How Weird Can You Go?


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Lately I feel like people are obsessed with out-weirding one another. I blame hipsters. “Oh your hair is purple? Well MY hair is a rare shade of purple AND I shaved the sides of my head.” “Oh yeah? Well, I not only dyed my hair purple, but I ALSO have a green under tone and then got a tattoo of a unicorn on the side of my head.” I mean I could go on for hours.

Everyone wants to be the first to do something. Everyone wants to be original. And you know what, there is absolutely nothing wrong with striving for something. But there is a thing called taking it too far. Kendall Jenner, I’m looking at you, lady. Kindly remove that Givenchy oversized nose ring and listen up.

Yesterday I found myself frolicking through the interwebs when I stumbled upon a new trend known as “Palm Bracelets.” Yes. We are now blinging out our freaking palms, apparently. And yes, it is basically a bracelet you were just too lazy to slip on the rest of the way so you let it rest on the palm of your hand. In the words of Miranda Priestley, “groundbreaking.” I guess everyone will be high-fiving their enemies now. #Ouch. And that is about when I threw my fists in the air and started shaking them violently screaming, “WHY?!?!”.


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I’m all for originality, and “Normcore” makes me want to curb stomp a pair of Keds. But when we are making up products/accessories just because we’ve hit a wall of originality … that is where my problem lies. For example, you can now put your Instagram pictures on your nails. Wait, what? Yeah … I’m scratching my head, too over that one. Social Media and nail care do not walk hand-in-hand down a beach being kissed with a sunset, alright? Instagram pics on your wall, in Polaroid form, on your newsfeed … GREAT! Makes total sense. But I don’t want to see the rad dinner you had last week at some really obscure vegan restaurant with the Kelvin filter over it on your middle finger.


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Nose rings. Love the idea. Not for me, personally … but I like them on others. Small hoops, diamond studs … I think they all give people the opportunity to express themselves. BUT … when you decide to take a hoop earring, and no, I’m not talking small hoops, I’m talking, “let me take my hoops off so I can smack a bitch,” sized hoops, in your nose? Really? Come now. Kendall Jenner … yes, more than half of America is under the insane spell your family has put on us. You say jump … we say in what designer shoes. But could you not think of anything else besides putting a massive hoop in your nose? Now everyone has this dazed look in their eyes like, “Must. Get. Massive. Hoop. Earring. In. Nose. Kardashians. Rule. Me.” So, Kendall, thanks for that, really. The entire fashion industry is starting a slow clap for you right now. Can you hear it?


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And finally … Coachella. Ground zero. Where all the madness is crafted. :::Sigh::: Listen, I wish I could have experienced Woodstock (the original, not the weird one they had in the 90′s). And I love the fact that music festivals still exist with an environment that allows people to feel free and comfortable to wear whatever they want. I adore that. I’m ALL about dressing for self expression. If I attended Cochella, hell yes I would let my freak flag fly, because sometimes you want to wear something that isn’t office or real life appropriate, and may cause people to think you belong in an insane asylum (isn’t corpoate life grand?) But outside of the walls of Cochella would I wear a flower wreath around my head, neon short-shorts, a fringe top, and a massive ring in my nose? HELL NO.

So what I’m saying is, stop the movement of trying to out-weird one another. Seriously. Stop. We can see right through the “cool vibe” you are desperately trying to put out into the world and instead see that you are trying a wee bit too hard. Be true to yourself. Be true to your style. Strive for something, but not to be the strangest person walking down the street … if that is not who you truly are.

That is all.

If Looks Could Kill …

Tina-FeyThis past weekend, I realized if looks could kill, I would have died.

I found myself walking through a crowded bar, trying to make my way to the bathroom, and felt like I was being stabbed by a million daggers, and by daggers I mean eyes. I immediately thought to myself, “OMG am I too drunk? Is my Resting Bitch Face acting up again? Am I having a wardrobe malfunction?!” But after I checked myself I realized I was fine. I had a good buzz going on, I was with good people, and just had to pee, for the love. So why did I feel an icy chill when I passed certain women? And that’s when it hit me as I was standing in line for the ladies room, it truly SUCKS being a woman in a “trendy” bar. And I say “trendy” because at dive bars no one gives a shit if you showed up in sweats. Just sayin’.

In college, my roommate and I wanted to open a bar where the dress code was sweatpants, sweatshirts, hair in a messy bun, and no makeup … because getting ready to go out was the worst. Now, a bit older and wiser, I no longer have “normal clothes” and “bar clothes.” Thank GAWD … because bar clothes can get a little skanky. When I get ready to go out, I don’t put on four inch heels, my tightest halter top and jeans, and pair it with a bad excuse for a smoky eye. I just dress like … well, me. Because I no longer frequent bars that serve bottle service and let you dance on tables.

It has always been about the competition factor. You always wanted to be the best dressed at the bar in order to bring all the boys to the yard. Am I right? Yeah, maybe when you had a fake ID or just turned 21. It still happens, though, whether you are rocking four inch heels and a halter top or skinny jeans and a T. Women are always eyeing up their competition, for reasons I don’t understand. Perhaps they are scared someone might out-dress them, steal their boyfriend or their prey, or perhaps they are concerned they will have a “bitch stole my look” moment. Who knows.

But Jesus Christ this needs to stop. If you are in your mid-late 20′s/30′s/40′s/50′s/90′s … this behavior is no longer acceptable. You know what I’m doing when I’m eyeing up ladies at a bar? Checking out their outfits for inspiration. Truly. It’s like a realtime Pinterest. And I have no problem going up to someone and saying, “that bag is fierce, where did you get it?!” And not in a Regina George fashion, either, and turn around and say, “that is the ugliest effing bag I’ve ever seen.”

Seriously, stop giving other girls the look of death when they pass you (unless it is your Resting Bitch Face … we all suffer from it time-to-time). I’ve never seen a “hot” woman walk up to someone’s boyfriend at a bar and steal them. That shit only happens on daytime television.

My concept for the sweatpants only bar is so genius simply because it would cut the female tension. Women are SO much happier getting drunk in sweats, am I right? I know I am. I mean for the love of GAWD we have so much other shit to worry about whilst out on the town. Lipstick/lip gloss coming off with every sip of a cocktail, drunk face ruining all the time and effort we put on makeup application, deciding when to break the seal, because if you break it too soon you will be running to the bathroom every 5 seconds, protecting drinks so we don’t get roofied, protecting our handbags so no one robs us as we drink, trying not to lose our jackets. I mean, it’s exhausting.

So my double-triple-quadruple dare for you next weekend is when you’re out and about, make and effort to smile at your fellow female. Perhaps compliment her on something. Just don’t make her feel like she wants to die with your dirty looks (again, if it’s RBF, you are excused). Because chances are she is not trying to steal your boyfriend or kill your vibe, she just wants to go to the bathroom.

I’ll leave you with this:
Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe.

Blister Season

cruelshoesYou guys, I’m in pain. Severe, severe pain. And I would like to thank my feet not being conditioned for sandals of any kind.

With the weather, for once, being over 60 degrees this weekend slash this week, Friday I took it upon myself to march to DSW to stock up on some new sandals. Let me tell you, I was like a kid in a candy store. How could I not be? All I’ve wanted to do was toss my boots to the wind and let my feet flourish in fresh air (after a nice pedicure, though … no one wants to see any of that pre-pedicure. Hey, it was a rough winter.).

After scoring some ridiculously good deals (seriously, you would be a fool not to march to DSW right now … go … well, no … finish reading this post … THEN go), I literally was ripping open the boxes and putting the gladiator heels and sandals on my feet before even making it home. Now for those of you who don’t know, I walk. A lot. I work in the city and hate driving, so yeah. Without thinking or taking the proper precautions, I threw on my new shoes and started trekking out and about. There’s truly nothing better then strutting in a pair of new sandals. Until after an hour of strutting you literally are in so much pain you want to cry. If you saw a person walking awkwardly in the city and cursing under her breath because of the pain this weekend, that was me.

I suppose at the end of every summer, there is some hormone or enzyme that makes women forget how much breaking in sandals sucks … much like they say about childbirth. Because flash forward to me last night, at the end of the weekend, with my feet covered in blisters and cuts (sorry for the amazingly graphic image right there). I spent my Sunday evening covering my wounds in Neosporin and writhing in pain. And then I remembered, oh yeah, sometimes, and by sometimes I mean most times, sandals need to be worked in. Seriously, have you ever taken a shower with your feet covered in blisters? Yeah. It sucks. Everything sucks unless you are a princess and can kick your feet up all day. If so, I hate your face.

As much as I’m so pumped the weather is finally warm enough to retire the over sized sweaters, boots, and jackets … I’m not so pumped about conditioning my feet for new sandals. It’s a bitch. I mean I woke up this morning, hoping the Neosporin magically cured my feet wounds (again, sorry for the mental image) overnight, but alas it did not. So today I had to rock a pair of flats that are so old I probably needed to retire them six months ago, but so comfy I just could not part with them … thank God. Oh yeah … and I had to wake up super early for the covering of wounds with Band Aids process … even though half of them won’t stay on and I will probably find a really random Band Aid under my desk or something. Sexy, right? Nothing like a random Band Aid.

So here I am, walking carefully as literally anything I put on my feet rub one of the many blisters the wrong way, praying for the days when I’m all healed up and ready to rock my sandals. And hoping to dear sweet Jesus they won’t re-damage my feet. Which, let’s be real, they probably will.

I leave you with this Public Service Announcement, ladies. Don’t walk far distances in new sandals. Wear them around your house, walk around the block, but don’t do anything ambitious like walk 10 city blocks in them … like me. Learn from my mistakes. Hopefully one day you’ll see me strutting in my cute new sandals that I want to kiss I love them so much. But until then, it’s crusty ol’ flats for me. :::Sigh::: I mine as well say screw it and rock orthopedics.

Ready … Set … SELFIE!

BktuvDdCIAAYNs-So today is the LAST day to enter to become the new face of Marc Jacobs. I know, I know … I’m stressed about it, too. Psyche. As most of you know from my lack of selfies and photos of myself, I hate having my photograph taken. I think it’s genetic because my mother hates it, too. I get awkward, uncomfortable, I start to sweat, I don’t know what to do with my hands, I look like death most of the time … I mean … wait!

One of the reasons why I adore Marc Jacobs ads is because he highlights the best part of women … our fun/carefree side. We don’t always need to be jumping in mid-air perfectly wearing couture in ads (I mean who the hell can HONESTLY pull off jumping in mid-air looking all glam and shit, Vogue … huh?!)

So here’s why I think I would make an awesome candidate as the new face of Marc Jacobs … ahem:

1. I’m super awkward

2. I look really good stuffed in a shopping bag

3. I’m extraordinarily pale … like Casper mine as well be my bro from another ho

4. I’m tall (5’9 … what what)

5. I’ve mastered the “deer-in-headlights” look

6. My hair can easily become an afro with a little humidity and moisture

7. I can duckface with the best of um … (but I HATE it … don’t make me do it, promise?)

8. Stripes and/or polka dots are my fave

9. I believe the bigger the hat the better

10. And finally I have no problem being made up like a tranny hot mess

So there you have it. In my Marc Jacobs ad, you know, if I get chosen :::hair flip:::, I would have one of his fantastic handbags covering my face, with like some fierce, Lady Gaga-esque cat-style nails gripping the bag, sitting with my legs spread open (calm down) on a velvet couch, wearing an over-sized ridiculous skirt, fierce ass socks with heels, and a simple T that just says “MARC!”

Now … I will leave you with some of my favorite Marc ads … and maybe a pic of myself. AHH!

Me. #Awkward


Prom Dresses … Real Talk


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I was just made aware of a horrifying and disturbing fact. And I need all of you to stop what you’re doing and listen: CANNONBALL!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m sorry I couldn’t help inserting a shameless Anchorman quote up in here. No, but seriously, I was just made aware of a horrifying and disturbing fact that some girls, SOME, are spending over $500 on prom dresses. PROM DRESSES. Ladies, ladies, ladies … grab a non-alcoholic cocktail, happy hour is from 4-6 (if you know where THAT quote is from we are BFFs, clearly), and let me give you a little “prom dress 101.”

Almost :::coughs intensively:::: years later, I’m STILL obsessed with my prom dress. It was everything, and it was under $150, and I got it at Bloomingdales … and 6 years later they were still selling it. A dress is good when you still want to wear it almost 10 years later. (Yes 10, I know I’m old … whatever) And if I could still fit into it, I would slip it on and wear it right now. Never once have I looked at my prom pictures and cringed and had the, “what was I thinking?!?” moment, and THIS is what I want for all of you, future prom attendees.

Number 1., there is absolutely no reason for you to want or need to spend over $500 on a prom dress. This is prom. Not your wedding. (You’re welcome, parents). Seriously. I know you think this is the end all be all of your lifetime, and you desperately want the slow motion walk down the stairs as your date gulps hard over how fantastic you look moment, and that will happen … but a super expensive dress just won’t put a guarantee on that moment happening, unfortunately. The only thing that is guaranteed with an over-the-top expensive prom dress is that it will hang in your closet for the rest of time, taunting you as you come home from college because you wish you could have that money right now to buy beer and you know … food with it.

Number 2., refrain from going to a shop that specifically sells prom dresses, bridesmaid dresses, and mother of the bride dresses. If you are looking to stand out, this ain’t it, trust. It will be tempting … all of your friends will be doing it, and they have a service where if you buy a dress, they won’t let anyone else in your school buy it. But shield your eyes, for the love.

Prom is your chance to look stunning, one-of-a-kind, and to feel like a damn princess. And all of this can be accomplished for under a $100, :::gasp::: I know, right? So here are a few options to finding the prom dress to end all prom dresses … ahem:

1. Rent the Runway: Hello? Genius, right?! “Oh … you’re wearing some weird prom-dress-only designer? Well,  I’m wearing Dolce :::Z snap:::.” I’m probably their biggest fan. Not only do you get to order an extra size for free, but they have specialists you can chat with and explain your body type, who will then recommend designers/styles to compliment it. AND you get cute little freebies with the delivery like tape for your taas and moisturizer. The only problem is, if other girls in your class Rent The Runway, there is a chance you may have a “bitch stole my look” moment. And if that happens, I’m not to blame.

2. Go Vintage: I like to call vintage stores the cave of wonders. If you can get over the fact that someone else wore the dress (I mean I hope you can, it has been washed … duh), then you have an opportunity to wear something one-of-a-kind and really different. You may need to get it taken in, and you may need to have a Cinderella moment and cut off certain parts, and kind of “make it your own,” but that makes it even cooler if you ask me. Now shopping vintage is not a one-stop-shop. It involves digging, and visiting lots of different stores. If you fail your first couple of times, keep your head up … it takes time. But from me to you, if you walk into a vintage store and everything is astronomically expense, leave immediately. You don’t want to mess with couture vintage. We aren’t Rachel Zoe just yet.

3. Don’t Be Afraid To Go Discount: Stores like TJ Maxx have excellent dresses that are actually different. AND they have a section called the Runway, where they have designer dresses for ridiculous prices. I was there last weekend and found a Valentino dress for $119. Crazy, right? Again with stores like Marshalls and TJ Maxx, this involves patience and digging. You may not score your first try. Make it fun, though, who knows what else you might find along your quest. Perhaps a sweet statement necklace to go with your potential look? Ehhh?!

So you see? There is no reason to go to those fancy prom boutiques and look like a cookie cutter of every other girl in your grade. A strapless dress with panels of color? Groundbreaking. You deserve to stand out. And be proud if you scored your dress at TJ Maxx or a vintage store! You deserve to have your moment.

Know, the bigger the price tag doesn’t mean the better the dress. Boom. Happy prom-ing, all!

On The Fringe Of Glory


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Warm weather, for the love of GAWD, where are you?

You know what, I’m done. I’m done waiting. I’m done bitching. I’m done. I’m just going to indulge in warm weather fashion no matter WHAT the temp is. And I loathe being cold, like most, but hey, I’ll sacrifice. Hell. I’m planning on wearing a maxi skirt this week at some point, and it won’t even be 60 degrees. Suck on THAT, Mother Nature.

Look … my winter clothes are worn out. Aren’t yours? It’s just no longer fun. I literally yawn and put no effort in my outfits anymore because I’m SO bored with it all. I just want to do a pencil dive into spring/summer fashion. Hence why I want to discuss with you my strange, but slightly awesome, obsession with fringe.

Fringe? Me? I know right … weird. But I find it fascinating, so much that I desperately want to adopt it into my wardrobe. And I love the idea of doing the twist in it and/or twirl around and have a Stevie Nicks moment. Jesus … I almost bought a brown fringe Steve Madden bag at TJ Maxx last weekend. Number 1: I don’t wear brown. Number 2: Fringe is a little country … which is SO not me. But I just HAVE to have it. In any way, shape or form.

So won’t you fringe-out with me?









Style Stud: Charlie’s Jeans

KNEEBENDblackwhite-355x534Oxygen, food, water, alcohol, unicorns, chocolate, bread … and jeans. What I like to call the necessities of life. Finding the right pair of jeans can be like finding a needle in a haystack. Skinny jeans might be in style, but how do you know which ones will fit you best? And wonder if none fit correctly at all?! Wah!

So that’s why I took it upon myself to get to know the Philadelphia denim brand, Charlie’s Jeans. Sorry, rest of the US of A, Charlie’s Jeans is only located in Philly, but that just gives you another great excuse to visit, am I right? Premium denim fit perfectly to you? Umm yeah, add that to the list under cheesesteaks, liberty bell, and the rocky statue. (No I don’t work for Visit Philly, I just love me some City of Brotherly Love)

No matter who you are or what you believe in, every human soul needs a good pair of jeans. Not a pair that gives you a muffin top or lets the world see your underpants. A nice, fitting pair of denim that makes your ass look phenom. And the best way to do that is to get acquainted with the experts and let them work their magic.

So enjoy and get to know this amazing American-made brand, and my style stud of the week, Charlie’s Jeans … ahem …

1. How long has Charlie’s Jeans been around?
Charlie’s Jeans was established in 1997 – we’ve been specializing in premium jean fit for 17 years now.

2. How did the concept come to be? Did you feel there was something lacking in the jean market?
Sebastian learned early on after opening his first store that when jeans fit right, people feel more confident. But he saw that for customers, navigating the vast denim world alone was easier said than done. With all of the different fits, sizes, and fabrics, it was hard for them to know even where to start. He wanted to eliminate any source of frustration for them and make the process as simple as possible. So he took it upon himself to learn everything he could about the world of denim. He studied fabric content, stretchability, and all different types of wash processes. He became acquainted with all the varieties of fits and learned which fits worked best for which body types. His goal was to take the hassle out of jean shopping and instead make it a quick, easy, and most importantly, enjoyable experience.

3. Can you give me a little background about the owners and what inspired them to establish this brand.
Sebastian’s mother is a beautician, and growing up, he spent much of his time with her in her salon. Time after time, he watched how something like a simple haircut could transform a person – not just physically, but on the inside. What really stuck with him was something his mother would always say about her clients – “No matter how they seem when they come in, watch the smile on their face when they leave.” He developed a true appreciation for how happy these transformations made people feel, and ultimately, he wanted to create this happiness in others within his own career path.

After spending years working with all of the premium brands, Sebastian began to notice certain areas that were lacking in consistency – most prominently, the waist gap issue, pocket placement, and fabrics losing their shape. He decided to take his denim expertise one step further and create a jean that would correct these issues and fit perfectly on any body type, every single time. In addition, once the economy began to turn, Sebastian saw that many of the brands that he carried began to outsource their manufacturing, yet were still charging the same price for their product. He was known for carrying jeans that were made in the USA, and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice that. Sebastian wanted to create a jean that was made in America, with the highest quality fabrics and treatment, so that his customer would not be short cut.

4. Are you guys just in Philly? If not, do you have any plans on opening shops outside of the city?
We currently have two convenient locations in Philadelphia – one in the historic area of Old City, and one in the shopping district of Rittenhouse Square.

5. What is your best selling pair of jeans?
There has never been a better selling jean than Sebastian McCall Jeans. They are known for their consistently perfect fit. The waist band never gaps, the pocket placement is always perfect, and the fabrics hold their shape incredibly well.

6. Why would a woman/man go to your store over other retailers?
We make the jean fitting process as easy as possible. You don’t have to know your size, or even what you’re looking for! There’s no need to spend hours in the fitting room trying on dozens of jeans – we take the hassle out of jean shopping and make it a quick, easy, and a pleasurable experience.

7. What are your price points for a pair of denim?
Most of our denim ranges between $170 to $200. Our jeans are made in the USA, and the majority is American fabric.

8. Do you sell anything else besides denim? Are there any other brands sold here?
We also carry a wide variety of tops, dresses, and accessories, and constantly get new styles in! Most of our tops range from around $30-$80, and most of our dresses range from around $60-$120.

9. What new styles do you have out for spring?
White jeans are always a spring staple – the straight and skinny styles are perfect for showing off this season’s sandals.

10. Define style for spring 2014
Style is, and always will be, perfect fit. When your clothes fit well, you feel amazing, and there is nothing more stylish than feeling great about yourself! Perfect fit is seasonless!


Meet My Fashion Faux Pas

hot_mess_1024x1024One of my favorite fashion sites, Refinery 29, posted a shocking and terrifying article yesterday concerning fashion faux pas. I clicked on the article proud, laughing like an obnoxious multi-million dollar man in a tuxedo smoking a Cuban cigar. “BAH HA HA … Let’s see what these FOOLS are doing nowadays,” I said to myself, boosting and sipping on my invisible champagne glass filled to the brim with Dom. I was 100% convinced that I could do a touchdown dance after reading the article knowing that I commit ZERO fashion faux pas. Well …

I was wrong. So so very wrong. It’s like some cruel person snatched the invisible glass of Dom right out of my manicured hands saying, “ah, ah AH … not for you, slob.” Out of seven fashion faux pas, I’m guilty of three of them. THREE. :::Sigh::: Don’t look at me, I’m too ashamed.

Yes, I was ashamed. And yes, I was slightly mortified and embarrassed. And once all of that subsided, I picked myself off the ground, snatched my invisible glass of Dom back from the oh so very rude non-existent person who took it from me, and said, “bitch, I’m human.” I. AM. HUMAN. Perfection is impossible. I’ve said it numerous times. That is what makes human beings so rad, and at times, so not very rad.

So I’m going to be open and honest with the fashion faux pas I am guilty of … and I’m not even going to use quotes around faux pas like I initially wanted to, because I guess, in some strange universe, these things are just not cool to do as a person within, or teetering gracefully on, the edge of the fashion industry.

