Nelson is Shakespeare: My Bag-o-fashionwords

It was another smashing evening performance in the fitting room for Nelson; my clothing counsel was met with thunderous applause from those who received it, and countless cries of “Encore! Encore!” rang throughout Podiatry during my shift.  From the moment I opened the door to their fitting room saying “And my name is Nelson! Please let me know if I can do anything for you,” they were putty in my manly hands.  How does he do it?  How does he pull off a convincing performance when his true product knowledge is non-existent?  

Just as Shakespeare exploited the power of puns, metaphors, and malapropisms in order to create dramatic masterpieces, Nelson has discovered the power of certain words...certain turns of phrase.  The thing is, these literary devices did not come from a script.  No one instructed me in “fashion-speak,” and my understanding of fabrics, cuts, and styles is limited to none.  These are words that entered my world at some point in time in my life (i.e. that time I actually committed to watching Project Runway, season 3 I believe it was), rolled around my subconscious, became buried in the wrinkly folds of my brain, and were then resurrected magically when Nelson first got into costume.  Read and learn.  

Nelson’s Bag-o-Fashionwords

Ruching.  (My definition: the use of gathered fabric on an item of clothing, oftentimes achieved with elastic.) To reiterate, I have no idea how or when I came to know what “ruching” is.  In fact, I wasn’t even aware that it was in my vocabulary until I was suddenly saying to someone “Oh wow, the ruching on the back there is very flattering.”  Even if I’m not always certain if I’m using the word correctly, dropping it with authority always makes their eyes wide with respect and awe: RUCHING.  It sounds technical, and people who know technique understand clothing.  With words like ruching, it’s OBVIOUS that Nelson understands clothing.  

Tailored.  (My definition: adjective often used to refer to clothes that have a specific, more controlled shape.)  Originally, I’d say that “tailored” had some connection to the “tailor,” the human who sewed the garment; to be tailored meant that the garment had been handled and manipulated by the tailor.  In 21st century terms, then, tailored would have to mean that the garment has been handled and manipulated by a host of foreign child laborers.  However, the word must have lost this connection because now, instead of being a word that reminds people of their undue privilege, it’s another one of those terms that, used confidently, inspires belief in Nelson’s advice.  “That’s such a smart, tailored look,” I might say.  Again, the word is ambiguous but somewhat technical, giving the customer the idea that I am the keeper of fashion understanding.    

Empire waist.  (My definition:  when a dress or top has a seam just under the bust and then is un-fitted throughout the waist and hips.)  This is a term that most people know and use.  But Nelson takes it a step further by bringing a touch of exoticism to the table.  Any ole nobody can say “empire waist.”  But can they give it the French twist?  Instead of saying “im-pyre,” pronounce it as the French would: “ahm-peer” with the subtle back-of-the-throat French rrrrrr at the end.  Who knows if this style actually originated in France or England or some other European country.  History is irrelevant to today’s consumer whereas flair is everything.  “Ahm-peerrrr” turns heads every time and almost guarantees a purchase on the part of the customer. 

Take today for instance.  A woman, let’s call her Ashkenazy, was searching for a dress to give as a gift to a friend.  She was interested in something long and summery and wanted to make sure that it would be flattering on most all figures.  I immediately thought of the $268 summer-camp-tie-dye-session-gone-horribly-wrong dress hanging in the front of the store and led her in that direction.  “If you’ll notice the elastic ahm-peer waist on this one, you’ll see that it will give if it needs to or contract if it doesn’t.  These cuts are really capable of making anyone look classy.”  I wasn’t lying about the flattering cut.  But no one would look classy in that print.  It’s looks like what would happen if Lisa Frank suddenly felt that her calling was abstract art and started lamely exploring that aesthetic but with her same color palette.  Despite this print-transgression on the part of the designer, Ashkenazy grabbed it up, totally in awe of the ahm-peer waist, and added it onto her tab which ended up totaling $800.    

I’ll add on to the Bag-o-Fashionwords continually as I pinpoint the little gems that help Nelson fool the world...