Wear and Tear: The Threads of My Life

by Tracy Tynan

“Tracy Tynan uses the universal medium of clothing to tell the highly specific story of her bohemian British upbringing, and she does so with wit, candor, and yes—style” (Lena Dunham).Tracy Peacock Tynan grew up in London in the 1950’s and 60s, privy to her parents’ glamorous parties and famous friends—Laurence Olivier, Vivien Leigh, and Orson Welles. Cecil Beaton and Katharine Hepburn were her godparents. These stylish showbiz people were role models for Tracy, who became a clotheshorse at a young age. Tracy’s father, Kenneth Tynan, was a powerful theater critic and writer for the Evening Standard, The Observer, and The New Yorker. Her mother was Elaine Dundy, a successful novelist and biographer, whose works have recently been revived by The New York Review of Books. Both of Tracy’s parents, particularly her father, were known as much for what they wore as what they wrote. In her “moving, candid, and often hilarious” memoir (Wall Street Journal), Tracy recalls her father’s dandy attire and her mother’s Pucci dresses, as well as her parents’ rancorous marriage and divorce, her father’s prodigious talents and celebrity lifestyle, and her mother’s lifelong struggle with addiction. She tackles issues big and small—relationships, marriage, children, stepchildren, blended families, her parent’s decline and deaths, and her work as a costume designer—with humor, insight, and with the special joy that can only come from finding the perfect outfit. “A powerful concoction of famous names, famous fashions, and famous psychiatric disorders…Wear and Tear is just the thing for a weekend in the Hamptons” (New York Post).

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, Fashion, Biography, History, Autobiography

321 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 2016

Reviews

[Tosh · Rating 3 out of 5]

The reason I read this book is because I have a slight obsession on two people: Kenneth Tynan and Elaine Dundy. The fact that writer/critic Tynan was married to writer/biographer Dundy makes my head swim, and the fact that Dundy wrote the ultimate biography on Elvis is something else as well. Plus the fact that Tynan was an incredible critic in the Angry Man years of theater in the UK and New York is fascinating alone. But also his various essays on personalities, for instance Louise Brooks, are probably the major reason we still know this beauty/genius. And on top of that, I just recently learned that Dundy's sister is Shirley Clarke, the great (sort of underground) filmmaker. I met Dundy as a bookseller at Book Soup, and her book "Dud Avocado" is a terrific book. So the fact that their daughter wrote a memoir about her life in their world - well, how could I not read it!

Tracy Tynan is a very good memoirist. She is likewise the daughter of these two troubled individuals, who to me, seem to be bigger than life - but alas, the shocking thing that she brings up is their passion to know famous people. I didn't expect that from them for some odd reason. Her father, Kenneth, was a very prominent critic in his lifetime. I have several of his collections, and all are fascinating because they do capture his time and place when literature in Theater was really at an interesting peak. And then her mother is such an incredible writer as well. The book doesn't really capture the parent's brilliance, more of the arguments and how a child (the author) looks at the parent. Which is totally understandable. And what I gather by reading this book - both of them were horrible parents. Not evil, but just focused on their desires and vision. My only negative comment is that the last third of the book is really another book. I think Tynan and her editor should have just focused on the parents' lives, and end when they both passed away. Her work as a clothes designer for films is interesting, and I think that could have been made into another book.

What you don't get is the brilliance of both parents, with respect to their writings. They may have been so-so parents, and with a lot of flaws - but they were brilliant. It's hard for a daughter to comment on their work, so that is totally understandable. A good read!

[Julie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I started reading this memoir right after finishing her mother Elaine Dundy's memoir. Wow. Talk about different points of view! I enjoy reading memoirs by people who are connected in order to get that Rashomon experience of people discussing the same incidents but with different perspectives. I've done this with members of rock bands and with celebs who were married to each other or dating, but never a parent/child link. Wait! I take that back. I read the memoir of Lana Turner and the memoir of her daughter Cheryl Crane. Getting their different interpretations of the murder of Johnny Stompanato was fascinating. Elaine and Tracy don't have any murders to examine like Lana and Cheryl but I still found the conflicting ways they viewed their interactions absorbing.