Faux Pas Number 1: Sporting stains, hair, and grime.
Crime: Sigh … I love to sleep and hate mornings. Therefore I will snooze as many times as I possibly can before I know I can’t make the train that will make me late, but not too too late. So that leaves little room for ironing and clothing inspection. Yes, I have shown up to work with tooth paste stains. I also have “slob tendencies.” If I can’t find exactly what I want to wear, I will have a Cher from Clueless moment, sprawled out on my bedroom floor with everything from my closet surrounding me, screaming at my maid, “WHERE’S MY WHITE COLLARLESS SHIRT FROM FRED SEGAL?!” Except I don’t have a maid nor do I own anything from Fred Segal. So yeah, the aftermath means my closet won’t get reconstructed properly until I’ve had enough and go on a cleaning rampage. Clothing on the floor exposes them to my hair, my cat’s hair, wrinkles, and God only knows what else. Hence sometimes, when in a time crunch, I turn a blind eye. JUST sometimes. I blame all of this on not having enough time in the day. Damn adulthood.


Faux Pas Number 2: Pretending to be something you’re not.
Crime: GUILTY. Who isn’t? I remember when I was 17 I was OBSESSED with Ashlee Simpson. Like if I could have skinned her and worn her, I would have (but not in a creepy, murderous kind of way). She was “edgy”, and I was, well, The Gap. 10 years later I’m still going through phases where I become obsessed with being something that just isn’t me. But I give it a whirl for funsies to see if it works, which it never does. Experimentation is necessary, only as long as you are true to who you are. For a long time I tried to make color in my wardrobe happen when I realized, holy hell, self, you only like to wear black. And it isn’t because I’m goth … it is just what I likes. I’ve worn the triple popped collars, and almost, ALMOST purchased a Vera Bradley bag … but at the end of the day I always go back to black. (I personally don’t think this is a faux pas, I think it’s called life. But I’ll play your game, Refinery 29, I’ll play your game.)


Faux Pas Number 3: Wearing clothes that almost fit (but obviously don’t).
Crime: My crime is that I have rather large taas. I can’t help it. God gave them to me. And do you turn a gift down from God? Negative. So wearing buttoned down shirts kind of sucks. Technically I need to get a size larger than I normally would so I wouldn’t get that peek-a-boo window between the two buttons going down my taas so everyone can see my Victoria’s Secret (not that I wear that shit … neither should you), but I refuse. Because the larger size doesn’t look as good. Then the button down shirt stretches across my taas giving me this “fat guy in a little coat” vibe. It’s a mess … yet I continuously do this.


So there are my crimes against fashion. BOOM. But again, I am human … hear me meow.

Confessions Of A Diet Coke Addict


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Hi my name is Kate, and I’m a Diet Coke addict.

I feel like a Diet Coke addiction is trendy … or has become trendy over the years. A LOT of people drink the stuff, mostly because they think it is the healthier choice. Me? Well … I drank it because I loved/love the taste. The sweet sweet carbonation. The bubbles tickling your throat as they travel down. The refreshing feeling that leaves you wanting more and more. DAMMIT. I need to stop.

But yeah … you come across people and they openly admit, “yeah I’m a Diet Coke addict.” And then you say, “no way ME TOO.” And you guys laugh and giggle and crack open cans of the sweet sweet nectar. #Trendy. But in reality, it is my gateway soft drink. I don’t want to eat certain things if they aren’t accompanied by Diet Coke. Pizza, for example. Pizza and water? Woof. Pizza and a foundation Diet Coke … HELL. YES. Water and hummus? Sure. See, healthier choices.

Right now I’m all about getting healthy. I blame it on the fact that I’ve been hiding under what I like to call “hibernation gear” to help me withstand this awful winter we’ve had, and the thought of slipping on a tiny little sundress makes me want to vom. I need a spray tan and to lose 10 pounds IMMEDIATELY before any of that happens. So whenever I get on a healthy kick the first thing I do is go to Diet Coke rehab. Not really … it’s more just me drinking a lot of water and unsweetened iced teas and trying not to murder people as I ween myself off.

I know a lot of you think Diet Coke is the “healthier choice,” and it is compared to a lot of the other more sugary options … but at the end of the day … it isn’t good for you. One a day? Sure, go for it. But I can’t just have one. Honestly … and this is a judgement free zone … I used to sometimes have six cans of Diet Coke a day :::hides face:::. SIX. Okay shake your shame stick. I deserve it. :::Sigh::: Hence why a Diet Coke addict can’t just have one. I’ll end up passed out surrounded by cans and cans of Diet Coke by the end of the evening.

If you think I’m nuts, let me tell you a little story called, “When I Gave Up Diet Coke In College For Two Weeks.” No lie … I lost 10 pounds. I wasn’t working out … I wasn’t taking diet pills … I literally just stopped drinking soda. But by not drinking soda, I was making healthier choices. Like I said above, certain non-healthy foods just don’t seem appetizing without the saucy little temptress known as Diet Coke.

So right now I’m on Day 3 without Diet Coke. I’m drinking a lot of water and a lot of black tea. I haven’t given up caffeine … I’m not insane. I’m pretty sure I would turn into the Incredible Hulk without caffeine. I almost caved last night … but since none was in my reach I refrained and stuck to water. But overall I feel less bloated, less weighed down. I actually feel lighter … which is a weird, but great, sensation. Only when you stop drinking Diet Coke do you realize how disgusting it truly makes you feel. Also aspartame is kind of the devil. But I’m not about to get all Preachy McPreach on your asses.

My challenge to all you Diet Coke addicts, or soda drinkers in general, is to go cold turkey with me. If you’re up to my challenge, share with me your trials, tribulations and successes! It’s worth seeing what happens, right? And if you turn into the Incredible Hulk and start flipping tables … I’m TOTALLY not to blame … got it?


Photo credit:


How To Master #IWokeUpLikeThis

.i.10.58 FLAWLESSI’ve been thinking a lot about the post I wrote earlier this month about how I look like a gargoyle when I wake up, and how there is really no way you can pop open your eyes in the morning looking like a fresh and sparkly super model.

Since writing that post, I’ve become violently obsessed with mastering this look. Because dammit I want to roll over in the morning, turn off my alarm, snap a selfie, open Instagram and use the #IWokeUpLikeThis. It’s happening. Anger and frustration can make a woman conquer the world, am I right?

So after a lot of trial and error … A LOT. Like days and days of torturous trials … and then crying myself into a frenzy … then starting back up again … I’ve figured it out, ladies. YES! I’ve. Figured. It. OUT. No longer do you have to sleep over your boyfriends house, set your alarm for 6 a.m. so you can tip-toe to the bathroom and remove the crusty line of drool from your face, sleep in your eyes, and apply a fresh, but not noticeable, layer of makeup … so when your man rolls over, he thinks you’re freaking Heidi Klum.

So here it is! Are you ready?! Follow these simple and flawless steps so you too can use the rare and ellusive hashtag, #IWokeUpLikeThis:

Step 1, 11 p.m.: Before bed, wash makeup off your face and moisturize thoroughly. Place hair in loose bun. Set alarm for midnight. Turn on Netflix and fall peacefully into dreamland.

Step 2, Midnight.: Get out of bed, turn on light and head to where you do your makeup. Apply more moisturizer, and add on toner and under eye cream. Then coat your face with a light foundation. Set alarm for 1 a.m., and let your head hit the pillow … but definitely watch another episode of House of Cards.

Step 3, 1 a.m.: Get out of bed and head back to where you do your makeup. Make sure foundation is in tack, and with a damp washcloth, remove any dried … or fresh … drool from your face, and if necessary apply more foundation. Then lightly dust your face with your bronzer, set your alarm for 2 a.m. and head back to that awesome dream you won’t remember in the morning.

Step 4, 2 a.m-5 a.m.: Repeat step 3 every hour on the hour.

Step 5, 6 a.m.: Get out of bed and head back to where you do your makeup … again. This time, whip out your hair straightener (or whatever tool you use) and start taming the beast. Once that is complete, add some rosy blush to your cheekbones and a touch of mascara … maybe a little eye shadow if you’re feelin’ glamalicious, set your alarm for 7 a.m. and head back to your peaceful night of sleep.

Step 6, 7 a.m.: Roll over. Turn alarm off. Hit camera app. Snap selfie. Open photo in Instagram. Pick filter. Caption photo “#IWokeUpLikeThis”. And go the fuck back to sleep. Drool all over your damn face, smear your mascara. Nothing matters at this point.

And there you have it. See! And I never thought I would EVER wake up not looking like a scary beast. Suck on that, “Yonce.”




Oh and … yeah … APRIL FOOLS! Because we all know I don’t give a shit if I wake up like this:


The Go-To Bling Of Spring

CaptureAs you may or may not be aware, I have a serious costume jewelry addiction. If any of you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw the contraption I bought at Home Goods yesterday in an effort to keep all of my necklaces organized and no longer in a jumbled pile. Turns out that contraption made me re-connect with a lot of bling I had neglected over the years … and is overall genius. I suggest any fellow costume jewelry-hoarders to invest in this. See above.

Listen, I’m not the Cartier ride-or-die kind of gal. I mean, sure I wouldn’t turn down a Love bracelet, I’m not a fool … but there is something about costume jewelry that makes my heart flutter … like Julia Roberts getting her hand bit by a jewelry box fluttered. It is fun, and most importantly, inexpensive so you can play around with different styles as much as you want. Throw on a pair of jeans, a random t-shirt and a statement necklace … and THAT, my friends, is what it is all about. THAT is magic.

A lot of people don’t get down with costume jewelry because of how fast it falls apart … and to that I say, that is straight up lazy person talk. It is all about how you take care for it. If you don’t polish silver, it tarnishes, right? And if you don’t care for your costume jewelry in a delicate manner, it will fall apart. I own several necklaces from Forever 21 that I’ve had for years. Why? Because I care for them. I don’t sleep in them, I don’t leave them on my floor to get stepped on, I don’t throw them in my purse … I treat them probably better than I treat most things … and people.

With that being said … my newest obsession is tribal-inspired jewels. It all started when I stole my mother’s tribal necklace she got in Mexico in the 70′s years back. It’s current state is … well … hmmm … fragile … and slightly falling apart … aaaaaaand I need to get it fixed. So I scoured the Interwebs for new tribal additions to my collection. I was beyond jazzed about what I found … my back account? Meh … not so much.

So yeah … I’m designating tribal-inspired jewels the bling of spring. Whether you are rocking a simple look and need a pop of color, or want to make a look more dynamic with mixing patterns and textures … this is this where its at, my friends. A

And now … let’s indulge in some of my faves, shall we?


Let Me, Let Me Bra-ducate YAH!

Ladies, I feel as if we are neglecting our taas a bit. Myself included. It’s true … let’s own it. Hence why I made the trek to Manhattan yesterday to have the best-of-the-best in all the land of bra fitters bra-ducate me on why breasts matter, and deserve to be uplifted and fitted in fine, beautiful fabric. Even though they live under pretty clothes doesn’t mean they can’t transform your whole entire look, am I right?

Now yes, bras are notoriously expensive. Do I want to buy a pair of shoes for $89 or do I want to buy a really pretty bra for $89? Shoes have always won in my book, until I was made very aware of the fact that the bras I own … well … need to be burned.

I walked into Linda the Bra Lady‘s store wearing my cutest little Betsy Johnson bra … that I purchased maybe a year and a 1/2 ago. I just knew it didn’t fit me properly since, between you and I, my taas have grown a bit over the past couple of months … thanks birth control (yep … we’re gettin’ REAL honest today). And women should get fitted more than every four years … taa sizes aren’t forever. Remember that.

So since I’ve been through the bra fitting process before, I was well aware of the fact that this awesomely talented bra fitter I had just met, shout out to Kim, was about to get all up in my bid-ness, and I had no choice but to own it and be okay with it. So I took my shirt off so she could inspect what was going on under the hood, if you will. Wait … ew … that sounds really … just ew. Sorry. Anywho … she measured me and turns out, hey, my bra size wasn’t too far off, BUT she made it very clear to me that my bra needed to be retired … or burned, either or.

But let’s talk about “bra size” shall we? A, B, C, D, double D, E …wait F?! Who the eff is an F?! Umm … actually, a lot of women are nowadays. When you tell someone your bra size is past a double D … you probably get some strange looks like you’re an alien from outer space blessed with huge taas, or sheer “jackpot” excitement from dudes. But turns out, most of you are probably wearing the wrong bra size and should go back to the drawing board … because YOU, yes YOU, may just be past a D, my friend. There is nothing wrong with going past a double D. It doesn’t mean you are porn star status or a freak. It means women are built differently nowadays, and we need to realize the “norm” is no longer A-DD. Size is just a size. Comfort is everything. And for the love of God, own it. I’m proud to say I’m in between a double D and an E … what what!

So thanks to Kim, I walked away from the experience with a plethora of bra knowledge … and a LOT of cute bras … that you can benefit from (not my bras … the tips). Ahem:

1. If you can pull the back of your bra out and stick your arm through it, and maybe another person, it’s too loose … and loose bras do nothing for us. Loose bras ride up your back … then your taas fall down. (I feel like someone should make a nursery rhyme about that … Loose bras ride UP … then your boobs fall DOWN … hmm I’ll work on that a bit more)

2. The back of the bra is most important. It should fit snug around the center of your back.

3. With that being said, and brace yourselves for this one, there is NOTHING we can do about back fat. I asked. A 9-year bra fitting expert told me this. We all have back fat. I do, the stick figure model does, my cat does. It’s time we own it. But posture is everything, remember that. #BackFatAcceptance2014

4. Pay attention to how you put on your bra. I’m guilty of flinging the thing on, throwing on my shirt and being done with it, too. Nope. Here’s how it goes down:
Step 1: Stick arms through straps
Step 2: Place underwire under taas
Step 3: Reach arms around your back and clip bra on*. Make sure to clip on the loosest hook.
Step 4: Adjust taas in bra. Pull underwire to the side to make sure they are sitting pretty.
*I know, I know, I’m all about the lazy girl’s style of clipping in the front, then shimmying around and putting arms through straps. But this is how the pros do it. Sheesh, now I feel bad for making fun of boys who couldn’t undo a bra. That shit is NOT easy.)

5. Bras are delicate, therefore do not wash them like you would a pair of blue jeans. Hand washing is the way to be, kids. Get a delicate soap, perhaps a bucket, then hang gently on a rack or one of these rad contraptions below. You pay good money for them, mine as well take care of them, right?-font-b-Suction-b-font-font-b-cup-b-font-mini-portable-travel-socks-fontSo there you have it! I’m wearing one of my new bras today, and I’m telling you, I’m very aware of my taas … in a good way of course. I’m walking taller, I feel confident … I mean, every woman deserves to feel like this every single day. I literally purchased a bra that is so pretty and fits so well that I almost don’t want to wear a shirt. I mean I will, but like, if I had the option, I probably wouldn’t. BUT I’ll do you all a favor and cloth myself properly.

With all of this being said I demand every one of you reading this to go take care of your taas! Go. Right now. I don’t care if you’re saving the world one spreadsheet at a time. GO. SHOO! SHOO!

Ps. I may or may not have found a strapless bra that I didn’t loathe … but out of principle I still hate its face.

Pss. BIG thanks to Kim over at Linda the Bra Lady! She’s amazing and fun and so adorable … go let her bra-ducate you and let her get up all in your bid-ness! And also a big thanks to Carla Marie over at the Elvis Duran and the Morning Show for coming with me on this excursion of taa TLC!


Hunter Boot Etiquette

4d15aec209c04e9b573c8698dc358d5eDoes anyone else feel like they are their Hunter Boots’ bitch? Seriously.

The minute I get news that the sky will be leaking, I feel like my Hunter Boots says, with a southern accent for some reason, “well little lady, looks like I WILL be picking the outfit today.” And you know what … I’ve had just about enough. Enough, I say!

As a commuter, I have to carry all of my goods on my person. Which has made my right arm super muscular, let me tell you. But it is also a huge inconvenience. I have my “walking to work” shoes, and then when I get into work, I’ll slip into my more uncomfortable numbers, which I have to make sure fit comfortably into my tote. But guess what? Hunter Boots don’t fit comfortably ANYWHERE.

For example last week I had to attend an event in the pouring rain. Did I want to wear my Hunter Boots, um hell yes … it was a monsoon. But the idea of me wearing said Hunter Boots, then awkwardly changing in the middle of the event in to my cute little pumps seemed not only inconvenient … but slightly mortifying. And THEN where do you put them? All of a sudden you’re trying to mingle and exchange business cards whilst holding your purse, Hunter Boots AND a cocktail, awkwardly knocking down mannequins. I mean, yeah … I’m not a hot disheveled mess at ALL.

I bet you’re saying to yourself, though, but Kate, why can’t you just rock your Hunter Boots, right? Well, yes … they are cute. And the chicer side of rain boots, for sure. But when you are attending a stylish event with stylish people, sometimes you want to wear cuter shoes. And not to mention, to wear Hunter Boots in a stylish fashion, you have to literally plan your outfit around them. Add feminine touches here and there to balance out the masculinity of the look. Otherwise they will absolutely dress you down no matter what. It’s exhausting. And annoying. Shoes are ALWAYS my last decision in outfitting, for the love of God.

So what I’m asking is what is the proper Hunter Boots etiquette? Yes, at work it is easy to slip them off and hide them under my desk until the voyage home. But what about when you’re going out with your lady friends in a torrential down pour? Do you have to be that guy that is just like changing her shoes at the restaurant table? Or is it worth wearing heels and or flats during a down pour and risk your feet getting soaking wet (which PS, might be the most frustrating feeling in the universe) in disgusting city slop and or biting it on the side walk?

I just don’t see a solution to this, unfortunately. I wish you could fold Hunter Boots up into a cute and compact package so you can throw them in your tote and go on with your day, but alas, this is not the case. They are a necessary evil, and I’m, for once, at a loss. And no, rain boots with a heel and or wedge are NOT the answer. When I see women wearing these I just want to shake my shame stick at them. Rain equals slickness which equals falling. So tell me why the balls you feel compelled to rock a rubber heel and or wedge? What are the kids saying nowadays, “SMH”?

Welp … Kanye Got His Way

Kanye West new video Bound 2 featuring Kim KardashianHere is how I believe it went down … ahem:

Kanye: Yo Anna, let Kim rock Vogue.

Anna Wintour: :::Laughing hysterically::::

—–Month later—–

Kanye: Anna, about Kim being on the co …

Anna Wintour: Before you even start, I’m going to stop you right there. No.

—–Month later—–

Anna Wintour’s receptionist: Anna, Kanye is on line 1

Anna Wintour: Tell him no then hang up

—-Month later at an after party—-

Kanye: Anna, Kim needs to rock that cover.

Anna Wintour: No.

Kanye: Anna.

Anna Wintour: NO.

—-Month later—-

Kanye: Anna, please.

Anna Wintour: No

Kanye: YES! This is happening.

Anna Wintour: NO!

—–Month later—-

Kanye: Listen …


——And scene—-

Anna Wintour totally got bamboozled. I mean if Ye kept harassing me enough with ridiculous requests as I was trying to run a fashion empire … I would most definitely give him exactly what he wanted to shut him up. I mean, it’s only one cover, right?

Well I’ve been going back and forth about how I feel about this. Apart of me loathes Kim Kardashian and everything she stands for. But another part of me has this weird obsession with her. Hell I chopped my hair off this week basically due to her influence. And I adore the fact that she rarely wears color. See? Weird obsession.

But after a lot of thought (pathetic, right?), I think when Keeping Up With the Kardashian’s started, or post sex tape, Kim K was a hot dirty mess. She pretty much was a hot dirty mess up until she started dating Kanye. See examples below. Hell. We all make mistakes.



And now let’s look at Kim Kardashian under Kanye’s spell, shall we:



It’s all magic. Pure magic. It makes me not only want to up my style game, but start breaking the bank buying designer fashions. It’s flawless … and basically all because of Kanye. The man has taste. As cray as people think he is, he actually is kind of a creative genius. All good artists are cray. That is a fact.

So therefore I believe Kim K is the fashion industry’s pheonix. Kanye made her rise from the ashes of bandage dresses and oversized belts so she can rub shoulder’s with the fashion industry kings and queens … so much that she is on the cover of freaking Vogue … after Anna Wintour said she would NEVER put a reality star on the cover. And once upon a time I would have 100% agreed with her, but the girl has kind of proven herself to be not just trendy, but classically stylish … and I think that is what Vogue is all about. I mean the girl isn’t going around rocking crop tops and trucker hats and indulging in all things trendy. She is wearing looks fresh off the runways of fashion weeks from around. the. world.

And let’s be real, every person that has graced the cover of Vogue most likely has or had a full-time stylist. Kim K’s stylist just happens to be her future husband. I can only pray for a man to come into my life and throw out everything in my closet and replace it all with couture. I mean that is every girl’s dream. Right? No? Just me?

Throw stuff at the screen if you must, but I think it’s kind of okay that she is on the cover … because she is gracing the cover with the guy who made her rise from the fashion industries ashes.


Phantom Hair Syndrome

tyra-haircutSo if you don’t follow me on any social media network, you would have no idea that I hacked five inches off of my hair last night. Yep. I did it, guys. And if you DO follow me on social networks, you are probably like, “shut the eff up, you cut your hair … cool. Unfollow.” Which I hope isn’t the case :::insert emoji sad cat:::

I suggest everyone do something like this, at least once in your life. Perhaps it was my drive for change, or that my hair bordem hit an all-time high, but from the moment I made the decision to hack my long mane into a long bob, I’ve been filled with excitement. Sure nerves showed their nasty face here and there, but never once did I say, “meh … maybe this is a bad idea.” I didn’t even have my reality show, “Top Model” moment where I was sobbing and hyperventilating as they cut my hair off saying, “TURN. OFF. THE. CAMERAS.” Hell no. I was telling her to cut more.


So how do I feel with five inches less of hair? Free, most definitely. I oddly do feel like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders … I think it was all my dead ends from all the dying and frying. I feel slightly more mature, which is strange to say. But you know, a little more dignified. Like I could go to a fancy bar in a black strapless dress, long black satin gloves, red lipstick and order a dirty martini or something. Just kidding, I’ll be at the dive bar tonight slugging back house vodka and clubs. And overall I just feel excited and refreshed. I actually wanted to get up earlier than usual just to play with my hair. Seriously. Me. The girl who snoozes a legit 10 times at least in the morn.

I haven’t felt a second go by where I’ve longed for my long locks. So yes, if you are looking for something to make you feel empowered, do this. I seriously feel like I could bitch slap the world for no apparent reason. But before taking a plunge like this one, here are some tips I would like to offer throughout my experience.

