Outfit Post: Will wearing designer labels make you rich and influential?

When I was in my very early twenties, I went through a phase where I became obsessed by designer labels. If it was recognizable, I wanted it. I scoured the internet for designer jeans; stalked logo-ed bags in department stores; and went to bed praying for a lottery win so I could afford the trendiest item from some expensive label. Rather than focusing on fit and whether the item was truly "me," I was much more concerned by who made it and what logo it displayed.

Perhaps not coincidentally, my label whore years coincided with a relocation to a high-income suburb, the birth of my daughter, and the changing role within my marriage. With the adoption of my new identity as a mother, I searched for legitimacy among the women I met in baby music classes and mom support groups. And the easiest way for me to do so was by wearing what I considered the "right" brands. On some level, I believed that if they saw the designer logo on my handbag, they'd be impressed. This would spark their interest and secure me an invitation into their social circle. And, sadly, it did.

It came as no shock to me when I learned of a new study on The Economist illustrating just how powerful a designer label is on social acceptance. Rob Nelissen and Marijn Meijers of Tilburg University in the Netherlands examined people’s reactions to volunteers who wore clothes made by recognizable designers. In the first experiment, volunteers were shown pictures of a man wearing a polo shirt. The photo was digitally altered to include no logo, a designer logo (Lacoste or Hilfiger) or a logo generally regarded as non-luxury, Slazenger. When the designer logo appeared, the man in the picture was rated as of higher status (3.5 for Lacoste and 3.47 for Hilfiger, on a five-point scale, compared with 2.91 for no logo and 2.84 for Slazenger), and wealthier (3.4 and 3.94 versus 2.78 and 2.8, respectively).

To examine if this perception had an effect on actual behavior, researchers performed a number of other experiments. For instance, one female volunteer asked people in a shopping mall to stop and answer survey questions. One day she wore a sweater with a designer logo; the next, an identical sweater with no logo. Some 52% of people agreed to take the survey when faced with the Tommy Hilfiger label, compared with only 13% who saw no logo.

In another experiment, volunteers watched one of two videos of the same man being interviewed for a job. In one, his shirt had a logo; in the other, it did not. The logo led observers to rate the man as more suitable for the job, and even earned him a 9% higher salary recommendation.

According to Gawker, researchers found that logos act as a "status-boosting talisman." Those wearing logos were judged to be wealthier, more powerful, more intelligent, and more capable. The Economist reported that this effect can be attributed to the fact that designer labels are seen as symbols of quality, meaning only the best can pay for them. However, some might take this study as proof of how the fashion industry has turned us into a society of Pavlovian shoppers, drooling over logo bags and high-profile designers. We have become culturally wired to love logos, and have assigned an iconic quality to expensive things, treating them with a level of respect and power. This explains the billion dollar counterfeit industry that churns out knockoff handbags, jewelry, and even shoes. Knockoffs are used to gain the same illusion of power and wealth as the original. A fake LV bag might be made from faux leather in China, but it's message is the same as the genuine article.

I've largely abandoned my designer wardrobe in favor of vintage and thrifted pieces, though I'll forever be a fan of designer denim - it seems to hold up better, and I believe has a more flattering fit than less-expensive brands. And it's true that, in most cases, luxury and designer clothing is better made and longer-lasting than less-expensive pieces - I only have to compare Ralph Lauren polo to those I purchased from Old Navy as proof. But largely, what I wear has much more to do with whether it's an expression of who I am than who it is made by.

So what do you think of this survey? Have you ever purchased clothing and accessories from high-end designers to fit in and impress? Do you believe wearing logos makes you more influential? Do you think the fashion industry has brainwashed us into craving logos over quality and fit? Are we as shallow and easily manipulated as this study suggests?

Vintage thrifted J Crew denim shirt; Nordstrom Rack dress; Frye boots; thrifted Coach belt; American Apparel tights; Plato's Closet leather bracelet; World Market Catholic saints bracelet

Oufit Post: In which I rant against rompers

* I begin with a disclaimer. A list of things I DO NOT HATE. Pay attention because it's important for you to know that although I DO HATE some things, I am not a HATER. I do not drink of the haterade, as it were.

I DO NOT HATE:

• People who wear rompers.
• People who manufacture rompers.
• People who sell rompers.
• People who buy rompers.
• People who model rompers.
• People who design rompers.
• People who vehemently disagree.
• People who won't even bother to read this.

Got it? Okay, good, so let's begin.

