Happy New Year!

I wanted to pop in here and wish you all a very happy start to 2011. Thanks to all of you who have read my blog, commented, or thought about the words "skeleton" or "key" at any point at all during your day. Check back soon for updates on Operation Make My Boyfriend Buy New Clothes and more musings on clothes and shoes that I can't quite bring myself to buy.

Smooches!

A photo note: I searched "glitter confetti" to try and find a festive image, and found this gem. Festive enough for me!

Sales: Quit playin' games with my heart

So, you all know my penchant for fantasy shopping during my lunch break, yeah? Well, things got a little too real today. Since it's the week after Christmas, most stores are having ridiculous sales. Since most of the stores I frequent for fun (I really do try not to buy from them) are fancified sweatshops, they're basically giving clothes away. I saw socks for 50 cents at Forever 21. 50 cents! Thank God I got socks for Christmas, otherwise those babies would have been in my bag. One thing I did notice--along with the rest of the observing world, I'm sure--is how crazy my fashion sense gets during said sales. I took some notes about my current wardrobe and styles that I tend toward one day when I was bored, and I noticed that while I've got a dash of sequins here and a print there, I love me some monochromatic colors. In light of this information, I beg you: what would a person like me need with a pair of safari-print (the best way to define something that blends zebras, tigers, and leopards together) harem pants? Answer: I WOULD NEVER NEED THEM IN THE HISTORY OF EVER. I like my crotch to stay where it is (both visually and in real life), and I like my animal prints one at a time. However, they're only $10. My choice is A) See a movie, or B) Buy crazy harem pants. I guess my other choice could be C) Save your pennies, sweet child, you're below the poverty level. While I may always pick C), it's still interesting to me (in a very in-depth, psychological way) to see how much I'm willing to stretch the limits of my style when the price is right.

Let's be honest, I'd even wear Bob Barker if he was only $10.

Don't worry. I didn't buy the harem pants, and won't. Just like I didn't buy a cape. Technically though, since my fantasy wardrobe tends toward huge amounts of fabric, I could probably just buy a parachute for $5 and be happy forever.

What better way to start the day?

When I got dressed this morning, I thought to myself, "Alyssa, is your dress/tunic thing too short for work?" I rationalized that it wasn't be A) it passed the fingertip test, B) it had a high neckline, and C) I was wearing two pairs of opaque leggings and flat boots, so even if it was a tad short, I was going all-out conservative with the rest of my outfit.

Apparently, Portland didn't think so! Correction: One man I passed in the street didn't think so. I was crossing an intersection, and I made eye contact with a man who was walking the opposite way. ROOKIE WALKING MISTAKE. Never make eye contact with strangers. I have this terrible lack of self-awareness where even though I can see a person perfectly, I'm convinced they can't see me. I hear him mumble (while looking at me) "going to work?", and then scream "WHOREHOUSE!!"

I'm not kidding. Some random man screamed "whorehouse" at me two blocks away from my actual place of work. Which is, for the record, not a brothel. Even though I was mildly offended (and more just taken aback, as I always am when people YELL AT ME), I couldn't help but think that my professional life might be a little more interesting if I was a lady of the night. Le sigh.

Desire lines

Since I'm still in a bit of a holiday haze, the idea of getting back to a daily grind does not entice me in the least. So, I've decided to take on the best project in the world: getting my boyfriend to buy new clothes.

Technically, it's not the best project in the world. That would be reserved for getting myself to buy tons of new clothes. But I love dressing other people as well, so I'm getting way too excited for this. Here's the deal: I like the way my boyfriend dresses. He's what I would call a "kasual kid" (I watched about 12 episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians last week. Don't judge), and will literally never be found without a zip-up hooded sweatshirt. None of this is bad. What is bad is that he has enough clothes to last him for a week. And a lot of them are falling apart.

Therefore, Project Make Boyfriend Buy New Clothes (more creative title to come) is set to start today. I'm definitely making an inspiration board for this, which will probably look something like "classic hipster kid meets Paul Newman in his younger days meets Flashdance divided by a J. Crew advertisement." Curious to see how that will translate on a skinny, tall, 20-something guy? Me too! Stay tuned to find out.

Shoe fantasies. Sho-antasies?

I work in downtown Portland, and have a required 1-hour lunch break. My life is so terrible, right? Anyway, since it takes me approximately 10 minutes to eat my brown bag lunch, I often have time to wander around the city and pop into stores to pet pretty things.

One of my consistent haunts is the Nordstrom Rack shoe section. I'm not sure why I do this to myself, because 3 out of 5 times, I'll leave the store practically sobbing because I've found the PERFECT shoe at the PERFECT price, but don't have the kind of life that necessitates that shoe. Allow me to explain. As those of you that have read this blog for awhile can attest to, I have a rather tacky aesthetic. More often than not, I like jewels that are about 15 rhinestones too big, heels that are 2 inches too high, and dresses that are a size too tight. However, my life as a 20-something gal who works part-time doing data entry and goes to school does not require 5-inch sparkly heels. OK, maybe they're more like 4.5 inches. STILL. To mitigate the inevitable sadness that accompanies these lunchtime jaunts, I've decided to look at shoes in a new way.

And before you say it, no, I've never thought of simply not going to look at shoes during my lunch break.

Now when I ascend that magical escalator into shoe heaven, I'm armed with a set of delusions to apply to each and every pair of shoes! No, those 4-inch black patent platforms aren't the best for biking around Portland, but when I eventually drop out of school and quit my day job, they will be perfect for my new position as an apprentice to a dominatrix. Those gold Nike Dunks? The ideal shoe for side hustling as a DJ/breakdancer. And lacy white pumps? Looks like I just found my Vegas wedding shoes.

If all fashion is grounded in fantasy, why not invent your own ridiculous narratives to add to the fun?

Hasta la vista, merlot!

Yup, another template change. You probably don't need me to tell you that, right? Anyway, I think this one might stick. And even if it doesn't, just consider my constant template alterations to be my way of posting daily outfit pictures. I tip my hat to any blogger that takes and posts those on the near-daily, but I just don't think I'll ever rise to those ranks.

So, until then, book-heavy backgrounds! Fits with the library scientist grad program I'm in.

Red Hots: The worst candy/best nickname for Rihanna

I love Rihanna. Seriously, "Breakin' Dishes" (which doesn't seem to have gotten as much credit as it should have) is one of the greatest break-up songs that I've ever listened to. Now, Lil' Miss Ri has gone through a lot in the past couple of years, and she's certainly come out on the other side more adventurous, sassy, and technicolored. Honestly, girlfriend cannot stop dying her hair and looking like she just left a Jamaican dancehall. More power to her, but D-AMN. This candid was taken from the set of the video for her song "What's my Name" with that Drake character.

SIDENOTE: Sorry, but I hate that song. I really, really want to like it, but Drake sounds way more robotic than I remember, and the song just BLOWS. Yeah, I was born to write in-depth pop music reviews for Spin.

Anyway, I can deal with the weird, control-top-pantyhose-colored biking shorts, and the Cosby-sweater-print shorts. And the Beetlejuice blazer. But what I can't get over? How she managed to dye her hair to match the exact color of her fascinator. Or maybe she found the perfect fascinator to go with her already-colored mane? Looks like we've got ourselves an fashion twist on the ever-popular "what came first--the chicken or the egg?" scenario.

How to get 14 items of clothes for $7

Swap! I'd heard about how awesome swaps are from various sources, and REALLY REALLY wanted to go to one. I signed up for a PDX Swap mailing list, and sure enough, there have been two swaps in the past two months! THAT I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO GO TO. One time, I had class all day. The next time, I had a volunteer training all day.

Too sad.

Fast forward to yesterday, when the lovely library coordinator for Bitch Magazine e-mails me to see if she should close the library so that instead of volunteering there, I could go to a swap they were co-hosting with Planned Parenthood. UM, YES PLZ. So, I scampered home--as I'm known to do when greeted with details of an unknown swap--and gathered some old (to me) clothes in a bag. I hopped on my bike, and off I was to a life-changing event.

OK, maybe it wasn't life-changing, but for $7 (and a bag of old clothes), I got cupcakes and other treats, champagne (if I had only remembered my ID!), and a chance to grab tons of stuff. What was nice was that everyone was fairly civil, even nice. I went in expecting the worst--people throwing elbows, spitting on something to claim it, tripping me--and I got the best! A girl even told me "um, you have to take that shirt. Because it'll look cute on you, and if you put it down, I will totally take it." Honesty at its finest!