1. Find a stylist with a good amount of experience. I had never gone to the lady who long-bobbed me, which was a bit unnerving, but after reviewing her background, I knew she had the skills to give me what I need. Now I adore her and have adopted her as my go-to stylist. Which is maybe another reason why I’m on cloud-9 because it has taken me YEARS to find someone like this. Jenna at Verde Salon, I adore you. So does my hair.

2. Do detailed research on the look you want. True, Kim Kardashian was my spirit animal during the whole process … which still kind of freaks me out to be honest. But I suppose it was realistic. I went on Pinterest and tried to find celebs with my skin tone, hair color, and face shape to see if this is something I could actually pull off. I even tried this stupid thing on Marie Claire where you can upload a pic of yourself and try out different hair cuts. Ugh. I’m really embarrassed to even admit that. Don’t do it … or do if you need a laugh. You never want to go to a stylist as a brunette with an oval face shape and say you want to look like some blonde with chiseled cheek bones. It just won’t work. Stylists are good … but they can’t turn water into wine, ya know what I mean?

3. My experience in the past has been to be like, “yeah I want it short, and layered,” and then I get overwhelmed and just let them do whatever the hell they want because they are the “experts” … and then I end up wanting to stab them because I hate it. No. Ask questions. Be as descriptive as possible. Talk out what you want to do with your stylist. It may not be just a five minute convo either. And if they aren’t giving you the answers you want, or not making sense, or talking you into shit you just aren’t down with, and if you feel your heart start to race … maybe back away slowly, just saying. This was the first experience where a stylist was asking ME questions … like how I wear my hair, how I foresee myself wearing my hair, etc. The more you talk, the more you get what you want … AND you walk away with some great tips, too.

4. Listen to your gut. It actually is wiser than you think and not just full of Chipotle like mine is. If you really want to dye your hair pink, but every time you think about it you feel like you need to pop a Xanax, maybe don’t dye your hair pink. I told you, from the minute I set my sights on a long bob, I never looked back. It was soothing but really creepy at the same time, because I’m never calm about ANYTHING like that.

5. Limit yourself to opinions. I’m the type of person that needs to survey the masses before making a major life decision. Survey says: that’s not a good idea. Luckily this time around, everyone was very supportive, besides a select few. But if you are impressionable, just follow YOUR instincts. Not what your best friends, dog walker’s, sister says. It will save you a lot of agony.
So there you have it. I just had to go invest in a brand new bag of tricks in order to tackle this new hair do. And by bag of tricks I mean hair curling wand and beach spray (which if heaven had a scent I bet it would be this … and cookies. Yep. Beach and cookies … and maybe vodka). No longer will I be my hair straighteners bitch. I’m lettin’ the wave out, and for people who know me, that is a SHOCKING statement for me to say.

Out with the old … in with the new.

Oh, also, here is the new ‘do … this isn’t a selfie … I swear:


Choppin’ It Off!

elle-01-kim-kardashian-hFor as long as I can remember, I’ve had a love affair with the idea of having long hair. Perhaps it was the “always wanting what you don’t have” syndrome, but as a little girl, my mother kept my insanely curly hair rather short, and I always wanted the Little Mermaid’s hair … but brunette, of course.

Flash forward to present day and my hair is long. Long … and not doing anything. Yawn. And then I came across my high school graduation photo and literally my hair looks exactly the same. Same color. Same length. Same part. And … sigh … that photo was taken almost 10 years ago. Yowza. Mind you my hair has been through a lot of colors and lengths since then, but right now … it’s like I’m 17 years old again … except … well … a tad more aged … JUST a tad.

I was in DIRE need of change. And not because I had a bad break up or going through a transition or hate life, but just because a simple change to something like your hair can be SO damn refreshing. But I’ve already fallen down the ombre hole, did the layers thing, changed my hair color a million different ways, and the only thing shocking I have left is blonde, and that AIN’T happenin’. So what is left?

Well, I was bored one day and took a Buzzfeed quiz (oh shush, who doesn’t take those quizzes … they are addictive), asking “what hair style I should have,” and I got the long bob. I immediately got intrigued, but scratched my head, laughed and said … “haha … noooooo.”

I suppose it stayed in the back of my head, because this past Monday I was catching up on celebrity gossip (I know, I sound like SUCH a sophisticated Interwebs explorer, right?) and stumbled upon Kim Kardashian’s new do, which happened to be a long bob, and all of a sudden I said without thinking about it, “screw it, I’m doing it.”

Literally all I kept thinking was, “yes, let’s do this. I want to do this now. How fast can this happen? I want all of my hair gone. Holy crap.” In the matter of minutes I had booked my hair appointment for Thursday (tomorrow), went on Pinterest and found some long bob styles I liked, and texted all of my friends asking what they thought. Green lights all around.

Usually I would be peeing myself in fear. The last time I drastically got my hair cut was right before I graduated college and this awful stylist made me look like a newscaster from the 1980′s. I was BEYOND pissed. Usually I can keep control of my face while they style my hair, but she just kept asking, “are you mad? Do you like it? You don’t look happy.” No, bitch, I’m not happy. And since then I burned all of my graduation pics for I had an awful puffy hair cut and I was like 15 pounds over weight due to beer consumption. Cool, self.

So I decided this time it will be different. And the fact that I’m so positive about it and all about YES, I feel confident. And christ, it’s hair. It will grow back … right? Ahhh I’m like 73.4% excited and the rest scared shitless. I believe the worst part is when my stylist will do the first rather large chop. Ugh. Hopefully I don’t “Top Model-style” start to cry. Times like these I wish I had a reality show. “TURN OFF THE CAMERAS. I’M :::hyperventilating::: NOT :::hyperventilating::: FILMING :::hyperventilating::: THIS!” I kid … I wouldn’t be THAT much of a diva.

So I’m putting my fears into the universe … honestly … so that way I won’t obsess over them until 5:30 tomorrow when it will all go down.

1. I’m worried this long bob will give me fat face (I told you I’m being 100% honest here)

2. I’m worried my hair won’t look like Kim K’s and instead look like a 1980′s newscaster again

3. I’m worried it will be too puffy and out-of-control

4. I’m worried I won’t master the beachy, flowy long bob look

5. I’m worried it will ruin me (I don’t even know what that means, but … yeah … I’m scared)

So there it is. I need positive vibes tomorrow around 5:30 p.m. I decided I’m going to embody Man Repeller who chops her hair off at the drop of a hat and doesn’t give a shit. Sometimes … you just need to take a plunge. Less thinking … more plunging.

Stay tuned for the aftermath!

Ps. If this goes poorly … I blame Kim Kardashian and Buzzfeed. That is all.






Rest In Peace, L’Wren Scott

13LWREN_SPAN-articleLarge-v2Yesterday reminded me eerily of the day Alexander McQueen died … did anyone else feel  that? Ugh. What a shame, such a powerful, elegant, and talented woman’s life taken way too soon. L’Wren Scott … for all that you have given us from beauty to inspiration to garments that were absolutely stunning and timeless … I thank you.

You never know what someone is going through. You could be the most gorgeous woman in the world, dating the most legendary rock star of our time, with more talent in your pinky finger than most in the world, dressing movie stars and living in the fanciest part of Manhattan … but those are just things. Remember that.

I encourage all of you, dear readers, to pay more attention to your well being, along with your loved ones. Listen to your body. Look for signs of distress. Be there for others. Sometimes that is all it takes. And if you yourself are in distress with nowhere to turn, I encourage you to seek help. The world needs your talent. It may not seem like it now, but we do.




Fashion’s Plateau: Normcore

CaptureSometimes I wake up in the morning and feel the need to wear my black sequin cardigan, ball gown skirt, paired with a normal T underneath, with my four inch studded Sam Edelman stilettos. But then I wipe the sleep out of my eyes (ew) and realize that isn’t okay in the world I live in … and go for the black skinnies, some sort of top, and my Hunter Boots because, dear sweet Jesus, it snowed again. Yep … this Monday couldn’t possibly get more boring.

But why couldn’t I just rock the outfit that I dreamed up the minute I opened my eyes? Why do I care if people will look at me like I have four heads, or dare I say even laugh at me? I’m 27 … I shouldn’t have to care if I’m going to get laughed at on the “playground” aka normal everyday life. It’s because sometimes it is easier to blend in then be diamond in the rough. At least recently this is how I’ve viewed it. Which … can I say … sucks.

And then I stumbled upon this article about a concept in the fashion world known as “Normcore.” What is it you ask? Well … they are comparing it to a look Jerry Seinfeld would have rocked in the 90′s. Nondescript, bland … basically embracing sameness. Apart of me isn’t shocked. After the Carrie Bradshaw era … we’ve been desperately trying to out-weird each other in the world of fashion. At some point it had to plateau, right? I just didn’t think it would lead people to wear mom jeans, white sneakers, I Heart NY caps, and Patagonia zip ups. Um whaaa?

May I just take a second to say Normcore is bullshit. Complete. Bullshit. It goes against every single thing I believe it when it comes to person style. To each their own, but the reason why I love fashion is because it gives even the shyest person in the world an opportunity to have an identity. The idea of a million Jerry Seinfeld’s in the world walking about hand-in-hand in their Tevas is highly disturbing to me.

I think these people participating in the Normcore movement are in dire need of inspiration. Man Repeller said it best. “I’ve been covering Paris Fashion Week for five seasons and in those seasons, I have learned that when I come home, I come home incredibly stimulated.” It’s all about finding your stimulation.

For example, as the weather gets warmer, I made a promise to myself to explore streets I haven’t walked down or stores I haven’t been exposed to. I did it on Friday after work and let’s just say it was Instagram-worthy. Exposing myself to these new things will not only inspire me, it will open up a new world with new people to come across. I’m not one to open a magazine and immediately feel the urge to emulate styles. But when I see normal people on the street rocking something exceptionally rad … that is when I get the spark.

Yes, we may have hit a plateau in the fashion world, but I encourage everyone to steer clear of Normcore. Rock what makes you happy … but don’t be afraid to be that diamond in the rough. This is something I need to work on as well, hell we can do it together.

But yes, statement jewelry, loud prints, crazy studded stilettos, over-the-knee hooker boots, leather, camo, and all things delicious that make fashion what it is. Suck it, Normcore.

Flats on Flats on Flats

Nicky_Hilton-01-fullI hate winter. Die Polar Vortex. Down with the chill. Etc. Etc. Blah, blah, I’m cold.

I’m over talking about winter. Really, I am. But you know what I’m NOT over talking about? Spring and my soon-to-be established spring wardrobe. I literally broke out in a sweat when I heard it was going to be 60 degrees this week because I’ve been existing in bulky sweaters. Hell, I’ve been so layered I almost forgot I had taas.

Starting a new seasonal wardrobe is not only intimidating, it’s overwhelming. I need skirts, and tops, and oh my Gawd are they really going to make me wear crop tops this season?! And so on and so forth. So I like to keep it simple and fun when starting this process. Lucky for me this week while on a hunt on the interwebs to find something that would make me happy, I found flat mecca, also known as the ModCloth shoe section.

If I could only use one website, besides Gmail, Twitter and Facebook (I feel like they don’t count), I would absolutely take and run. If you’ve never used it, I’m about to ba-low ya mind. So say you are in the market for purple polka dotted tights (I have no idea where this example came from), and you didn’t feel like visiting a million and five websites to find said tights. Well, my friends, you hop to ShopStyle, type in “purple polka dotted tights,” and boom! There ya have it. Millions of options. The only thing that bums me out when I use this tool is when I forget to set my price limits and the first thing that pops up is like this to-die-for Celine handbag that I THINK I can afford, but alas, can’t. This girl lives in the $1-$100 range on ShopStyle. Whomp. Whomp.

Anywho, I realized my black flats needed to be retired (I mean I was coloring them in with a black Sharpie … it was time to go), so I went to ShopStyle and typed in “black flats” and henceforth found shoe mecca on ModCloth. Not only are these styles affordable, they are different and not in a hipster, trendy, “I’m too cool for oxygen” kind of way. I literally was salivating and had to stop myself from buying 10 pairs. Why not heels you ask? Because I work in the city, and unfortunately had to give up my four-inch heel obsession for a bit, as my tootsies couldn’t handle it. Anyways we are talking flats here, duh!

So in an effort to ignite spring wardrobes all over the country, I give you my favorite pairs of flats from ModCloth. All affordable … and all will be mine … one day. Don’t they make you just want to frolic?



It’s 60 Degrees Out: What Are YOU Wearing?

CaptureWhen you’ve been living in a polar vortex for weeks and weeks on end and all of a sudden a 60 degree “heat wave” hits, it might be the most uncomfortable thing in the world. And I’m not talking about uncomfortable like awkward, I’m talking about uncomfortable like you just ate way too many carbs and happen to be wearing Spanx.

On days like today, ladies feel the need to throw their stockings to the wind, burn their boots and rock a naked leg underneath a skirt or dress. “Short shorts for all!,” they said … but you will find me standing there, arms crossed, in full resting bitch face saying, “bitch, please.”

I know, I know … it’s tempting to expose your epidermis at the first inkling of warmth. And today I stood in front of my closet and had the classic battle of, do I risk freezing my ass off all day and show a little skin, or do I just stick to my winter regime and sweat a little. At first I reached for my short sleeve dress and flats, but shook my head no, and reached for a T-shirt and blazer, black skinnies with heels … but that was all wrong. Then after much debate went with the sheer top (with something underneath it, of course … pervs), jeans, boots and a light trench. And now said sheer top is making me itch beyond belief, and it’s a little drafty where I’m sitting. I mean, can I win?!

If I could stay the same temperature all day, I would be happy. But spring is a saucy minx that continuously switches it up. After my 10 minute walk to the train, I’m sweating. I cool off on my train ride, but by the time I get to my desk I’m over heated. Then depending if my office decided to be freezing or stuffy that day, I unfortunately have to suffer through something (I know, right? Waaaaaaa, poor me). I mean, planning outfits for days like to day means you’re sacrificing something … or that you need to dress in layers, which is annoying … sometimes. Then you’ll find me on the train, over heated like a woman going through menopause ripping layers of clothing off. Hawt, right?

So no, I am not ready to show some leg. Mostly because I have refused to look at my legs all winter and fear the paleness will blind innocent bystanders. Before I throw myself into the spring wind, I need a spray tan, I probably need to do a thoroughly shaving of my legs (come on, we ALL use the winter as the lazy girl’s excuse for lack of leg shaving), and I probably need to thoroughly moisturize (don’t my legs sound hot right now?). So once I complete those tasks, sure … epidermis for all … wait, what?

Until then, I’m preparing to be uncomfortable for a couple of painful weeks. Sigh … I’m already stressing about what I will wear tomorrow.

I’m An Ugly Sleeper

200_sYaaaaaaawn … damn you spring forward.

Remember in Pretty Woman, that moment when Richard Gere walks out of the bathroom to find the stunning Julia Roberts sleeping beautifully with her gorgeous red curly locks superbly placed upon the pillows?

Now I want to paint you a picture of me this morning: Laying on my side. Face smushed up against my pillow so my lips were pushed into an odd squiggled shape. Fresh drool traveling down the side of my mouth coating the already dried drool from earlier in my slumber. My hair matted to parts of my forehead, while the rest of it looked like a mini tornado had struck it. And as much face wash and makeup remover as I use, somehow I wake up looking like a raccoon as my waterproof mascara jumps off my lashes and makes my under eyes its new home.

I was not hungover, sleep deprived, or sick. This is just me in the morning. When I sleep … I sleep hard. Yes, sigh, it’s ugly. No matter how much I try to make myself look glowing and refreshed in the morning, I always fail miserably. It’s like my entire face just falls and turns into this monster with its mouth wide open, making guttural sounds from deep within … better known as my snore.

I never knew I was an ugly sleeper until my roommate in college informed me. It’s not like when someone tells you you have something in your teeth, or that you have a run in your stockings … you know, things you can actually fix. When you sleep, you are completely vulnerable. It’s not like I can strike a model pose to accentuate my cheek bones through REM, you know what I mean? It’s absolutely maddening!

So when I come across people that sleep so peacefully, quietly and beautifully … I just want to punch them. Notice in every movie, all stars are beautiful sleepers? Oh yes, I just stumbled out of my bed from being comatose for eight hours and look absolutely glowing, fresh faced, with every hair on my head in tact … of course, clearly … pass the coffee and granola, please … Ugh. Or Beyonce’s classic, “I woke up this way,” bullshit. You know what … I woke up looking like a mythical beast. Suck on that, “Yonce.”

Clearly I’m bitter. Clearly I’m frustrated that there is absolutely nothing I can do about this problem besides covering my face with my blanket so I don’t frighten innocent bystanders. I really do try to be one of those people whose alarm goes off, sits up in bed, stretches with a smile, skips off to the shower to start the day and screams, “YES! LIFE!” But instead I wallow in my unattractive sleep state as long as possible, while plotting how I can take the later train into work without actually being late. Alas, that is just who I am … ugly sleeping face and all.


Style Stud: A Four Year Old.

enhanced-2709-1393448697-18Yes. A four-year-old.

I realize I’m a day late and a dollar short on this one, and all of the fashion industry will open this post, yawn, eye roll, then close out of it … but I can’t help it. I just can’t. I HAVE to write about this little girl who may or may not be the most stylish person to ever walk this Earth. Wow I just embodied James Lipton for a second … sorry, I’m back.

She’s four years old people, FOUR and making paper dresses that I would have no problem rocking out in public … wanna know why? Because they are legit designer replicas. You know what I was doing when I was four? Probably trying to crawl back into my mom’s vagina and drooling on myself, not taking the fashion industry’s breath away, that’s for damn sure.

Now, traditionally, I’m not a huge fan of kids … unless I have some relation to them … and even then it’s iffy. But this little one kind of makes me want to toy with the idea of having kids one day. Just a little. She’s absolutely talented, smart, adorable (and not in an obnoxious kind of way), knows how to strike a ridic pose (and not in a toddlers in tiara’s kind of way), and her name is Mayhem. I mean … I can’t.

She’s making this kind of magic at a young 4-years-old … God only knows what she will dazzle us with by the time she gets to college. I mean I’m 27 and envious of her talent … kind of depressing, right … :::sigh::: But listen little one, from my mouth to your ears, don’t Lohan, okay? Stay focused, stay positive, stay clean. Frankenstein, have fun with you friends. Wait … what? (If you get that reference we are officially best friends)


Just The Inspiration You Needed

jenna-lyons-7I mean … life can be a bitch. There. I said it. If it isn’t for you, congrats and all, but don’t hold your breath waiting for me to give you a slow clap. But for most, we are scratching and clawing our way to success and trying desperately to be the “last man standing.” Which can I say, is exhaustifying.

You will never find me pouring over a book in the “Self Help” section of Barnes and Noble, and I most definitely do not have a poster of a cat hanging from a tree that says “Hang in There,” posted up in my office. But sometimes, classic words of wisdom from bad ass women who have made something of themselves in this cut throat industry does the trick. Enter Lenna Lyons, stage right.

After stumbling upon a fantastic blog by two sisters called A Piece of Toast (by the way, how amazing is that name, right?), I found Net-a-Porter’s article listing out Jenna Lyons’ life rules. I mean does it get any better than stumbling upon fellow bloggers who stumbled upon a great article and blogged about it? I think not.

All her life rules are simple and will change the way you live your everyday life. If I could post this on every wall I come across, I would be happy, because I wouldn’t lose sight of my end all … becoming Beyonce. No no … I kid, I kid. But hopefully this brings you just the inspiration you needed like it did for me.

Now excuse me I need to go karate-chop the wonderful world of blogging!

1. I work on my instincts. At the end of the day, it’s all you have. If you don’t trust yourself, no one else is going to either.

2. You can’t fix yesterday. And don’t beat yourself up over it – the only reason to beat yourself up is if you don’t learn from it.

3. Respect honesty and transparency. There is no room for people who can’t give a clear and honest opinion.

4. I feel like I’m learning – and making mistakes – all the time! But if I wasn’t and suddenly felt stagnant, that would be the thing that would make me not want to work.

5. When I was younger, I always wanted things to be easier – but I learned that there are always some things in flux and always changing. Then I realized that makes things far more interesting.

6. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. There is no question. It’s a cliché, but it’s true.

7. Never assume that just because we did it one way means that we can do it again the same next time.

8. I realized early on that no matter what I am feeling and no matter what is happening to me, either personally or professionally, there is no place for that [in the workplace]. I am really good at compartmentalizing, probably to a fault! When you force yourself to do it, you realize that it’s not as hard as you think.

9. I don’t want to stay looking the same. Someone once said that they didn’t recognize me because I wasn’t wearing a red lip, so I thought, “Oh, I won’t wear a red lip for a while.”

10. Giving feedback in the creative world is so delicate. I spend a lot of time picking my words carefully.

Wind Back Wednesday: My First Time …

ghk-debra-messing-curly-hg-lgnDying my hair … ya pervs.

The reason why I’m reminiscing about this is because I’ve faced the horrific fact today that for the first time :::sigh::: I am dying my hair tonight NOT for funsies, but because my gray hair is out of control :::Weeps softly:::. So in an effort to make myself not feel like an old bag, I decided to reflect upon a time when dying my hair was fun and exciting … not a task on the good ol’ “to-do” list.

I was 17, kicking off my senior year in high school, and loathing everything. I hated my classes, I hated my after-school job, I hated the process of applying to college, I hated my car … I mean you get the idea. I think this was all because I was overwhelmed with how drastically different my life was about to become, and this is how I apparently dealt with denial. So what did I do to make myself feel better? Dye my virgin hair … clearly.

Naturally I have a chestnut-ish brown hair color. I found it yawn-worthy and wanted to add a touch of red to it. Just a touch. Red? I know, scary, right? I was terrified. I was excited. But when the dying was done, it looked exactly the same as my nature color. I was devastated to say the least and sobbed the night away. Yep, teenager problems.

True, that was my first hair dying experience, but I consider my second experience the real deal. A few months later, after I had just turned 18, I went back for another try. This time instead of saying, “just a little hint of red, a little touch, nothing crazy,” I said something like red brown-ish (aren’t I good with descriptions). He slathered my head with dye, and after a couple of minutes I began to feel my scalp burning. Hmm … I just assumed this was normal.

Note: My friends had planned a surprise birthday party for me that evening, but at the time knew nothing besides “be ready at 7.”

When I sat down in the chair after washing the dye out, I noticed my roots were quite bright. Hmmm. Something a little shocking, but I said, hey, at least it’s different this time, right? As he began the process of blowing out my hair, I saw it getting redder, and redder … and redder. The more it dried, the more my eyes filled with tears, until I looked in the mirror and realized, “holy fuck, I’m Debra Messing.” No longer was I a brunette, I was a straight up, horrific red head. Again … instead of freaking out and punching my hair dresser square in the face, I sucked back tears, told him, “ahh I love it,” lip quivering, and sulked home.

