Despite its seemingly prohibitive cost, the Juicy tracksuit line occupies an entire room of the Fred Segal boutique, a local mecca for up-to-the-minute shoppers, and the store can barely stay ahead of demand. It's become a status label as coveted as Marc Jacobs or Miu Miu -- which perhaps explains why its devotees often accessorize their jumpsuits as if they were heading for a catwalk. The traditional purpose of the tracksuit (i.e., as casual athletic wear) is somewhat negated when it is worn with Manolo Blahnik stilettos and Gucci shades, and it looks particularly silly when its owner is headed to breakfast at the local diner.

In New York, a velour sweat suit might be considered the nadir of fashion -- not to mention supremely impractical for inclement weather -- but in L.A., where a gym card is valued as highly as a Screen Actors Guild membership, the Juicy tracksuit ultimately serves as a badge of honor, a kind of Angeleno uniform that conveys laid-back starlet living. "Because of celebrities' lifestyles, it's the perfect thing to wear between their trailer and filming," Juicy co-owner Gela Taylor (wife of Duran Duran's John Taylor) recently told USA Today. "It's the perfect downtime thing to wear."

The key words in Taylor's description are, of course, "celebrity," "trailer" and "filming." The beauty is that one can wear the tracksuit even if one doesn't happen to have a part in Steven Spielberg's next movie. One can, with the right velour and heels, look fresh from the gym (and therefore in possession of great abs) and on the way to the set. Or, in Juicy Couture as a "downtime thing," one can convey the impression that one is between jobs, sipping lattes and waiting for Harvey Weinstein to call.

Now, I know -- we all know -- there is nothing inherently wrong with wearing an overpriced sweat suit, even if by doing so one demonstrates a complete lack of originality and also, very possibly, runaway pretension. (One could say the same thing about Seven jeans, and hey, I wear them.) My mother's objection would be that it is unseemly to wear a cross between lingerie, pajamas and workout clothes in public. But Taylor would probably remind her that times have changed -- sweats work as dress-up clothes. Or do they? When Playboy Playmates are accessorizing their sweats with $400 heels and spangled bras to go out dancing, perhaps it's a sign that too many fashion boundaries have been crossed, and it's time to reconsider the circle pin and no white shoes after Labor Day.

Until then, however, Juicy jumpsuits serve as kind of homage to -- or, perhaps, unintentional parody of -- American fashion. What is more American than a sweat suit, the customary outfit of stay-at-home moms, fresh-faced athletes, dads hard at work in the yard? Put a expensive label on it, sell it at Bloomingdale's, and presto: high fashion. This is, after all, the country that gave the world Yohji Yamamoto tennis shoes and $2,000 collectible vintage Levi's; it's no surprise that our latest contribution to haute couture is a cashmere sweat suit with embroidery on the butt.

Personally, I'm holding out for a black-tie-optional terry-cloth robe.

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