All in all, I can't wait to go to another swap. Yes, I understand that they're temperamental, but I got quite lucky this time around, and it turns out that I do an OK job of figuring out if something will fit me just by looking at it. That's a skill that's almost as valuable as being able to properly manage your finances, or crack a code to find out where some national treasure is being hidden.

Mother superior

Even though I'm not going home for as long as I'd like, I can quite put into words how excited I am to descend on the suburbs of Chicago (all of them?) for the Christmas holiday. OK, well, I technically did just put it into words, but still. Don't sass me.

I was talking with my mom the other day, and I realized that I'm slowly turning into her. Exhibit A: my undying love for the Lands End Canvas line. A little while ago, I imagine Lands End had a meeting that went something like this: "COME ON, GUYS. Bloggers are wearing modest floral dresses, chunky cardigans, and striped boatneck shirts! THESE OUR ARE JAMS. We're missing out because our clothes aren't always tight-fitting and the denim inseams come up to the naval! Let's fix it."

Thus, the Lands End Canvas line was born. Look! Over here! And here! It's all solid. And it's really hard to keep myself from buying it, because it's extremely well-made (and therefore not what I'm used to.) My mom says that she still has Lands End clothes that my dad bought her 20 YEARS AGO.

On a similar note, I'm thrilled if I'm able to wear a Forever 21 dress I bought 20 days ago. Boo-urns!

I shouldn't be allowed to have money.

I almost bought a $16 cape today. Not for part of a costume, but because I get cold often and love swishing about dramatically while walking.

I've seen people pull off capes, in both the online realm and the real-life one. But what stops me from taking the plunge into Cape Town (the cotton/fake cashmere kind, not the South African city) is this cold, hard fact: you're basically wearing a blanket in public.

Yet this is the exact reason I want a cape. Because day by day, I'm inching myself closer and closer to just wearing sheets in public (what with my embrace of flowy, unstructured dresses), and a fancy blanket would really be the finishing touch.

MUST RESIST THE LURE OF DAYTIME JAMMIES.

The power of a good pin

With my first term of grad school successfully under my belt (YES), I've got the month of December off from school to focus on reading, crocheting, my part-time job, cooking/baking, and watching lots of Netflix/Hulu. Between stuffing my face with white fudge Oreos--because one should always snack when waiting for a baked good to hurry up and get out of the oven--watching endless amounts of Parks & Recreation, and crocheting, I almost forgot about my first focus: reading!

I finally got my literate paws on a book that I've been wanting for what seems like forever: Read My Pins: Stories from a Diplomat's Jewel Box by Madeleine Albright. I love nothing more than awesome political ladies that aren't afraid to wear jewels, so I was in heaven flipping through page after page of Ms. Albright's unparalleled pin collection. The book is a result of a fantastic exhibit that the Museum of Arts & Design in New York hosted, and while I would have died to see them in person, the photographs do the pins enough justice. One of the best aspects of her collection is how unpretentious it is. Of course, there are stunning pieces from Cartier and Tiffany's, but alongside them are vintage dime-store pins that are worn with just as much pride.

The pictures are lovely, but the prose that accompanies them is tops. I consider Madeleine Albright to be one of the smartest political minds still living, and to read that she believes fashion is a weapon, a tool of democracy, and a way to try and communicate a mood warmed my heart. I understand that celebrating fashion's frivolity can often be a saving grace for those who only want to get out of bed so they can wear a new skirt (guilty as charged), but at the same time, I always hope that people can recognize the power that fashion has to move individuals, communities, and the world at large.

Does Albright ever state that a single pin helped to move toward peace in the Middle East? No, but when meeting with Kim Jong-il in North Korea in 2000, she certainly displayed her feelings about patriotism by wearing an American flag pin that looks to be nearly 5in x 5in. It's stories like these that thrill me, make me want to bump up my pin collection, and never stop dressing exactly how I want to, in order to convey whatever I want.

Lists, lists, lists

WAY better than bills, bills, bills, am I right? My boyfriend and I were reminiscing about the good ol' days of Destiny's Child yesterday, and it made me want to sing "Survivor" all day. Which may or may not have happened.

Anyway, I hope everyone had a fantastic Thanksgiving! Things I'm thankful for: my family (OBVI), my boyfriend, Etsy, my hand mixer, new friends, old friends, trips home, and days spent watching Parks & Recreation in bed. Oh, and gin. Delicious, delicious gin.

Now that we've got that out of the way, it's time to talk about Christmas! So many bloggers put together ah-mazing gift guides, so I'm not going to throw my "buy 'em some books and maybe a scented candle!" guide into the mix. However, I will put this out there: if you can hand-make stuff/have the time to do so, do it! I can't think of anything nicer than presenting someone with baked goods/crafted items, because it says "hey, pal! I thought about you far enough in advance that I didn't have to run to the grocery store at 2 p.m. two days before Christmas to buy you that six-pack of athletic socks you've always wanted." My goal is to hand-make a lot of gifts, and given that my semester is over on Tuesday (HELLS YES), I think it'll be possible to fulfill that goal like the little elf I am.

Then again, my own Christmas wish list goes something like "a book, socks, a chestnut-brown pony", so who am I to say that store-bought gifts aren't awesome?

Now blogging from inside a glass of merlot

Yeah, so the creamsicle layout got to me. I decided that this layout fit my blog's content much better. Like my illustrative prose, this template is rich and full-bodied, with hints of cherry and oak.

BAHAHAHAHA. I just like the color burgundy.

A neck library! What I've never wanted.

Wowzers. This is...quite the piece. I'm not sure why I would expect anything less from the "For the Collectors" section on the Anthropologie website. Also, know that I say that with a snooty British accent. Since I'm in grad school for library science, it makes complete sense for me to own this. However, since it's $498 and I'm in grad school, it makes absolute no sense for me to even think about owning it. So, instead, I put it on the ol' blog. Enjoy!

Collage Power Hour

Between seeing Amy Sedaris' new book Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People (sidenote: I love her harlequin-patterned dress!) and finding a used book store about 10 blocks from my work that sells stacks of old fashion magazines, I'm hoping that I'm on the verge of becoming one of those people that makes mood boards.

"What's a mood board, Alyssa? Is it like a mood ring, only in board form?" Nay, good reader. Though it would be awesome if I could carry around a colored board that could convey my mood at all times. Back on track: a mood board is what awesome, fashion-y and creative people do when they need to design a clothing line, or figure out what to wear for a certain occasion or season. While I don't have an excess of board-shaped things, I do love any excuse to cut up old magazines and have fashion fantasies that read like:

"Faye Dunaway circa Bonnie and Clyde meets Sally Field in Sybil crossed with Paul Newman in The Sting and a dash of Rodarte Spring '09." BAM. My summer wardrobe.

Hmmm, that actually sounds like a ridiculous fashion fantasy that I must attempt to fulfill. To the used bookstore!

An Ode to Target, or how I learned to stop having morals and love the big box store.

I love Portland, I do. But there are just some things that the Midwest does...well, better. First of all, seeing old pals is way easier in the Midwest, and shopping at chain stores with them is considered a solid way to spend a Friday night. At least in my book.

I know I've derided Target before on this blog. In particular, their "designer collaborations." And, given how much their corporate powers-that-be hate gay people, it's not like I feel 100% awesome about loving this store so much. But ever since moving to Portland and being an hour(?!?!?) away from one, I've never lusted after anything as much as I lust after that physical space where I can buy toothpaste, a 5-pack of Fruit of the Loom undies, a lace skirt, and a plunger. When I lived in Wheaton, I could get to that delightful place in less than 15 minutes.

Now, there's nothing better than Portland's boutique/thrift scene. However, thrifting takes effort (can I really find three different ways to wear this musty-smelling sequin blazer? No? BACK ON THE RACK.) and boutique-ing takes loads of dollas. So, when I'm finding myself sapped of fashion energy/aforementioned dollas, I want someone to put me on their back and walk/run me to the Target at 98th and Washington so that I can buy cheap clothes without having to think about it.

And finally, it doesn't help that all the cool fashion bloggers are wearing lace skirts from Target that they got for $4. A FOUR DOLLAR SKIRT! THAT I CANNOT PROCURE IN MERE MINUTES. I feel like an addict with broken legs and no bus passes who just got word that the best drugs are on the other side of town. Boo to the hoo!