My mom tried to console me by telling me how fierce I looked, but it didn’t help. I had just spent all of my birthday money on a new hair color that made me look like the worst version of myself. Years later she would tell me it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever done to myself. So much for honesty, right? And that evening, my best friends threw me a surprise party, and when I entered, the record screeched … clearly due to the fact that my hair was … yes … red. Like there isn’t even an embarrassing photo to show you because I refused to be documented during this time.

Good times, right? I still get insane urges to dye my hair different colors, like recently blonde crossed my mind. And then I think about that pit in my stomach I got when I realized my hair dressed had just bleached my hair red and destroyed me, and then I come to my senses.

With that being said, this is how I roll now:


I Call This … Pope-ing

Screen-shot-2013-10-24-at-10.24.45-AMPreface: If you don’t watch Scandal, you probably won’t get this. And if you don’t watch Scandal, I DEMAND you go to Netflix and watch it right now. See you in three days. That should be a sufficient amount of time to let you binge.

Have you ever had a really bad day, like epically bad so much that you just want to dive into your most beloved, ragged pair of jammies, pour yourself a glass of wine (by glass of wine I mean bottle), and cry a little (and by cry a little I mean a lot) on your couch with your cat? We’ve ALL been there, give or take. And until recently, the thought of that was a little sad, right? Drinking wine. Alone. With your cat. Replaying the heinous day in your head over-and-over again. When I pull myself out of said emotional hole I usually cringe thinking about partaking in such behavior … but, you know, sometimes it’s necessary.

Thanks to Olivia Pope, better known as Kerry Washington on the street, though, that idea no longer sounds pathetic, weak, or silly. Because NOTHING Olivia Pope does is silly or pathetic, am I right?

My friends, I call this Pope-ing. Much like coping … except Pope-ing … get it? Ehh?! It is like the chicer version of what I just described above. How do you Pope, you ask?

1. Go home and get into your all white or cream cashmere jammies

2. Make sure your hair is perfectly quaffed

3. Go to your kitchen and poor yourself a rather large glass of red

4. Turn on MSNBC, CNN, Fox News … whatever you fancy

5. Curl up on your white couch with said glass of red and your cellular device

6. Chug said glass of red

7. Wait for insanely handsome suitor to knock on your door

8. Converse with suitor while sitting in front of your coffee table with your legs crossed, drinking, and starring into space

9. Kick him out

10. Pour more wine

For a while I never realized how she wore all white, and how her apartment was all white, drank copious amounts of red wine, and never got a drop of it anywhere. Me, well, I would be a hot mess. But last week, after having a truly heinous day, I sat down on my couch in something besides my hole-ridden, bleached stained jammies, enjoyed a glass of wine, and felt like Olivia Pope, obviously the abridged version of the above steps. And it made me feel slightly better.

Olivia Pope is a bad ass woman. She don’t take no shit from no one. Clearly you don’t have to follow the above steps verbatim, BUT if you embody what Olivia Pope is all about while sipping your vino on your couch, pondering what went wrong … you may just turn into the gladiator that you need to be.

Below is me Pope-ing. Sorry, I’m really just not a red wine drinker … yet.



Thought Bubbles On The Oscars

ross-matthews-insta2-pca__bigDoes anyone else have a Ross Matthew’s hangover? I mean, my God. Never once have I ever turned off a red carpet, but alas last night it happened. I’m going to keep this short and sweet since literally everyone and their mama is discussing the Oscars today, so here are a few of my random thought bubbles on last night’s awards … ahem:

1. Men shouldn’t wear white tuxedos, especially men hosting a red carpet and interacting with movie stars who are more spray tanned and bronzed then they have ever been in their entire life. What’s next? Bringing back the cummerbund?

2. E! needs to revamp the red carpet coverage. Completely. No more Mani Cam. No more asking stars ridiculous questions like, “so like what are your plans after the show.” Umm go to a fancy party with fancy people and eat and drink fanciness, duh. We get it. And finally … Ross Matthews shouldn’t be allowed ANY caffeine or stimulants before going on air. You know what, just remove him from the equation completely.

3. I kind of love the fact that Lupita looked like she was chilling on the beach all day and just decided to put on this flowing masterpiece of a Prada dress, top it off with a headband (PS. they totally made a comeback last night), and rock the red carpet. She also invented her own color. Umm hi. Bow. Down.

4. Jared Leto needs to marry me. He just doesn’t know it yet.

5. Back to Seacrest for a moment, it really bums me out to know I wouldn’t be able to fit into his tuxedo jacket. Fat guy in a little coat.

6. Back to the red carpet, let’s not have reality star’s like Kristin Cavalleri commenting on the looks, kay? She isn’t a credibe source … like not even a little, for crying out loud. Just because she knows how to pronounce “Lanvin” doesn’t mean she knows how people should wear it.

7. Throw stuff at me for this, I don’t care, but I’m over J. Law. We get it, you fall, you aren’t cut out for the red carpet. You only wear Dior. You’re awkward. You say crazy things. Blah, blah, blahbity blah. ::::Snoozing:::::

8. Ellen wins for best tuxedo of the evening. She also wins at life for making Brad Pitt hand out paper plates.

9. The following trends made me drool, in no particular order: Long sleeved gowns, neutrals, and headbands.

10. And if I had the opportunity to knock out any of these movie stars and steal their dress, here is who I would choose:





Wind Back Wednesdays: Old School Oscar Fashion

largeDid you know there was a time when red carpets weren’t cluttered with annoying entertainment reporters asking idiotic questions and making movie stars do ridiculous things like walk their hands down the “Mani Cam” and make themselves look like fools in the “360 Cam”? GASP …  I know, right? Can you imagine Audrey Hepburn jumping in mid-air in the “360 cam”? Umm no. I imagine she would have told Guiliana Rancic, “Sorry darling, my one of a kind dress just isn’t made for absurd things of such. Perhaps another time, yes?” :::flings mink stole over her shoulder:::

Sometimes I feel like our minds won’t go beyond 1970. For the young generation upon us … what are they calling them, like Generation Z squared or something? You know the ones who were handed an iPhone instead of a bottle (ba dum CHICK) THANK YOU I’LL BE HERE ALL NIGHT! No but seriously, we are stuck on what Nicole Kidman wore in 1995 and the smashing, yet scandalous, dress Halle Berry wore to accept her award in 2002.

You know what? I’m taking it back, WAY back, to 1940′s. Oh yeah. When women wore proper gloves and to-die-for mink stoles. When the glamor of REAL Hollywood thrived. When actresses weren’t going for the shock factor, but instead appreciated a divine dress that made them radiate from the inside out. Conservative? Yes. Timeless? Absolutely. But let me tell you, the main question on the red carpet wasn’t, “who are you wearing?”

There is something to the simplicity of these looks that just make them that more spectacular and something to emulate. We are so used to thigh high slits and crazytown hairstyles that we forget sometimes that a slicked back chignon and a red lip will have that same wow-factor.

These women weren’t just iconic, but I believe they defined true beauty. And the sad part is the farther away from the year they won the Oscar, the more we tend to forget about them. Well not up in here … NOT … up in here.

Below I would like to pay homage to the real women of the Academy Awards. Who had real bodies, a handsome man on their arm (hello, Frank Sinatra … rar. Sigh … they just don’t make gentlemen like that anymore), and appreciated the beauty of true fashion.

 Natalie Wood 1955

Hunter Wood

Loretta Young 1947


Joanne Woodward 1958


Vivien Leigh 1940


Audrey Hepburn 1954


Grace Kelly, Jo Van Fleet, Marisa Pavan 1956


Ginger Rogers 1941

Ginger Rogers Jimmy Stewart

Sophia Loren 1958

Loren Lean

*All photos came from:

Wait … Keds Are Cool Again?

aef969441d1ff1c7b0e67f6b6e57446cI haven’t rocked a pair of Keds since I was in the second grade … and let me tell you, they were the shit. Nothing made you the bees knees on the playground more than a canvas pair of white Keds. Then I grew up and realized Keds were for squares.

It’s true, Keds went through a dark period where no one would be caught dead in them. Only until hipsters adopted Keds did famous people and designers take interest … hence why I find myself writing about them with a shocked look on my face right now.

Never in a million years would I ever think Keds would be cool, ever again. Especially since Taylor Swift is the face of Keds. She’s the WORST. Ugh. There is no edge to her, much like how I once felt about Keds. If I wanted to throw on my cheer leading outfit or my sailor-inspired, red, white and blue look whilst yachting in Nantucket, hell yes I would rock some Keds. Otherwise, meh … don’t really think they would compliment my ripped jeans and leather jacket that I rocked to a death metal concert … ya know what I mean?

But I have to say Kate Spade’s line is pretty saucy for the brand, which I find to be a breath of fresh air. Would I pay $75 for them? Hell would freeze over faster, but I appreciate them stepping out of the box a little.


I see certain styles of Keds being a great go-to shoe for spring … perhaps they can be the new flat. I just wish the price point was just a little more pocket-friendly, ya dig?


Hey, Remember 90s Hair Accessories?

lDid anyone else get beat up by the ice cold wind this morning? I mean my hair was all over the place; in my face, in my mouth, straight up doing a ballet around my head. My only fear was that I was rocking an Alfalfa-like hair style after it was all said and done. I would totally be that guy on the train, ear buds in, acting all cool, as I have a piece of hair sticking straight up. It reminds me of the time my fly was down on the train and a verbose old lady announced it to me … AND the entire train car. Old Lady: “Sweetie … :::points to my pants::: and smiles Me: What? Old Lady: SWEETIE … I SAID YOUR FLY IS DOWN!” Good times.

Lucky for me everything was in place, besides my part, which looked like I had dropped acid before doing my hair. Which reminded me of something: Hey … remember the late 90′s/early 2000′s? Seeing this zig-zag part immediately took me back to my days as a kid/tween when the only thing that mattered in life were hair accessories and styles. Like once upon a time, it was REALLY cool to zig-zag your part. I mean if one of the characters on Friends did it, of COURSE it was. Derh. So let me take you back to a time when I only got style tips from stars of ABC’s TGIF, Stephanie Tanner, The Olsen Twins, and Nickelodeon.

Butterfly Clips: Oh yeah, that was the stuff. I mean who WOULDN’T want to slow dance with a girl who twisted little strands of hair and clipped them back with a butterfly clip in order to give her this hallo of glittery clip magic at the top of her head? Am I right?


Scrunchies: There was nothing better in life. Now if you were caught in public rocking one, I’m pretty sure you would get stoned to death. But back in the day I would invest in scrunchies that matched outfits, that were absurdly glitterified, and of course, you just HAD to get ones specifically so you could bunch the side of your Tweety Bird sweatshirt. Stephanie Tanner made this shit exceptionally cool.

Headbands: I wore a headband with pretty much everything I owned from age 4 to around 10. But unfortunately I never wore headbands “properly”. Hmph … don’t ask me why. They were always in the middle of my forehead, and when people would try to fix it for me, I would like hiss at them. But because of how I rocked my headbands, my family insisted upon calling me Jordi from Star Trek. For those of you who don’t know who Jordi is and why they called me this, example A. at the bottom. Sigh … excuse me I have to go call my therapist.

The Britney: Umm hi, if you were at an age to appreciate this music video … you rocked this look, even if it was in the privacy of your basement as you tried to perfect her moves … not like … I did … that … or … anything :::shifty eyes:::.

Bandanas: When I hit puberty and my hair went insanely curly … I turned to bandanas. I only had a few, and I used to think by mixing them with outfits that clearly didn’t match meant that I was turning into Carrie Bradshaw. Clearly. Skinny as a rail, awkwardly tall, palette expander, braces, awful Brillo-like hair … rockin’ the bandana. Cool, self, cool.


Accessories You Had No Idea What To Do With: Like this guy … the spring comb scrunchie. I owned one, who didn’t? But it NEVER worked. And if it did, it never looked right and then would awkwardly pop off in the back. Please tell me why these were “cool”, again?


Style Stud: London Fashion Week Street Style

loneliness-catwalk-useDon’t get me wrong, I love ‘MURICA! USA all the way … USA Olympic team … yadda yadda, red, white and blue.

I think us American girls have impeccable style, and yes I’m 110% biased. But I got to say, the girls of London have brought their style A-game for London Fashion Week. I mean they put us to SHAME.

The reason why I love street style, as do most, is that it inspires me. Fashion is all about taking risks and thinking outside of the box, and if you are looking for a little wardrobe jump start, I suggest you stroll through London Fashion Week street style photo galleries. I think it is so important as women that when we see another woman rocking a great look, no matter what country they are from, we should compliment them. And that’s why I’m tippin’ my caps to the ladies of London right now.

One thing I think the Brits have over us is they are fearless with their fashion. I mean yes, we have our moments, hello Marc by Marc fall 2014, but their looks have this air of severity to them with an abundance of bold pops of color, to straight up baggy-ass menswear to the point where you can’t tell the gender of the person. They are about mixing and matching the most insane things that you would never in a million years think would work … but 100% do to the point where you are drooling over them … like yours truly.

And let me say, after looking these looks over, I’m contemplating adding color into my wardrobe. I know, right? Who am I? GASP!

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Crewneck Sweatshirts Are The New Black

ec09b6551a7472466bb8fbea754ad67bFor most of my life, a crewneck sweatshirt would send chills down my spine. It reminded me of geeky suburban dads at soccer games cheering on their kids at 7am (not that there is anything wrong with that). Or the 80′s. Either or. I was always a straight up hoodie type of gal.

And the idea of wearing a sweatshirt anywhere else but the comfort of your couch, hungover on a Sunday morning made me cringe. Who in their right mind would ever rock a sweatshirt to work or to a bar, right? Welp, kids … with a little styling, you can take slob fest to chic fest … wait … did I just say that? Woof.

Annnnyyyywho … who ever thought you could fancify a crewneck sweatshirt, right? It is more than possible. My advice would be to steer clear of any college sweatshirts. Like cool, you went to Harvard … yeah, no one cares. No, no I kid … but seriously they tend to be on the baggier side and turn to stone after one wash. Am I right?

Lots of “trendy” stores are selling crewneck sweatshirts with bold prints and patterns, and of course plain Jane ones for the less adventurous. The thinner the sweatshirt, the better in my book.

So I bet you are wondering how you turn a look that is meant for  hangovers, laziness, and illnesses into something you can rock out in public with pride? Well now … let me explain … ahem:

1. Statement necklace: The more bling the better. This thing needs to pop on the sweatshirt. I tend to drool over the DANNIJO collection of necklaces, but alas cannot fathom spending close to $500 on a beautiful necklace like that … right now. So if you are like me and can’t ball out just yet, luckily for us there are a ton of DANNIJO look-a-likes, like this guy from Topshop. Just as cute AND pocket-friendly. Swoon.


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2. Lipstick That’s Poppin’: Jazzing up your lips is a must. I’m obsessed with the NARS collection, but make sure your lips are fully hydrated before applying as these colors can dry out your lips a bit. And no one likes cracked, red lips, now do we?


3. Skirt it Up: Trade in your trousers for a fun flowy skirt to pair with you crewneck sweat look. It gives a more traditional look an edgier feel. I know, I know … sweatshirts with skirts, who are we? But come now, what is fashion without a little risk, am I right?


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4. Take It Up A Notch: With heels, that is. Whether you are pairing your crewneck sweatshirt look with jeans or even a pair of black or patterned skinnies, pair it with some rockin’ heels. I won’t go on and on about which style to choose, since we all have our own preference. Confidence rocks the most when you feel comfortable in everything that you are wearing.


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5. Layer: “Wait, so you want me to wear a crewneck sweatshirt AND a collared shirt underneath? Who am I?” I bet that is what you are thinking, right? Well who you will be is bad ass, trust. Mixing patterns by layering gives a look a richer, more fashion-forward feel. I swear you won’t look like a square.


Wind Back Wednesday: Steve Madden Platforms

adv_0978I randomly stumbled upon a cassette tape, yes a cassette tape, of the epic album, No Strings Attached, by the talented band once known as N’SYNC. It’s funny, I can’t remember what I did yesterday, but I sure do know every lyric to “Digital Get Down.”

But finding that cassette tape not only made me feel ridiculously old, but it sent me down memory lane to a simpler time when I was 13. When IMing my crush was the biggest drama I had in my life. When rushing only happened after school so I didn’t miss a drop of TRL (Carson Daily, swoon). And when my mother should have probably owned stock in Steve Madden shoes since I was obsessed.

When I was 13, it was 2000, and every girl had these Steve Maddens:

41RCHUDzCVLOh come now, you know you had a pair, too. You either got the two inch platforms, or the four inch … I always wanted the four but being a 13-year-old who was already 5’8, I decided it was a bad idea since all the boys I liked were hardly pushing five feet. And the Steve Madden logo on the back of the shoe ALWAYS fell off … ALWAYS, leading me to have to super glue it back on so people knew they were legit Steve Maddens. It was a BIG to do.

But those white platforms were my Steve Madden gateway drug. I couldn’t stop after that. When I finally got a computer AND the interwebs (which was AOL, clearly … hi, I’m old), I would stalk the Steve Madden website for new styles, and drool over them whilst walking through Macy’s. And some how my mom was crazy enough to buy me the styles I wanted … which looking back were HEI-NOUS. No, beyond heinous. I don’t know who I thought I was … just kidding, I know who I thought I was … Britney Spears … duh.

Seriously though, each pair my mom bought me had a three plus inch platform, and I’m pretty sure were made for the sole purpose of strippers using them whilst working the pole. But I coveted them like they were Manolo Blahniks. I would line them up perfectly in my closet and drag my fingers over them lightly, humming and daydreaming. I never REALLY wore them, though because like I said, I was a 13-year-old who was 5’8 … hence if I DID wear them I turned into gangly gigantor with a palate expander and braces. So basically I wore them in my room or in my basement trying to learn the moves to the new Britney Spears video. Yep. Enjoy that visual.

I wish I could find pictures of the sweet platforms I once owned, but alas the interwebs must have banned them due to their ugliness, for I could not find a drop of evidence that they even existed. I’ll leave you with this visual, though: White patent leather with a black four inch sole. Boom.

Things I Want To Burn

lady-gaga-on-fireWelp, woke up to ANOTHER four inches of snow. You know, this time last year, if we got four inches of snow, I would have battened down the hatches and worked from the comfort of my own couch. Now dredging through mountains of snow and ice skating over the side walks of the inconsiderate who refuse to shovel their property, which is now a sheet of ice, is second nature.

With all of that being said, I’m over winter. Clearly. I mean you would have to be mad to think otherwise. And as badly as I want to light fire to my winter gear, I cannot. So the second best option is to list the things I would really enjoy burning, right?

1. Hunter Boots: Love you and all, but having to lug around a second pair of shoes so I can take you off and switch into the second pair at work is not fun. I don’t want to wear my cute shoes JUST at work, I want to wear them everywhere. Yet because of you, I can’t. But thanks for keeping my feet warm and taking the beating of ugly slush piles, ice, and snow mounds. I would be lost without you, but we need a break.

2. Sweaters: You are cute, you are snuggly … but you make me feel like I can eat and drink whatever I please because you will cover up all of my giggly bits. And now I’ve gained weight, because of your illusionist ways. Sometimes wearing non-baggy and thick (ew I loathe that word) items makes you realize, “hey … I can’t eat a loaf of bread and then chase it down with five candy bars,” (not that I do that, I swear). Just sayin’ …

3. My Over-The-Knee Boots: When I refuse to wear my Hunter Boots because I’m sick of them, like a moron, I open my over-the-knee boots to a world of pain from all of the natural elements out there. Salt is a bitch, let me tell you. Sometimes I would rather ice skate over side walks then open my boots up to the pain and suffering they will undergo due to the harshness of salt.

4. Pants: My legs need to breath, man. They need to see the light of day! I haven’t even looked at my bare legs in weeks because I’m terrified I will go blind from the paleness. Pants are so constricting, right? I dream of a day when I can just slip on a maxi or skirt and frolic … only after a spray tan of course. No one needs to see my legs in the condition they are now. They are stark white, dry as hell … and maybe, JUST maybe, a little hairy #lazygirlsguidetowinter

5. Socks: One of each pair have been sucked into the vortex that exists between the washing machine and the dryer. I literally cringe when I think about taking my shoes off in front of strangers because they will be faced with one foot draped in a cat-style sock, and the other in a santa-inspired sock.

Ahhh I feel better, thanks for letting me vent, guys.

Style Stud: Smak Parlour

sp-homepage-1-10-14For those of you not from the Philly area, well … first of all I feel sorry for you. But I also feel sorry that you don’t get the opportunity to enjoy one of my fave boutiques in the city, Smak Parlour. It’s not just because every time I walk in there I want to step up my style game and reinvent myself, it’s also because of the owner’s, Abby and Katie, who are two bad ass chicks that set their minds to something and turned out leaving a lasting impression in the world of fashion as well as on the city of Philadelphia

I had the ultimate pleasure of speaking with them and getting the lowdown on the parlour itself, their inspiration, and what we can expect from these fantastic ladies in the future.

What was the inspiration behind Smak Parlour? How did you come up with the name?
We met when we were 15, bonded over fashion and worked towards having a store together ever since then. Smak Parlour has been a lifetime in the making. We had a wholesale line of deconstructed and embellished t-shirts called “SMAK by abby and katie,” that we sold to boutiques across the country before opening our store. After finding our Old City storefront, we had tailors sewing SMAK in the back (in our sewing parlour). We were making SMAK in the parlour and just days before opening, “Smak Parlour” came to be.

Where are some chic places we can catch the Smak Parlour fashion truck in 2014? What is the best way to find it?
We recently just drove our truck into the Convention Center for the Tattoo Convention. We will be vending at The Porch (30th St. Station) on Fridays through the spring. We are vending at the Suburu Cherry Blossom event in April. In addition, we are booking plenty of fun private shopping parties! We will be posting our events on Facebook and Twitter. We will also have an event calendar on our website.

Tell me about any new designers/collections you will carry in the new year.
We are super excited about a jewelry line we just brought in from a local Philly designer named Angela. She handcrafts rings and necklaces featuring a range of images from iconic pop figures like Audrey Hepburn, Abe Lincoln and Darth Vader to animal-themed pieces with dog and kitten portraits.

If you could give advice to young girls starting out in the fashion industry, what would it be?
Fashion and retail is less glamorous then you think, it takes dedication, lots of time, hard work, and LOTS of creativity. We love it and feel if you have passion for what you do, you can overcome the hurdles!

