Jenna Lyons Made an Indelible Mark on Fashion, Two Mixed-Prints at a Time

Lyons—along with CEO Mickey Drexler—overhauled J.Crew's image and inventory, stripping away the brand's woodsy, preppy roll-neck sweaters and chinos, and implementing a new visual mission statement that was more about having fun than always being practical. But instead of relying on twice-yearly presentations in New York to sell the colorful new racks of clothes in its stores, the brand installed Lyons as its face and, in effect, its muse.

It worked: The fashion industry welcomed the revised mall store with open arms—Lyons appeared on magazine covers, in gossip columns, and on the carpet at the Met Gala—and shoppers wanted to be her, or at least look like her. I know I did.

During J.Crew's heyday, I didn't consider the pieces in the store to be particularly enticing. On paper, I gravitated toward the brooding black of Theyskens' Theory and, later, Saint Laurent, but every single time I saw Lyons wearing something—anything—I had an immediate gut reaction, an urge to run out and buy it because of the way she wore it, not necessarily for the piece itself.

For me, it was Lyons who set the bar for "personal style," not the hordes of preening people outside the shows, many dressed like maniacs to capture the camera's lens. Lyons' looks were deliberate, yes, but they didn't feel it.

A master stylist, she paired "fancy” (sequins, satin, tulle, and ball skirts) with utility (chambray, striped tees, oversize parkas, khakis, camo, and cashmere crewnecks), culminating in a quirky, undone, why-didn't-I-think-of-that effect. Pantsuits had an equal feminine-masculine balance, thanks to blouses unbuttoned to the sternum, bra left at home.