Currently wanting: EVERYTHING

I've often remarked about what a good little consumer I am. However, when it comes down to it, I don't really buy all that many clothes. I know my mom is reading this and probably cracking up, but Mumsies, it's true! More often than not, I'm too fraught with guilt to buy anything that costs more than $3 unless it's something for the homestead. That being said, ALL I WANT TO BUY IS EVERYTHING I SEE, CLOTHES-WISE. Seriously. I have no idea what's wrong with me, besides the fact that I have "no-money-but-think-I'm-rich-itis," and therefore have elaborate wish lists.

All that being said, I really want this leopard blanket/scarf thing from Urban Outfitters. Someone is trying to tell me not to even talk about it though, because I can't get a good picture of it AND I'm having trouble linking to it. First-world problems! Even if I was rich, I'd think that dropping $38 on a scarf was utter madness, but it doesn't stop the snuggie-wearer in me from wanting to traipse around Portland in a chic blanket.

Phew! Really feels better to get that off my chest.

As promised...muffins.

So, since fall finally graced Portland with it's presence around the start of the month, I've decided that baking is going to be my new "thing." Deciding it and making it a reality are two very different things, but muffins have helped take me from "ah! The oven is on fire! No wait, it's just pre-heating" to "what's that delightful smell wafting from my kitchen? Oh yeah. MUFFINS."

I made an unremarkable pumpkin muffin a few weeks ago--note to everyone: unless you've just had three heart attacks, DO NOT substitute applesauce for butter. It makes for terrible texture and taste. And for the record, my mom's told me this approximately 50 times--and I got into the swing of things with a delightful batch of banana chocolate chip muffins and pumpkin chocolate chip muffins. I think the key here is adding chocolate chips to whatever I'm baking. Also, don't you love how ridiculously ghetto that muffin site looks? Whatever, it's how I roll. I meant to try whoopie pies last weekend, but I decided that sleeping, cleaning, and homework had to take priority. This will be remedied soon.

And now for the fashion tie-in--there's nothing that makes a slouchy cardigan and a pair of leggings look better than a plate of muffins.

Lastly, let's not get too attached to this new blog template I've got here. It makes me feel like I'm writing in a creamsicle. Tweaks to come!

Because weeks should always be themed.

I promise, musings on muffins and librarians are coming shortly. Wow, that sentence makes me sound quite boring. But I swear, my writing prowess will keep you on the edge of your seat about these topics.

However, I'd like to kick off this week by letting you in on a little fashion project I've conducted the past two weeks at work: THEMES. It's like on Arrested Development when Lindsay tries to convince Michael and Gob that "BEADS!" are the best idea she's had yet for a career. Anywho, I'm always very nervous when I first start a job, even though I've had jobs that didn't always require me to be on my A-game. Like, no one was going to totally flip out if I messed up their sundae at Oberweis or if I failed to properly check out their library book....at the library. As I grow older though (being the sage 23-year-old I am), I just keep piling the non-necessary pressure on myself.

So, how to deal? Theme fashion weeks! Because I had a little bit of a crazy first half of the month, I decided to ease into things last week with a "black-and-white" theme. Truman Capote would have been proud, I just know it. And this week? "Color Me Wild!" I'm wearing lots of colors, and could have just said "Crayola week" or something like that, but I have a not-so-secret desire to get into the make-up-naming business, and like to hone my skills whenever I can. Since I've exhausted the basic themes, the next 48ish weeks will be a little more of a challenge (my job is a year-long contract gig. Ooo! I said gig! I'm a grown-up.), but I think I'm up for it.

Socks: Life doesn't get more interesting than this.

Yeah...that's the stuff... (photo from We Love Colors)

When one starts blogging about socks, should they just hang up their hat and admit that they have nothing left to talk about? Maybe that would have been the case three years ago, but socks have EXPLODED. Who knew that foot bags have become the latest fashion statement? A bunch of designers have started putting their models in socks/heels, and frankly, I think it looks pretty cool. It's definitely one of those trends that has the potential to make someone look really awkward, but there are some fool-proof ways to work it out.

1) For Pete's sake (he loves when you do this!)--wear thin socks. This is NOT the time for those nubby knit socks that you wear in front of the fireplace during a photoshoot for Lands' End. We Love Colors carries colorful (who would have guessed that?) nylon socks that are fairly affordable.

2) If you're going to wear socks with your shoes, make the shoes substantial. No flats, strappy sandals, or kitten heels. I mean, I've seen it done with kitten heels, but it just looks weird. Yes, you're wearing thin socks (hopefully), but you're still wearing socks! You're not trying to look like Audrey Hepburn, so don't wear her shoes. For the record, I even think the heels in the above picture are a little too delicate for the trend.

So there you have it! A post on socks. Now it's time for me to think about what I can sacrifice in order to purchase socks in colors and styles other than "white athletic."

Re-up!

That title couldn't have less to do with this post if it tried. I've recently made my boyfriend start watching The Wire (so that I could have an excuse to watch the whole thing again), so I tend to use a lot of drug terms that I don't understand throughout the day. But I do know what a re-up is! It's a refill on drugs. So, consider this your refill on my fashion musings.

I've been gone for awhile, it's true. School has gotten a little busy, I'm starting a new part-time job, volunteering, and hanging out with fun people while doing even fun-er things. I tend to live life on the cynical edge, but all in all, I'm sort of in love with life right now. However, this leaves me with little time to talk to the internet about clothes, and that's awful. I love this little blog, and I love clothes even more, so in the spirit of Kevin Michael Christy (who's blogging again, CHECK HIM ON THE SIDEBAR), I'm renewing my commitment to this here blog. Until I take another leave of absence.

So, what's the specific occasion that's brought me back? THIS BRACELET ARRIVED IN THE MAIL. That's right, bitches. My birthday present from my lovely sister came to Portland this morning, and I couldn't be more thrilled. I'm going to rock it to sleep every night before putting it in the velvet pouch and brightly colored box it came in.

Stay tuned for thoughts on librarian fashion, muffins, and autumn. It'll be grand!

Presh.

the most delectable earrings ever, via fredflare.com

How adorable are these earrings? Seriously, tell me. Try and quantify the preciousness. Because I did, and I came up with "cuter than a combination of a tabby kitten, Joseph Gordon-Levitt when he's pretending to be dapper, and a toddler dancing to any one of Beyonce's hits. Preferably a medley."

I love thrifting. Yes, I'm STILL writing about it.

So, I love me a good thrifting trip for the scavenging fun and the savings. This love was recently reinforced by a weekend trip to the mall. With my boyfriend out of the house all day, I took it as an excuse to do all of the excessively girly things that I don't really do anymore because of the stares I would get from his judging eyes. (Just kidding, guys. I do what I want! But I really like shopping by myself, so it was nice to not have to be all "NO, BOYFRIEND. YOU CAN'T COME PICK OUT CLOTHES WITH ME.") Right after he closed the door, I prettied myself up and took a stroll to the mall.

HOLY GOD, I HATE MALLS. I honestly had forgotten. First of all, no one "pretties" up anymore. In fact, lots of people barely wear pants. But this was my day! I wasn't going to let a few pantsless bandits get in my way! Now, know that I didn't plan on buying anything. I mainly just wanted to oogle clothes. Instead, I became a senior citizen that CAN'T BELIEVE how much people charge for shirts. You! You over there! Do you see how much this costs? My mother could make this for pennies on the dollar! She could also feed me and my 11 siblings for less than $3.50! Just kidding, I don't have 11 siblings. But my mother was mighty creative with potatoes.

And that shock came from looking at the prices for the evil, evil (yet so pretty sometimes!) Forever 21. They pride themselves on being a budget store, and let's be honest--they are. But I had a hard time buying one piece of clothing for $22.50. That could buy me an armful at Goodwill! Also though, I think that I feel this way because the trends this fall are so incredibly thriftable. '90s minimalism/sorta grunge is back with a vengence (like it ever left), and thrift stores seem to only stock things from that era. That ugly floral maxi dress for $19.50 will probably cost you $6, max via a thrift store. And that's a refined thrift store.

Quick "refined" side note: There's a place in Portland called "The Bins" (i.e. the Goodwill outlet) that charges you per pound. It's something like $1 per pound of stuff you have. Sure, you should only root around with gloves on (yeah, people have found gross things in there), but I like the novelty of buying a wardrobe in pounds.

