quantum world like to dress up, we don’t really want to make ‘nerds’ fashionable. Not at all. If we didn’t have Sheldon (Big Bang Theory), who would think white tailed tuxedos were cool. Bazinga.

When in Vogue...

(Left, American Vogue editor Anna Wintour, right, Vogue India May 2010)
If your bone to pick with Vogue is that it does not cater to your shopping abilities, with its alligator shoes and diamond studded bags, rest assured, it never did.

Vogue started off as a gazette meant to instruct only ladies of high society. Rather than journalists, it had socialites, and it was to be distributed to a very elite clientele. Eventually it was taken over by a man named Condé Nast who attempted to make it more mainstream, and that’s where fashion took over. Slowly he sculpted it into today’s monthly ‘fashion bible’ that preaches in 19 countries, the strongest of which are America, Britain and Paris.

There is no doubting Vogue’s contribution to fashion. It was Vogue that first published Chanel’s little black dress and it changed the course of fashion during the war years by encouraging American designers. The name most synonymous with Vogue today is Anna Wintour, who rules the roost in American Vogue. She embraced Hollywood, launching Vogue into a new era of celebrity fashion. Such is her influence over the industry that the Milan fashion week this March changed its dates to suit her schedule. Although her nature might be defined today by The Devil Wears Prada, in another film The September Issue, Wintour notes how her accomplished, brilliant siblings are ‘amused’ with what she does. It’s a rare glimpse into the vulnerability behind the dark glasses. Like other American royalty, who have a history of unnatural passing, so do the women at Vogue. Wintour's predecessors, Diana Vreeland and Grace Mirabella were both unceremoniously ousted from Vogue. There have been ongoing rumours of Wintour's dying reign, let's just hope her glasses aren't fogged over.

While the American Vogue remains relatively mainstream, Carine Roitfield, Wintour’s French counterpart, is anything but conventional. Known for her flippant attitude, such is her influence that she got herself and the French Vogue team banned from attending any Balenciaga shows. Apparently she sent a Balenciaga coat to Max Mara who quickly made a cheaper version to sell.

Vogue came to India in 2007, but has it revolutionized Indian fashion? Well that remains to be seen. What it does do is give an amazing stepping stone to upcoming designers. The Vogue India (vogue.in) website is also the first comprehensive online coverage of Indian fashion.

With Vogue India, the fashion shoots are where the genius of Vogue shines through. In shoots that focus on aesthetics, Grace Coddington (American Vogue) is queen, especially when she pairs with photographer Annie Leibovitz. The other kind of shoot focuses on wearable clothes. The cover has the new Levi collection with Jean Paul Gaultier’s version of his conical bra in denim. It also has the Chanel Spring 2010 tattoos which are very chic with their little pearly chains and links. But going at approx. Rs. 3500 for something that comes off in one wash, I’m sticking with Fusen Gum.

Of course if you are in the habit of dining with the President, please take notes. As Vogue’s 1921 article ‘Social Customs in Washington D.C’ instructs - the President and his wife should be seated before you are, and that although he is addressed as Mr. President, she is simply, Mrs. X. Sigh. So much for women’s empowerment. It needs a little revision though, to include the appropriate manner in which to address the royal mutt.

How to get to a concert by train

Travelling by train to a concert is an art.

You have to pick the right clothes, shoes and bag with enough equipment to make sure you don't have a traveled-by-train look when you arrive to applaud. Performers have an annoying habit of looking immaculate on stage and the break between movements is ideal for them to mock the crumpled audience.

In this weather sweating is a given so you don't want to pick anything in a light colour, or too tight. Also, nothing white, you never know who your seat's been under. Strangely enough modesty is not something you have to worry about. Evening traffic is not very rushed and if the sunglasses are big enough, they'll frighten people away.

Then there's the question of shoes. Now this is of utmost importance. The dilemma is that train- travel shoes are never really concert shoes. But there's a way around this. One is to carry two pairs of shoes. A flat pair to run for the train, and heels to make a poised arrival. If you don't want to change shoes, then you need to have a really sturdy heeled pair. Ideally you want a rubber soled easy-to-walk-in pair of pumps. Leather soles will get ruined and anything open will leave you with footprints for nail polish. Charles & Keith have some ideal 3 inch block heel for these occasions. Although an alien concept in fashion, for such times comfort is imperative. I once wore a very pretty, very pointed pair of shoes for a concert, after which I couldn't get up to pee during the interval.

Now the damage control you do, when you get in a cab from the station to the hall. First wet wipes because, well, because. Then you need to have compact, blush and lipstick (Lakme and MAC lipstick never come off). Keep the window closed on your side and let the breeze from the one along side cool you down. Also the change of shoes should be done here. I always feel really sneaky at this point. The changing act is a bit of a Bond experience only with no wetsuit and unfortunately no martini.

