You Just Can't Be a Slave to the Runway Every Day

The increasingly outlandish advice on how to freshen up a wardrobe without spending a lot of money plummeted to what must surely -- God willing -- be the nadir when a stylist on "Today" suggested recently that women use double-sided tape to glue a decorative industrial zipper to a little black dress to make it look more modern. What could be left? Kleenex flowers as brooches?

Do-it-yourself fashion projects should always be approached with caution unless one's name is Martha Stewart. And it's highly unlikely that Stewart -- of the Birkin bag, Chado Ralph Rucci wardrobe and craft ideas that would intimidate Faberge -- would countenance stick-on zippers. (The "Today" correspondent, by the way, was wearing a cute khaki shirt with zippers at the shoulders. They had not been attached with Elmer's.)

In addition to the practical concern that a little rain, sweat or accidental jostling could cause the zipper to fall off -- or worse, to slither halfway down and hang there like a trail of toilet paper -- it remains unclear why anyone would work so hard to take a timeless garment like a little black dress and muck it up with notions. Rule of thumb: If it was stylish enough for Audrey Hepburn, it does not need to be reinvented.

Since the economy became the top news story, there has been a steady stream of advice from wardrobe consultants, editors and bloggers on how to dress fashionably or maintain a beauty regimen during difficult financial times. Some of that information has been both smart and helpful. Magazines point readers to Old Navy dresses that have been inspired by pricier runway looks. They highlight Target collections created by designers who normally work at loftier price points. Image consultants stress the importance of fit, advising that a few dollars spent with a tailor can transform a bargain-basement blazer into something dashing. Bloggers alert people to sales. And magazines from Real Simple to Vogue have imparted advice on how to get indulgent beauty treatments at a discount -- beg, cajole or buy in bulk -- or which drugstore products work as well as their more lavishly packaged and higher priced department store counterparts.

At a certain point -- particularly when Scotch tape is involved -- it's time to reassess exactly what "fashion" is supposed to do for the consumer. And when the consumer ought to salvage both her budget and dignity and just skip the current season's trends.

A few distinctions are in order, especially the difference between "clothes" and "fashion." There are basic garments folks wear to make themselves presentable, appropriate and palatable to the C-SPAN crowd. The nuances associated with those clothes offer hints about the individual's place in the power structure and her accountability to traditions. Such clothes whisper and insinuate.

Fashion yells, argues and cajoles. It captures a moment or a mood. Once clothes are elevated beyond mere function, our relationship to them becomes more complicated, often illogical and always emotional.

Readers flip through magazines for advice about clothes, but they look to be inspired by fashion. It's a tool for reinvention. The fantasy component of fashion helps explain why folks find it so irksome when Seventh Avenue rejects diversity in ethnicity or size. The hurt is not merely from seeing one's economic clout go unrecognized in advertisements and editorial spreads. It is also from being left out of the dream, from not being viewed as worthy of beautiful, glamorous and outrageous things.

Much of the information coming from the fashion industry's cheerleaders has not been aimed at helping consumers put plain old clothes in their closet. The focus, by and large, has not been on helping the unemployed find a traditional interview suit for a good price. Instead, the aim has been in telling women how to be trendy and fashionable. That advice has been doled out with such seriousness and desperate urgency that one would be forgiven for thinking that the need to find the perfect facsimile of a Lanvin cocktail dress for under $100 was the equivalent of convincing a 6-year-old to eat her fruits and vegetables. Fashion may be good for the soul, but one won't develop scurvy without it.

On some level, everyone understands that trendy styles can be roughly duplicated by the at-home sewer, a neighborhood tailor or a street vendor. People have always known how to get trends on the cheap. The reason they are willing to spend the money -- or, way back when, pull out a credit card -- is because they aren't buying just a few yards of silk. Perhaps they are searching for quality or prestige. Maybe they are connoisseurs who see themselves as building a collection. It could be that they are merely swept away by something that is awfully, awfully pretty.

The fashion indulgence is a reward for a promotion or a significant weight loss. It serves as a portable and highly personal symbol of success. Reaching the top means dressing the part.

It's possible to find pleasure in less expensive versions, in the "steals" rather than the "splurges," as fashion magazines are fond of saying. But it's a different kind of satisfaction. (It's like beating the system vs. running it.)

Both pleasures, however, share at least one risk. When people fail to distinguish the difference between what looks good on a dark, dramatic runway and what is right for the bright light of day, they can become fashion victims.

Suckers abound at all price points. But they look especially desperate when they've got double-sided tape stuck to their back.