Don't like wearing other peoples' cast-offs? Get over it. Seriously, I don't have much else to say besides that. Normally, lepers aren't donating their clothes left and right, so you're not really risking much by not buying things new. Usually a nice trip through the washing machine will quell any fears you have. Also, you're creating less waste! Congratulations, the environment loves you.

Now, once I have a little more capital, I plan on fully supporting classy retail stores that I love. Because hello--we all need to buy new stuff every now and then to keep the cycle of "Buy, Donate, then Thrift Another's Bounty" alive.

Slices of heaven

Cannot get enough of agate slice rings. Seriously, all I want to do is pile these puppies onto every finger. They're so rugged yet elegant, like a lumberjack wearing a prom dress. Unfortunately, most of these precious gems are out of my price range (meaning they're over $10), but the second these lovelies become uncool, I am snatching them up from the clearance bin.

The Princess Diaries (sans Annie Hath)

Silly Bandz (the Princess edition) have made my life so much better. I'm not being hyperbolic, I promise. There is something intensely--dare I say--SILLY about wearing rubberbands on your wrist that morph into shapes. Even if people think they're stupid (which trust me, some people will), they still want to see what shapes you have. They're the best icebreaker ever! And besides, my accessories are evolving and maturing from "wear the biggest/sparkliest pieces that you can" into "wear the most ridiculous, fun things possible."

*Disclaimer: In case my friend Sanja reads this, I have to give her credit for getting me on the Silly Bandz-wagon. She was the first person that I saw them on, and I made fun of her relentlessly. Now, I see that I was just jealous.

INSPIRATION NATION

The middle photo was taken from The Sartorialist, which I think is a little overhyped as a site, but the boy (Scott Schuman) certainly does know how to take a picture. While these three pictures aren't the be-all and end-all of what I've been (stylishly) thinking about lately, they're certainly a good start.

I'm a sucker for photos of nebulas and other cosmic things of that gorgeous nature. All of the colors work so incredibly well together, and while there are tons of clothes I'd like to buy with that exact picture printed on them, I see it simply as the colors I want to wear together all the time. With glitter sprayed over them to achieve the appropriate effect, obviously.

Not sure why I'm so attracted to the middle picture--I think it's the absolute effortlessness that this woman exudes while wearing an ensemble that's decidedly full of effort. No one wakes up and decides that it would be easier to throw on their multi-buckled gladiator boots instead of a pair of flippy-floppies. And that dress? I DIE. Seriously. Chiffon dresses that blow around in the wind like they're going to show everything if you don't move the right way are my all-time favorites. Only in theory, though. I unconsciously tried to re-create this look for my last birthday. Let's just say that I did not exude natural grace and beauty like this lass does. No, I exuded more of a "desperately clutching to the world's whispiest fabric and using my boyfriend as an ineffective wind shield" effect. It was charming.

And finally, we have Winny and Johnny. I include this picture because I'm getting a wee bit obsessed with cross jewelry and sheer shirts/dresses/everything else, but also for the "coupling" aspect of the duo's outfits. I find that even though I have a distinct style that I like to play around with (Golden Girls sparkle meets all-American comfort with a strange dominiatrix moment thrown in for fun and confusion), I definitely have a tendency to blend in with whoever I'm dating at the time. Yes, I'm that amorphous person that starts to look like their dog. Except I look like my boyfriend. Who's not a dog. Anywho, I wake up every so often realizing that it's been a long time since I wore a pattern OTHER than plaid and a jean other than a skinny, so I have to remind myself to take a little extra effort and look more like myself. Which, to make a rambling point, is what Winona does perfectly here. Though, if my boyfriend looked like Jim Carrey during his Mask days, I'd probably try a lot harder to look like myself too.

So, there we have it! A PEEK INTO MY SECLUDED (fashion) MIND. Kind of like Inception, but not at all.

Let's fall for Fall, shall we?

We shall! In all seriousness, as much as I FREAKING LOVE the concept of back-to-school shopping (or for most people, back-to-oh wait, nothing's really changing for me except the weather shopping), I have a really difficult time thinking about fall trends, "it" colors, and the purse that you simply must have, or you'll cease to be a fashionable creature.

Of course, I buy all of the fall fashion rags. But for the most part, I'm finding that I have a hard time following their tried-and-true trend stories. What if I don't want to look like a dandy schoolboy OR a sexy secretary? What if I want to look like Rosie the Riveter? Or Mae West? That's why I think it's more helpful (at least for me) to focus on general pictures that get me all excited (and yes, 1/2 of them are pornographic) rather than a concrete item like harem pants. My main exception for this is with jewelry. Because I'm like an angry toddler when I see a great ring/amazing earrings, and I'm all "FUCK THEMES! I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT."

So, because I bet you're all super curious as to what's inspiring my fall wardrobe*, check back in either 10 minutes or tomorrow--depending on how on top of things I am--for some pictures and stuff!


*I feel the need to clarify something about a "fall wardrobe" here. By no means am I the kind of person who is able to--or feels comfortable--buying an entirely new wardrobe for the season. I mean that I'll be taking an inventory of my current (slightly shrunken, thanks to moving) closet, and then start thrifting to beat the band. Because babygirl's gotta stay on a budget! There's no point in buying knee-high cognac boots if you can't afford to go anywhere in them.

Mean reds.

OOOO DAMN, I am in a mood today. Yup, after not blogging for forever, I've decided to end my radio silence with "God guys, I'm in such a shitty mood."

While I'm trying to help it, (cue whining voice), it's hard to do that! I think it's a mix of a bunch of things (most of which mainly concern my job), but I also get in a funk whenever I ignore my blog. I still read all of the blogs on my blogroll, of course, but during the summer months, I can't really stand getting dressed, and as a result, all of my writing inspiration goes out the window. With fall coming though, and with the start of school for both me and my boyfriend, I feel like I'll get some of the fantastic "back-to-school" outfit excitement that I missed out on last year. I plan on wearing at least one plaid skirt, and I'm going to try to get my boyfriend to dress like a 1920s newspaper boy. IT'S GONNA BE GREAT.

However, since I can't stay in a bad mood until September, I'm going to try and look pretty today. Life-changing goal, right? Awhile back, I found a silky Christian Dior blouse at Goodwill and snatched it up for $4. I'm thinking that, paired with my pinky-mauvey-what color ARE you skirt that I've worn to death plus a few things called huge jewels and make-up will be a first step toward a thrillingly good mood.

Because nothing says "safety" like a monkey spewing stars.

Yup. That's the helmet that I decided to buy so that my noggin doesn't get crushed while I'm scootin' around town. I had this dream of buying a sleek, beautiful helmet that would look like I wasn't wearing a helmet, until I realized this: helmets are always going to look like helmets.

Yes, some are better than others, but rather than wasting time trying to find the one decent-looking helmet in the world, I should probably just admit that I'm not attempting to look good; I'm just trying to prevent a head trauma. So, that's why I'm soon going to be sporting a teal Paul Frank helmet. And probably sing along to "Safety Dance."

This is it.

Please don't think I'm referencing the Michael Jackson biopic. I assure you, I'm not. I'm referencing something far more important.

THE HOLY GRAIL.

Of shirts, that is. First of all, it was discovered at House of Vintage. Yup, I can't stop talking about that place. However, I discovered this shirt upon my last visit in February. AND IT WAS STILL THERE. Isn't that a sign? Yes. Yes it is. So, I clutched it to my chest like a mother saving her baby from a shipwreck, and wandered around the store attempting to rationalize spending $25 on a shirt. I mean, fate is a good enough rationalization, right? That's what I thought. Until I realized that the whole "not having a steady job" and "enjoying the ability to buy food" meant that this was out of my meager budget. So, I'm back to dreaming about it. And hoping that if I go back in three months (which, by that time, I'll certainly have found a WILDLY fulfilling and well-paying job, right?), it'll still be there, waiting for me to clutch it and finally bring it home.

Because mere words do absolutely nothing for it, here is a mathmatical/visual representation. A bunch of these + some of these (except in silver) + this going up the back of the shirt + this shape = HEAVEN IN MY CLOSET (someday).

Rhinestone stretch rings are for (non-committal) lovers.

Or for people who have fingers that swell periodically throughout the day. It's safe to say that I love rings, but more often than not, I FREAK OUT when I'm wearing them. Because for whatever reason, I really, really like knowing that when I put a ring on, I can take it off easily.

