When I was a kid, I believed there were inalienable marks of adulthood: getting up early because you wanted to; liking coffee and arcane vegetables. Similarly, I now maintain certain indicators suggest, more than mere adulthood, that you are, quite simply, old. An abbreviated list: getting a flu shot (to date, I have steadfastly refused); voting one's wallet; uttering to a child, "When I was your age..." followed by a statement either hyperbolic, à la the proverbial "...I walked six miles to school in the snow," or merely ridiculous "...there was no Crest for Kids. We brushed with regular toothpaste and were glad to have it."

Luckily, some instances of the genre can be avoided, which I recommend highly. This weekend, however, I landed plop in the middle of one. When I first heard of Saturday's scheduled one-day megasale at Marc Jacobs on Mercer Street -- bags from $50 to $300, shoes 90 percent off -- I didn't give it a second thought. Once upon a time, the promise of a deal, whether at retail or a sample sale, would have had me first in line. I could push, shove and grab, politely enough, with the best of them. Now, thank you, I'll pass.

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Pre-fall?

To the rest of the world, pre-fall, the time before fall, is late summer. You know, the days are still sticky; lucky two-residence types resign themselves to spending less time at the beach; and kids, to going back to school. Back in the day, that's when most people started thinking about fall shopping. Just the thought of that new chilly-weather wardrobe brought a rush of excitement, the promise of crisp days that one would greet bedecked in cozy tweeds and cable knits.

The airport early bird gets to kill time perusing duty free. So at 6:45 this morning in Paris, guess who was checking out the Marc by Marc Jacobs bag selection at a recently installed LVMH shop at Paris' Charles de Gaulle? None other than the designer himself.

Jacobs, traveling alone, was waiting for the 8:25 Air France flight to New York, en route to a Fourth of July weekend in the Hamptons with friends. "I was walking by and there they were," he said. "[The display] didn't exist the last time I was here."<br /><br />

Cliche loves early. The early bird gets the worm; early to bed ensures health, riches and keen intellect. This entire industry has bought into the grail of early with remarkable and uncharacteristic unison, save for the occasional and constant dissenter, namely Donna Karan. We talked about this -- again -- during a recent resort appointment.

These days, Donna takes primary issue with pre-fall. Certainly it's now heresy to question the obsession with resort: "Do you know it's the longest selling season and best sell-through of all?" goes the communal refrain. Yeah, I think we've all got it. I also think I have a reasonable handle on much of what goes on in this industry. But some matters are utterly over my head. Top of the list: If early is such a utopia at retail, why, before Memorial Day, was most of the domestic shopping world as we know it up to 40 percent off, soon to be 70? While this year the economy has exacerbated things, in fact, this markdown schedule has gone on for years.

Before the last round of collections, W market director Treena Lombardo and I were discussing whether we would buy anything new for the season. "Let's face it," Treena said, "if you don't have it for the shows" - in the cold of February and March - "why not wait for the sales?" She's not alone in that thought. And if women like the two of us who love clothes and work in fashion feel this way, how many civilian consumers do, as well?

Fashion had a horrible Christmas, and again, the economy was only partly to blame. Once upon a time, a cozy sweater was the perfect Christmas gift, a wear-now treat and size-wise, a low-anxiety gift purchase. Can the same be said for a resort bikini?

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