We’ve all been there. It’s usually the night when a) you were not in the mood to go out, b) failed to sufficiently groom, or c) had exceedingly low expectations for the soirée in question. Be forewarned, these are the nights that tend to be the most dangerous. Inevitably, your disheveled- chic look and laid-back attitude are incredibly alluring to fellow evening avengers. You lock eyes with some regrettable paramour, and ignore the fact that a) you are on the rebound and b) you disapprove of his choice of footwear. But before you can click your Miu Miu Mary Janes and return home, you’re entangled in a tumbling embrace. You make your way back to your lover’s lair under the pretense of offering weehour decor advice—he is struggling with proper placement of his cliched collegiate poster collection, and this bedroom in particular is just begging for a feminine touch. It turns out to be a big job, and you work diligently throughout the night.
Before you can say hangover, the morning arrives, and you’re obscenely late for brunch at Holt’s with your visiting auntie. You scamper out of the twin-size bed, searching for last night’s ensemble. Priorities firmly intact, you locate rent-cheque heels. After a quick scavenger hunt, you round up your tights and bag. Where is your skirt? Where is your top? Where is your mind? As happenstance would have it, you have just stumbled into a frenetic fashion moment, ripe with opportunity. Suddenly inspired by the mass of unwashed clothes littered around the room, you grab what you can, throw it on, and beat it. You embark on the lowly journey back to your pied-à-terre, bedroom eyes firmly angled down: there is a reason this is called The Walk of Shame.
No need to blush, my dear. Yes, it is blatantly obvious that you’re sneaking through the streets after a night spent in Empire Strikes Back cotton-blend, but no matter. Instead of wearing your shame on your sleeve, why not pretend that, yes you actually meant to look like this. In fact, you just returned from Paris, where everyone is wearing men’s shirts as dresses. As for the bed head—you’ve have never seen a French gamine wielding a hairbrush, have you? Unkempt is the new hyper-groomed. Don’t believe me? Take a look at the top catwalkers—they may ooze pristine polish on the runway, but when left to their own devices, they strike the perfect balance of mix and match. Pair Chanel with Charity Shop, and Fendi with Flea Market. Make it like a MOD (model off duty), and trudge along, darling. Here are a few tips to surviving the fabled Walk of Shame in style.
Shame Style I: Who Wears the Pants?
Pair his crisp white shirt with your wide buckled waistcincher, and little else. Lace tights play up the romance of this look. Black and white patent booties add devilish charm. Edie Sedgewick, whose life was one big Walk of Shame, rarely wore pants, so why should you? But brace yourself and embrace your gams—the starkness of this style will not go unnoticed. Consider cabbing it.
Shame Style II: Kurtsey Cobain
Assure the neighbourhood that grunge de luxe is making a comeback. With a look this schlepy, let’s hope you’re journeying back to Kensington Market. Think of Marc Jacobs’ famous first (and only) collection for Perry Ellis: oversize and slightly decayed. While poor Marc was fired shortly after, the show positively reeked of teen spirit. A threadbare T-shirt, tattered cuffed cut-offs, army fatigue jacket, and plaid scarf shouldn’t work, but paired with opaque black tights and yellow tartan pumps, it’s suddenly quite Chloe Sevigny soignée.
Shame Style III: Steal the Sweater
Why is his sweater decidedly more desirable than your own? Cozy up in what is presumably his favourite cardigan, but looks much better on you anyway. A sweet little bralet is feminine and flirty in all the right ways. And what could be more elegant than a classic pair of latex leggings? They’re having a moment, anyways. Distract those who stare with the sweetness of pink satin Mary Janes. Walk of Shame pros know that Philosopher’s Walk offers the perfect incognito path.
Shame Style VI: Prep Schooled
Boys that are the products of single-sex educational institutions are most desirable for their precisely tailored prepster wardrobes. Swipe the blazer he saves for dinner at the Yacht Club, and scrunch up the sleeves. Underneath, slip on the signed vintage Dylan T-Shirt the hedge-fund father gifted. His glorified boxers are silk and Ralph Lauren—it would simply be a shame to cover them up. Metallic Jimmy Choos, an uptown handbag and a daffodil angora chapeau add Upper East Side panache to this ensemble.
Models: Anna Okorokov and Dan Johnson
Lingerie: Eberjey, available at Augustina
Clothes: stylist’s own
