Tactical Chic Meets Maine Wilderness: Fashion on Water and Woods
I spend my summers in Maine, the state where I was born and raised. Each June, as I stare into my Manhattan closet, I wrestle with a familiar dilemma: should I bring the cotton dress, or the sandals? I end up leaving them behind, knowing that Maine weather can shift from bright sunshine to harsh wind in minutes. After half a century of coastal living, I have learned that restraint often sparks creativity. My summer wardrobe now balances practicality with a nostalgic nod to the clothes of my youth, layering the past over the present—literally and figuratively.
For a recent late‑summer gathering on an uninhabited island a mile offshore, I opened the sea chest where I keep the versatile gear needed for a typical Maine island day. Model Ana Beatriz Cortes, dressed in weather‑proof Tory Burch boots, a Balenciaga shirt and skirt, stood ready for any condition. Beside her, model Betsy Gaghan brightened a gray sky in Loewe. I first slipped on an old Speedo, because the ocean’s salt can ruin a bathing suit faster than a fresh one could be bought, and a text alert warned that hail was falling on the island.
Next came a hand‑me‑down T‑shirt from a friend, its strategically placed holes earning compliments from my teenage son, a Rick Owens fan. Over that I layered a Helly Hansen long‑sleeve shirt with racing stripes, then a 1960s Icelandic sweater with a high boatneck that shields the chin from wind. I added a Patagonia Micro Puff jacket, tied around my waist like a cummerbund, in case an extra layer was needed later. Bright pink‑and‑blue running tights sat under men’s madras Bermuda shorts, a nod to the party’s relaxed vibe.
On my feet I wore wool socks and white fishing boots that rise to the shin, with a spare pair of socks tucked away. A boxy sweater from Loewe prompted me to grab one of two matching foul‑weather jackets inherited from my parents, whose 1980s summer sails took them north to colder places like Cape Breton. The zipper was broken, but the Velcro still worked, and a safety whistle attached to the hood offered a rescue option should my solo‑rowed dinghy capsize—a near‑miss when the wind surged.
Inside my bag I packed a ski hat for cold snaps and a baseball cap for sunny moments, anticipating Maine’s habit of delivering both at once. After battling half a mile of waves in my dinghy, I arrived at the island party and helped push a larger boat away from the rocky shore. The ocean soaked my boots, turning the insoles into chilly sponges. I was forced to go barefoot for the rest of the day, a condition my feet have learned to tolerate, though later that night I discovered deep cuts under my toes that looked infected. In hindsight, a pair of rubber clogs would have been wiser than extra socks.
Throughout the event, the models showcased their own tactical twists on outdoor wear. Cortes paired a pastel Lii windbreaker and pants with an Isabel Marant jacket and Loro Piana boots. Gaghan combined a Sacai hat and Miu Miu boots with a Dolce & Gabbana jacket and dress, while Sunday Rose stood out in a vibrant Louis Vuitton ensemble, binoculars at the ready. Both Sunday Rose and Cortes added glittering beaded Miu Miu trapper hats, turning a utilitarian piece into a statement accessory. Gaghan wore a Sacai shirt and shorts, accented with a Sportmax necklace, and later switched to Phoebe Philo overalls. Sunday Rose, dressed in Burberry, kept binoculars close, and Cortes prepared to steer the ship in an Etro coat and hat.
When another squall rolled in, this time rain and wind without hail, my dinghy flipped, providing shelter for underprepared guests. The dinghy, an extension of my outfit, became the ultimate foul‑weather gear, which I was happy to share. The day proved once again that in Maine, layers are never excessive, and fashion must adapt to the ever‑changing elements.