Strap on yer goin' out shoes

Now THAT is a New Year's Eve shoe.
Or, if you're my sole-mate (THE PUNS! THEY SLAY ME!), you think that's a shoe to wear to brunch.

For some reason, everyone (including yours truly approximately every other year) gets their knickers in a knot over what their New Year's Eve plans will be. It seems like the only other holiday that people unnecessarily freak out more over is Valentine's Day. To that, I say HARUMPH.

Guess what--unless you're getting proposed to at a specific location that you have to find without the aid of your future husband/wife, it doesn't really matter where you are on New Year's Eve. The year will still start whether you're kissing someone, throwing up in a bathroom, or watching The Holiday in your leopard-print Snuggie. And no, I'm not referencing my own plans with that last option. I'm not lucky enough to own a leopard-print Snuggie.

So, relax. The only plan that I have so far--no matter where I am--is to put on the most audacious shoes I own and possibly wear my secondhand fur coat that smells like someone died while smoking 50 packs of cigarettes at once. If you can't procure a fur, I suggest you at least put on tranny shoes. Especially if you happen to be of the male persuasion.

Tar-jayyy. It's pronounced Tar-get, world.

Target's "designer collaborations" have never impressed me all that much. Frankly, I like going to Target because I know I'm going to find clothes at "how many children do they employ in sweatshops?" prices. I'm not going there because I want to walk out with an Anna Sui dress. If I want a designer dress, I'll just be patient, save up $600-$1,000, and somehow justify spending that on a couple yards of fabric with a label sewn on it.

I understand that it's that exact mentality that Target is attempting--successfully--to change. I can only assume that they've acheieved success, because each collaboration has featured a more popular designer than the last, and shoppers begin anticipating the latest collections several months before they hit stores. Gasp! Just like in the real high fashion world! Where Target doesn't, and shouldn't, exist.

This impossibly elitist rant is going somewhere soon, I assure you.

Today, I went to Target looking to buy new slippers. Exactly the kind of simple, $10 item that I trust them to have in at least 3 different colors. THEY FAILED ME. I am still slipper-less. However, as I was sulking out of the store, I noticed a sign for their latest design partnership with Rodarte. I love Rodarte. LOVE THEM. Those two sisters can do no wrong in my eyes. All of their clothes look like they came straight out of a gothic, S&M-infused tea party. And I'm not alone in my admiration--this launch has had people on the edge of their seats since summer. Shocked that they still had anything in stock, I adopted the "crazed holiday shopper" persona and grabbed about 8 things, rushing into the dressing room before anyone could steal my bounty.

Verdict? Meh. I feel like they were inspired by a retired, drug-addicted ballerina. There's an enormous amount of tulle--almost to the point where I feel like someone should have pointed them in the direction of cotton--and everything is uneven or ragged. We've got slips with tulle overlays that are at least three inches longer than the slip, a tie-neck blouse composed solely of tulle, lace t-shirts, and the hooker dress to end all hooker dresses. It's mid-thigh-length with long sleeves (fine so far), made of lace (still sort of fine), leopard print (hmm...), and has three grossly oversized leopard-lace bows running up the back zipper.

WHAT? Of course I grabbed it, but after trying it on and giggling at the $40 price tag, I realized that I looked like someone who'd be worth about $5 on a busy corner. I'm not entirely suprised that the glory of Rodarte's runway shows didn't translate to a bargain big box store. I just really wish that people would stop pretending like it did. These aren't handmade dresses. They're not "directional" or avant-garde. They're lined up next to $12 Mossimo cardigans (which, let's be honest, is a much better purchase than a tacky dress that costs more than 2x that). So please, shoppers. Before you rush to Target to buy a "designer" label, remember what you're purchasing. A shoddily made, overpriced garment with an extra-special name sewn in the collar.

On allure

I'm obsessed with women who look like they have a secret.

Pardon my ineloquence, but I honestly can't think of a better way to describe that look that some women have. I'm obsessed with them because where they look like they have a secret, I look like I want to tell you the password to the treehouse in my backyard. There is nothing mysterious about the way I move, smile, or frown. I am, in a word, obvious. Plenty of praises can be sung of obvious women (right? RIGHT.), but there is something inherently captivating about a woman who is slightly more subtle, whether it be in the way she interacts with people or the way she dresses. I will never stop praising the virtues of a higher-than-high heel, nor will I cease wearing a garish shade of red lipstick to go to church or the grocery store. However, I may start channeling some of the subtlety that I covet into my wardrobe. If only because it's a new decade, and change is good, and blah blah blah. Whatever. I just want to see if I can get as excited about a well-tailored dress pant or simple blouse as I can about a sequined jumpsuit at Goodwill.

When it comes to possessing an alluring, mysterious personality...no dice. I'll probably still laugh like I'm having a heart attack, turn ridiculous shades of red when I'm excited or nervous, and walk like I'm on a mission, but perhaps I can get people to think "Wow, I wonder what's going on underneath the turtleneck of that gaffawing, red-faced speed walker."

Dandy thoughts

"Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."

Mista Wilde certainly knows what he's talking about.

Deeply shallow

Alright, who saw Erin Brockovich? God, I love that movie. Mainly because I love any movie that makes it seem like being a lawyer just means spending a lot of time researching in dingy libraries, making all sorts of sordid deals with witnesses in dive bars, and having a huge impact on someone's life every single day.

But back to the matter at hand. There's a particular scene in that movie where Erin is talking to one of the members of the class-action suit that she's filing. Because this woman drank the awful, poisoned, CORPORATE water (that's not meant metaphorically), she gets cancer and has to have her breasts and uterus removed. Then, a slightly moving speech follows where she asks Erin if she's still a woman even though her female anatomy has been almost completely eradicated.