What can I say? I despise sparkly commitment.

Anyway, because my finger sizes range from svelte little digits to pork sausages over the course of a 24-hour-period, the ring that was barely hanging on to my middle finger this morning has cemented itself in that exact spot by lunchtime. Cue freak-out, and a frantic desire to butter up my hand and GET IT OFF.

So, when I found this HUGE (and man, it's huge. Like, strangers look around to see where the light it coming from when I wear it on a sunny day and initiate its mega-prism effect) rhinestone ring at Target, I had to buy it for two reasons. 1) At the risk of repeating myself, it's blindingly large, and 2) It's got a stretchy band! That's right. It's a metal stretch band that's keeping that baby on, so unless I gain 50 pounds in two hours, I can whip this thang off whenever I feel like it! Finally, I can return to my "use 'em and lose 'em" accessorizing strategy.

My skinnies done gone and saved my life.

OK, so one of the recent changes in my life that has accompanied my reclocation to Portland is my lack of a car. It's a conscious choice--this city is insanely bike-friendly, and cars cost lots of money that could be better spent on pretty dresses and rent. So, I Craigslisted it up, snatched me a bike, and now I scoot around town on it.


Now, believe it or not, my current fancy aesthetic doesn't really lend itself all that well to bike-riding. I've yet to master a ladylike dismount, so basically, all of NE Portland will see my bits if I dress how I normally do.


Enter the (stretchy) skinny jeans and hipster boyfriend shorts.


I have a love-hate relationship with skinny jeans, like most women who aren't shaped like 10-year-old boys tend to. Pros: Stretch pairs are so malleable! And I look like Olivia Newton-John during her Grease days! Cons: FINDING A PAIR THAT FITS IS IMPOSSIBLE. The waists on all of my gape terribly, and some of them have the saggiest knees ever. I know. I have such huge problems. However, I've learned that skinny jeans are simply the best for bike riding. They're tight enough so that the fabric won't get caught in the bike chain, and have enough give to let my legs do their thangs.


When it gets hot though, skinny jeans are the pits. So, I throw on shorts--not of the booty variety, but of the "cut off right above the knee" variety. Are they flattering? Nope. Does my boyfriend have a pair that he wears all the time? Affirmative. But there's a reason why you see every person on a bike (it seems) wearing this short length. It keeps your upper thighs protected from seat chafing, but lets your shins go crazy!


While I certainly haven't hung up my dresses and skirts yet, I'm still trying to figure out how to best include them in my day-to-day wardrobe that now requires some flexibility for commuting purposes. I'll keep you all posted on the THRILLING developments!

Back in the habit.

Don't judge, Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit is one of my favorite movies.

So, I'm finally settled in my new city/apartment--well, sort of settled. We still don't have a light in the kitchen, which makes cooking midnight snacks downright comical, but I think it's getting fixed soon. It's funny, because while I'm very quick to try and settle myself, I'm realizing more and more that "settling" is actually a super-long process, and it's not something that can be wrapped up in the course of a week and a half.

Now, since I didn't have internet, but my mind was SIMPLY BURSTING with all sorts of fashionable thoughts, I wrote all these fun posts in Microsoft Word and was all "oh man, I'll just copy, paste, and be on my way!" UM, NO. I cannot paste anything in here. So, for now, my most fashionable musings are inacessible. In lieu of me waxing philosophic about the photographic stylings of Mario Testino, you'll soon be getting posts all about how skinny jeans are going to save my life and limbs, the wonder of stretch rhinestone rings, and the shirt that got away/will haunt my dreams until the day I die. Get ready.

Sorry, I swear I'm done now.

Just wanted to leave you guys with something pretty to look at. A Charles James ballgown from the 1950s.

SO FIERCE.

Miss me yet?

One of the many things that I love about having a blog is the inflated sense of self-importance it gives me. I'll go days without writing and suddenly clutch my chest thinking "my goodness! I've stranded my millions of readers! Whatever will they do without my clever witticisms about short skirts?"

Obviously, y'all are doing fine, but I'd still like to pop back in and explain my absence just so I can stop grabbing my chest. I have sensitive skin, and it's getting quite red from the constant worrying.

I'm moving in less than two weeks, so I'm in a packing tizzy. This also means that I'm thinking about what to wear less and less, considering that most of my Sunday (and Monday-Saturday) best has been packed. That being said, just you wait until I'm settled in my new land. I'm gonna get downright prolific.

She was wearing denim capris.

The following story has nothing to do with style or sequins, hence why I felt the need to at least have the title reference what this woman (my hero) was wearing.

Aight, so I hostess at a sort of Cajun restaurant. I say "sort of Cajun" because our "Cajun Cheeseburger" is just a burger that someone screams "CAJUN!" at before it's taken to the table.

I was working last night, as I'm known to do on Saturday nights, and this awesome party of 10 kids and their parents walk in. It's a softball team, and the kids are all "yay! We won!", while the parents are all "yay! WE BE WASTED." They sat down and were unentertaining for awhile. And then the mother of all mothers came to see me at my little hostess stand.

"Hi, sweetie!"
"Hi miss. Is there anything I can do for you?" (This is me speaking, by the way. I call everyone miss so that I don't insult a cougar who doesn't think she's a "ma'am" yet).
"Yeahhhh....can I get some of these mardi gras beads?"
"Oh, sure! How many do you want?"
"Um...lemme think. Yeah, I need 6--I got 6 kids. 6 necklaces for my little margaritas!"

She endearingly referred to her children as margaritas and then stumbled back to her table with necklaces for her brood. Parenting role model = found.

Oh dear.

My short-shorts love has bitten me in the ass. Almost literally! You see, even though I'm as vain as a teenage beauty queen, I find very few occasions to check out my bee-hind in a mirror.

I know. What a shame.

Anywho, my favorite pair of paint-stained shorts was feeling a little off, so I turned around to see if something weird was going on in the back. SOMETHING WAS.

Yeah, the conventions of cutoff-making say that you should draw a marker line on your pants and THEN cut them, but I'm normally confident enough to think that I won't flip out and stray away from my mental marker line. That confidence has been all but shattered. I messed up on the inseam of the left leg, so there is a huge chunk of denim that's just missing off a pair of already teeny shorts.

In conclusion, I've been wearing paint-splattered denim underpants out of the house for weeks now. What worse is that it took me this long to notice. I should probably inspect myself a little more carefully before leaving the house so that I don't accidentally depart looking like this lil' lady one day.*

*Except on the days when I'm going for "pornographic disco ball." Happens more often than you might think.

Why spending money is awesome and terrible.

So, I went to Target last night with my dearest friend Sanja. This was such a huge mistake. You see, as I've said at least five times before, I'm trying not to spend as much money since I'm moving soon. This is incredibly difficult for me. I'll share this anecdote try to and illuminate this point.

I graduated from college approximately one year ago, and I was one of the lucky souls to find a full-time salaried job in my field. In hindsight, I should have been WAYYYY more suspicious than I was then of my good luck. Anywho, since I was still living rent-free with my parents (which I'm realizing more and more was the biggest luxury ever), I was confused as to what to do with these things called "paychecks for more than $200."

Yeah, I'm not stupid. I have a savings account, and I dutifully deposited a certain amount of each paycheck into said account. But I still had monies leftover. And I lack two wonderful virtues: patience and the ability to have money NOT burn a hole in my pocket. So I would buy $50 worth of cheap jewelry or another pair of shoes or something unnecessary like that.

After leaving said job several months ago and going "ruh roh!" many times about no longer having decent paychecks, I decided to be smarter about my spending and you know, not do it as much. This is like a cocaine addict waking up in his/her own feces and deciding that they're going to lay off the blow and start running 5 miles every day. Translation: NOT EASY, PALS.

Since Target is the mecca of all things good and beautiful in the world (and a place where I have a difficult time leaving without at least $20 worth of goods) it's sort of like leading that now-athletic recovering addict into a crack den and saying "I'll be right back! Try not to sniff anything, K?" Sorry for the extended metaphor. I'm also trying to kick a mean drug habit.

However, I like spending time with my ladyfriend, and since we'll soon be doing different things with our lives in different places, trips to the shopping crack den are numbered. Therefore, I went. And OHMYGOD WHY DO CUTE CLOTHES/ACCESSORIES EXIST? I know this is technically a fashion blog, but seriously. I freak out if I buy clothes that cost more than $10 lately.

