It may sound like a platitude, to say my mother is my style icon. I can’t help it. There she is, hatbox in hand. It’s 1949, and my mother is 17 years old.
She had taken a boat to Hawaii, with a friend whose family had lived there for generations. This picture was taken at the airport, just before her return flight home.
Note the strength of line, the ebullience, the never-minding of hair blowing in the wind. The hat, the pocket, the skirt proportion. My stepfather said to me, recently, “Your mother has style. I did not know I wanted a woman with style. But I did.”
I didn’t know I had a mother of style. But I do. Cheers to you Mom, for no particular reason except this photo is too good not to share with all of us trying to understand style in context.