How did you both get into fashion? What are your inspirations?
We both shared a love for fashion and have worked in retail since we met in high school. We grew up designing our own clothes from thrift store finds and safety pins. We went to Drexel University for Design and Merchandising. Our shared tastes have always been in the vein of a little bit girly meets rock ‘n roll.

Why did you decide to open your boutique/fashion truck in Philly?
We worked in New York’s garment district after graduation and realized we needed to be doing our own thing to be happy. Being from Philly, we wanted to open a shop in our hometown! The truck came 8 years later. It was a no brainer .. .going mobile is the future. We bring the best of Old City directly to our customers!

How would you define Philly style?
Philly style is very eclectic. There is a grittiness to it, which works perfectly with our brand. We have a definite edge to our style.

I’m in love with the design on Smak Parlour … how did you come up with its look?
We are inspired by Japanese Culture, Pin- up looks, Tattoo Culture, and Downtown New York in the 70′s and 80′s. We love using non-traditional ways to merchandise, such as glittering cinder blocks! The combination is truly unique and feels like a doll house.


The Face Of Cabin Fever

abominable-snowman-520169There’s really nothing else to say but … screw winter and its stupid face.

I used to totally adore a good snow storm, but you know what, I’m over it. I’m over sitting on my couch, eating snacks and watching Will & Grace marathons. I’m over trying to make sweatpants look fancy. I’m over deciding if I should actually do my hair or if I should attempt and fail miserably at a “sock bun” look, only to end up throwing it up in a hot mess bun. I’m done.

The thought of spring used to send chills down my spine. I loathed it. That awful feeling you get when you rock a dress sans tights for the first time and I have to come face-to-face with your dry, pasty skin. Woof. Not to mention you have to have reality bitch slap you as you peel off the wool sweaters and layers only to see that you gained a solid 10 extra pounds. Cool. But you know what, I’ll take it over this nonsense we are dealing with now.

Now if you are anything like me, self diagnosed with cabin fever, you are sitting on your couch, losing your mind, pondering when it is an appropriate time to have your first cocktail, and feverishly wondering why your cat won’t talk back to you, for the love. Oh wait … that’s just me. Oops …

So in honor of my sweet sweet frozen denial, let’s look at all the awesome spring fashion we have to look forward to as I pretend I’m chillin’ with spider monkey’s in St. Barts (if you know what movie I just referenced there … we are officially best friends).








 Derek Lam


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Show Your Fellow Ladies Some Love

tumblr_lni0nsn8t21qc7qh4o1_500I’m not about to sit here and write about the perfect DIY Valentine’s Day mani, or how to make your boo swoon with an influx of pink and red shit on February 14. I’m also not going to say things like, “hey single ladies, wanna know how to stick it to Valentine’s Day this year? Vodka. YEAH SCREW GUYS, high fives all around!” Nope … not going to do ANY of that.

I’m not hating on all this nonsense because I have a black soul … oh come on I swear I don’t. And this most certainly is not bitterness talking. I’m hating on it because this holiday makes more people feel bad about themselves and stressed out then happy and full of love. Which is bullshit, in my opinion. Instead of focusing on what you don’t have in your life, like a lady or gent to shower you with roses (ps. one day of year to get flooded with flowers? Silliness, my friends, silliness. Try all day, ERR day.), focus on showering others with kindness and respect, which brings me to my original point.

The big topic right now is bullying with kids, but unfortunately I feel like adult women are guilty of it, too. Never would I imagine having to deal with mean girls in my adult life. Never. But alas, it has happened. The minute we feel intimidated or unliked, we immediately jump to behind-the-back smack talk and insults and “OMG did you see what that bitch was wearing,” nonsense. Instead of welcoming people to the group, we turn a blind eye and instead of opening ourselves up, refuse to accept due to the fear of an awkward encounter.

We even attack people we don’t know. A great example is one of my favorite radio personalities, Carla Marie, who decided to get a breast enhancement and was very public about it on the Elvis Duran and the Morning Show. Now, this girl was very much lacking in the ta department, so she decided to get a tasteful enhancement. The amount of backlash and horrific comments she received via social media, and probably from callers too, was straight up foul. This was her decision to make herself feel better. She didn’t get triple D monstrosities, but even if she wanted to that, it’s her decision. And quite frankly, her realness and openness through the whole ordeal was inspiring. I say, if you don’t have the balls to say to someone’s face what you post on social media, don’t post it. Next time you hate on another lady, think about what would happen if you were forced to say that comment to her face. Chew on that for a bit.

As 20- and 30-somethings, we shouldn’t have to be worrying if other women are gossiping about us at the water cooler. I personally thought I left that shit on the playground, but I guess some didn’t. Real talk. So this Valentine’s Day, instead of crying over the fact your significant other got you pansies instead of roses :::stomps feet:::, I encourage you to reach out to a woman, any woman, and compliment her. Compliment her, talk to her, make her feel accepted. Hell, do something crazy and GASP! get to know her! It may be awkward, it may be uncomfortable, but it may open a door to a really cool friendship. People aren’t always what they seem from the outside. I’ve been told that I come off bitchy and intimidating … which literally makes me laugh until I cry, because really I’m sensitive, shy, and a total dork. Be my friend, pa-pa-please?

So this Valentine’s Day, let’s show some love to our fellow ladies, shall we? And in the great and powerful words of Tina Fey …1193735985c0f547c226e579a707cf28

Style Stud: Fall 2014

Even though I find myself in a pile of pathetic tissues crying over the fact that I’m not at New York Fashion Week (whoa as me), I decided to take some time to share with you some of my favorite looks so far. Day Two and I’m already craving fall 2014, which is ridiculously because it’s like zero below out and I’m thoroughly sick of drudging through disgusting slush and SHOULD be craving spring … but in my opinion spring/summer collections just aren’t as intense, am I right?

So enjoy this little taste of Fall 2014 from a far.

Richard Chai




Dion Lee

Dion Lee

Rachel Comey

Rachel Comey

Tadashi Shoji

Tadashi Shoji

Lisa Perry

Lisa Perry

Packing For NYFW


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As much as the idea of going to New York Fashion Week makes me the happiest person on the planet (no seriously, I would sell my mother to go again), the thought of having to pack for it makes me sweat profusely.

I’ve seen all these fashion folk on Twitter stressing about what to pack for fashion week. And as much as deep down I’m saying, “seriously, shut the hell up, you are going to Mecca and you don’t even care …I hate your face a little,” I kind of sympathize with them.

I’m a notoriously bad packer. If I’m going to a tropical place where all I need is a couple of bathing suits and cover ups, I’ll end up bringing like a ball gown, a suit in case, you know, I get a job interview, and a sweatshirt and sweatpants … because wonder if a freak cold front hits Jamaica?! The what-ifs destroy me … and my packing methods … or lack their of.

Going to Fashion Week for the first time was intimidating. Do you dress avant-garde to set the style standard and get noticed by Street Style photogs? Or do you go the “all-black editor route” and just be a wall flower? Well, I went the “all-black editor route” and paired it with fierce 4-inch heels with spikes going up the back for a little jazz, if you will. I had this awful vision of dressing to impress and having Street Style photogs beg for my photograph, because I’m THAT cool, and as I placed my hand on my hip to pose, I topple over my 4 inch heels only to be left a fashion disaster on the steps of Lincoln Center. Yep, all-black wallflower it is.

Options are a must. I like all of my options in front of me so I can pick and choose and play around. The idea of planning ahead and thinking about what to wear to what show specifically … well … like I said … makes me sweat profusely. My biggest fear would be getting dressed, looking for that bold gold cuff I have, and realizing I didn’t bring it … leaving me desperately craving it and feeling unfinished. How do you go on?!

So with all of that being said, unless I can bring my entire wardrobe, like Kate Winslet-style in Titanic, I have no interest in going to silly New York Fashion Week. Psh :::flips hair::: The style stress alone would kill me, because God knows I would pack jean shorts and a crop top instead of my go-to LBD. Ahh how glorious it is to be stress-free. Jealous, fashion folk?

Clearly just kidding. Don’t mind me … that is just my Fashion Week FOMO talking. :::Sigh:::

End All Be All Of Jammies

Will__Grace_Sushi_Lunch_PajamaIn light of perhaps not one, but TWO snowstorms hitting in the next few days … I would like to discuss a very important topic with you all. Jammies. That’s right. I said it. Jammies.

I jump at any opportunity to hibernate. I love nothing more than getting comfy, snuggling on my couch with a glass of wine and my baby cat, and binging on a good TV show (I mean … don’t all jump at the chance to be best friends with me).

Usually I don’t discriminate when it comes to jammies. Until recently my favorite pair of sweats were oversized, hole-ridden, and rarely stayed up due to such a severe knot that not even Jesus himself could undo. They are ugly as sin, but when I’m rocking them, CLEARLY I’m not in the game to impress anyone (seriously, I know I’m like a prime candidate for BFF status).

Matching jammies never interested me. It was always whatever was the first ugly event or college logo t-shirt I pulled out of my drawer and the first pair of sweats I grabbed afterward. That is until I became re-obsessed with Will & Grace. Thank you to WE tv for awesome bingeathons so I can catch up on seasons and seasons of Will & Grace on Saturdays until I look up and realize it is 9pm and I’ve been on my couch since 1pm. Seriously, nothing gets better in life.

During a hilarious episode, Grace stumbled out of her bedroom, hair looking a hot mess, slippers on, and these amazing matching button down jammies. Wait a tick … are you telling me you can wake up having eye liner rolling down your face, hair looking like a tornado hit it, yet still look put together with button matching jammies?! Hell. YES.

If you’ve never owned a pair of these bad boys, you clearly have never lived. They not only are insanely comfortable, BUT make you feel classy even if you are dying on your couch, hung over as hell, looking like a bus just hit you. Not that I EVER am … :::shifty eyes::: BedHead Pajamas are some of my fav, and even though they are a little pricy, it doesn’t really matter because you can’t put a price on comfort, can you now? Mmm hmm, that’s what I thought! No seriously, I wear them so much they like run to the washing machine themselves. It is kind of a problem.

So screw bread and milk and fighting all of these crazies at the super market, make sure you have your jammies in order before these two stupid snow storms hit. Priorities, people, priorities.

Ps. The chick below is not me.


Me Want Snacks

Screen shot 2014-02-03 at 6.24.09 PMI’m not a foodie, in fact I’m more of a plain jane. Rarely do I ever eat anything but chicken, and I usually eat hoagies dry with like NOTHING on them. I’ve always been like this … I think because certain things just skeeve me out to the core … like mayo … vom. It’s unnatural.

With that being said, the East Coast is getting bitched slapped by Mother Nature’s icy cold hand. I mean for the love, I find myself watching the news all day long as I work from home with drool hanging out of my mouth … even though they are repeating the same things over and over again. Oh my God a car is stuck, oh my God traffic, oh my God it’s snowing.

But with snow days comes one thing I just adore. Snacks. Endless and endless amounts of delish snacks. I don’t know about you, but when I’m trapped indoors as inches and inches of powder falls from the sky, all I have interest in doing is eating. I have no idea why because I’m usually not like this. Like I said, I’m a very picky eater. But literally I cannot get full. I try really hard, it just never happens. But only when it snows. Otherwise I swear I’m a somewhat health-conscious human being.

As I’m sitting here typing after scarfing down like six mini spinach cups made from Pillsbury dough (I mean, heaven), I’m thinking about what will be next and if I should accompany it with a glass of wine, and my body really just wants to separate itself and smack me senseless. My stomach is saying, “give me more deliciousness,” but other parts of me are like, oh I don’t know my ass, thighs, liver, and … yep all of my muscles, are saying, “bitch go outside, get some fresh air and tighten this shit up, for the love of God. Water and veggies, water and veggies.”

I’m craving spring. I’m craving a time where I no longer sit on my couch working because it’s too cold to go outside and public transportation is unreliable, watching snow fall as I listen to meteorologist’s who have no idea what is going on interview Joe Shmoe’s about how they shovel their driveways. Riveting. I’m craving weather that makes me want to run outside and get my muscles moving besides the ones in my face as I chew. I’m craving tight and short dresses that will make me not want to eat snacks and instead live on veggies and water like my body wants.

I feel gross. With that being said … I have something delicious in the oven I need to check up on. Snacks.



Style Stud: Barneys Spring Campaign

enhanced-buzz-wide-1505-1391123949-37I want to give Barneys New York a slow clap, I really do. Not only is their spring campaign absolutely gorgeous and brilliant, but they are shining a light on a very important group of people who either get shunned or turned a blind eye to.

It is so important to embrace your loved ones, and even ones you may not love so much, for who they are. We shouldn’t be trying to fix or change people, it’s a waste of good energy. Instead we should be loving them for their flaws and imperfections, because like I said before, nothing is sexier than some good ol’ fashioned flaws. And quite frankly nothing is worse than having to pretend to be something you most certainly are not from your style to your sexuality to your religious or political beliefs and beyond.

Transgender people aren’t any different than you and I. We all walk along every day trying our best to be true to ourselves, and that is all they are doing. Am I right? I encourage more brands to open themselves up to doing inclusive acts like this, because even though it may be “controversial” and you may lose support from some of your old school followers … think to yourself, do you REALLY want them standing behind your brand anyways?

Rarely do I push my readers to shop at specific stores, but 10% of Barneys sales from its flagship store on February 11 will be going to the LGBT Center in NYC. If you happen to be in the area, go buy yourself something pretty and special for a good cause.


Sigh … I’m A Makeup Snob.

Chanel-Makeup It’s true.

I was running late, per usual, rummaging through my makeup drawer, desperately looking for my MAC bronzer, about to throw a fit when I realized, holy hell, everything in my makeup drawer, besides one awful Revlon Very Red lipstick mistake, was all designer makeup. What had become of me?!

We may be living in a material world, but I am certainly NOT a material girl. I’m more of a whatever looks good and makes me feel good, kind of gal, no matter if it comes from Walmart of Barneys. I don’t discriminate. I was brought up to embrace and run wild with personal style and not bow down to all-mighty labels … even though you may find me drooling over them here and there. I get more excited over a good deal then exercising my credit card, but hey, that’s just me. Okay maybe I have a few designer pieces in my closet, but all of them I covet simply because I scored them for a ridiculous deal.

So realizing my makeup drawer was swimming in designer makeup was a bit unnerving to me. Like why? It was only :::mumbles::: year’s ago that I was a broke college student digging through the clearance makeup section at Target praying that I could find a decent foundation that, somewhat, matches my skin tone. And now I like ball out at Sephora.

Yes, I have a big girl job, and I have HAD a big girl job for :::mumbles::: years now, but I also have big girl bills. And clearly grown into big girl tastes for makeup. But my question is, why? I think it is because some glamazon who works behind a makeup counter knows the right tricks to make me look and feel fantastic. It puts me in a trance and then all of a sudden I’m out $100.

Sephora, Ulta, and department stores are the modern day woman’s candy store. The pops of branding, the colors, the deliciousness of the packaging. Just as I once ran to the candy store to lift my mood, I now wander through the aisles of Sephora until something shiny catches my eye. Do I need it? Absolutely not. But my bad mood CRAVES it.

“Generic” brands like Rimmel, Revlon and Covergirl spend MILLIONS getting these actresses to sponsor their makeup. But I always wonder, does Kate Moss REALLY get the London look. Is Katy Perry REALLY easy and breezy? My gut is telling me no because why would they buy makeup that is sometimes next to BenGay, Advil and Cheetos when you can frolic in the land of pure beauty with people who can put the right kinds of makeup on their skin so they can look their part. And let’s be honest, they can afford it.

The only time I buy makeup at the drug store is if I’m desperate, sick and indulging in impulse shopping as I wait for my prescription to be ready, or if I read online that something got an amazing review. But a part of me wonders if I’m just getting blinded by fancy names, beauteous colors and shiny packaging, when I could be saving some cash and getting the same bang for my buck at the drug store.

Ponder THAT, my friends … ponder THAT.


Power Brows

tumblr_mahbppvjjy1qjgjwko1_1280I remember the days when my eye brows were the bane of my existance. Picture it: My young middle school self, already 5’8 and awkwardly thin, desperately trying to pump the breaks on the whole puberty nonsense. No I didn’t wrap my taa’s with an ace bandage or anything, but I did turn a blind eye to the training bras my mom would sneak into my Christmas stocking.

When I was 13, my brows had a life of their own. They were bushy, curly, and pretty much about to take over real estate on my eye lids. The only person who appreciated them was my Nana who thought I was the next Brooke Shields, but every other person in my life just wanted to tackle me and take wax to my face.

When I did finally bite the bullet and get them waxed, they were insanely thin. Like pencil thin. That was the look, and still is, kind of. Eye brows should not take center stage, they should just be there to frame your face a bit, right?

Well maybe a year ago I would have agreed with you, but recently I have actually started to pay attention to my brows a bit more. Usually I would just notice stray hairs and decide when to schedule a waxing appointment, but as of recent, I’ve been focusing on their color, length, and thickness (by the way I loathe that word, I can’t believe I just said it.)

Insert the eye brow pencil stage right. Now I never understood why women used such a thing. I just thought it was for ladies who didn’t have brows, or luscious brows, but I was sorely mistaken. And since I was craving darker, more prominent brows, I marched myself to Sephora and purchased my very first eye brow pencil at the age of 27.

I gotta say … by actually giving a shit about my eyebrows has given me a totally new look. The whole experience of embracing the “Power Brow” was really empowering, and I have no idea why. Like for example, my eyebrows were much lighter than the color of my hair … AND I had a few gray brow hairs. Gray brow hairs!

I want to give a slow clap to Brook Shields who started this “Power Brow” movement years back and who dealt with a lot of criticism for it. She made it okay for models like Hilary Rhoda and Cara Delevingne to rock the power brows … which then trickled down to gen pop (hello, self).

So the moral of my story is brows do matter and an eye brow pencil can change your life. Boom.

Brooke Shields_4_11

Taking Down The M.O.B. … Dress

112631-Cameron-Blake-by-Mon-Cheri-Mother-of-the-Bride-Dress-S12I adore my mom. I’m obsessed with her, as a matter of fact. She gave birth to me, she turned me into the woman I am today, she’s my all-time favorite shopping partner. So why, please tell me why, “wedding industry,” would I want her to look a hot mess in some mother of bride monstrosity when I get married?

This past weekend, I went bridesmaid dress shopping with one of my best friends, and found myself strolling through the “mother of the bride” section of the store. I wish someone captured the look on my face as I was thumbing through these horrific gowns. It was something like this:


Anyways … I never thought I would see a garment that had too much sparkle to it, but alas it happened. Perhaps it was because the bottom of this one dress looked like it got hit with a glitter bomb, and the middle was this like rouged awful fabric, and the top was lace … paired with an overly structured blazer … and an oddly placed brooch. Umm what? What’s the classic saying by Chanel, take one thing off before you leave the house? Try take off five with this hot mess.

Let’s talk about the blazers and shrugs, shall we? Every dress has one. I get it, we get older and stuff starts to lose its luster, but my God. Formal dresses with blazers … don’t look good together. They just don’t. And ladies … there are other options then having to wear one of these things over a gown to cover up parts of your body that you aren’t fond of. Trust. Think outside of the box. And when a bridal boutique associate tries to add more nonsense to your dress, like a brooch, smack her hand away. Seriously.

After I came face-to-face with an MOB dress in a blue-green iridescent, yes iridescent, fabric covered in sparkles with a tuxedo blazer to match, I ran in the bathroom to throw up and when I came to … got really mad. Why are we telling our mother’s that these are their only options to wear when we get married? I get it, it’s “your day,” blah-blah-blahbity-blah, but your day wouldn’t happen without these influential women in your life.

Tradition states that the bride’s family is to pay for the wedding. Right? I mean, I HOPE this isn’t the case in 2014, but who knows. To each their own. So these “mother of the bride’s” are shelling out THOUSANDS to make their baby’s dream wedding come to life, and yet have to undergo the torture of trying on these heinous “MOB dresses,” which PS. are NOT cheap. I’m talking like $700 not cheap.

You know what I say, fuck mother of the bride dresses. Seriously. Down with them all. I want my mother, and my future mother-in-law (that is if I like her), and my aunts, and any “older” woman in my life to look like rock stars when I get married. Because they deserve to.

Go to Bloomies, go to Saks, go to Macy’s … step outside of the bridal boutique box, mother’s of the bride. You deserve to look smashing because, hopefully, this will be the one and only time you will see your daughter or son walk down the aisle … and you’ve spent a HELL of a lot of time turning them into the descent human beings they are today. Even if your kid sucks, you still deserve a fab dress. And guess what, if you are thinking about paying over $500 for a MOB dress, why not take that money and go buy an actual designer gown. Live it up a little, you know what I mean?

Remember when your daughter or daughter-in-law drags you out to one of these awful boutiques and subjects you to the MOB dresses … it is about what makes you feel good. What makes you flip your hair back like Cher and strut. You will know it even before the sales associate tries to talk you in to buying it. Trust.

Style Stud: Myrtle Snow – American Horror Story

CaptureI adore scary movies and shows, so the fact that I can combine this love affair with fashion thanks to American Horror Story Coven is kind of amazing. Jessica Lang is stunning and clearly the baddest witch in town. But in the same breath I think she is a mutant for how ridiculously stunning she looks for her age.

With that being said, enter stage right my obsession with Myrtle Snow played by Frances Conroy. Now I have no confirmation on this, but whomever invented “Myrtle Snow” was definitely inspired by Grace Coddington of Vogue, and perhaps an aging Rachel Zoe with the oversized fierce wardrobe, which is brilliant. Both stylish ladies worth emulating. I mean come on.

I love a woman with an eccentric and original sense of style, and quite frankly the fact that she got burned at the stake and came back looking even fresher to death says something (sorry if I just spoiled that for you). Because if I got burned at the stake and someone was like, “hey … let me bring you back to life,” I would just be like, “meh … I’m good.”

So thanks to Myrtle Snow and her fierce attitude and wardrobe for inspiring this week’s Style Stud! If only I look this fierce one day when I’m older. Let’s pay homage, shall we?






600Dear Ralph Lauren,

WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO OUR OLYMPIC TEAM?! Sorry for the outburst, but those outfits have made my brain explode.

Seriously, I love Ralph. That dress Lupita Nyong’o wore to the Golden Globes, flawlessly and forever gorgeous. But my GOD, our poor Olympians. It’s all sorts of wrong.

We are the United States of America, God dammit. We are powerful. We aren’t the end-all-be-all when it comes to fashion, but we still have some very forward thinking designers. We are innovators. We are smart. So tell me why our Olympic team looks like a bunch of kids going to an ugly Christmas sweater party?