First of all, there's this. Stripes AND sequins? My two biggest sartorial weaknesses. I would wear it everywhere except for a prison visit, lest I be mistaken for a fabulous inmate.

I think Zac Posen is cute as a button. And this dress is pretty as a posie.

Every now and then, I like subtle jewelry.

Um, hi. Mauve is my favorite color. EVERY HEEL SHOULD BE MAUVE.

Like the good little spendthrift I'm trying to be though, I left empty-handed and full of shopping frustration/plans to try every "get rich quick" hoax I'd ever heard of.

Um, yay.

My pal Chelsea informed me that she doesn't think they have that shirt on their website anymore, and guess what? THEY TOTALLY DON'T! Huzzah!

I'm sorry, but if you're going to advertise t-shirts that basically say "anorexia is so bomb!", you're gonna have a little bit of a backlash.

For the record, here's a shirt that I have no problem with. "I slept with tiger"? That's dangerously close to an "I love lamp" rip-off, grammatically speaking.

Fuck you, Urban Outfitters.

No, seriously.

FUCK YOU.

Read the description of this shirt. It's priceless. Because nothing says "eat more or however much you'd like!" like a t-shirt that says "eat less."

I fell off the face of the earth while wearing booty shorts.

Heyyyyy brother!

Reader(s?), please tell me that you watch Arrested Development. Because if you don't, "heyyy brother" and this ensuing post will mean nothing to you. If you're a fan, then this next paragraph will probably rock your world. Not really, but a gal can dream.

So, it's summa-sum-summatime, right? Right. It's been hot as Hades in the Chicagoland area, and for some reason, I want to dress even trashier than I normally do when it's hot. This is a recent development, I swear. I used to HATE shorts with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Now I'm all "I wanna be like the girl on the Nair commercials!"

I wear short shorts, and I'm damn proud of it. My favorite (and so far only) pair are paint-stained cutoffs. I like to think that I resemble Tobias in all his never-nude glory. To ensure that I don't wear out my beloved colorful cutoffs, I think I may have to buy some cheap Goodwill jeans and start hacking.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go yell at the children that have apparently decided to camp out underneath my bedroom window and scream bloody murder about the rules of every single game known to man. Yup. It's summer.

SO BOMB.

It's mah b-day today! I'm officially 23, the only age more pointless than 14 (seriously, think about it. 13 was cool because you were finally a "teen," and 15 meant that you were only a year away from possibly starring on MTV in My Super Sweet Sixteen. Yeah. 14's lookin' pretty stupid.)

What really matters about today isn't age, though. What matters is listening to this song and being gifted with glorious things. Yes, things! Things are great. Unlike that song, which is sort of crappy. Even for me.

Yesterday, my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew all came over to celebrate the fact that I got born. I opened up a card from my sis and b-i-l (God, I'm lazy), and saw a picture of the NO SLEEP TILL BROOKLYN BANGLE.

That's right. Let that sink in for a moment.

Waves of happiness were experienced. Wave 1: Aww, my sister reads my blog! That's so neat/nice!

Wave 2: HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE ONLY THING I'VE EVER WANTED TO OWN. Obviously, I exagerrate, but not as much as you're thinking.

Wave 3: Aww, she took time to wade through all of the ridiculous things that I post and choose the one thing that's gotten me more excited than even a parade of trannies could.

Love, love, love.

And now for the most pressing query of all

Why are the most adorable rain booties only made for little girls? Grown women who love cartoon cats have to walk around in rainy weather too, ya know.

(go to Nordstrom.com to buy these if you're under the age of 12. Or if you're lucky enough to have baby feet and an adult age.)

The Alchemist

Oh, Paulo Coelho. Your mystical book astounds me on so many levels! And I don't even like magical realism all that much. Anywho, this has nothing to do with that book and everything to do with this necklace and my middle school social studies class.

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, I had to pretend that I was an alchemist in 6th grade. I want to say it was during our "medieval" unit, but that still seems like a far stretch. Then again, this was the same grade in which I decided that the best way to get an A+ on a group project about Jane Goodall was to make monkey masks out of paper plates and have each group member wear them while discussing their portion/simultaneously saying "oo! oo! ah! ah! We love Jane!"

Spoiler alert: we got an A+.

So, back to alchemy. For yet another reason, I thought that the main thing an alchemist should carry is a full perfume bottle with glitter mixed in it. You know, because alchemists turned stuff into gold...and perfume. After a short (yet compelling) presentation, and after spritzing the air no less than 20 times with glittery Calvin Klein perfume, I took my seat and wished that I could always magically scent and sparkle the air around me--just like a real alchemist. Yes, I'm aware that this medieval unit taught me absolutely nothing.

However, it turns out that all I had to do was wait approximately 9 years, go to Modcloth.com and buy this "Apothecutie" thing, which will apparently allow me to "simply spread a sense of wonder!"

Whatever. Everyone knows an apothecary is just a poor man's alchemist.

The New (Hustlin') Style

So, since yesterday, I haven't thought about much else besides that No Sleep Till Brooklyn bangle.

I mean, sure, I thrifted royal blue culottes for $3 and caught up on Gossip Girl, but Beastie Boys-inspired jewelry has occupied most of my brain space. I try to realistic about most things in life in an attempt to avoid disappointment, so I'm already trying to find a replacement for this lovely bracelet that will almost surely sell out hours after its late summer debut. Out of curiousity, I went to Etsy and typed in "no sleep till brooklyn" to see what I could find.

Um, this pillowcase necklace will not cut it.

However, I am looking for things to decorate the apartment/house/tent I'll soon be living in. This totally makes the cut.

The New Style

Cannot stop looking at this.

I don't care that I'm about to be knee-deep (I'm hoping for just shin-deep, to be honest) in student loans. I will stop buying two-ply toilet paper and brand-name cereal so that I can afford this bangle. Why do I love it so? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS, SUCKAS.

1) I say "No sleep till Brooklyn" all the time, unironically. Whether I'm trying to keep my 1-year-old nephew awake, psyching myself to stay up until the ungodly hour of 11 pm, or taking a red eye to Brooklyn, you better believe I'm uttering those words. Now, instead of wasting my precious breath, I can just hold up my wrist.

2) The fact that it's made by Kate Spade--the most adorable Crayola-colored princess in existence--tickles my fancy.

3) I love when people ask me questions about my joolz, and now I'll be able to throw a "MIC CHECK!" into my response. Success.

August/fall 2010, you cannot come quickly enough. When it sells out and I'm left in the cold, Imma be super pissed.

Eating crow and wearing short skirts

Bonus points to anyone who wants to research and explain to me why "eating crow" is akin to "sticking foot in mouth." I think both are fairly vile sayings, but both would be apt to describe this novel-length post. READ IT, KIDS.

Short skirts. How do we feel about them? Do we laugh at and judge girls that have to bend over in a special way so as to not reveal their ladybits? Do we silently point and giggle, while cursing the societal images that supposedly encourage dressing like a "whore," and questioning who the hell decided what a "whore" looked like? Or do we say "Damn, bitch! Where'd you get that awesome thing? I WANT IT IN THREE DIFFERENT COLORS."

I'm asking these questions after a particularly interesting Facebook exchange (yes, those do exist) I had this morning with a friend of mine. In a very thoughtful way, she called me out on yesterday's post, pointing out how she was caught off guard by my comment that the model should use her hair bow as a chastity belt, because it didn't sound like something I would say.

The best thing she said though was that it almost seemed like I was siding with bros who say ridiculous things like "well, with a skirt that short, she's totally asking for it."

Oh, shit.

It's interesting how many times I find my third-wave feminist beliefs (distilled down to: sex is awesome, girls should be able to act however they want, yay rah!) both clashing with and complementing my fashion sense. Even though I wear skirts and dresses that are far shorter than the Minnie Mouse model's, I tell myself that I'm doing it "ironically," as if that makes me more clever than a girl who wears a short skirt out to a bar because she likes her legs, and thinks guys (or girls) will like them too. Judging women (sorry guys, I don't feel like you get as harshly judged as the ladies do) by their clothing choices is one of the easiest things one can do, and yet it can be one of the most damaging things to do.