I ask myself a variation of this query a lot lately. But since I still have all my bits and pieces, it goes more like this: if I wear my uncle's plaid flannel button-down, jeans that are two sizes two big, and checkered Vans slip-ons at least 3x a week, am I still a woman (who cares about fashion)?

Thank heavens I keep a blog. Otherwise, the important questions just wouldn't be asked!

Sense and sensibility

Chicago, you've finally done it. After attempting to prance around your suburbs in all sorts of ill-begotten footwear for years on end, I find myself trolling the websites of L.L. Bean, Lands' End, and Target to find a pair of duck boots.

MOTHERFUCKING DUCK BOOTS*. Google that shit if you're blessed enough to not know what I'm talking about.

If you happen to spot me on the street and I'm wearing a pair of mid-calf, lace-up black/brown boots with massive rubber toes, please ignore me. God knows I'll be ashamed enough as it is without having someone I know call out my name and cringe at my footwear.

*OK, in all honesty, I'm equal parts ashamed and excited about procuring these boots. MY FEET WILL FINALLY BE WARM. I will be able to tread with assurance rather than trepidation! My hooker shoes will still have their moments. They just won't be subjected to black ice and 3+ inches of snow/slush.

One part Lars von Trier, one part Medea

My friend/resident film buff KMC (initials make everyone more mysterious! Even though most everyone knows who I'm referring to.) recently lent me a rash of films by that crazy director, and I watched my first one this past Monday. Since I have zero confidence in my ability to interpret films, I figured that I should start off my von Trier venture with a movie that had a plot I would understand. Medea it is! I liked it quite a bit, and while I've got all sorts of silly observations to attempt to impress KMC with, one thing that struck me on a bloggy, aesthetic level was the costuming of Medea. He's got her in a sort of black skull cap, and a long-sleeved, floor-length black dress. Both the skull cap and the dress look like they've been covered and re-covered with strips of torn black fabric, which created some interesting texture, and helped to convey (fairly obviously) the shredded remains of the life Medea had with Jason.

Fast forward to today when I decided that it would be SO COOL if I could dress like von Trier's Medea. No need to point out that I am a hopeless nerd. Some people might think it's creepy to emulate the style of a desperate woman who murdered her kids. I think that she's misunderstood and looks like she came off the Rodarte A/W '10 runway. Hence why I spent the entire day in two black dresses, ripped black tights, a navy wrap sweater, and bondage-y boots. It didn't necessarily scream "don't leave me with your children!" but I liked it well enough.

Just wait until I watch The Passion of Joan of Arc. Who knows what runway show I'll be able to reduce Carl Th. Dryer to!

Do. Not. Want.

OMGOMGOMGOGMOGMGOM.

OK, for a moment, ignore the fact that the shape of these shoes harkens back to the Spiceworld era. Instead, focus on the fact that a crystal bird is taking flight from the toe of this shoe. Miu Miu, your shoe designs slay me.

Look over here! A slightly feminist rant!

While this is technically considered old news, I can't help but be bothered every time it crosses my mind.

A few weeks ago, Kate Moss told Women's Wear Daily that one of her mottos was "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." The moment the words came out of her mouth, everyone from fashion critics to eating disorder groups jumped at the chance to crucify her. Fashion critics went a little easier on her, stating that perhaps she should have a different motto, while spokespeople for eating disorder awareness organizations blamed her for causing young, happy girls to be anorexic.

What Kate Moss said sounds stupid, yes. Of course food tastes better than bones feel, and anyway, that is an illogical comparision. However, does she deserve this amount of ridicule? No. It is literally in Moss' job description to be skinny. Models routinely get fired for even the slightest physical change, which certainly includes weight gain. So, berating her for having a skinny-friendly motto would be akin to lambasting a sumo wrestler for saying "Everything tastes as good as fat feels."

I whole-heartedly admit to being a feminist that focuses on body issues. For me, the mind and body of a woman are what lie at the core of feminism, ya hear? So, naturally, I've taken this whole Kate Moss thing to that level. To me, it seems like underlying issue in the Moss-hatin' trend is this: women can't do anything right with their bodies in the eyes of our society. You've got anti-obesity crusaders who are raging against Beth Ditto's "fat acceptance" attitude, anti-eating disorder activists who can't stand how skinny Kate Moss is, and the media who can't stand the "average" woman and try to sell diet books and 3-minute cake mixes with equal aplomb to push her toward one extreme or the other.

Kate Moss isn't the picture of health for the following reasons: she drinks, she smokes, she's been known to use cocaine, and probably doesn't drink enough water or eat enough fruits and vegetables because she's busy. Oh, and she's too skinny. I get that young girls, old women, and men look at models and wonder why they can't look just like that, and I think that is horrendously sad. But yelling at Kate Moss for doing her job and being vocal about it is attacking the symptom rather than the problem. How about we try to be healthy by our own standards rather than yelling at people who don't live up to impossible ones? Hmm...that might actually be difficult in this world.

Obviously, my solution is to start some sort of body-lovin' society once everything crumbles in 2012 and all we're left with is John Cusak and a whole lot of time to figure out how our body images and expectations got so twisted.

Christmas on Lover's Lane

http://www.modcloth.com/store/ModCloth/Womens/Born+To+Be+Wild+Boots

"A boot should cover your toes. If it doesn't, it's just a sex toy."

--My mom, after I mentioned that I thought these would make a lovely Christmas gift.


Love you mama.