A chic carry-all is necessary to pitch everything into. I picked up a surprisingly pretty one from a store opposite KFC on Linking Road (Rs. 600). It's white and neatly quilted and can hold my wallet, shoes, phone with a separate compartment for wet wipes and makeup. Also they give you a six month guarantee on the bags. Unfortunately even then, I know it won't last very long. An Aldo , Mango and Tommy (Rs. 3000 onwards) have some neat carry-alls this season.

Between the vibratoes and the long-haired-blue-eyed man waving his stick, you're in for quite a hm, climatic experience. Please don't clap between the movements.

Kallol Datta: For those too cool to be tanned...

When it comes to fashion weeks, there's spring/summer and then autumn/winter. When it comes to Indian fashion weeks, there's a little more confusion. It seems everyone has a reason to get up and get dressed, with 3 fashion bodies having independent fashion weeks. As if that's not confusing enough, the Lakme Fashion week this year had a summer/resort week. What is that you ask? Why, it's a season. There's spring, when it's hot. Summer, when it's hot, and then there's resort, when it's hot, with a martini.

The resort collection is usually available in stores during Christmas. It was created in order to give rich Europeans something to wear as they sail down the Nile in their dahabiyas. Through winter, and this is the real thing, not 'what we call winter', Europeans escape to warmer climates to brown their pale white tushes. Unfortunately, the winter collection in stores at the time is not conducive to white linens and bikinis. So, the ever considerate money makers that are, decided to make some more money and give them something to shop about.

India, in true fashion (no pun intended), decided to hop on the bandwagon and have a resort collection. While most designers saw this as the time to bring out the flouncy-ness within them, thank God for Kallol Datta who turned his back on the yellow parade and took inspiration from an asylum. For the Lakme Fashion Summer/Resort 2010 collection, he had a his regular quirky prints and draped dresses, with a added macabre feel. Although a complete Kallol Datta look might seem too strong, you can always break it up. There are the shift dresses, churidar pants, printed tees (brilliantly done with a print that looks like a serial no.) and jumpsuits that are very wearable. I'd suggest the tees with a fitted formal jacket for a casual chic. My favourite are the shoes. Something out of 'Just William', it's perfect for a contrary look with a summer dress, and kicking a stone down the road.

Available at: Muse. Although on the expensive side, it's worth a look around for some really one off pieces. 46 VB Gandhi Marg, Kalaghoda, Mumbai; Tel: 22623133; Prices: Jeans start at Rs 7000, accessories at Rs 4500 and books at Rs 1500.

Brand, Season, Collection… Haversack?

Being an irregular regular at the park, I had established a pattern. Leave bag on stand, finish with track, pick up bag, stretch, stumble home. And every irregular regular day the guard reminded me ‘Madam, leave bag, your risk’.

One day, dazed with a run that was too fast and too long, I picked up my bag and scrounged around for my bottle. Unfortunately, instead of my blue faded one, I picked up a very crisp and clean bottle and an even cleaner sweatshirt. Realizing my mistake, I attempted to fake limbering down by jumping up and down and flaying my arms about. In what must have looked like a terrible circus act, I then dropped the wrong bag back as inconspicuously as a dancing bear in a china shop.

Finally walking back with my own muddied bag and bitten, scratched, faded bottle I found myself actually offended by the owner of that bag. He seemed like one of those purposeful runners, with their music plugged ears, that never panted. This got me worried, very worried. Considering I didn't carry my wallet, or cellphone, what would a total stranger make of me based on the contents of my haversack?

I began to sketch.

In my bag I found a sweater, Crocin, mints, homeopathic medicine, some change in coins, swimming cap still in packaging, swimming goggles, sweater, blue and green water bottle, stuffed miniature tortoise, payals.

Sitting there undoing the contents of my bag, I felt like I was one of those agents in CSI. Trying to be as objective as possible, I dissected and analyzed. I concluded that the mints and Crocin seemed normal. (Of course later on they would be broken down to test for arsenic, cyanide and cocaine while I wore goggles, a white coat and spoke short, terse sentences).The sweater with grass and sweat stains reflected questionable hygienic habits . The swimming cap, was evidence to an energetic plan abandoned. The tortoise would be passed off as a paperweight and the payals as cheap.

Now I was really upset.

How would I explain that the tortoise had a name and had sat with me through every examination, and that the payals though cheap, were a precious reminder of college ‘bohemian’ fashions? Didn't they know that soon after I bought the cap, I chopped all my hair off?

I have a handbag that makes a definite brand, season, collection statement, and I guard it with my life. Any excesses that litter are cleaned out every evening. My daily needs are neatly wrapped in leather and a gold clasp. You would never know that my sweatshirt hasn’t been washed for over a week now.