Style

A young woman recently approached me as I stood outside Trader Joe’s on the corner of 93rd Street and Columbus Avenue in Manhattan. “Excuse me,” she said, “I’m visiting from the UK and I’m just wondering if there’s anything worth seeing around here.” This is not an unusual occurrence. It’s always tourist season in New York. People come for the cherry blossoms in Central Park, for the magic of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree and for the vague hope of running into Timothée Chalamet at a downtown brunch place. They even come in the sweltering heat of summer when I, personally, would rather be anywhere else – ideally somewhere without the pungent smell of hot garbage and misplaced ambition.

That Allison Bornstein’s family all operate in care is no surprise. True, Bornstein, thirty-five, a stylist and rising social media star based out of New York and Los Angeles, is the odd one out. Her father and brother are doctors, her grandfather is a psychoanalyst and her mother was once a therapist. But the services she offers are not so different from the shrink’s couch. Bornstein has created a dedicated following on TikTok and Instagram for her tips and scripted reels, in which she implores us all to craft self-love around our clothes. To slow down, shop less, and style more. And in the world of stylists and influencers, who make careers out of telling people to consume, consume, consume, Bornstein is quietly radical.

It was raining on and off, but that was only fitting, as guests waited for the Summer 2024 show of Burberry, a brand that came to prominence in 1879 through its gabardine water-resistant coats. The Highbury Fields show was in a large tent, emblazoned with its signature check, with a green looping runway carpet inside and various celebrities in attendance. As per the fashion usual, the show was running late. At least it wasn’t pouring. Burberry isn’t just the greatest British luxury house; it’s one of the most compelling fashion houses in the world. No brand has such a rich history of contradictory iconography and speaks so directly to the culture of its home nation. Burberry is classy, trashy, flashy, reserved, functional and oh so unnecessary all at once.

For Christmas this year, Santa Claus brought me the most splendid Maine Mountain Parka from L.L. Bean, rife with thoughtful details and flawless construction from hood to hem. Standing in the living room, I admired the weather-proof cuffs and pulled the oversized zipper with rubber grip pull cord (a must when wearing gloves). I fastened the button-front storm placket — such a satisfyingly haughty act, akin, I’d imagine, to how one of Napoleon’s cavalrymen might have felt strapping on his saber. I flipped the adjustable snorkel hood with its removable faux-fur ruff onto my head and burrowed my hands into the deep snap pockets. I then plopped down on the couch and gazed smugly out the window at the bomb cyclone raging outside.

Queen Elizabeth II was a bright spot in the world in more ways than one. She was, by all accounts, a warm and gracious monarch who led her country through storm after storm with “timeless decency and an enduring calm,” as Australia’s prime minister put it. Yet despite her reserved demeanor and steadfast sense of duty that harkened to a much more modest age, the Queen had what appeared on the surface to be a surprising sartorial sense. Do a quick Google Image search for “Queen Elizabeth style” and you’ll see what I mean. Her outfits were often brightly colored and recognizable. Despite this, though, she wasn’t known, as Princess Diana was, for being a trendsetter, exciting fashion magazines and red-carpet commentators with “look what she wore!” moments.

'To every thing there is a season,' we read in Ecclesiastes, and summer is the season for seersucker. No fabric is better suited for long summer days. Its lightness reflects the sun. Its pucker ventilates the skin. Rather than avoid the heat, seersucker dresses up for the hot occasion. Summers in New York are infernally hot. Seersucker makes it livable, if not always desirable. Since fashion dictates that seersucker only emerge between Memorial Day and Labor Day — timing that varies as you head south — its absence also makes its return that much more rewarding. As the weather warms, out it comes, radiating the light of summers past.