Fashion Masochist: Housewife Chic

Whether it's the irresistible Mad Men–era fashion thing or a rebellious gesture of retro feminism (or both), designers are cranking out housewife-homage looks for spring that would have June Cleaver bursting her girdle with pride. Beyond the cinched waists and prim updos, the most unabashed riffs are apron-inspired frocks and even full-on aprons themselves. Marc Jacobs's half and full aprons are glamorous sheer numbers. Miu Miu's half versions are worn asymmetrically over one hip, while at Prada they're more of the deli-apron variety—worn backward.

I decide to sport kitchen-ready layers for a week, starting with a colorfully patterned half apron from Anthropologie atop a purple graphic dress. I feel sassy and girly and flirty. And while I expect a steady stream of mocking comments regarding bake-offs and spring cleaning, only the most fashion-numb of my coworkers are caught off-guard by the accessory. At a soiree at designer Daniela Corte's studio, the local style media fawn over the look. "Who are you wearing?" gushes one (usually) in-the-know fashion editor. The partygoers assume the apron is part of the dress, and are even more impressed when they discover that, on the contrary, it's a creative flourish of my own.

For my second stab, I throw on a floral-print bib apron over a short-sleeved black dress. This one's an actual cooking apron from Williams-Sonoma, as evidenced by the row of chickens printed along the bottom; to fashionize the look, I just hem those cluckers out of sight. (While I'm all for experimentation, some things—like poultry and bric-a-brac—have no place outside the kitchen.) Again I get nothing but a few compliments, which strangely feels a tad disappointing. I'm wearing an apron! Who wants to point out how crazy—how provocative!—I am? I parade around the supermarket wearing a helpful grin, hovering around every lost-looking geriatric I can find. But not even the most senile of shoppers mistakes me for a grocer.

Getting ready for work the next day, I realize the best part of Betty Crocker fashion: Aprons do wonders for my laundry situation. While I may have spilled a little nacho cheese during a heated game of pub trivia, I can simply toss the apron into the hamper—no need to have the dress dry-cleaned. Plus, with a rotating cast of aprons as the centerpieces of my outfits, I get away with repeating the black dress that very week. I just freshen the look with a jaunty new apron, and none of my colleagues is the wiser.