Karen and Sara do "schlumpy chic" with perfection: Karen in her baggy high-waisted khakis, suede shirt, and western bolo for evening, and Sara in her white Victorian dress, worn only with the chunkiest of men's bucks (never a heel) and sometimes a fisherman knit cable. I am fascinated by their respective interpretations of the same heavenly tattered, exemplary, Americana wardrobe that they share completely - "we are each other's other half." I was laughing to myself as they recounted one of their more mortifying childhood memories, when their mom picked them up from school in preppy, Connecticut in her floor-length Pendelton coat, dripping in state-of-the-art silver and turquoise jewelry, because I did the exact same thing to my kids when they were young, only in my Ralph blanket floor length skirt. Childhood insecurities aside, it seems as though moms without diamonds tend to rub off on their offspring eventually. Karen and Sara have a collection of hand and arm candy worthy of noting, a plethora of Navajo hand-me-downs. They also have a uniquely sophisticated vision into the beauty of hand-sewn stitching, patchwork, quality fabric that has stood the test of time, and what they call "investment" pieces, like Sara's 1930s Florentine workwear dress and Karen's pure Tom Sawyer-esque Osh Kosh overalls. They are both admirably effortless in their ability to juxtapose textures, genres, and unexpected color combos, like Karen's cut-offs with a plaid boy's trench, Breton shirt, red tights, and her mom's Doc Martens, and Sara in her red suede Wallabees, polka dot jeans, and pale pink button-down. "What's mine is hers and everything old becomes new again." Wise words from the Yankee grunge duo.