I hate rompers. I hate rompers because: 

• They don't fit me. Truth be told, most rompers are designed for tall thin girls who smoke gauloises cigarettes and drink vokda tonics and somehow manage to look gorgeously glamorous without washing their hair for 10 days. Such as my friend Erin, who bought a denim romper in Austin and looks amaze-balls in it.  For short women with inner thighs and non-concave stomachs, such as myself, rompers are extremely difficult to pull off. Last summer I wasted countless hours trying in vain to find a romper that was both flattering and and didn't remind me of toddler wear. This was an epic fail. At some point I had to pause to ask myself "WHY, Elissa, are you continuing on such a pointless, torturous, emotional quest?" So I stopped. And my world became bucolic again.

• They are not comfortable. I know there are many women out there who will argue this point. "But it's one piece and so comfy!" they'll squeal. In my experience, the crotch-to-neck ratio of a romper is designed for someone with no torso. And let's not even talk about the camel-toe, because I'm too much of a lady to go there. AND, you're probably wondering why I'm so educated with the fit of rompers. Well, at one point, I actually did own one. Every time I slipped it on I wondered how such a seemingly innocent article of clothing managed to fit beautifully at the waist and arms but pulled at my neck and, uh, ladybits and made me feel like I was being STRANGLED AND OH MY GOD GET THIS THING OFF OF ME. And then there's the issue of wedgies. I rest my case.

• Dresses/skirts/pants/shorts/capris (well, that one's debatable) are infinitely more flattering than a romper. I luuuuve to wear a dress. I look better in a skirt. I feel feminine and comfortable (and do not have to spend a minute worrying about crotch issues.) My husband agrees, but that doesn't really matter because what I wear is a big part of how I express myself and how I take care of myself. If I wore a romper two days a week, I'd be spending two days a week not doing what makes me happy or what makes me feel good. In a world of bills and stress and devastating earthquakes and tsunamis why not do something that makes you happy?

Now, I ask you: Is there an article of clothing that you just don't get? Are you a fan of rompers? Am I being redonkulous?

Thrifted Junk Food Lynard Skynard tee; thrifted Paige jeans; Target belt; Gap sandals; Urban Outfitters necklace; Plato's Closet leather bracelet; eBay gold and turquoise bracelet; World Market Catholic saints bracelet; Marc Jacobs watch; Fossil turquoise earrings

The prep step

If you are a child of the eighties, as I am, you might remember a hugely successful, tongue-in-cheek tome called The Preppy Handbook. On the North Shore of Long Island, where I spent much of my childhood, this book was studied as closely as the Bible. Although it was written as a parody, it served as an accurate "field guide" to the dress and lifestyle of the New England prepster. Indeed, what made The Preppy Handbook so successful in the eighties was that it is simultaneously a satire, for those in the know, and an actual handbook, for those hoping to pass as socially upwardly mobile.  

While reading the Handbook, you learn immediately that being a prepster goes well beyond attendance at a private boarding school. You learn about their cars, colleges, clothes, food, jobs, music, pets, what they read and how they decorate their houses. (FYI: Prepster cars include BMWs, Saabs, Volvos, Land Rovers, and Jeep SUVs; pets are retrievers and spaniels.) Written in 1980, this work help launch the preppy craze of that decade and gave birth to the current preppy style among which many have chosen to emulate. No socks? Classic. LL Bean Rubber Mocs? Always, even in temperate weather. Lacoste, and turned-up collars, and madras shorts? All accounted for.

The Preppy Handbook is timeless. According to Wikipedia, its musings on young urban professional culture served as an inspiration to the founder of the J. Crew clothing line, Arthur Cinader. Cinader hoped to capitalize on the success of the book through the development of a retail empire based on argyle sweaters, chinos, and oxford shirts. The book also represented a resurgence of interest in 'preppy' culture that aided the growth of retailer L.L. Bean.

I did not go to boarding school, or an elite day school, but I was able to bs my way into Hobart and William Smith Colleges (one of the exceptional schools for demonstrations of prep-dom). The lifestyle depicted in the book was as true in the late 1990's as it was when it was written. As a person who can admit to wearing topsiders to class, ordering chinos from the J Crew catalog, and going for a sail on lake Seneca, my college experience seemed modeled according to The Preppy Handbook word-for-word.


I don't consider myself a preppy anymore. I do own a few pieces relevant to that style, and it's fun to throw them on and pretend I have the sort of life where I summer in the Hamptons, drink Bloody Mary's, and play lacrosse in my downtime.

J Crew sweater; American Eagle oxford shirt; Gap pants; Gucci loafers; World Market pearl studs