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.