It came as a huge relief to read Tracy's thoughts. She comes across as normal and relatable, unlike Elaine who presents an amusing but ultimately false front to the reader. My impressions of Elaine were validated by Tracy. Elaine was a terrible parent and a severe alcoholic. Elaine never admits either of those things, not really. Oh sure, she mentions in passing that Tracy and her didn't quite connect but mainly she just doesn't mention Tracy. Elaine does mention her addictions to booze and pills but never delves deeply into either her negative experiences with them or with her understanding of why she became addicted in the first place. Surface is Elaine Dundy's middle name. Surface cocktail party chatter can certainly be fun in moderation, but for a whole life it is tragically depressing.

If you feel bad about your childhood and your parents then read this memoir and you will breathe a sigh of relief and realize that it could have been so much worse. Did you father suggest you watch the movie Deep Throat together as a way to celebrate your birthday? How about doing cocaine with your father? Visiting your mother in rehab? Watching your father sit nude on a window ledge crying and threatening to jump while your mother drunkenly eggs him on? Listening to your father discuss his enjoyment of flagellation? The list of crazy incidents is a very long one.

I thought the way Tracy framed her memoir was clever. Each chapter is titled with an item of clothing that was important to her life story. It's sort of the hook for the focus of each chapter.

Once her parents die, the memoir becomes a bit more dull but at that point I didn't mind. I was relieved that at last her life was normal. Reading two books in a row about Elaine and Kenneth exhausted me. I can only imagine how exhausting it was to have them as parents. Tracy well deserves the mellowness of her later years.

Quotes because that's what I am into including in book reviews these days.

On my actual birthday, two months ago in May, my parents had been away in Spain watching bullfights. I wanted parents who weren't always going away or going out. Parents who did things with their children, like Sarah's parents. Parents who didn't leave me to celebrate my birthday with au pair girls who did their best-Barbara, the current one, had bought a small sponge cake from the local bakery and put candles on it.

My parents saw every play that came out in London or nearby, and if they had no play to see, my parents always had a party or a dinner to attend. That meant they needed live-in babysitters to take care of me, so from the time I was a baby, I was looked after by a string of au pairs.These departures were hard for me to process. I felt I had no control over when one au pair left and another came to take her place. My parents tried to reassure me that everything would be the same:To them the au pairs were interchangeable, but to me they were very different. Each departure was a small heartbreak Elaine calls them nannies in her memoir which has a much different connotation than au pair girl. And they were au pairs, not nannies

My bedroom door was flung open, and there, bathed in hallway light, stood my mother, naked and flailing her arms. "Your father's trying to kill me!" she screamed.

I saw my partially clothed father-white jockey shorts and an unbuttoned pale blue shirt— perched on their bedroom window ledge.With his long legs dangling and his arms flapping, he looked like some strange kind of bird about to take off. "I'm going to jump!" he screamed. "I'm going to jump!" Then I saw my mother, naked, smoking a cigarette, moving through the room behind him. "Why don't you? Why the fuck don't you?" she said coldly as she turned away

As I grew up, I was attracted to drama outside of my home, too. And when it wasn't around, life seemed to be drained of color, to turn to black and white, ordinary, dull. WHAT A RELIEF to read Tracy's self awareness after Elaine's obliviousness.

Janet came from a wealthy family and lived in a grand flat off Portland Place, complete with a nanny and servants. Rather than a series of ever changing au pairs like I had, she had a nanny who not only had been with them forever, she had also been Janet's father's nanny.I loved going to their flat; it was done up in soft beiges and pale blue damask wallpaper, with comfortable sofas and armchairs and plush carpeting. Everything seemed calm and organized, unlike our chaotic house.

We never ate dinner, or any meal, together. I don't have a single memory of sitting down to dinner alone with my parents. Very occasionally we ate together at restaurants, but these were usually large social occasions where I just happened to be included. Most of the time I ate alone or with the au pair

Years later, Sally Belfrage described a typical scene at my house: "[I would] arrive at the door of the Mount Street apartment where the locks had usually been changed by one or other of the Tynans ... ring the bell, sounds of screams and smashing crockery and tiny Tracy opening the door, trying to find out which lock was working. Ken shouting,"I'll kill you, you bitch.' Smash, smash, a whimper from the au pair, and Tracy, poised and calm, saying, 'Hello, how nice to see you. Come in. Can I take your coat?' And taking one into the living room, and pouring drinks and sitting down, looking very interested."

Most of the time I was scared and confused and felt I was in a movie with lots of crazy people. I believed I was supposed to play the normal one, particularly since there was no other role available.

