There are days when I am covered from head to toe in mud and puppy paw prints, drenched to my soul, looking quite less than glamorous that I marvel that once upon a time, I was a girl who strutted around in high heels and very fancy frocks.
I know you’re laughing. Go ahead. Nakedjen in fancy frocks. It sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?
I swear to all that is holy and on a pile of Manolos that it is absolutely true. A long, long, long, long time ago…or maybe not so long ago, really, in the grand scheme of things, but what feels like an entire lifetime ago, I was a woman who truly cared about the labels in her clothing, who lived and died by the little polo pony embroidered on her shirt and the fabric hand of her skirt. And nearly everything in my closet was black. Black.Black.Black.
I thought I was oh so chic.
But the thing of it was, I actually was pretty darn chic. Or at the very least fashionable. I was being taught by the very best that there is in the business. One of my dearest and closest and best friends in the whole universe is Betsy Fisher. Betsy and I met when we were 10. Ten, people. That’s like 32 years ago. How many friends do you have that you can say you’ve had for 32 years? We met while sitting on the back of our ponies at Miles River Riding School one summer afternoon. She was from Pittsburgh, I was from Seaford. The pony farm provided our playground. We spent subsequent summers sharing a small one room cabin together in our own version of summer camp while also mucking stalls and showing horses and teasing boys and trying not to make Mrs. Barner completely mad with worry. Those were some of my most favorite summers.
In the late 1980’s, Betsy, who was alwaysalwaysalways very fashionable, found herself with absolutely nowhere to shop in Washington, D.C. She was so tired of being uninspired and of seeing the same thing everywhere she looked that she decided to open her own store. If she was frustrated, she figured that other women were frustrated, too.
It just so happened that I was at one of those many times in my life when I was trying to figure out what to do with myself when I reconnected with Betsy and her fabulous store. The Grateful Dead smocks were cast by the wayside and I was soon sporting Isabel Ardee little black skirts and Nanette Lepore jackets. Nicole Miller dresses. Anna Sui skirts. Think Tank one of a kind silk sheaths. My closet was becoming a place even I didn’t recognize. Just chock full of lovelylovelylovely things. Betsy hired me (friends do that, don't they? oh how lucky I was!) and I worked at the store and soon was going on buying trips with her to New York. Oh how I loved those buying trips. Sitting with her in designer showrooms and tempering her enthusiasm just enough to remind her that we had exactly six customers who would truly buy that particular jacket, so we really shouldn’t order any more than six. Well, maybe one more because we'll find another new customer who will also love it. But definitely not more than that! But her eye, people. She could tell the moment we walked into a showroom whether we even needed to stay. One glance at a collection and she could either jump up and down with giddy glee or tell them thank you, we’d seen enough. It is that eye, I am quite certain, that is the reason her store still thrives and has such a very devoted following. Metro Washington area women completely trust Betsy to find them the unique and very special clothes that are absolutely wearable, absolutely unforgettable, yet they positively know they’re not going to see every other woman in town wearing as well.
I left Betsy and the store when I moved back to Santa Cruz. My leaving was not without tears, it was not without heartache, it was not without a bit of trauma. And I will admit that it was hard to leave those cozy environs behind. I loved working with her, every single day. It was one of the most fun jobs I’ve ever had. And I would gladly go back to work there again if I ever found myself back on that coast. It is just that much fun.
For years I have been hoping that Betsy would somehow expand those four walls of her boutique and bring the world of Betsy Fisher online. I could not, honestly, quite imagine how it would happen, as one aspect that makes Betsy Fisher truly Betsy Fisher is the very personalized service you get at her store. Betsy remembers you. She knows what size you wear. She knows what you’ve bought, what pieces are already in your closet and when she shops in New York or Los Angeles, she actually keeps you in mind and will say, “Oh Marian will love this suit. It will go great with the pants she bought last year!” I can not tell you now many times, I’ve heard Betsy say this about each and every customer she has. She’ll call them, personally, on the phone and tell them about a special sweater that just came in. Or a pair of earrings that remind her of them. It’s like having your very own personal shopper who is also your best girlfriend and who is making sure you always look absolutely dynamite, no matter what the occasion.
So how can all that personality translate to the world of online shopping? Well, I’m not sure that it can. But still, my special wish has come true. Betsy Fisher is now an online shopping destination. And in true Betsy Fisher style, she’s even already put together a multitude of looks for you to peruse. Which is exactly what she’d do if you were to walk into the store. She’d gather her favorite items from the latest shipment and mix and match and tell you just the reasons why you simply must have that Gerard Darel jacket, all the while shoving various ensemble ideas at your naked self standing in her dressing room.
Now? Now we can all stand naked at our very own front door and wait for the UPS man to bring us big fat boxes filled with fabulous clothes. Our wallets will shrink, our closets will grow, and we all, every single one of us, will look absolutely smashing. The people at the dog park just won’t know what to make of me now, will they?
