Fashion Flashback — Esprit

In the late '80s, all I wanted to do was eat Cinnabon, read The Baby-sitters Club books and watch "The Cosby Show." That last bit's an understatement. I didn't want to merely watch "The Cosby Show," I wanted to be "The Cosby Show" (but, would've settled for being a walk-on extra). At the very least, I figured, I could look the part. Enter Esprit...

What was the look? Apparently, the Huxtables' universe existed at the very heart of the polar vortex. I swear, those folks worked layers like June never, ever came to NYC. Esprit's baggy, unisex-y, peacock-colored knit layers fit in nicely with their whole "wholesome family shenanigans in a well-appointed Brooklyn brownstone" aesthetic. And I wanted in.

What did I think Esprit said about me?: Well, here's the thing. I wanted it to say that I was IRL Rudy. But Esprit didn't get to say much of anything about me because my rather "Beltway conservative" mother shot down nearly every purchasing request I made. When it was time to head for the cash register, I'd optimistically hold up a color-blocked, shoulder-padded sweater dress, or some bright knit leggings/pants and she'd look at me like I was nuts. It was always too pricy, or just too "out-there" for her liking. (Left completely up to her, I'd still be wearing Healthtex separates clear into the sixth grade.) She relented when I swapped funkier pieces for the brand's more basic offerings. So, I — like every other completely unoriginal, decidedly un-Huxtable-ish kid — wandered the school hallways in logo-heavy pieces like these... 

Perfect for my Velcro wallet, flavored lip balm and a Metro card.

As luck would have it, there was a massive Esprit warehouse near my grandfather's house in San Francisco. During my summer vacation visits, if I begged at just the right pitch, he'd cruise me over there in his town car and let me line up early with the dozens and dozens of other trend-chasers who wanted to scoop up some of the discounted irregular fits and discontinued styles. As a result, I had these in nearly every colorway possible.

Remember how the foam would get all gross and slippery when wet,
causing your foot to slide off the sides?

What was the look's shelf-life? By junior high, I was racking up decent allowance money and parental oversight was on the wane. That's when I started picking out my own Esprit goodies at Ross and Marshalls. I have faint memories of a very literal interpretation of a naval uniform. I'm also flashing back to a forest green jersey blouse with pearlized snap buttons and a matching full skirt. I used to wear them with dark tights and knock-off Doc Martens, giving off a reform school, pre-goth vibe. Maybe I'd throw in a bolo tie, or a vest (or, both!). God, I was cool. 

Fortunately, my older sister also liked some of Esprit's wares. As a result, I was eventually handed down one of the biggest sartorial treasures of my adolescence. Somewhere, nestled in the bowels of my parents' home, there exists a picture of teenage Leigh-Ann rocking the world's most awesome boxy chartreuse velvet Esprit blazer. There must surely be multiple photos, in fact, as I wore that thing every chance I could get. (This was long after I stopped caring about the Huxtables, but you could find Esprit ads in Sassy magazine, so I was still down.) Alas, that loud green gem of mine didn't make it into my college-bound steamer trunk, so I guess my love affair with the brand dwindled by 1995. 

Fast-forward nearly 20 years later, and I'd easily rock it during those chilly morning school drop-offs. All the moms would be like, "Daaaag...where'd she get that fly Esprit 'fit?" And I'd be all, "Uh-huh. I know. Don't sweat the technique." That's exactly how that scenario would play out.