House of Vintage, part deux.

I put some French in there to serve as a reminder of how classy my tastes are.

When I started writing this post (approximately 5 seconds ago), I felt like I should do some sort of analysis on why I like sequins and sparkles and gaudiness so much. And then I was all "oh, wait. I'm not in college anymore, and I'm not in grad school yet, so I'm allowed to like things without having to attribute those tastes to penis envy or something like that."

By the way, I like sequins, sparkles, and gaudiness so much because I wish I had a penis. A penis that belongs to a drag queen.

Now that that's settled, this weekend allowed me to procure a gem of a sweater at the ever-wonderful House of Vintage. Kudos to the boyfriend for spotting it and being all "hey, you there. Check this out! Sparkly enough?" Because otherwise, I could have easily passed it over. It's not subtle by any means, but when it's in the same vicinity as a gold cape and a fully sequined vestdress (is there such a thing as non-buyer's remorse? WHY DIDN'T I BUY THOSE THINGS?), a black gem sweater can fall between the cracks.

This brings the sequined sweater count to a modest four. If you don't think that's modest, SHUT YA MOUTH.

I don't have it in me anymore.

Kidders! I totally do.

But I feel like I should come back after a long absence with some dramatic explanation as to why I haven't been writing about pretty, shiny things. Basically, it's because I was distracted by pretty, shiny things. The post title is copped from a Casiotone for the Painfully Alone song. If I waited for about three minutes, the title would have been "wamp wamp/what it do, what it do," because mixes of rap and sad electronica are completely bomb in my book.

I'm taking a mysterious trip out of town this weekend, and so far I've decided to pack too-short skirts and a sequined cardigan that resembles a cape. If I don't go to a drag show at some point during the weekend, I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb. CANNOT WAIT.

Show that neon pride.

I hesitate to call myself "crafty."

"Crafty" can often lead to "creative," and Lord knows I can't live up to the expectations that people put on creative individuals. Ask me to make a macaroni necklace, and I will WOW you with my use of both elbow and campanelle pasta shapes, but ask me to sew an A-line skirt, or even produce a sketch of said skirt, I'll run away crying and stew over my inadequacies as a person for the next week.

Also, crafts used to make me think of two things: kindergarten and bitter divorcees who use their settlement monies to fund a line of purses made out of faux fur and woven together with the threads of UNENDING ANGER TOWARD THEIR FORMER SPOUSE. So, while I loved kindergarten, I'm not a big fan of lumping myself with angry women. However, when you only work for 20 hours a week, you're left with some time on your hands. Which is why I decided to try crocheting for a second time.

My mom tried to teach me several months ago, but I have this terrible tendency to give up on something if I'm not excelling at it within five minutes. After three minutes of trying to do a slip knot, I decided that my fingers were like sausages and therefore, I was genetically unable to continue trying. Fast forward to last month, where my mom (because she's still awesome and patient) agreed to teach me again. And for some odd reason, I was slipknotting my lil' heart out. My sausages transformed into the nimblest of fingers! Now, all I want to do is crochet with divorcees for the rest of my life!

So basically, that's the story of how I came to love crafts. That neon pink orb in the left corner was my second project. I wanted to combine my fondness toward paper chains from kindergarten, assaultingly bright colors, and scarves. Done, done, and done.

RIP

Lee McQueen (founder of Alexander McQueen), 1969-2010.

Rather than pretend like I have the ability to take on the weighty task of describing this designer's aesthetic and shedding light on the impact that he made on modern fashion, I'm going to let people with far more knowledge and far better cameras take care of that. To see photos of his stunning collections and read a short biography, click here.

He will be so very missed.

"Yes, yes, a million times yes!"

Just the other day, I was wondering how I could combine my love of plaid with my disdain for pants. Looks like Forever 21 and I share a brain. The truly sad thing here (besides the fact that I spend a good chunk of my day thinking about how to go pantsless while retaining some modesty) is that if this came in baby sizes, my nephew would be wearing it right now.

What I (should) talk about when I talk about fashion

Color.


Detail.


Elegance.

(all photos of vintage Lanvin, all courtesy of the Googs)

I live in a veritable library. If you were to peruse one of the bookshelves in my house, you would be able to acquaint yourself with the finer aspects of woodworking, couture sewing techniques, and bread baking. While my interest hasn't been piqued by woodworking (yet! No, probably never.), I've recently taken an interest in the many fashion books we stock. My dad and I have looked through them together on many occasions--he would talk to me about the finer points of a certain designer's aesthetic, and I would ooh and ahh over the pretty photographs--but I've now taken to swiping them on my own.

I know! I'm growing up!

I gravitated toward more "known" designers at first, like Chanel and Christian Dior, but this past December I peeked at a Lanvin book. It was full of the most beautiful pieces of clothing that I think I will ever see--save for the Charles James Butterfly Dress. I challenge anyone who says that haute couture doesn't deserve to be defined as art. These pieces are not a "Resort Collection" at Forever 21 (and yes, that actually exists. For shame.) Vintage clothing from those houses stands as a physical representation of hundreds, and often thousands of hours of work. Since the demand for haute couture has decreased, we may never see pieces as exquisite as these ever again. That is something worth bemoaning, but rather than launch into a diatribe of "UGH! What happened to hand-sewn beaded trains and miles of rouched taffeta?", I'm just going to post some more gorgeous pictures.


Miley Cyrus wore something like this to last year's(?) Oscars. IT BEST NOT BE THE ACTUAL VINTAGE DIOR.

Hi, Balenciaga. You're perfect.

Gimme that Yves St. Laurent. Right now.

And that concludes the "Vintage Picturefest" portion of this week's blog posts!

Generic sexiness. Oh yeah!

Sorry, ladies. Looks like you've missed the boat on Charlotte Russe's "intimate sets" sales. You could have snatched up one of these beauties for a mere $10! Here's hoping you were a more punctual shopper than I and already purchased yours. Not to say that this piece of polyester perfection isn't worth the $17.99 it's currently retailing for. I'm showcasing it from the back, because that's obviously the best part. I mean, I'd buy it just for that avant-garde hole! It says "I'm saucy, but not slutty--you only get to see a part of my back! Oddly enough, though, you get the full-butt view. Huh."

"It's bedroom vixen meets Goth band bassist."

Normally, I don't have strong feelings for Valentine's Day, be they positive or negative. Last year, I spent eight hours in the library writing my thesis. I think a student worker gave me a piece of pity chocolate (which is the best kind, obviously.) The year before that, I went on a glorious pizza date with one of my lovely lady friends. And because I can only remember two years from the past, I'll stop there.

However, I'm convinced that I haven't cared about Valentine's Day all that much because I never had the right dress to wear. This year, that changes completely.

BEHOLD.

Meaning, KEEP LOOKING AT THAT DRESS ON THE RIGHT.

Is that not the most gorgeous prostitute/pirate wench costume you've ever seen? For the record, I absolutely love pin-up girl culture/the whole burlesque revival. THIS IS NOT INDICATIVE OF THAT. But Forever 21 really, really thinks it is. This lil' number (listed as The Boudoir Babe) is part of their "21 Dresses We Love" promotion on their website.

The title of this post? Yeah. That's how they describe the dress. I'd describe it as "laid-off hooker meets fabric scraps from the clearance bin." But, hey. Even us laid-off hookers gotta get some heart-shaped boxes of candy.

I'm probably going to talk about the tacky lingerie sales tomorrow. Meaning: come for the ugly dresses, stay for the boobs.