By wearing these outfits in front of the entire world, we are basically saying, “hey guys, we are a bunch of preppy rich kids with snobby attitudes who vacation in the Hamptons, subscribe to Martha Stewart Magazine, and grew up in Greenwich, CT. Popping collars? Yes, please!” Not, “we’ve worked our entire lives from this moment and bitch, regardless of what happens, we are taking home the gold hell or high water.”

Like Ralph, I’m going to let you finish, but where is the North Face? You know? Where is Nike? Where is Reebok? Not that I’m sporty spice at all, but I feel like they could have pulled together some amazing looks for our team. Maybe like a the North Face and Marc Jacobs collabo. I mean how insane would that be?! I have chills thinking about it. I get it … Ralph Lauren is an American staple. He defines American style … kind of. But we are at the Olympics to take names and kick ass … not sit by the fire reading House and Garden as we sip martinis and gossip about the floozy next door in our fancy knit cardigans. Come now.

Let’s do something different! Let’s stand out! Let’s take a page out of Kanye’s book and wear really fierce face masks. Something.

At the Olympics we are competitors … not there to make American fashion statements. Sorry Ralph, but you missed the mark. But I still love you. Call me? Okay?


You Can’t Photoshop Real Life, Kids

CaptureWith everyone hating on Vogue and Elle for their huge Photoshop fails, and throwing stones at Kim Kardashian for Instagramming a supposed Photoshopped pic of her ass post-workout, it has made me think about the concept of Photoshopping.

If Anna Wintour called me tomorrow and said, “Kate, I need you on the cover of our next issue of Vogue,” after I came to from passing out, I would be FREAKING the eff out. Want to know why? Because perfection is an unobtainable thing. If you think it is and strive for it every day, you are a fool. Flaws are what make everyone beautiful, they are the best part of a person. They establish character.

With that being said, I’m INCREDIBLY flawed. I’m in a love affair with carbs, I rarely workout, I love wine and vodka, and my skin is the farthest thing from flawless … and it’s all fantastic. But is that the definition of “cover girl?” Umm no. My life is neither easy nor breezy. And if I was asked to be in a photo shoot tomorrow for the cover of Vogue, hell YES I would want to be Photoshopped, but only just a touch. Make me look healthy, my skin look less like pale death, remove the bags from underneath my eyes, and if I happen to have a double chin, hack that thing off. But keep me lookin’ like me, for the love!

I would absolutely call myself a realist. And the models and superstars on and in magazines, aren’t real. Let me tell you a little story about when I was a jazz dancer in high school, and violently obsessed with Britney Spears. My thighs were a bit larger from dancing, and I never could understand why Britney was such a stick even though she danced so much more than I did. It made me feel bad about myself. Then I saw her and her thighs in concert. The woman was NOT a stick, she actually had muscle to her … and it was like the greatest day of my life. Thanks Photoshop, for making my 17-year-old self feel like a fat ass even though I wasn’t.

And then there was that time I interned at a magazine (won’t name it because I don’t want to get hurt … or sued … either or) and I remember them taking the cover models mouth and replacing it with a different one. Umm … excuse me? Like I get slimming people down, making them have more of a light and fresh glow … but a completely new mouth?! Didn’t realize models signed up for the body part buffet when they went through Photoshop … Christ.

Listen, I’m not trying to get sappy here or break out in song, but all women are beautiful in their own way. Women who get butchered in Photoshop … not so much. It’s true. Like I said, flaws are bad ass. I would rather look at a real woman on the cover of Vogue that had curves and flaws than a non-existent one some art director created out of thin air that makes me feel bad about myself as I’m eating a loaf of bread.

I challenge magazines from Elle to Vogue to W to embrace the real woman. Use Photoshop for good. Make me look radiant and not like I just went on a three-day bender (not that I did). Don’t take away what my momma gave me, accentuate it for the best! Otherwise we are teaching very influential young ladies out there that you should do everything in your power, including plastic surgery, to change yourself when you should be embracing it.

As much as I wish I could take an airbrush and remove the blemishes, pale complexion, and all of that extra weight I really wish I didn’t have in the morning … I can’t, so I work with what I got. Maybe you should do the same, publications. Perhaps that would stop you from hacking off ladies’ limbs … just sayin’.



Style Stud: Bow Down To Kate

supreme-kate-mossNo I’m not talking about myself … clearly. But I won’t stop you if you would like to anyways for funsies.

Even though I am a day late and a dollar short since her 40th birthday was yesterday, I had to give Style Stud of the week to my favorite model of all time, Kate Moss.

I adore her for so many reasons. Perhaps it is because she was such a large part of when I actually fell in love with fashion, which was during the 90′s … even though the fashion wasn’t THAT great. Or maybe it is the fact that the fashion industry blacklisted her for getting caught doing cocaine (even though, let’s be real, cocaine and the fashion industry are notoriously synonymous for the most part), only to wind up back in national campaigns for Burberry and David Yurman, to name a few, as well as strutting a Marc Jacobs runway smoking a cigarette. Smoking. A. Cigarette. On a runway. During fashion week. If that doesn’t say, “eff you, I’m back,” I don’t know what does.

I remember when I went to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Met a few years ago and there was this wall that had a huge hole through it, and when you looked into it you saw a hologram of Kate Moss in this beautiful flowing gown. It was so morbidly beautiful and powerful, I literally almost cried. Yes me, actual tears.

Listen, no matter what you think about her, the woman defines fashion. She makes me want to “Get the London Look” every single day.  She is an inspiration to my fashion writing and to so many others. And one day when I’m 40, I wish to stand in front of a enlarged photo of my 20-year-old self and know that I look so much hotter at 40 like she does.

Happy birthday, Kate.








Capes, So Hot Right Now, Capes think for the first time in history everyone in the fashion industry is aligned on who was best dressed at the Golden Globe Awards last weekend, and that was Lupita Nyong’o in her red Ralph Lauren gown that included a fantastic cape. For a while, and no one burn me at the stake for saying this, I was finding Ralph to be a little, I don’t know, yawn-worthy? Granted I don’t rub shoulders with people who rock Purple label, but I don’t know, I just haven’t seen anything that has wow-ed me recently … until this dress. To which I say, Ralph is back, people. He’s back.

janelle4But this wasn’t my first love affair with a cape. Oh no. I believe it was a few years back at some awards show that Janelle Monae performed at. I adore her throwback style and the risks she takes with menswear, but this was the first time I salivated over the idea of cape-wearing. It’s different, it’s mysterious, it’s chic, it’s … in the words of Rachel Zoe, everything. My love affair with the cape kind of faded to black for no apparent reason, probably because I saw something shiny, after this moment until the lovely Lupita Nyong’o sparked my cape fire once again.

It’s funny how capes are all of a sudden the “it” thing now. Think about back in high school. At least back in my day, if you saw a kid wearing a cape, he/she would have immediately been deemed a freak of nature obsessed with mid-evil times. What fools kids were/are, though. Capes are only a symbol of power, in my eyes. Super heroes? Royalty? Count Chocula? Hello! All bad ass powerful people. So if you rock a cape to school and get made fun of for it, tell those preppy bastards to stick THAT in their pipes and smoke it.

I would like to end this post by tipping my cap to Ralph Lauren and Lupita Nyong’o for telling the world that you don’t need hair extensions, sparkles and exaggerated accents on a dress, millions of dollars worth of bling, and pounds of makeup to be the “it” girl on the red carpet. Any lady could have worn this dress and looked like a stunner, although Lupita did it exceptionally well, of course. Sometimes simplicity makes the loudest statement, and that is huge for me to say because I love shiny things.

And now, let’s honor great cape wearers throughout the years, shall we?





My Bag And My Back Problems


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I finally got around to using a massage gift certificate I had this past weekend, to which I found myself complaining to my masseuse about pain I’ve been having in my upper right shoulder. And after a very painful massage, yes I said painful … my masseuse questioned me about my “purse preferences.” Purse preferences? Psshh. I then hung my head in shame and uttered, “I like big bags … and dammit … I cannot lie.”

After getting the news that my massive commuter bag is giving me back problems at age 27, I realized I needed to take inventory. Like I’ve said in past posts, I feel as a public transportation user, I need to carry a large purse. Since I no longer have my car to throw copious amounts of useless shit that I may or may not need, I now need a bag to fill that void. Hence the back probs.

So after taking inventory, I realized my bag is a hot, unorganized mess. Shocking. No wonder when looking for a specific lip gloss I have to play the blind game of feeling around in my bag, also know as the cave of wonders, that goes a little something like, “nope, Rite Aid receipt … nope, wrong color … nope, bangles I told myself I would put on when I got to work and never did … nope, about $100 worth of change since my wallet doesn’t have a change purse … nope … ANOTHER Rite Aid receipt.”

I starred at the abyss of nonsense for a while, until I came to an important realization. It isn’t about downgrading my shit, it was about organizing it. And with organization comes weeding out the nonsense that no longer serves you … like 23 Rite Aid receipts, for the love. But, more importantly not to overwhelm, it is about identifying your three major purse problems. Here are mine, this is my confession:


Problem 1: I have a lip gloss/lip stick problem
Who doesn’t. It used to just be lip glosses until I discovered how ultimately fantastic NARS lipstick makes a woman feel. And now I’m stuck with over 10 options, freely roaming in my purse so I truly can never find the color I want. Hell, do I even know all my color options I have at this point? Absolutely not. Because some get wrapped in receipts and then I don’t even know they exist! Sheesh.
Solution: Invest in a makeup pouch. And not just any makeup pouch. A fantastic, sparkly Stephanie Johnson makeup pouch that will make me WANT to pull it out of your bag so I can calmly and collectively pull the right color my heart desires. Oh, also, maybe not carry around 5 of the same lip gloss shade. Just sayin’ self.

Problem 2: My wallet doesn’t have a change purse
I got my Zac Posen wallet at a vintage store for $25, yes $25, and loved it so much that I didn’t care that it was without a compartment for change. Still don’t. But the $100 worth of pennies, dimes, nickels , quarters, and yes, Susan B. Anthony coins at the bottom of my bag speak differently about the topic. It’s gross. It’s dirty. It’s money. It needs a damn home.

Solution: Step 1: Take said change and put it in my change mason jar on my desk at home. Step 2: And moving forward, my change will live in this lovely unconventional coin purse by Stephanie Johnson, which I’m pretty sure is a makeup pouch but I don’t care, featured above. No longer will I feel pressure of the people standing in line behind me tappin’ their toes in annoyance as I check out forcing me to just stuff my money in my wallet, throw my change and receipts in my purse and run. I will breathe and take my time. Suck on that, people who stress me out in line at a store.

Problem 3 (and I’m not proud of this one): Loose pills in my purse
I know … I know … I’m the poster child of grossness. Listen, I’m constantly in a rush, so if I have a headache, cramps, a hangover or what have you … I’ll just take some Advil and throw it in my bag. Easy, right? No, totally gross and awful, actually. Think of the pill and change combo at the bottom of my bag … ugh :::shakes head in shame::: (Disclaimer: I never give people these pills even if they are in dire need. I’m not that awful)
Solution: Meet a pill box! And not one of those Mon-Sun plastic boxes you would find at your local pharmacy next to the Bengay and canes. I’m talking about original, vintage pill boxes from the 1960′s, like the one featured above that I got off Etsy. It’s chic, it’s mysterious, a little small, but does the trick. So now if a friend has a headache, I can offer them some Advil from my chic pill bow. How fancy of me, right?

Also, I’ve vowed to never accept another receipt from Rite Aid. No, no, cashier … you keep my receipt for my $1 pack of gum. I promise I won’t return it.

I Will Not Bash Girls. I Will Not Bash Girls.

Last night I was toying with the idea of writing a post about how much I loathe the show Girls, and how much I don’t want to watch the premiere of Season 3, and how I don’t understand why everyone thinks Lena Dunham is God’s gift because I think the way she is portraying women in my generation is the most acutely inaccurate thing I’ve ever seen. But alas I decided not to for fear Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra would be surrounded by tumbleweeds and crickets by the time people got done reading it, and or an angry mob of 20-something women would be at my front door ready to burn me at the stake.

So instead, let’s talk about the Golden Globes, shall we? Pay no attention to my negative thoughts on Girls and how I can’t relate to a single character because I’m not a hipster, nor a broke writer miraculously still affording to live in Brooklyn, or an annoying girl living on mommy and daddy’s funds who wears too much pink, or a cry baby beauty whose catch phrase should be “why do all the bad things happen to me :::folds arms and scowls:::” because she can’t land a dream curating job in NYC. Umm hello? But no. Golden Globes is what we are here to discuss, kids.

I wanted to play a game called, opinions in five words or less (contractions don’t count clearly), because drawn out critiques of gowns make me yawn. So here it is … and share who your fave was!

Zooey Deschanel, Oscar de la Renta: Vintage-inspired? Hmm. Innovative. Not.


Elisabeth Moss, J.Mendel: Bad ass perfection.


Lupita Nyong’o, Ralph Lauren: Swoon-worthy. I want a cape.


Sandra Bullock, Prabal Gurung: Color blocking. Yawn.

NBC's "71st Annual Golden Globe Awards" - Red Carpet Arrivals

Amy Adams, Marchesa: Everyday she’s American Hustlin’.


Robin Wright, Reem Acra: My woman crush.


Kerry Washington, Balenciaga: Preggo gladiator perfection. It’s handled.
Emma Watson, Dior: YES, YES, YES! PANTS!


Sofia Vergara, Zac Posen: Great dress. Wrong necklace.


Jennifer Lawrence, Dior: No. And get extensions.


Of course I saved the best for last!

Cate Blanchett, Armani Prive: Best. Dressed.


Style Stud Of The Week: Miu Miu 2014

I started “Style Stud” like two years ago and it just kind of fizzled out. But I’m bringing it back, kids! Every Friday I will name someone or a group of someones who has inspired me with their epic sense of style my Style Stud of the week.

This week I give you, the first Style Stud of 2014 … Miu Miu’s 2014 campaign staring Elle Fanning, Bella Heathcote, Lupita Nyong’o, and Elizabeth Olsen. Marc Jacobs, I’m going to let you finish with the Miley Cyrus bullshit ad, but Mui Mui just blew your face out of the water. And I mean that with love, because I do forever and always adore you. But Miley? Really? That coming-of-age angst look on her face? Come on, man. Sigh.

If some of you are unaware, I’m a closeted art nerd. Yes, I have an art history minor, what what! And from that perspective, I want to thank Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin for creating these delicious Miu Miu spreads that evoke creativity in style. I’m not one for mixing too many colors together, but these definitely make me want to go to my closet and see how I can recreate these looks. So tip of the cap!

Enjoy, and I hope these make you want to step outside of your style box as much as it did for me!6a00e54ef964538834019b0485d4cc970d-700wi




R.I.P. Loehmanns … R.I.P.

Unknown-1Sigh … I don’t have words really. Rarely do I take stores closing to heart, but this one hits home for me. The moment my mom saw that fashionable interest in my eye as a young girl, she taught me there is absolutely nothing wrong with discount shopping. Nothing. Right after we had that talk, she introduced me to Loehmanns … I want to say I was 13. She taught me throughout myriads of shopping trips there that at places like Loehmanns is only where you find all the good and interesting stuff that not everyone has. Who cares if it is “last season,” what does that even mean in the “real world”? Right!? And my God was the woman correct.

I have been shopping at Loehmanns for … hmm a solid 14 years, with my mom. It is our place. I have so many lovely memories of walking around that store with so much clothing in my hands to try on that I could barely carry it all and walked out with a severe back pain. Of scoring my first piece of designer clothing, a Marc by Marc sweater, for a ridiculous price that made me do a legit happy dance. I remember exactly what the sweater looked like, too, 10 years later. When I was obsessed with the show the Look for Less (remember that oldie but goodie?), and made it my life’s mission to find designer looks for less with the help of Loehmanns. If only I blogged back then because I made magic happen, kids. And how shitty it was when you had a failed Loehmanns trip and walked away empty handed. Murderous rage is the only way I can explain it.

For some reason whenever I went to Loehmanns, I always had this desire to step out of my style box, hence the insane amounts of clothing I would always take into the dressing room (God bless the dressing room attendants). It was my place to go, relax, and explore. There was always so much to choose from style-wise: preppy, edgy, hippy, trendy, and garments that were so unique I couldn’t just give them a glance and walk on by. I really owe this store for my style evolution over the years.

I suppose you won’t understand any of this unless you experienced it, and if you haven’t, well I’m sorry you missed out on one of the most epically brilliant discount stores EVER. For me it is about the memories. It is about scoring insanely good deals (if you are a Loehmann’s Gold Card holder, you feel me). It is about the classic times my mother and I shared there enjoying afternoons of shopping together and being jealous of the looks we scored. And it is now wondering where the HELL I will shop now!? I hate malls, and Nordstrom Rack can only get you so far … so what’s next, huh?

Loehmanns … if you are listening, thanks for all the good times and countless amounts of amazing outfits and accessories for insane prices … like MIND BLOWING prices. J Brand jeans for $30, yep. A wool sweater originally $100 that I got for $25 … mmm hmm that’s right. Sigh. The amount of money I have handed you over the years … well … yeah … I would rather not think about that. But all was worth it.

I look forward to my last, very sad trip, which will probably consist of fighting crazy bitches over the even more ridiculous deals you will probably be shelling out and a bit of tears. I may wear all black and a black veil to match, too … just saying.

Goodbye, old friend. Now will someone find me a replacement … like ASAP!



Dying For Disco

CaptureLately has any else had the urge to make their hair large and in charge and spin under a massive disco ball to the Bee Gees, or is that just me? Perhaps it is because I feel like I was born in the wrong decade, but that is for another time and another post. But the 70′s are back and blazing. The ghost of Studio 54 is rising. Can ya dig?

I have always had a fascination with the 70′s. I think my intrigue started due to a scene from Forrest Gump … I’m not kidding. Remember when Jenn-aay was in that discoteca doing lines of coke and “Get Down Tonight” by KC and the Sunshine Band was playing? Well I wasn’t interested in the doing lines of coke so much as I was by the dance floor and disco balls and music.

Who wouldn’t want to wear sequins and get spun under a disco ball to great music. Some people call disco corny, I call it fantastic. If you don’t immediately get the urge to bust a move when any disco song comes on, I immediately request that you stop reading. Just kidding … but not really … but kind of … but not really.

The movie American Hustle, I believe, has brought the 70′s back, and for that I want to thank it. No, I haven’t seen it, and since I loathe going to the movies, I probably won’t until it is On Demand. In the theater, my ass falls asleep, there is weird shit around my seat, people are snorting and giving their two cents all over the place … I mean give me my couch and a glass of wine any day.

So in honor of the 70′s and American Hustle, I would like to pay homage to some amazing trends that are storming stores and salons all over right now that I want to make out with … yes I adore them THAT much.

JUMP! For Jump Suits … JUMP IN!: Nothing says spin me under a disco ball more than a jump suit. Very Amy Adams in American Hustle who rocked this look flawlessly (from what I can tell from previews, of course). Throw a boyfriend blazer over a jump suit and you can take a Studio 54 look to the office.


Big Hair Don’t Care: I’ve spent YEARS taming my Irish/Italian out-of-control fro. The thing I love about 70′s style is everything was so wild and free … including the hair. No, I’m not condoning perms, nor will I ever. BUT the lose, romantic curls and volume kind of makes me swoon. We all need to let go a little in 2014 … why not start with our hair. Straighteners down, curlers up, ladies.

Put Me Up On Platforms: You can’t do disco or the 70′s without a fierce pair of platforms. Platforms, not flatforms. If I could light one piece of fashion of fire forever, it would be flatforms. But I won’t lie to you when I say I would LOVE to put a pair of platforms with goldfish inside the heel on my feet just once in my life. But right now, the designer who I think knows platforms the best, without a doubt, is my lover Jeffrey Campbell. He gets it. Go to him. He’ll explain.

JCShow Me The Sequins: I wouldn’t call myself a gaudy person at all, but I’m not lying when I say I wish I could dress in sequins every single day. I just bought this amazing black, full-sequin cardigan at a vintage store, and the beauty is you can wear it out on the town, or over a  t-shirt and jeans. Sequins jazz up a boring look, or can make you stand out as you finger point back and forth to “Stayin’ Alive” (can you tell I’m like a ridiculously HUGE Bee Gees fan?) So I say every girl needs a full sequins piece in their wardrobe, whether it is a cardigan, shorts, t-shirt, headband, or just something with full sequin accents. They will make your life grand, trust.

Deep Vs … VA-VA-VA Voom: Nothing is sexier than a deep V, as long as it is tasteful, of course. American Hustle (again from previews I’m gaining this info) has some epically brilliant deep V numbers that both Amy Adams and Jennifer Lawrence rocked. They make me soon. I dream of a deep V woman’s tuxedo … one day, one day.


Fur, Baby, Fur: Not REAL fur, alright, PETA, pipe down. But I’m not going to lie when I say I have adopted an obsession with fur. And quite frankly, you were a nobody if you weren’t strutting into Studio 54 in a fur coat. Now-a-days, it is all about the fur vest, but I say go big or go home. Vintage stores have amazing faux fur coats for great prices, or this one from Free People. Hunt them down (no pun intended) and make them your own.


I Love GOOOOLLLLD (If you get this reference, I adore you): Two years ago I would have been trying violently to sell all of my gold since the price of it was so ridiculously high, and quite frankly I was more of a silver person. Now, I’m coveting gold. It has become my lover. I’m investing in gold statement pieces and have given the middle finger to my silver pieces. Big, bold gold makes me swoon and makes an outfit stand out. My words to your wardrobe.

When Fashion No Longer Matters

Randy-Snow-Suit-A-Christmas-StoryYou think with all of the designers and stores and collections that exist, fashion would forever and always be present in our lives, right? Looking your best no matter what the cost would always be priority, right? WRONG. All of that was shot to shit when Mother Nature decided to bitch slapped us with her negative 15 degree cold as ice hand.

Seriously, Mother Nature, what the eff? I wasn’t going to be like every other social media user and take a picture of my thermostat, Instagram it and be like “WHAAAAAAAA?!” but I couldn’t help it. Whilst getting dressed this morning, no longer was the goal to look put together and chic, the goal was to be as warm as humanly possible, at any cost.

For example I have these fierce pair of booties with a three inch heel that I got for my birthday, that I have been DYING to wear, and contemplated slipping them on this morning, but stopped myself. The idea of three pairs of socks, stockings, leggings and my over-the-knee boots just seemed like such a better plan. Sorry, booties, you’ll get ‘em next time.