My parents were the original celebrity hounds. They relentlessly and unabashedly pursued famous people. Often I heard them on the phone, quizzing their friends about who would be at a certain party or an event, and I watched silently as they changed their plans, rearranging schedules to make sure they were attending the same event as someone they deemed important. They thought that if they were around famous people, they, too, would become famous. Their obsession with celebrity seemed like an addiction, a need to fill some bottomless hole in their psyches.

"Meet Elaine in the late morning at the French Club or the Colony, drinking, drinking, drinking, picking up people and discarding them. They would go back to Mount Street late in the afternoon and then go out to dinner with Ken until 3 or 4 in the morning. It would take me about a week to rest up. But Ken and Elaine were at it again the next day. There was this frenzied feverish activity all the time, and there was never any pause to allow anyone to think or reflect what it was about. another quote from one of their friends

My parents lived on an entirely different schedule from mine. They were usually asleep when I woke up to go to school, and when I came home, they were either out or working. Sometimes our lives intersected for a brief moment while I was having my tea (early din-ner), but they always went out again. They never stayed home to hang out and enjoy the kind of simple pleasures I saw my friends' families enjoying- playing games, taking walks, going on picnics.They equated ordinary with boring, and boredom was to be avoided at all costs. When reading Elaine's memoir, I wondered about what they did in their downtime so wow, it was crazy to learn there was no downtime.

Famous people influenced my mother's schooling choices: Raymond Massey's daughter, the actress Anna Massey, had recommended my elementary school; Gloria Vanderbilt had suggested Brearley.

The first week I was at Dartington Hall, after lights-out, I would hear the muffled sobs of my classmates. They were homesick. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to join in the conversations about missing home. I tried to force myself to cry, but I wasn't sad. Not in the least. I didn't miss my parents one bit.

I suppose I knew my mother loved me and wanted the best for me, but I found it hard to receive her love when so many other things about her were prickly and difficult and her moods were so changeable. We were like two partners in a dance that never managed to connect. It was a dance that would continue for the rest of our lives.

My mother and I didn't know how to be with each other, as we seldom spent time alone together. Shopping for clothes was one of the rare occasions when we did, and those expeditions were awkward and uncomfortable. I felt she couldn't wait to get back to her own life- working on her novel, hanging out with her friends, having cocktails, and amusing others with her wit. (Her wit was another thing I never really experienced, but her friends always told me she could be one of the funniest people they knew.)

I thought my mother must be calling to wish me happy birthday; it was late for a phone call but I was glad she had remembered. Often she was a few days off. I could barely hear her over the static on the line."Hi, darling, I'm in Mexico." Her voice seemed to crackle. "l've just divorced your father." I thought about my birthday and wondered why my mother had forgotten to wish me a happy one. I squeezed my eyes tight as I pondered: Maybe she meant the divorce to be my birthday gift.

By this time I had learned how to stuff unpleasant feelings down into the deepest reaches of my body and psyche. This was my unconscious survival technique, which a therapist much later would tell me was called "splitting off," a behavior common among children of alcoholics.

One of the advantages of having a mother who was out of it was that, unlike my friends', my life was fairly unsupervised. I could wear or do pretty much anything I wanted to.

My mother remained at Riggs for five years WHAT!?!? Cue record scratching. That is the rehab Elaine mentions going to. Does she mention in her memoir that she stayed there FIVE YEARS? No, no she does not. Where did she get the money to pay for that? I have many questions.

This is from my Google research-
Austen Riggs Center's residential treatment costs vary by program length and services, but the six-week evaluation and treatment phase typically ranges from $78,000 to $86,000 as an all-inclusive fee covering therapy, room, board, and related care. The current price in 2026. So she was at Riggs from about 1977-1982? The mind reels at the cost.

The three of us settled into a domestic routine. With my rudimentary cooking skills, I'd make dinner—lamb chops, veggies, and baked potatoes-Jim would read Jesse a bedtime story, and then we would watch some TV— Mary Hartman, reruns of Taxi-and go to bed. It was a low-key life, but we were both working, and it suited us. Her life with her husband and stepson. No, that doesn't make for an exciting memoir but man, Tracy deserved to finally experience that "boring" happy life.

[Janet Elsbach]

This is not really the "I pulled the thread from where I sit now and this is how I make sense of it all" kind of memoir, more the "Get a load of what went down, more or less in this order" variety. She has a lot to work with.

Gadzooks. What a life! What a way to grow up! (What the hell was up with the 70's, just overall? has anyone pinned that down? Not that we are rocking this particular decade in ways that will stand up to later examination, I suppose.) One can perhaps de-emphasize, just slightly, many of the little things that weigh on one, as a parent, when one sees that an upright, creative person can emerge from all manner of circumstances with a generous heart. Jeepers.