People act like making comments about too much clevage or leg showing is nothing, but in a very obvious way, these comments are another way to keep women from gaining too much confidence and in turn, power. It's truly not that far of a leap from the 19th century sentiment of "oh, Beatrice, your ankles are showing! Whatever will your husband say about your loose morals!" to the 21st century blame game of "Oh, sorry, whore. Did your tiny skirt get in the way of having sex with my boyfriend?? God, of course he can't keep his pants on when your crotch is in his face."

What I've tried to drive home all along on my blog is this: the way we choose to clothe ourselves says a whole lot more than just "well, I can't be naked, so I guess I need to have clothes." These choices can destroy or build up the confidence level of the dresser, say more about a person's personality than any acutal interaction with them, and cause a hell of a lot of controversy.

Frankly, I'd like to delete my last post. I'm disappointed and uncomfortable with how quickly I chose to make a snarky comment about a length of skirt that I wear on a near-weekly basis, especially when I think about how "pro-women making their own sartorial choices" I consider myself to be. My discomfort is magnified when especially when I read stuff like this. I invite you to read the whole article, but in case your eyes are tired from this post, I'll highlight one crucial point.

"According to the Daily Mail, 24 percent of women aged 18 to 24 believe that "wearing a short skirt, accepting a drink or having a conversation with the rapist made victims partly responsible [for their rapes]" (emphasis mine).

Wowzers. Here's to silently hanging out in bars while sipping water and wearing burlap sacks, I guess! While I think it's important to have a sense of humor about fashion as well, it's far more important to have discussions about why moral judgments (whether they're meant to be funny or not) are so quickly made on women who are just trying to wear what they want.

Prom is just as special for Minnie Mouse, OK?

I reference Forever 21 SO DAMN MUCH, but when they offer up a "prom look" like this, how can I not post it on here?

Girlfriend. Turn that bow atop your head into a swaddled chastity belt of some sort. Not to be all conservative, but the length of your dress practically demands that kind of precaution.

You are so beautiful to me.

Yes you are.

Peacock motifs make me intensely happy. My love for the gaudiest of animals was sparked thanks to a gender & art seminar I took during my last year of college. It was basically the best class in the history of ever, because a bunch of my favorite people were in it, it was taught by a glorious professor, and we got to point out clitorises (clitori?) on paintings after analyzing Katy Perry's music videos.

Somtimes, I miss college.

Also, I learned a bunch of interesting things, like how peacock feathers often symbolize penises. Well, they technically symbolize power, but THE DICK IS EVERYTHING, so those two words are interchangeable. Anyway, because I like being secretly (and nerdily) subversive, I try to wear/procure peacock things whenever I can.

Yup. Some people fight the patriarchy by marching for abortion rights and lobbying Congress for fair wages for women. I pretend I'm subverting it by wearing extravagant accessories that scream PENIS! to art history majors. And somehow, I still manage to sleep at night.

What to Wear When...RADICALLY CHANGING YOUR LIFE

This is a selfish post. Well, it's not like a started a blog to be altruistic, but still. The title should technically be "This is what I'm going to wear when I move. Maybe you'll wear something like this to do fancy yoga in!"


Moving to another state doesn't necessarily constitute a radical life change for some, but guys? I'm not "some." I am the girl who has lived with her parents for 21 years. So the fact that I'm moving in a couple of months means that my mind is BLOWN on a daily basis by concepts like buying your own detergent and paying someone money in exchange for a place to live.


God, I'm going to be stuck eating Trix and washing my clothes in a sink with hand soap for approximately three months until I get the hang of things. Make that Cinnamon Toast Crunch. I hate that Trix pretends to be healthy because the puffs are fruit-shaped. THEY ARE ALSO NEON, YOU UNNATURALLY HYPER RABBIT.


But let's get down to brass tacks: what am I going to wear whilst moving?


Since I have to fly there, I had better be damn comfy. DAMN, I SAY. Also, I'm probably going to be really nervous about the whole "moving out of my parents' house/wait, I have to fly, too? God, I'm going to throw up," so anything that requires fine motor movement executed by non-shaking hands is out of the question. Buttons and clasps--I'm lookin' at you guys.


I'm thinking something like this: click to see clothes!

I sure do post a lot of comfy dresses on this blog. But whatever. There is nothing that matters more when flying than comfort, besides grabbing as many little bags of peanuts as you can. And judging by how low that neckline is, I'm bound to get a few extras...assuming that I have a male/lesbian flight attendant.

In other news, I love wrap cardigans, because I like the idea of wearing a blanket in public. And finally, since airline security is still kind of a bitch, I'm forgoing jewelry for the day. There is nothing worse than being behind the crazy bitch that acts all surprised when her 15 bangles and jeweled belt buckle set off the metal detector. To compensate, I'll be wearing slip-ons that would make Michael Jackson weep.

Now the only thing left to figure out is employment, where I'll actually be living, and how I'll meet my basic physical and emotional needs! At least one tough decision has been made.

What to buy with Saturday night's tip monies

Thrilled to discover that Fendi now makes stripper heels. Welcome back to the high fashion world, lucite. We missed you!

(photo from Shoelust, fittingly)

Thanks for inviting my ass and boobs to the party!

I rip on magazines a lot. I really shouldn't, because after my EXTENSIVE career as a journalist (4 whole years!) I realized how appealing it is to use lame headlines and pat cover lines when you've got a deadline. Yeah, I could make an article on the new addition to the primate house at Brookfield Zoo sound compelling, but I'd rather just write "Monkeys go bananas for their new habitat!" and go home.

That being said, I hold the editors and writers at nationally-known fashion magazines to a slightly higher standard than I do myself. So when a magazine like Bazaar--which is actually way more creative and interesting to read than Vogue--has the cover line "Curves are back!" on their upcoming issue, I get a little stabby. Seriously? I can sometimes stomach the token "Prints are in!" or "Neon is the new black!" line, but welcoming an entire body type back into the fold in such a pithy way is just irresponsible journalism.

The only good thing that can come of a cover line like that is that the corresponding story might be titled "Baby Got Back." Just to keep things clever, you know.

Imma be...ethical?

If you know me, you know that I have fairly exclusive (and possibly pretentious) music tastes. Like, MGMT is way too mainstream for me--I have to listen to KGIL, or some super-new band like that.

Now, over the past couple of years, I've taken myself down a few levels of eliteness. Because life's too short to be judgemental about music, right? Nope. Because R. Kelly is awesome and I love listening to otherwise "terrible" rappers (meaning anyone who is a one-hit radio wonder. Becuase most legit rap music is actually pretty fantastic.) So I feel inauthentic when I'm all "oh wow, did you hear the new Free Energy album? It's pretty great," because "Ignition (Remix)" is blasting from my speakers for approximately three hours of every single day.

And yeah, I'll even listen to "Imma Be" by the Black Eyed Peas. Until Fergie comes in, and I switch back to my indie mix because I want to punch her in the throat.

All of this rambling is leading to something. I've made my peace with what I consider to be my balanced musical tastes. I can talk the pretentious talk about indie bands, but I can also walk the fluffy "shake ya ass!"walk with mainstream rappers. Up until very recently, this balance crossed over into my fashion purchases as well. Sure, I've got my fair share of thrifted items that are sustainable and awesomely cheap/individual, but I also frequented Forever 21 like a crack addict frequents...a Forever 21 filled with crack. I didn't feel too bad about it, even though I was pretty aware that clothes that cheap aren't being made by well-compensated, happy workers.

It's not like I had some epiphany from God or anything (though since the owners of Forever 21 are devout Christians who print "John 3:16" on the bottom of every F21 bag, they'd probably like me to have one) that made me want to avoid this store. Maybe it's just because I'm trying to not spend any money for a little while. Or maybe it's because I got sick of the fact that whenever I was going out somewhere, I thought to myself "why don't I run over to Forever 21 and buy some fun little dress for $15?" I could just look in my closet for the dresses that I've bought from that store and wear 'em out, but wait...most of them fit terribly, are literally falling apart at the seams, and look completely dated, even if they were bought just a few months ago.

Frankly, I expect more from my clothes. Oh, and also understand that my soapboxiness doesn't come from a sudden influx of money that allows me to buy myself really nice clothing. I just figure that if I can't afford to buy decently made clothing (if I am buying it new), then I'm not going to buy new clothing.

Not like I won't miss those fun, impulsive purchases though. God. I'm gonna need to listen to so much more R. Kelly to fill up the void Forever 21 is leaving in my soul.

What to Wear When...going on a first date

I'm going to try my hand at a more substantive post, because I'm sure you've all been missing my witty words. So, in my world, substance = let's talk about date night clothing options!