I can safely say, sitting here at this moment, that I resemble the abominable snowman. I’m wearing so many layers that I probably look 20 pounds over weight, and you know what? I don’t care. I call this me getting older and my tolerance for dealing with the insanely cold being barely there. I remember in college, heading out to the bar in 20 degree weather in literally a halter top and jeans, that is it. I was a poor college student, and knowing my drunk self would most likely lose my coat, decided it was a bad idea to bring it out. People screamed at my friends and I to “put on a coat, ya whores” and I literally rolled my eyes thinking they were nothing but squares. But some odd years later (not going to do that math for fear of depression), I think I was absolutely crazytown for doing that. My modern day self would call my college self a whore and shake my fist violently in shame and disgust, too.

You find yourself making choices when it is this cold. Do I wear the turban over my ears that makes the top of my hair look pointy and disheveled, or do I look cute without the turban and sacrifice my ears falling off due to the cold … hmm. Don’t worry, I compensated my off sense of fashion today with my fave NARS Scarlet Empress lipstick.

So with that being said, if you think you don’t look cute today, it is okay. Today is your hall pass for being warm instead of cute. Unless you are wearing UGGs, in that case, only God can help you now.


What Constitutes A “Piece”?

6423c90b12bd3e865c6cb584b508965dYou know you have fashion problems when you find yourself sitting at a bar on a Friday night having a heated discussion over what constitutes a “piece” in your wardrobe. Welcome to my life.

Most people would define a “piece” in a wardrobe to be something straight out of the racks of Barneys. Chanel, YSL, Marc Jacobs … basically anything in the three to four to five to six digit price range. Me … well, I think that is a bunch of hogwash.

How do I define a “piece,” you ask? Well, it could be ANYTHING, really. The key to having a proper “piece”, whether you obtain it at Walmart or at Barneys, is how you take care of it. To give you an example, I’ve heard that people refer to Forever 21 clothing as “wear two times and toss.” Listen, if I’m spending money on a garment, no matter where I get it, I’m taking care of it, even if it is Forever 21, because it’s true, money doesn’t grow on trees, kids. And because of that mindset that I’m in, I have pieces from Forever 21 like, t-shirts, jeans, and jewelry that might be around four years old. I now call these pieces “F21 vintage.”

A “piece” is something timeless, something that stands out from the crowd, and something that is beautiful … much like a designer piece, except not always with the designer price tag. And if you find something like this at a discount store … Burlington Coat Factory, Marshalls, TJ Maxx, Forever 21, H&M, don’t just turn your nose up at it because you think it is a poor investment. With garments like this comes dedication. By deciding to not spend $1,000 on a sweater and instead spending $20 means you have to put in the work to make it last. It’s very simple … and clearly not something for the lazy people at heart.

I personally think you can find some of the most original and stand-out pieces at stores like Burlington Coat Factory and TJ Maxx instead of walking into a store like Express and getting the same thing every 20- or 30-something is wearing at the moment. So don’t think just because you don’t have designer labels hanging in your closet doesn’t mean you don’t own “pieces,” because you do. Just take care of them like they are your children by following these simple rules:

1. Dryers are the devil: I rarely dry anything. If you are trying to get the longest life span out of a cheap-ish piece, a clothes rack is your best friend. And if you are concerned that they will be stiff as a board by the time they dry, throw them in the dryer at the end to soften them up a bit. But seriously … down with dryers.

2. Hang with caution: I like everything to be hung up so I can see it instead of rummaging through drawers. But I’ve found that hangers aren’t always the best thing for shirts. This is how they can become deformed, hole-ridden, and can obtain the dreaded hanger-shaped shoulders. Hang wisely, my friends, hang wisely.

3. Treat your jewels like they were Cartier: Make sure your bling has a proper and safe home, not at the bottom of your handbag, with copious amounts of space for it to live and frolic so it doesn’t become a tangled mess with out jewels, or even worse, break. And for the love of Jesus … NEVER get them wet. Water is like God damn kryptonite to an inexpensive piece of jewelry.

My New Year’s Lesson

caraburgerWhile people were busy making resolutions and dousing themselves in as much glitter and sequins as possible, I found myself learning a very valuable lesson this New Year’s Eve.

Now in typical NYE fashion, I had not the slightest idea of what I wanted to wear. Call it growing up, if you must, but I’m over slipping into a barely there dress, applying a smokey eye and freezing my balls off for the remainder of the evening because I clearly didn’t have the time of day for stockings. I was dreaming of a NYE that consisted of all of the same things … drinking, beings with loved ones, having an amazing time … accept in my jeans and flannel button down. But alas, this wasn’t an option.

So back to my three outfit options. One was a skin tight black dress that required SPANX, which suffocate me. The other was a bit of an outlandish look … plaid shorts over stockings (SPANX stockings), a regular T-shirt tucked in to said shorts, with a fantastic vintage sequin cardigan that makes my knees weak I adore it so much. And finally, black high-waisted leather pencil skirt with a black crop top, with … yes you guessed it, SPANX stockings. So what to wear, what to wear?

Carbs. Carbs are probably one of the most important assets of NYE. If you think they aren’t, you are a fool. Carbing up before drinking is key, otherwise you will drop before the ball. Now I’m not one of these girls who is like, “I’ll have a Saltine … yep, I’m full, tee hee.” Nope. I have an obsession with potatoes and I can safely say if I gave up carbs I would turn into the Incredible Hulk and start killing people. Just sayin’.

So, before I got ready, I decided to eat a hamburger, BUT I ordered it off the kids menu thinking it would be smaller. Wrong. It was massive. And delicious. And I ate every single drop of it. Both buns. And all the fries. And it was glorious. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Mmm burger. I was in heaven … who wouldn’t be in heaven eating a delicious burger in an oversized robe. Oh that’s right, someone that would have to take off said robe and squeeze themselves into a tight ass dress.

So my valuable lesson I learned, readers, is this: Don’t. Eat. A massive burger. Before. Putting. On. SPANX. Just don’t do it. Don’t even think about it. Maybe give yourself like two hours in between the burger eating and the SPANX wearing. Yes carbs are SO important before a night of drinking, BUT … a full stomach sucked into suffocating SPANX and tight garments equals a God damn nightmare.

I was miserable. I was so full and felt so gross that not even SPANX could give me the illusion that I looked good. I had to pop another bottle of champagne to stop looking in the mirror and sighing in shame. Alas, I did this to myself.

But God dammit that burger was fantastic. Lesson learned.

‘M … ‘member the time …

nyeIf you know what the title of the post is referencing … we are officially best friends.

Yowsa … this year has been something else, to say the least. I’m not one to get sappy, but when it comes to this blog and all the crazytown opportunities it got handed in 2013, I tend to get a little verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves …

I won’t go on and on and brag and gloat, and flip my hair back Cher-style, but I would like to say that I wish I could bottle the feeling I get every time I endure one of these life-changing and blog-changing events. That “feeling” I unfortunately can’t really put into words, but I could imagine it is much like Justin Timberlake telling me I’m the love of his life and serenading me with “This I Promise You,” but I digress. It is absolutely delicious and swoon-worthly. I literally get chills thinking about it. And that indescribable feeling … only drives me to kick even more ass.

So to everyone who has given me these amazing opportunities in 2013, I want to sincerely thank you for helping me make my dreams come true and handing me some of the most memorable moments of my life. And all of you who give me the biggest honor, actually reading Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra and supporting me throughout all of these crazytown events, you are my true rockstars and inspiration. Wow I feel like I’m giving an acceptance speech.

So with all of that being said, Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra is tippin’ its cap to 2013 and embracing 2014 with wide open arms. Come to mama … let’s do this thing!

And to ring in 2014 properly, here at my top 10 posts of 2013! Enjoy and whatever you do tonight, have an insane amount of fun and do it responsibly … for the LOVE.

1. What Is Your HMHL? (Hot Mess Hobo Look)

2. Meet My New Obsession: Compliment 

3. My Day With Ombre 

4. There Is No Crying In Spray Tanning! 

5. Stickin’ It To Abercrombie

6. Did You Just Tell Me To “Smile”?

7. Beyonce Is Brainwashing Us

8. Insta-Don’ts 

9. Got Crushed Condé Dreams?

10. Dear Holiday Shoppers, 



I Wish I Were Britney Jean

britney-spears-tribute-largeSome of you may not be aware that I was once, slash still slightly obsessed with Britney Spears. But if you knew my 13-17 year old self, you would have met the ultimate Britney fan. I still have a soft spot in my heart for her, and I may or may not still know all of the moves to “Oops I Did It Again,” (guilty pleasure).

She was everything when I was a teen. She made me sign up for dance lessons, she made me want to wear crop tops and super, almost vagina-showing jeans, and I basically cried when I got the opportunity to see her perform in her Onyx Hotel tour (yeah, I was THAT guy … picture me in tears softly saying, “Brrrriitttnnneeeeyyyy … I love yoooouuuu.”)

And I can safely say, as a Britney fan, one of the darkest days was when the footage came out of her shaving her head and trying to beat a paparazzi down with a golf umbrella. That and her 2007 performance on the VMAs. Mortification station.

Even years and years … and years later, even though I’m not as much of a Britney fan as I once was, I still have, almost, all of her songs on my iPhone, and as a guilty pleasure like to throw them on and jam out like I am 13 years old again. Wouldn’t you just love to see my almost 27-year-old ass trying to bust out vintage Britney moves in the privacy of my bedroom …. no? That’s what I thought. Shut up … you do it, too, don’t lie.

So in honor of “I am Britney Jean” premiering on E! tonight, I would like to pay homage to all of the times I wanted to be Britney Jean. Enjoy my walk down Britney way:


Britney’s 2000 VMA performance where she started singing the Stones’ “Satisfaction” in a suit and ended up in this sparkly number. Who DIDN’T want to be her at this moment.

Screen shot 2013-12-22 at 10.40.38 AM

When B. turned into a fembot in Austin Powers 3. The best of two worlds colliding … I would call that a memorable moment.


I mean she dated Justin Timberlake … and broke his heart so badly that he wrote an epic song about it. And just for the record I’m still convinced everything would be right in the world if they got back together. No more wars, no more poverty … Britney and Justin, make it happen.


If I woke up one day with this body … I mean … I just wouldn’t even bother wearing clothing.


What I happen to think may be one of the best half time specials at “the big game” (since no one is allowed to say the name of the ACTUAL game which rhymes with smuper shmohole). Aerosmith, N’Sync, Nelly and Britney … heaven.


When she thought the old lady threw it in the ocean again. Excuse me, I can’t even write about this … I just need to express myself through the dance. “Oops. I. Did it again. I played with your heart (hand cupping heart up and down). Got lost in the game. OOH BABY BABY.)”

What’s your favorite Brit Brit moment?

LSIASB’s Fav Things – 2013 Styley

screen-shot-2011-11-30-at-9-07-10-pmSometimes I like to pretend I’m Oprah … I mean who doesn’t. And as much as I would love to sit here and say, “you get a lip gloss, you get a cat, and you get a Celine handbag!” making you all go bat shit crazytown … alas I cannot … for I would be living in a van down by the river.

And because we are all in the midst of frantically trying to find those perfect gifts for the impossible people to buy for … I hope I spark some sort of inspiration for you. The list below outlines just a few of the things I have found myself becoming a massive fan of over the past few months. Enjoy … and uh yeah … if anyone feels compelled to buy me that Celine handbag for Christmas, I most certainly would be appreciative. Kay thanks.


Butter London Lippy Gloss: Who knew they made more than nail polishes, right? This lip gloss rocks because it is thick, but not like MAC lip gloss thick. Stays on no matter WHAT you are drinking or how much, and makes you lips feel like little clouds from heaven. Invest immediately … it truly is like buttah.


Celine Handbag: I mean … I would sell my mother on the black market for this bag (sorry Ma). This is my dream handbag … I would probably make out with it if I owned it, too … yes, THAT is how much I adore this bag. It’s a sexy beast … whoa is it getting hot in here? Alright, I’ll stop.


Baby Cat: I already adopted her a few months back, but she brings me more joy than you know. If you are in a life funk or just need a ray of sunshine, adopt a baby cat. The people over at the Animal Welfare Association rock, so go to you local one and help out an animal in need. And, more importantly, I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you all to my baby cat, Ellsworth … EEEE!


Benefit’s Erase Paste: I keep waiting for the day when I get sick of using this product, and in like three years it still hasn’t happened yet. Hung over? Slap some of this magic under your eyes and you’ll immediately look alert and awake. Tired? Erase Paste will take care of that. Feeling like an old hag? Drop 10 years instantly. I’m obsessed.


Disco Ball: Literally everyone needs one. Enough said. It will change your life.


Joy Tea from Starbucks: Since the fancy folks over at Starbucks don’t understand the concept of good ol’ lemon tea, I’ve recently become addicted to their holiday Joy tea. It’s pure holiday magic, and gives you the perfect amount of caffeine to get through the day. I’ll probably cry when it gets discontinued.


Lucite Heels: I wrote a blog post about this a while back about how maybe, just maybe, strippers have had it right all along with lucite heels. I find them fascinating and futuristic, as long as it is just the actual heel that is lucite only. Not trying to rock actual stripper shoes here … not that there is anything wrong with that. But these Shoe Cult Minx Pumps, specifically, made me drool.


Fur Coats: Faux fur, of course. Simmer down, PETA. It’s vintage, it’s romantic, it is perfection all around. Throw on a pair of elbow-length gloves and consider yourself 1950′s perfection. Swoon.


Kiehl’s De-puffing Eye Stick: When people say hangovers get worse the older you get, they really weren’t kidding. For me, my eyes tend to take the brunt of it, getting all puffy and swollen … gross. But this stuff is God’s gift … cooling, smooth, keepin’ me young and shit. Gotta love it.


Cupcake Wine: Specifically Chardonnay. It’s cheap, yet at the same time I always feel fancy whilst drinking it.


Old Navy Rock Star Jeans: I have turned my nose up at Old Navy since I retired my performance fleece when I was 13. I’ll admit it,  I was a snob. But when I slipped into their Rock Star Jeans … I was hooked. They are so cute, fit amazingly and are uber cheap. A word to the wise: Just don’t put them in the dryer … unless you like rockin’ floods in 3 degree weather.



Things I Would Rather Do Than Watch the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show

2013 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show - PerformanceI don’t understand my kind, and by “my kind” I mean women. We tend to be very critical of one another, will talk shit the minute we feel intimidated, yet the amount of posts I’ve seen from ladies actually excited about the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show tonight has truly stunned me. Like why? What is so exciting about it? Men … I totally get it. Trust. But ladies … whaa?

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good fashion show. It gives me the chills just thinking about them, in fact. But a fashion show of glamazons wearing angel wings in lingerie that is completely unobtainable … with Taylor Swift serenading in the background!? Umm no. Just for funsies I want to walk into a Victoria’s Secret and ask to try on a pair of their wings and watch the sales associates start to drool. Because literally nothing from the show exists in the stores. If you want yoga pants with PINK across the ass? Hell yes, you’re in luck. But these insane costumes that are strutted down the runway tonight will sure as hell not be present.

The worst is the complainers. The ones that watch the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show just to have an excuse to bitch about how fat and ugly they are. Okay … seriously, before you start, STOP. These women go to extreme lengths to look that thin and fierce for this show. EXTREME. That is their job. If you got paid millions of dollars to do that, you would, too. So unless you want to literally go on an oxygen only diet, stop complaining and comparing yourself to models. It just isn’t fair to anyone involved. You are beautiful, too … in your own way, I’m sure of it.

So as much as I would LOVE to see what kind of jewel encrusted bras I should cover my knockers with this season, and what kind of angel wings I should wear in the bedroom, there are some very important things I would much rather do than watch this show tonight. Such as …

1. Sleep … eight plus hours, it’s called beauty sleep, durrh

2. Go through my overflowing bin of black stockings and figure out which ones have holes … you know, because that is so easy

3. Talk to my cat in a British accent … We’ll pour some tea, discuss politics, it will be grand

4. Get on the phone with Comcast and make sure they aren’t robbing me blind, because that doesn’t make me want to bang my head against the wall or anything

5. Take the time to thoroughly shave my legs … ankle to upper calf, ladies, ankle to upper calf

6. Drink an entire bottle of wine and have my OWN runway show … :::puts on four in heels and starts strutting::: “Come on Vogu … aahhhhh :::Falls face down and just lays there:::

7. See how many marshmallows I can stuff in my mouth before I vomit for funsies

8. Work on my rapping skills … “Allow me to reintroduce myself my name is HOV … H to the OV … what … UH”

9. Eat an entire roll of Toll House cookie dough as fast as I can

10. Count how many calories I ate today and smile about it … mmm carbs


What A Gal Needs To Holiday Shop

mediateYou would think I would say a bottle of Jack and Kevlar … but you’re sorely mistaken, my friend.

I personally don’t believe in handwritten lists. I loathe them. I loathe them because I take precious time to write them and within seconds it is like they get sucked into a vortex never to be seen again … therefore I’m back to good ol’ square one. But going holiday shopping blind or with a mental list is just as bad. “Oooh there is the shirt my brother wants, but I need to get a shirt for my sister, too … EEEE something shiny! Squirrel.” Yeah … listless, that is what goes on in my head.

So if you are like me and hate writing lists, but don’t want to torture yourself by going out shopping blind, buying things on random ridiculous whims … there are certain things you can do to save your sanity. Organized shopping means quick shopping. It also means the less you have to interact with the insane holiday shoppers traditionally acting a fool.

You’re welcome, in advance.

Tweet-a-le-dee: If you don’t believe in Twitter, I can’t help you. But it is wise to get yourself a handle and start following your favorite stores/designers. They tend to post sales, special offers, hidden gems within the store. And yes, some may even respond to you if you have questions or concerns, or if you want to show them a little love and tell them how much they rock … or want to partake in a bitchfest about how much their customer service sucks. Ahhh sweet technology. What can’t you do?

Booze: I was just kidding about the lack of Jack above … CLEARLY. After shopping, cocktails are always a must. Or if you are really going into the shopping trenches, maybe pack a flask. Just sayin’ …

Today Will Be a GREAT Day!: If you are in the slightest bad mood, do us ALL a damn favor a stay home. No one wants you out. The deadline for holiday shopping, in my world, is Dec. 24 11:59 p.m. Trust me, if you aren’t thinking positively, you aren’t going to accomplish shit. Instead you are going to get frustrated, start honking your horn for no reason, and saying things under your breath like, “no … seriously, I’LL move out of the way … that’s right … your huge cart with ugly things definitely deserves to take up the entire aisle. My apologies. Let me just kill myself scooting around it so you can add more to your pile of crap properly … whore.” Seriously, bad mood equals staying at home and binging on a really great TV series … not interacting with sales associates and innocent shoppers trying to make Santa dreams come true.

New School Lists: If you absolutely can’t go listless, use the Notes function on your iPhone … or whatever notepad function other phones have (hi, iPhone snob here). I know it seems like common sense, but I would be useless without this. I have numerous pages of random nonsense written down, that probably doesn’t all need to be written down, but when I need it … it’s there. I literally have a list that is like blog inspiration, blog topics, buy shampoo, Comcast log in information, and cat bow tie. Not lying.

Map It Out, Yo: Plan your route. Think about the stores you need to go to, what order is the best to visit them, and exactly what you need and where in said store they are located. That way you are in and out in seconds. My only other piece of advice would be to not make eye contact with ANYONE … that way you are sure to avoid any obstacles. No. Eye. Contact. Ya heard?

Dress for Tropical Temps: Jesus. CHRIST. I was in American Apparel and I thought I was going to faint. Rainy and cold outside, equator inside. Not cool … and not a surprise why I have a sinus infection right now. Bastards. But I’ve come to realize that I would rather be freezing my face off walking around, then sweating inside a store when I’m trying to accomplish holiday shopping tasks. There is nothing worse than having your hands full, standing in line with a bunch of clowns, sweating to death, waiting as the woman checking out is contesting $2 on a damn pair of tights. All you want to do is hurt someone. Like badly. Wear a sun dress and shut up.

Hello, Interwebs, Is It Me You’re Looking For?: Listen, the more people shop online … the less insanity we will all have to deal with. Doesn’t the thought of being curled up on your couch in your Snuggie, with a warm cup of tea, Christmas music playing in the background … taking care of your holiday shopping with just a few clicks? No crazy bitches. No heatwaves. No non-enthused sales associates drooling. No people running you down in parking lots. Just Bing Crosby, your credit card, the Interwebs, and you. :::Sigh:::

Dear Holiday Shoppers,

UnknownPreface: This is a public service announcement, sponsored by your friends at Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra. 

Please stop:

- Being assholes, in general

- Cursing each other out

- Stealing one another’s parking spots

- Cursing each other out for stealing one another’s parking spots

- Taking your dogs out in public (Seriously, I think your Yorkie Doodle can chill at home while you hit up TJ Maxx)

- Driving like maniacs, causing silly fender benders, and then holding everyone else up

- Yelling at your children in the middle of the store (You know … because EVERY child just LOVES shopping for nonsense they don’t care about … so yes, DEFINITELY yell at them … fools)

- Yelling at sales associates in stores (They. Have. No. Control. Over. Your. Problems. You yelling at them equals you ruining their day. How would you like someone to come to your office and curse you out for no reason. Put yourselves in their shoes before you start telling them off that they don’t have your Juicy velour sweats in hot pink size XXL)

- Having no parking lot etiquette (Santa is not down with you running people over for the sake of hitting up amazing sales #naughtyliststatus)

- Not moving out-of-the-way for people. And not saying, “excuse me,” when you are trying to get through a crowd of people. (Manners matter)

- Talking on your cell phone at an octave only dogs can hear (Nobody needs slash wants to hear about what Judy’s sister’s dog walker Betty’s husband Bobby didn’t get her for Christmas last year)

My apologies for the rant, but my God. Here I am, trying to enjoy the holidays … and I literally couldn’t get out of the store I was in, back in my car, and back in the safety of my own home fast enough.

The holidays are supposed to be a beautiful time of the year. Not the time of year when you need to put your Kevlar on, battle face mask (is that a real thing?) on, and head out into the wild known as your local mall. Seriously, ladies and gents. My GAWD.

It wouldn’t kill everyone to pay it forward a little bit more besides throwing ‘bows at Walmart, I mean for the love of God. Buy the guy or gal behind you a coffee while you are getting your caffeine on before the shopping rush. Hold the door open, no matter who or what is standing behind you … and SMILE. In fact, smile at your fellow man or woman as much as possible. Use your manners. Do a good deed. Do a selfless deed. Help someone in need, no matter if it is just offering them pleasant conversation or helping them solve a problem.

As much as we all enjoy thinking about and catering to numero uno … we gotta stop acting like assholes during the holidays … because gifts are a luxury … not a necessity. And the naughty list should really exist, because I would recommend several human beings get put on it and banished from malls and stores, immediately.

Ps. Malls/boutiques/stores in general … turn your damn heat down.