[Tracey · Rating 4 out of 5]

I feel as if Tracy and I are old friends; and no it's not because my name happens to be Tracey or that her relationship with her mother mirrors mine. Written in this off the cuff casual style that many attempt and never quite capture, I felt as if Tracy and I were long lost friends catching each other up on our lives. And with my poor fashion sense I would love for her to be my friend! What do you say Tracy??

[Mary · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book. What a clever way to tell your life story. I hated for the book to end.

[Mary Ronan Drew · Rating 5 out of 5]

A sparkling memoir by the daughter of English theater critic Kenneth Tynan and his wife, Elaine Dundy, author of The Dud Avocado. Tracy was obsessed with clothes from her first onesie and became a costume designer in Hollywood. Her sense of style (rather like her father's really) is not the sort of thing I would think of but her outfits are stunning nonetheless. (Her wedding dress was an oversized tee shirt hitched up at the waist with a belt.) Each chapter focuses on a piece of clothing and what the author was doing at the time she owned it.

[Carole Morin · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was under my silk sheets in Soho this week with Tracy Tynan.
A good book is also a trip and Wear and Tear: The Threads of My Life (Duckworth Overlook) is likely to become the bible for every boy and girl who grew up preferring Go Go boots to dolls.
It's not just the story of what Tracy wore but the tragi-comic menage a trois of an only child stage-managing her mad, bad parents.
Theatre critic Ken Tynan, the first man to say fwck on television, and his asbo-fabulous American wife Elaine, were "celebrity hounds" almost before fame was invented. Ken had a perverse affair with Louise Brooks after she had left Hollywood; Elaine was drug-besties with Tennessee Williams.
"Their obsession with celebrity seemed like an addiction," their daughter says, "a need to fill some bottomless hole in their psyches"; like their "sordid obsession" with each other.
Falling asleep in her mother's sealskin coat, taking cocaine with her father, she's examines her lonely childhood with the same acuity as her descriptions of Ossie Clark and Pucci dresses.
One of my happiest childhood memories is attacking my mom Maddie with a pair of frilly knickers that were creating psychotic VPL under my baby Biba dress.
These same pants make an appearance in Wear the Tear as a sixth birthday present that Tracy flushes down the toilet.
Clothes keep her sane as her impeccably dressed parents threaten suicide, finding time in between to show off at dead glamorous parties in London, New York and LA with Marlene Dietrich, Cecil Beaton, Vivien Leigh and Orson Welles.
Emotional headcases Ken and Elaine provide plenty of laugh out loud moments, at least for the reader.
Mad Elaine asks on the road to Selfridges, "Did you know that one of your legs is shorter than the other?"
Ken's birthday surprise for his virginal daughter is a screening of Deep Throat for an audience including her boyfriend and his suburban parents.
Sammy Davis Junior, on a flying visit to London, just happens to have a copy of the film. "As I watched [Sammy], I could only think how incredibly small he was and wonder what kind of a person travelled around the world with a personal copy of Deep Throat."
Tracy Tynan grows up to be a dresser in Hollywood, a post-punk Edith Head, dressing Richard Gere, Ellen Barkin, Genevieve Bujold, Winona and Divine.
Her parents, now unhappily divorced, follow her to LA. First Deep Throat Daddy, who promptly dies after trusting Tracy with his sado-masochistic diaries; fearing his new wife Kathleen will suppress them after his death.
Her mother dies without them ever managing to repair the damage of neglect, emotional abuse and possibly the memory of those frilly yellow knickers. "It was as though I were allergic to her," Tracy says.
Elaine wasn't much good at being mom, but she's a great character until the end, leaving a funeral guest list of "important" friends, like Gore Vidal and Gloria Vanderbilt, and some B-listers for the back row.
"A celebrity hound to the last, she had booked a spot at the same cemetery in Westwood where Marilyn Monroe was buried."
A good book, whether fiction or memoir, lures the reader into its world and makes you hold your breath for a happy ending.
Tracy Tynan grows up and marries a movie director she seduces wearing gold lame jeans. When her stepson marries her gorgeous half-sister, she dresses the bride. Where there could have been rivalry there is love. She deserves her happy ending.