Now, I'm a bit out of practice on this one. I haven't been on a "first date" in years. It's not like I've been with my boyfriend for forever, but most of the guys I've "dated" have been all "OMG, dates are so BOURGEOIS."

Sidenote: sometimes, people apply ideas that they've learned about in college to the wrong situations. Like, "hmm...I'm cheap. But I don't want to say I'm cheap. Let's instead say that I'm raging against the bourgeois machine! That'll do the trick!"

That being said, I don't currently go on many dates. When my boyfriend (I know, I throw that term around so much. BUT WHATEVS, I like saying boyfriend) is in town or I'm visiting him, I'll just dress my usual ridiculous way that he's used to. However, if I was trying to make a first impression, I wouldn't wear my normal "really short skirt or tight pants/oversized sparkly sweater combo" that I usually do when I'm out with him.

I'd probably wear something like this, paired with these and this.

Stay with me on the dress choice. First of all, that color is awesome. Second of all, what if the date goes badly and you start getting emotionally uncomfortable? The last thing you want to be is physically uncomfortable in a dress that binds you in so tightly that you can't eat. And besides, just because you're not showing the girls off doesn't mean that you're not sexy. You're wearing heels! And you have a clutch made of zippers! You're practically a dominatrix.

My new shopping buddy.

Happy Easter, y'all! Or more importantly, Happy Day of REEEDICULOUS Hats!

Under pressure

Whenever I get stressed about something, I eventually have a moment where I go "you know what, I'm pretty lucky to be worried about this lame thing rather than something terrible like contracting the ebola virus." Once that moment comes, I usually lighten up for a few seconds--long enough to start humming the intro to Queen's "Under Pressure." Then, my mind wanders to an awesome interview that Vanilla Ice gave back in the day in which he explained that no, "Ice Ice Baby" was not a direct rip-off of "Under Pressure." There's an extra "ding" in "Ice Ice Baby." Bulletproof logic, boy.

That paragraph is a roundabout way of me saying that I'm worried/stressed/freaked about most things happening in my life, but that I'm totally aware that I should buck up and be happy that I have things in my life that are important enough to me to be worried about.

Regularly scheduled posts about shoes, glitter, and crafts will resume shortly.

Until then, look at this picture of photographer/blogger Garance Dore. Women (and men) never look better to me than when they're smiling and doing something they love.

I want this.

Etsy! Stop making it so hard to hate you! Just this morning, I was thinking about how much I like the idea of anatomically correct heart jewelry. I think it looks awesome, OK? And I don't need to explain about how much I like keys.

Look at the blog title, guys. I love me a good key.

So, when I saw this on here, I flipped. I'm not about to blow $36 on this, but I can totally post it here and go on about its preciousness.

JOOLZ!

So, I've talked a little bit about my awesome grandma on this here blog--the lady of the golden booties and fantastic costume jewelry. Well, the other day, my mom offered up a few gems from my OTHER grandma, which have subsequently been making my life a whole lot better.

I think my favorite ring out of the bunch has to be one that looks something like this. Be aware that that picture is of a crazily expensive diamond engagement ring, and the one that I have...well, isn't. It's something that could probably be found at a discount department store in the "Fine Joolrey" section.

That being said, I absolutely love faux engagement rings. They get everyone so riled up and confused! I am so tickled by the importance and meaning attached to a band with a "diamond" in it worn on the ring finger of a lady's left hand. It's such a revered symbol that I can't help but be all "Look at me! I'm nowhere close to gettin' hitched, but I don't need a man to wear a ring on my left hand!" My feminist-lite attitude about faux engagement rings reminds me of the whole "right-hand ring" sensation that swept the country (or really, really tried to) a few years ago. All of these jewelry companies realized that they weren't capitalizing on the vast number of women who aren't married but still (gasp!) have disposable income. So, in the spirit of "Because you're worth it!", many started marketing these UGLY right-hand rings that were meant to destigmatize buying oneself jewelry. Ideally, if we could transcend time and space, "Single Ladies" would have accompanied these ads.

Damn. At the risk of ruining my right-hand ring rampage, I think this one is to die for. You've won this battle, right-hand ring, but not the war!

Girrrllll, you best be home by midnight!

Oh, Aldo. Your sale section SLAYS ME. I feel like this is the shoe that Cinderella would have lost if her fairy godmother was RuPaul. And can we all agree that casting RuPaul as the fairy godmother would vastly improve that tale? Good.

But seriously. I mean, for all of my jibber-jabber about OMG SPARKLES, I don't really own enough pairs of sparkly shoes. I only have these, which sort of say "I'm running errands, but still want to blind people with my tootsies!" In other words, they're insufficient. However, I'm not sure that these stunners will pass my rigorous shoe buying test*. So, for now, they're strictly here for gazing purposes. Sigh.


*rigorous shoe buying test = are they over $10? Fuck. I better have at least seven outfits that are in desperate need of this shoe, otherwise, no dice.

No, YOU'RE fabulous, or, A non-fashion interlude

Approximately 85% of the time, I think I'm a pretty lucky kid. And if wallowing wasn't one of my favorite hobbies, it would probably be more like 100% of the time. Today, I'm thinking that I'm lucky because of the small bunch of fantastic people that I call my pals. Compadres. Besties. Omega/G-ma Sal's buds. One of them is having a birthday today.

That one is none other than Kevin Michael Christy.

I like to think I'm one of his biggest fans. He's hilarious. He's "nice," but still hates most things. He has more knowledge of both high and low culture in his little pinky than I do in my whole body, yet manages to not talk down to me when I'm all "bhutto? What the fuck is bhutto?" (GOOGLE IT. IT'S AWESOME.) And last, but not least, he's been one of my biggest supporters in terms of this blog. And technically, in terms of life. Basically, he just tells me I'm great, and I believe him, because he hates things and is very honest.

So here's to you, KMC. Happy birthday to my dear friend.

What to Wear When...

I was peeking at my past posts (and dying to form an alliterative sentence...) when I realized that I've been a bit heavy on the porn references lately. So, to keep it clean, and to keep you all coming back for more, more, more, I've decided to start a series called "What to Wear When..." Basically, this is just an excuse for me to live out my fantasies of dressing like a lawyer/Food Network chef/anyone with a career, really.

Why do I have to live out these fantasies? Because up until a week ago, my current "career" allowed me to wear anything I wanted. Or nothing at all. This isn't leading to joke about working the corner, I promise. Nay, I live the life of a "remote worker," meaning that I work from my room on a laptop my company gave me. For someone who loves dressing up, and who loves dressing up to show said outfits to other people, this was a death sentence. There are only so many times my mom can compliment me before I feel like she's just phoning it in (love you, Ma!).

Anywho, as someone who's looking to go to grad school next year, I needed more monies than I was currently making. So, after a couple months of failed 2nd job searches, I acted on a fantastic tip from a super-helpful friend and walked into a restaurant, filled out an application, and was hired on the spot to be a hostess. Which means that I FINALLY have an excuse to get all gussied up. And find comfortable shoes. Really comfortable shoes.

So, we're kicking off What to Wear When... not with lawyer garb or hooker wear, but with the restaurant industry in mind! Without further ado, here is the only outfit you should wear when hostess-ing. Seriously. I've worked four shifts, so I think I'm a pretty solid authority.

This.

With these.

These.

And any or all of these things.

The biggest thing here is, obviously, pulled-together comfort. Since I'm a literal gal, nothing says "pulled-together" to me like a wrap dress. You've turned yourself into a lovely package the moment you put it on! The leggings can be swapped out for tights (you creative thing, you!), but the supportive flats are non-negotiable. Yeah, they're expensive. Get over it. I think the cheapest supportive flats one can find are about $30-40. Naturalizer and Aerosoles are fantastic resources, in addition to Tsubo. If you're against spending money on good shoes, stand for six hours in crappy shoes. Your dogs will be barkin'. And don't be that person that thinks they can wear heels during your shift. You'll eventually get bunions and won't be physically able to shove your calloused foot into your adorable shoes.

Accessories are a must, and serve two purposes. 1) They give you something to fidget with and 2) They're conversation starters. Who wouldn't want to be greeted by someone wearing a panda ring and a cool scarf? Also, I feel like I might get more tips if I wear more feathers in my hair. There's no real logic behind that, besides the fact that I'll take any excuse I can come up with to wear more feathers.