Issue #49, March 16, 2007

North Fork Fashion

A Clothing Swap Party In Mattituck Brings Out North Fork Fashion

By Phyllis Lombardi

It was a small thing, really. An invitation tacked to the bulletin board in the Mattituck office where I work. Yet that invitation may turn the whole North Fork into the fashion capitol of Long Island, even eclipsing that fork to the south. “Come,” read the invitation, “to a Clothing Swap Party.” On Friday, at 7 p.m., at Ellen’s home in Southold.

Now before I proceed, I must tell you this. I know little about fashion. It was my daughter, who, in the late 1970s, told me to ditch the polyester. I’ve been wearing wrinkled cotton ever since. That same daughter told me Prada was an Italian fashion house. When I first heard the word I misunderstood it for Pravda, the Russian newspaper of Cold War memory.

So I inquired about a guest’s responsibilities at a Clothing Swap Party on the North Fork. It seems people bring to the party new or almost new clothing and accessories they never plan to wear. Too small, too large. Wrong color. A duplicate. Here’s a chance to empty your closet and perhaps acquire something “just right” from some other guest. A good idea, I guess. It certainly might transform dowdy to dazzling. Any items not exchanged among the partygoers are given to charities. That’s a good idea, too.

There’s something else I want to mention. Just first names this time. I’m not sure if my co-workers would want it known they’re walking around in someone else’s clothes. Although haven’t we all been told it’s a good thing to walk around in someone else’s shoes for a day? Confusing, I know.

So there you have it. Armed with my contributions, I loaded my car and headed to Ellen’s in Southold. My most appealing item, I thought, was a recent gift from a loving cousin with exquisite and expensive taste. The item was the perfect color, the right size. Warm, too. The trouble? The tag on the garment said it all. “Dry Clean Only.” That’s another thing I don’t do anymore. Except for a heavy winter jacket, everything has gotta go into the washing machine. You’ll notice I didn’t identify the item in question. My generous cousin lives out of state - but she, like everyone else, probably reads Dan’s Papers.

I must say I wondered as I approached Ellen’s door if any of the guys in the office would be at the party. They’re all North Forkers and sweethearts. But that doesn’t mean their wardrobes are knockout. From winter to summer they go long sleeve to short sleeve. That’s it. Thankfully, they’re all quite handsome so I suppose it doesn’t matter.

I’ll tell you right away. There wasn’t a guy in the place. Even Ellen’s husband had disappeared. So much for male fashion. But I’m glad they weren’t there. It left all the food for us. Us meaning the women.

I checked out the food first. A long hero sandwich covered one kitchen countertop. Six, count them, six cakes decorated another countertop. Trays of vegetables. Wine. This was going to be good.

We ate, continually, as we unpacked our bags and boxes of clothes. Actually we took turns unpacking. And as we unpacked each item, we displayed it on high, gave its size, perhaps its fabric content, and then passed it on to someone who wanted it. No takers? No matter. To a charity it goes.

But there were lots of takers. Ellen seemed to acquire everything green. A couple of sweaters, several T-shirts. Lucky for me, she missed the green terrycloth bathrobe. I wanted it and I got it.

Then there was Ruth. She found two jackets that fit her perfectly. Funny thing is, she gave away two jackets. Who can explain?

The most glamorous acquisition? The leather pants (a rich brown) chosen by Ann. She modeled them for us and those in the group who were not a size four regretted eating the sandwich, the cake, drinking the wine. That, of course, led to a discussion of sizes. Remember when size 10 or 12 was considered small? Now those sizes seem to be for “the larger woman.”

Yes, we had a good time, maybe found a special shirt, and some good clothes will go to some people in need. And think what it means to the North Fork. How do you spell it? Haute couture?