When I was 16, I was lucky (ok, I guess the term is privileged) enough to go on a trip to Paris with my Aunt and Uncle. At the time, I was a budding faux-Francophile, who obsessively studied French fashion designers, ate flaky pastries and decorated my Myspace with stylized pictures of the Eiffel tower. On the trip, I ate a lot of blackcurrant gelato cones shaped like a flowers, saw Oscar Wilde’s eunuched gravestone, and casually took pictures of myself fondling clothing in the flagship Louis Vuitton store. At the time, all I cared about was shopping and all my family cared about was eating, so my aunt had her gorgeous and weirdly tanned friend take me around to fancy French department stores when they were too bored out of their skull to do so. I guess she really took to me because before I went home, she gave me a vibrant pink Cartier scarf as a present.

Sadly, this amazing and special gift has been languishing in an unworn pile in my wardrobe since 2006. Every time I try to build a scarf into my outfit, I get utterly and hopelessly confused. Scarves are mystifying. They are just a simple square of fabric with no arm holes or leg holes or any intuitive way for me to jam my body into it. It’s like programming a clock radio: without a detailed instructions booklet, I am totally lost.

I have a select few beautiful things in my closet and I would really like to start actually wearing them this year, but am at a bit of a loss as to how to start incorporating this scarf into my wardrobe repertoire. My only cultural references for people who wear scarves are Boy Scouts, and guys in baggy pants and doo-rags, and I’m not sure I really want to look like either of those.

If I folded the scarf in half diagonally, and tie it around my neck in a single knot, I look like dribbly baby wearing a bib. With the knot in front, the look is slightly improved, but it still looks a bit like droopy upside-down bunny ears. I have heard tales of very classy women tying expensive scarves to their even more expensive bags, but I don’t see the point beyond a display of wealth. Why not just use the scarf as a Kleenex then?

The only method of scarf use that I fully comprehend is using them as a bandanna to tie your hair back when it gets really greasy. I’m all for functionality, but it seems like such a shame to let my hair grease comingle with what was surely an insanely expensive silk scarf. I’d rather just wear an elastic and not run the risk of looking like an ill-advised white girl turban.

I know that as a fashion writer it’s my job to suggest you fun things to wear, but I’ve been really into Charlie Kaufman lately, so let’s invert the process here. I am pleading with you, gentle reader, help me with my scarf problem! Any remedy you can suggest will be seriously considered.

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Isabel Slone is a Toronto-based fashion blogger and writer. Follow her on Twitter at @isabelslone.

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