Carole Morin is the author of Dead Glamorous and Spying on Strange Men

[Stephanie Matthews · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's not a terrific book - very much more an autobiography than a social history, which was my own mistake and not one I can blame on anything else - but well written, interesting and gripping nonetheless. From an appalling childhood to a successful and fascinating adulthood through the medium of clothing (and shoes, and the occasional handbag) - it's fun to read and inspiring to follow Tracy Tynan's life and wardrobe.

[Krista · Rating 2 out of 5]

A memoir told through clothes—high society, high drama, high fashion. Reading this was a bit like watching a train wreck—especially the scenes from Tynan's childhood, when she was the most "adult" individual in her home—I was horrified, but I couldn't stop.

[Monica Casanova · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm on a memoir kick and this was one of the best memoirs I've rad this year. Unputdownable and completely addictive.

[Rachel Foster · Rating 5 out of 5]

A very special book I enjoyed every moment of it. Really identified with the thoughts of the author.

[Samantha · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not my usual choice of book but interesting and enjoyable

[Ashley · Rating 2 out of 5]

It was very interesting to see behind the scenes of Elaine and Ken’s lives, but I don’t think the book editor did a great job - many phrases and descriptions are repeated multiple times. And I would have liked to hear more about Tracy’s response to Elaine’s memoir.

[Tina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting. I like the structure of each chapter written around a specific article of clothing.

Wow, what terrible parents Elaine Dundy and Kenneth Tynan were. Nice that she was able to transcend that upbringing. Also cool that she did costumes for several Alan Rudolph films.

[Olga Miret · Rating 5 out of 5]

A life in clothes, lived with a big heart and plenty of talent. Thanks to Net Galley and to Scribner for offering me a free copy of this memoir in exchange for an unbiased review.
I knew who Kenneth Tynan was before I read this book. Although well before my time, I do love theatre, I’ve lived many years in the UK and I’d heard of his reviews, his wit, and remembered having seen pictures of him, but didn’t know much about his life. I didn’t know anything about his first wife, American writer Elaine Dundy, or his daughter Tracy, and I must admit that I’m not a big clothes buff. Having said all that, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. The clothes give name to the chapters and form the backbone of the book, assisting the author in organising her memories. I guess we all have things we remember, music, movies, books, and they help bring to our mind momentous happenings in our lives. Why not clothes, especially when they were so meaningful to herself and the people she cared about?
Tracy Tynan’s life isn’t ordinary, whatever our definition of an ordinary life might be. Both her parents were popular, talented, brilliant and social butterflies. Their parties and events read like the who is who, first of London and then of the LA of the era. But they weren’t particularly gifted as parents. They seemed wrapped up on their own relationship, the people they knew and their careers. Their daughter was often an afterthought, and even when they tried to connect they weren’t very skilled at it. But the author is generous to a fault and makes an effort to be fair and not to dwell or overdramatise matters. She tries hard to understand and does not moan or complain, despite having lived through pretty harrowing experiences due to her parents’ rocky relationship and to their difficult behaviour. She is sympathetic towards other’s plights and never self-apologising, something extremely refreshing.
The book is full of anecdotes but despite the many famous people the writer has met through her life this is not a scandalous book trying to exploit her connections and throw dirt at others. She always has a good word to say, even about people or actors she had a hard time with, and I got the distinct impression that she subscribes to the idea that if you don’t have anything good to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. It’s a book full of passion for clothes, for life, for her friends and family. It’s a touching and warm book although it avoids sentimentality, cheap thrills and pulling at heartstrings.
This first-person account is a beautifully written book (she seems to have inherited the writing talent from both her parents), a page turner, understated, and we get to feel as if we were reading the memoirs of a friend. The chapter about her daughter, who was born premature, reminded me of my goddaughter, who was born in similar circumstances, and it resonated especially with me.  Her reflections about getting older, her experience of losing loved ones, and her more recent activity volunteering with homeless organisations and those looking after women victims of domestic violence made me realise I had more in common with this woman than I could have ever guessed when I started reading.
If anybody is worried about reading these memoirs because they aren’t familiar with the people involved or are not interested in clothes, don’t let that stop you. The book can be enjoyed by readers who know the era and many of the famous actors, writers, directors, clothes designers… who formed the social circle of Tracy Tynan’s family, but also by all those who have an interest and a passion that has accompanied them throughout their lives, who’ve survived complicated family lives, who love their friends and their families, and who don’t fear reinventing themselves once over again.
I’m not sure if the paper copies will have pictures. The Kindle review copy I was sent didn’t, but that did not diminish my enjoyment.

