Many years ago when I moved to Stanford
University to marry my husband, a philosophy professor
already entrenched on campus for twenty-eight years, I
was stunned by the absence of two things: a near total
lack of sartorial elegance and the collapse of social
politesse. It appeared to me that these academics actually
thought they were above these mundane things. I had been
living in New York and soaking up the culture of style
and fashion. Coming to Stanford was such a shock that
sometimes I did not utter a word at parties and dinners.
What passed for many a woman’s dinner
ensemble might have been a Mu Mu type gown, paired with
pumps and formal jewelry. In case you don’t know what
a Mu Mu is, allow me to give you a description I retrieved
over the Internet: Mu Mus are great
for wearing around the house while cooking, cleaning, or
just lying around. Also, great covers for swimsuits. Made
from 50/50 poly-cotton print. Three necklines are available:
round, square and v-neck. Short sleeve only. Made in USA!
Sizes 2XL and 3XL. Now if these academic wives had
been sweethearts to me, I wouldn’t be writing this.
But these Mu Mu ladies were bitches, reveling in their lack
of style by taunting me publicly and gossiping privately.
How dare I enter their little world with my clothes and
my youth (I was 25) my attitudes (“all about fashion”)
and my reasonable social skills? I was only out of their
focus the year “Virginia” (not
her real name) came to visit Stanford with her psychologist “fiancé” and
proceeded to break up three marriages! Even though “Virginia” was
clearly after my husband as well, I had to like her, because
she asked my advice on where to find a wedding gown in San
Francisco and Los Angeles. Too bad she had those problems---we
might otherwise have become great friends.
One by one, these sad ladies --ridden
with anger and loathing that they had given their lives
to their husband’s
career while they got fat under their Mu Mus-- retired to
rest homes or died. Two of them who were about ten years
older than me, and in some ways the meanest of the lot,
have since apologized for their behavior, which made me
realize I had not been dreaming this up in some paranoid
delusion all these years.
And what about the men? “The professors” were
the men in my early days on campus. “I’m afraid
the Sixties hit some of these guys pretty hard,” my
husband explained. Rarely did I see a tie on most of these
fellows. Almost never did I see a sport coat. These professors
never had to embrace “casual Friday” because
every day was casual for them. Groovy guys during the Swinging
Sixites, they were now sagging ex-hippies as we entered
the Ego Eighties. In all fairness to both the campus men
and women, they didn’t go for the banal “Dress
for Success” look that their students had begun to
affect. Why should they? It would have been a drain on their
precious energy.
But what did some of this precious energy produce? The
PC and the Internet, for starters. Perhaps with a little
LSD and a lot of pot mixed in, the High Tech revolution
began right at Stanford University. So maybe clothes were
low on their list of priorities. Some of this changed when
the money started rolling in and all the now nouveau riche
from around the world, who had come to cash in and cash
out, started spending on clothes like crazy.
It’s quieter now on campus. The really old faculty
members and wives I first encountered are largely gone,
the old hippies who made money haven’t changed they
way they dress, and the young faculty members look surprisingly
stylish. About a year ago, my husband (who has his suits
tailored on Savile Row, his shoes and shirts privately made
and his ties, by Hermes, in neat rolls in a dozen drawers)
said the loveliest thing to me: “When I brought you
here, I realize now I was bringing you to Mars.”
Yes, it has been life on Mars, but on Mars I learned that
fashion and the Internet are compatible. And I learned to
be tough and not compromise the things I love in order to
live among the Martians. In fact it is probably life on
Mars that encouraged me to dedicate myself to fashion and
start an Internet fashion magazine. So really, life on Mars
has not been half bad.