[Sally · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tracy Tynan uses key pieces of clothing to work her way through her life's story, with each chapter focusing on memories from the past. She writes well, maintaining sincerity and honesty but never lapsing into self-pity or bitterness at her parents' atrocious 'parenting'. (And when I say atrocious, that is an understatement. Read this if you are feeling guilty about not being a good mom or dad. At least you didn't invite your child on a cruise and spend the trip in your cabin, drinking, leaving your child to make excuses for you. And you didn't--or have not yet, and it's not too late to do the right thing!--leave behind your journals detailing your sado-masochistic sexual practices. So pat yourself on the back for a job well done!)

I find it amazing that Tynan survived such a sketchy childhood and ended up happily married with children of her own. It was interesting to read about her work as a costume designer and to gain a better understanding of the challenges of that job. I like this woman!

[Lindsay · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a delightful read. Wish there was more about Sarah Lawrence but alas.

[Lisa Mcbroom · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tracy Tynan grew up very unconventional. Daughter of theater critic Kenneth Tynan and author Edith Dunpy, her parents were fashion plates. I loved how Tynan wrote about clothes being an art and the emotional impact of certain outfits affected her.

[Iris · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really loved this memoir! Tracy Tynan does exactly what a memoirist most wants to do: to make her idiosyncrasies come alive, while showing how those particulars are also universal. Her peculiarities make for many outrageously entertaining stories: her parents (Elaine Dundy, author of "The Dud Avocado;" and Kenneth Tynan, theater critic) were flamboyant, drunk, and firmly planted in famous circles in London and New York. Young Tracy was the unwilling audience for their violent, wild fights. Lacking constancy and comfort at home, she sought it in friends and, eventually, she realizes that clothes are her refuge: creating new clothes from patterns or from her imagination, or cruising secondhand stores and Mayfair boutiques for one perfect item. So it's a delight to eventually find Tynan as a costume designer on scrappy productions in Hollywood. Further, she sheds light on aspects of life that are rarely discussed: her youthful battle with vaginismus, her struggle with her boyfriend's reluctance to commit, her fear after her daughter is born very prematurely.
Each chapter takes us to a moment in her life that she links to a particular item of clothing, and she makes this gimmick sing.

Judiciously edited and very compelling.

[Renee · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars
Tracy Tynan's memoir of growing up in London and NYC in the 1950’s and 60s, privy to her parents’ glamorous parties and famous friends (Laurence Olivier, Vivien Leigh, and Orson Welles). Tynan's parents, although well styled and adored, were presence-less, self-indulgent parents who for most of the book forgot they had a child.
The book is most interesting and is an interesting and easy read; I think I would have given this four stars had I not just read "Chanel Bonfire" by Wendy Lawless which I enjoyed a tad more.

[Erin Judge · Rating 5 out of 5]

This candid memoir bounces along at a lovely pace as Tynan recounts her life story through articles of clothing. I enjoy anything that is deep and authentic without being depressing or lugubrious. Tynan's own story is full of difficulties and traumas, and yet her telling is so gentle and direct, it's clear this woman has made a life for herself and managed not just to survive but to thrive, very much on her own terms. A wonderful book.

[Alice · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tracy Tynan's book has an original format which is appealing. After reading it, I re-read Elaine Dundy's Dud Avocado which I had enjoyed many years ago. I liked it much less second time round and feel sorry for Tracy Tynan for having had such self-obsessed parents.
Wear and Tear is an easy read but unmemorable.

[Juliana · Rating 3 out of 5]

Very interesting read, bit more than I needed on costumes but learned lots. Amazing how parenting molds us and we as parents our children. How our view of relationships both positive and negative is imprinted by what we see of our parents.

[Amy Ephron · Rating 5 out of 5]

a quiet glimpse into an elegant life, well observed, well dressed, and with all its flaws (the life's not the books) a love story, high fashion, high romance, and the big heart of Tracy Tynan visible in
Wear and Tear: The Threads of My Life.

[Fredde · Rating 5 out of 5]

I adored every colorful page of Tracy Tynan's memoir. I will be buying it as a gift for many of my women friends who will really relate.

[Bea Patterson]

Short, entertaining read.

[Chelsea · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loved this memoir. Tracy Tynan can dress me anytime!! A Good Read!⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[Joanne · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fashion and gossip!!

[Lynnie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loved it!