Kay thanks … byeeeeeeee.

And scene.

Thanksgiving Pants


Photo credit:

I’m not going to sit here writing about the ball gown I’m wearing for Thanksgiving, or the four-inch stillettos I’ll be rocking with my black leather peplum skirt, or my pilgrim-inspired look, or the sock bun I’m perfecting … oh no. I can’t lie to any of you. Because on Thanksgiving, I don’t get fancy … at all. And why should I? No offense, family members, but most of you have seen me at my ultimate worst. You’ve burped me, changed my diapers … and there is a good chance I may or may not have vommed on you one time or another (mind you this all happened under the age of 2 years old … God hopefully) … so yeah, I am going to take this opportunity to let my hurr down and relax a bit. Doesn’t mean I still can’t be stylish, though … just don’t expect me to whip out my couture.

I’m also not going to sit here writing about how I’m not daydreaming about the amazing dinner that will occur on Thursday … because I am … and it’s Monday. I have actually contemplated not eating for the rest of the week just so I can indulge in as many carbs as humanly possible until I pass out in an amazing carb/wine induced coma. I’m an incredibly picky eater, and the fact that I’m jonsin’ for this meal four days in advance due to the fact that I enjoy eating 98.4% of everything that will be served (minus the cranberries … they freak me out. Shit shouldn’t be can-shaped, okay?), really means something.

So here is where I would like to pay homage to “Thanksgiving pants.” Yes … it is a thing. What is my definition of Thanksgiving pants, you ask? Well …

Thanksgiving Pants [thanks-giv-ing] [pants]:
Comfortable, stretchy pants that don’t constrain, but instead grow with you.

Don’t be that guy who has to unbutton his/her pants after dinner. Seriously if anyone did that in my home I would kick their ass out with the turkey bones, but that is just me. Instead, focus on comfort. Sure, you’ll wake up in the morning of Thanksgiving your normal size, stomach not expanded, self not bloated to all hell from all the salt in-take … and you may feel compelled to drape yourself in spandex … but stop. Seriously. Just … don’t.

Here is what a normal human being should NOT wear on Thanksgiving:

  • Skinny jeans of any kind
  • Panty hose
  • SPANX of any kind
  • Skirts of any kind, unless they’re maxi
  • Banded dresses
  • Your “skinny jeans” you can fit in to once again after you lost weight (don’t do that to yourself)
  • Waist hugging anything
  • Peplum anything
  • Leather anything … I know it’s in-style, but no

Instead consider any of these as appropriate “Thanksgiving pants”:

  • Maternity jeans. Yeah I said it. It just isn’t fair that only pregnant women get to reap the benefits of the front panel.
  • (Even though technically not pants) leggings. Just make sure your ass is covered … we aren’t trying to be hillbillies here, kids. Grandpa and Uncle Joe really don’t want to see the outline of your Victoria’s Secret … am I right?
  • Fashionable sweats (no that doesn’t mean anything with the word “Juicy” or “Pink” written across your ass, I don’t care how much you have spent on them. And don’t you dare wear anything stained of cut-off. Let’s keep it classy, shall we?)
  • MuuMuus … go for a Mrs. Roper-inspired look. I’m sure someone at your Thanksgiving will get a kick out of it. Then really no one would know how much you truly ate and that your girlish figure has unfortunately been abducted by the Thanksgiving turkey.

So there ya have it. Hopefully my family isn’t reading this and is so disturbed over the thought of me wearing maternity jeans and an over-sized sweatshirt that they decided to not show up on Thursday. I swear I’ll at least put makeup on and do my hair … promise.

But my point, at the end of the day, is to be comfortable. That is what family gatherings are all about … well most of the time. Otherwise that is what wine was invented for … am I right?

Holy SPANX! A Strapless Bra I DON’T Hate?!

pSPXNA-217_BLACK_packaging_e500Strapless bras and myself have become known arch-enemies. Tom vs. Jerry, Dr. Evil vs. Austin Powers. Kate vs. Strapless Bras. We just don’t like each other … well, more like I don’t like them and they don’t give a shit because they are inanimate objects. It’s quite unfair, if you ask me.

And since launching my blog years ago, people have asked me why I loathe the garment so much. Why would I go to such extremes as to naming a website dedicated to my pure hatred of them? Well … number 1, we aren’t all about strapless bras here at Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra (read my About section for further explanation), and number 2, it basically comes down to:

1. They cut off circulation, yet still manage to fall down

2. They do nothing for knockers … of any shape or size

3. They never fit properly under clothing. Like Never. Never ever.

This massive feud I have brewing in my life has a silver lining to it, though. This feud … has proven to me that there is still good and genuine kindness out there in a world when sometimes it is hard to believe that people still care about one another. Yet people surprise me every day by suggesting shiny and new strapless bras to try out that may heal my negative feeling towards them. And as much as I appreciate these kind gestures, they just never end up swaying my opinion.

But my lovely friends over at SPANX were not okay with me feeling like this. They wanted me to lock eyes with a strapless bra from across a field of poppies, slow motion run towards it,  embrace it with open arms, and swing around in a pleasant little circle with it.

Enter the SPANX’s Bra Cha-Cha stage right. First of all, I’m a sucker for a product with a fantastic name … and this little number is a sassy bitch in the best way. Second of all, they call it the “stay-put strapless,” which trust me, when I saw this, I gave it one of my epic eye rolls accompanied with a, “psshhyeeeaahh right!”

I won’t give you a play-by-play of my entire experience wearing this bra. You don’t want hear about how I walked to the train and it didn’t fall down, or how I went for cocktails with Bra Cha-Cha and it didn’t fall down even more … or as SPANX refers to it as “jug tug,” which honestly, I mean can we get a slow clap for that.

I will explain it to you like so. My experience with the Bra Cha-Cha was much like …



And this:


And that:


Oh and totes this:


Mmm hmm …:


And of course …:


But let’s not forget this happened:


Disclaimer: I will not be changing the name of my blog. And I still hate strapless bras … except this one.

CATS! The Musical

originalNo not really … but side note, I totally got a VHS tape of CATS! The Musical for Christmas one year, and totes watched it more than once … which is probably too many times. Memory … all alone in the moonli … alright, I’ll stop.

Back in the day, you know, when I was in elementary school, it was cool to like cats. It was also cool to eat glue, hate boys, and wear 15 different colors of neon at once, but I digress. I definitely owned a few Lisa Frank trapper keepers with some cats mixed in with unicorns and puppies, along with a few cat pencils, and maybe even an embroidered cat sweatshirt. I mean who didn’t? To be clear, I wasn’t obsessed with my cat, these are just the things offered to children to wear and use in the 90′s, and my mom indulged.

And then once middle school and high school hit, cats became uncool. I was lucky it I petted my cat once a week. I suppose I was too caught up in useless drama and learning the moves to Britney Spears’ new music video. Even in college I remember making a pact with my roommate to intervene if either of us showed signs of becoming cat ladies.

But now … in 2013 … the amount of cat swag that people are actually buying AND wearing astonishes me. I would have gotten my ass beat in high school (and by beat I mean the rich mean girls would have totes made fun of me behind my back and spread rumors around that I was a cat lady and my house was covered in litter instead of rugs) if I rocked a sweatshirt from Forever 21 that said CAT in big bold letters.

Alas it is the cool thing to do … to be obsessed with cats. Hipsters who once flocked to fedoras and ball smothering skinny jeans, are now flocking to cats. I really hope animal orphanages all over the country are feeling the positive effect of this movement. I mean hell … even I just adopted a baby cat back in August and have become obsessed with her to the point where I talk about her and photograph her like it were my child. If you follow me on Instagram (which is should), you will understand this. By the way her name is Ellsworth (after Ellsworth Kelly … one of my favorite painters) and I just bought her a sparkly red collar for Christmas … eeeee!

Maybe it is because once closeted cat people feel free to come out and say, “Yes. world! I own a cat … and love it … and his name is Mr. Whiskers … and I make him wear a bow tie!” And one thing people who love cats more than cats … is OTHER people who love cats. Trust. It is the thing to connect with in your late 20′s or 30′s when you don’t have children.

But I just don’t know if I need to express my love for my cat via my fashion choices. My fear is that years from now I will look back and shake my head in shame, much like how I view my Lisa Frank cat trapper keeper and VHS tape of CATS! The musical. Yes, a lot of these cat-inspired items are adorable … and hey some are actually chic … but I have a feeling this “cat lady couture” just won’t last forever, I don’t care if all of it is in black and white. One day, being called a “Cat Lady” will actually go back to meaning you own 15 plus cats, don’t brush your hair, and will be single for the rest of your time on Earth.

But for now … if you don’t like cats … I don’t trust you.

Capture 31558000-02 8335f4e318e19102b4d8071a386cd591 Forever21 Cat Chiffon Shirt2 Capture2

An Interview With Me, Myself, And I

5cf15ebda54c470e2d5631b0158cd12fAhh to be a celebrity … excuse me while I put my hand to my chin and daydream whilst staring out my window wide-eyed in Never Never Land. Something you should know about me … I have a secret obsession with celebrity culture. For example I was walking out of Starbucks this morning on my way to work and saw this black SUV with blacked out windows and immediately assumed Justin Timberlake was inside … clearly. I had my fingers crossed that he would roll down the window as I strolled by, ask me my name, and then casually ask for my hand in marriage after he divorced Biel … but :::sigh::: that never did happened.

But it is fun to imagine yourself as a celebrity … someone who sits in blacked our SUVs and gets swarms of people wanting to interview them. And after reading an inspiring article from Man Repeller, I got to thinking about how another writer would portray a play-by-play with me if I happened to be worthy of an interview with Vogue Magazine … :::swoon::: could you even imagine?!

And after a little thinking and getting in touch with my awkward tendencies, here is how I believe my interview would go, coming from another writer’s perspective:

“Kate strutted into Starbucks with full-blown Bitchy Resting Face, phone in hand, bundled in all black like she was heading from a funeral in the North Pole, and an awkward piece of hair sticking straight out between where her ear and sunglasses arm met. It was clearly bothering her as I watched her fail numerous times as she tried to tuck it away. She barely made it to the table before slipping on the slick marble flooring, but casually caught herself and played it off like a model who just bit it on the catwalk and had to keep going. The shame was hidden by the sunglasses … but the embarrassment was exposed by her bright red cheeks.

The RBF washed away from Kate’s face the minute she removed her sunglasses, smiled, and attempted to shake my hand, but realized she was now holding her cell phone AND sunglasses, so instead went for a strange side, half fist bump with the opposite hand and laughed off the awkward encounter.

After she sat down and got comfortable, she placed her iPhone next to her tea glass, and compulsively kept checking it like she was waiting for a phone call, text or email, but in reality just seemed like a twitch because, alas, no one was calling, texting or emailing her. Every 10 minutes or so she was uncross her long legs and would hit her knee on the table, causing her pain that she tried to hide, even though I heard a soft “son of a bitch,” escape her sigh almost every time. In between questions she would take a sip of her black tea, which I assumed matched her outfit and soul, and a little would slip through her lips and onto her sheer top, which she tried not to cause attention to by crossing her arms in an attempt to wipe it away.”

I’m a classically awkward celeb, aren’t I? Anyways it is fun to dig deep into your true self and express how you would handle a big time interview. Of course all of us would love to stroll in, on time, dipped in Chanel with every perfect answer ready to jump off our red lips that wouldn’t lose their color whilst we sipped our tea, am I right? But the cookie doesn’t crumble like that. The cookie, indeed, leaves crumbs on my H&M blouse.

Now it’s your turn, how would you handle being interviewed?

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like … Wait It’s November!

tumblr_ldacwv1dSV1qavyzyLast night I was minding my own business watching TV, relaxing, snuggling my cat … the usual … when all of a sudden Santa was ho-ho-ho-ing all over my damn screen. Umm, whaaa? And not only that, he showed up like 50 more times. And a few weeks back I was scanning radio stations and heard, for a split second, a Paul McCartney Christmas song, and almost crashed into the guard rail frantically trying to turn it off. Hmm, weird, I didn’t get the memo that the holidays were upon us so soon, … huh.

There is really nothing we can do about it. When advertisers say the holidays are here … they are here. I give it hours, or maybe another day, if I’m being generous, that stores start blasting Christmas tunes and turn their heat up to equator-style temps.
I’m personally not ready for this shit. It’s true … the older you get, the more holidays suck. And I’m not saying that because I’m a big ol’ Grinch, I’m saying it because the people who let the word “holidays” put mountains of useless stress on their shoulders is not only idiotic, but incredibly annoying to the people around you who just want to enjoy the holidays.

So instead of throwing shit at your TV every time you see Santa, or start freaking out staring at the list of people you have to buy for, I want you … no … I dare you to take a deep breath and read my thoughts below that have the potential to zen you the fuck out during the “craaaaaaazed holiday season” … for the love … now, ahem:

1. Remember … It’s The Season of Giving: That doesn’t mean strictly designer goods, kids. Stop buying out Neiman for a sec and finish reading what I’m saying. This can be everything from a $5 knick-knack that made you think of the person, your time, a donation to a charity, a hug, a kiss, a poem, a homemade dinner. Stop thinking the more you spend the better person you are. No one cares slash knows. I’m not organic, I don’t eat granola or wear Birkenstocks (not that there is anything wrong with it), but sometimes shit that comes from the heart means more than a designer tag.

2. Make Memories: My aunt was always so good with this. Instead of giving me a toy I would stop playing with in 2.5 seconds, she would buy me tickets to a play or plan an adventure for us. Her reasoning was because unlike a toy she would buy me, I would have that memory forever.

3. Gifts Are OPTIONAL … Not MANDATORY: My GAWD, just because it is Christmas doesn’t mean you literally have to buy everyone you have ever laid eyes on a present. I don’t know where people got this assumption, but it is false. It is a nice gesture and can brighten someone’s day … but not necessary all of the time. Instead maybe, say with your co-workers, decide you will do a happy hour, donate to a shelter, give time to a soup kitchen … something that will make everyone feel better that doesn’t involve spending hours and hours fighting angry crowds at the mall searching for the perfect knick-knack.

And there you have it, folks. It is as simple as thinking outside of yourself. And if you are a person that likes a lot of presents (I mean who doesn’t), stop expecting so much. I miss the days of thumbing through the Sears Holiday Catalog and writing down everything my heart desired in red and green for Santa to see, too. But now … in order to decrease stress and chaos through the holidays … simplify. Enjoy. Take in the lights and the decorations. Soak in every moment with your loved ones. Eat way too much food and be happy you did. Because that’s what it is about when you get too old to thumb through the Sears Holiday Catalog.


Hydrate … For. The. Love. Of. GOD.

zoolander-mermaidI’ve been battling a Diet Coke addiction for years. There. I said it. Diet Coke is the saucy temptress that will forever be the bane of my existence. I’ve gotten on the sweet, sweet carbonated wagon, and I’ve harshly fallen off, bingeing on cans and cans a day. Ugh.

And with that being said, I loathe drinking water. Sure, when you are parched or wake up in the morning after a long night of drinking, nothing in life is better than a cold glass of water. But besides that … meh. The times where I did successfully push Diet Coke out of my life and adopted a clean drinking regime (meaning only water), I did feel amazing. I peed a lot, but I felt like gold (no pun intended?).

But my sweet, sweet, carbonated friend in the silver and red can is deceiving. You think you are choosing the “healthier soda choice” by sticking by his side. He’s slim, chic, timeless … and Taylor Swift backs him. But he has another evil henchman that stands behind him silently, also known as “Aspartame.” Ps. I feel like lightning should strike every time you say “Assssssspartame.”

Aspartame is the fucking devil. And according to a source at the FDA :::glavin:::, it is pretty into messing up your whole entire body. The list of side effects is disturbing, and I’m pretty sure I would make you fall asleep if I listed them all … yes there are THAT many. But to summarize, it may cause everything from depression, cancer, fatigue, severe anxiety attacks, and horrible pain whilst swallowing … like I said, the fucking devil. Really makes H20 a little less yawn-worthy, am I right?

So I’m not only putting myself at high risk for disease, psychological problems and pain … BUT … I’m also making myself look like a hot mess? What?! Thanks, Daily Mail, for bringing this to my attention. I’ve been investing in expensive hydrating cremes, anti-puffery serums, the souls of the young and beautiful (juuuust kidding) to make myself look vibrantly wake and stunningly amazing … and all this time, I could have just been drinking copious amounts of water?!

Yes, water is, indeed, the key to life and youth. And who knew the key to life and youth was so boring. But if you are tired of being and looking tired, saddle up and start chugging some liter jugs of water. Because apparently that’s all it takes. One to three glasses a day won’t do the trick. If you want results you need to go big or go home to the land of tired looking skin.

I do think I need Diet Coke rehab and a sponsor, for that matter. If anyone is up for the challenge, let me know. But to try to have flawless skin and look years younger just from adopting a life of water, water and more water … well that is something I might want to sign up for.


Do Fall … And Do It Well … Dammit

I do a lot of things well … or so I like to think. So what I’m about to say may shock and appall you … and for that I’m sorry. But establishing a fall wardrobe is something I, indeed, do NOT do well.

I decided in August that I was going to get to the bottom of my issue. Why is it when it came to the season of fluctuating temps and falling leaves did I become green with envy over women dressed to the nines in bad ass outfits instead of going out and finding some of my own?

I would stumble through stores, leave empty-handed, drive home, run to my bedroom and cry myself to sleep on my pillow … tears streaming down my face wondering why oh why I couldn’t find anything :::cue violins:::. But with a little soul-searching :::pan to me staring outside my window, snuggled up, pondering life over a cup of tea::: I was able to figure out said issue. I had what they call Fall Wardrobe Overload … also known as “FWO.”

What are the symptoms of FWO, you ask? 

-Not being able to focus

-Trend anxiety

-Bleeding from the eyelids

-Not starting with the basics


-Excessive drinking

-Lacking in the wardrobe department*

*If you lack in the wardrobe department for more than three fall seasons, see your local stylist immediately.

My issue was that I had my sights set on things that were too trendy. I wanted sequins, and loud shoes, and fur collared everything, and accent pieces. Wrong … wrong … and wrong. Expectations get set too high when you go too loud too soon and you set yourself up for fall failure. It has taken me years along with blood, sweat and tears to perfect obtaining a great fall wardrobe with pieces I can style in numerous ways, and listen, if I can figure this shit out … ANYONE can.

So behold, my secret to the perfect fall wardrobe. Are you ready for this? Come closer, because I will only say it once: Start. With. The. Basics. Then work from there.

BOOM. My work here is done :::drops mic:::

It may sound boring, but if you find yourself banging your head against the wall because you can’t get your fall style act together … let me help a sister (or brother) out, shall I? Here is a breakdown of your basic fall pieces that every person needs.

Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.43.27 PM1. Start with Skinnies: Start with a gray pair and a black pair. I personally die for the ones at Old Navy. The price is right and I can kick, stretch and kick some more in them. And since I’m cheap (at least I admit it, right?) I try not to throw them in the dryer for fear of shrinkage. Girls gotta save for her dreams, am I right? And outside of Old Navy, I’ve been hoarding my favorite black denim from H&M for years. They are tight as shit, and you will have to dance and high kick a little to get them to move, but oh so worth it.

Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.44.44 PM

2. Sigh … basic flats. I know, I know … but hear me out. It isn’t fun when you are running 20 minutes late and just need a God damn simple pair of black flats and all you can find are studded booties and rhinestone encrusted open toed sling backs. Make the investment in a good pair of black, nude and leopard print (yes, leopard print, to me, is a neutral …get over it), flats. So when you ARE running late, you can just throw on any of these go-tos, which will pretty much go with everything and anything, and be done with it so you can haul ass to Point B.

Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.47.08 PM3. Shield Your Eyes From Saucy Boots: Over-the-knee hooker boots are my fav. If I could have closets and closets filled with them, I would. BUT … every lady needs a good pair of flat black boots and a good pair of flat brown boots. “Riding boots” … if you will. I was never a fan of brown boots, until I realized it gives a look, especially a fall one, a softer feel, where as black boots tend to give off a “dominatrix-ey” vibe. The OTK boots might be tempting you, luring you with their seductress ways … but remember, we are starting basic, here. BA-SIC. Take a cold shower and buy the basic boots … for the love of God.

Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.49.08 PM3. Get Down with the While Button Down: Okay, white button downs don’t just mean khakis from the Gap, tucked in with loafers. Woof. They make them a bit more … how you say … “jazzed up” now. Look outside of the Gap box and try stores like Nordstrom for edgier versions of the once boring button down.

Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 2.04.21 PM4. The Tits of T-Shirts: Call me crazy, but it is really hard to find the perfect fitting t-shirts. But when you find “the one,” it will fit perfectly. Its sleeves will be the right length. And you will throw you inhibitions to the wind and buy it in every color … and some you will buy two. Because they are a rare commodity. And know, you will wear them with everything. Don’t lie to yourself. You will. I’m already kicking myself for not investing in more of my favorite Abound t-shirts from Nordstrom Rack shown to the left.

Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.53.59 PM5. Rock the Trench: Yes, they are trendy right now … but they are forever. This is a forever piece. This is when you say, hey I want to invest in a designer piece, but I don’t know what to buy. You say: Burberry trench. Because you will literally have it until you are wrinkled up, old and gray.

Once the basics are obtained and you are cured of FWO … then go buy as much insane sparkle, spikes and studs as you want :::jumps up in mid-air:::

Do Fall … And Do It Well

I do a lot of things well … or so I like to think. So what I’m about to say may shock and appall you … and for that I’m sorry. But establishing a fall wardrobe is something I, indeed, do NOT do well.

I decided in August that I was going to get to the bottom of my issue. Why is it when it came to the season of fluctuating temps and falling leaves did I become green with envy over women dressed to the nines in bad ass outfits instead of going out and finding some of my own?

I would stumble through stores, leave empty-handed, drive home, run to my bedroom and cry myself to sleep on my pillow … tears streaming down my face wondering why oh why I couldn’t find anything :::cue violins:::. But with a little soul-searching :::pan to me staring outside my window, snuggled up, pondering life with a cup of tea::: I was able to figure out said issue. I had Fall Wardrobe Overload … or FWO.

What are the symptoms of FWO, you ask*? 

-Not being able to focus

-Trying to obtain too many items at once

-Bleeding from the eyelids

-Not starting with the basics


-Excessive drinking

-Lacking in the wardrobe department
*If you lack in the wardrobe department for more than three fall seasons, see your local stylist immediately. 

My issue was that I had my sights set on things that were too trendy. I wanted sequins, and loud shoes, and fur collared everything, and accent pieces. Wrong … wrong … and wrong. Expectations get set too high when you go too loud too soon and you set yourself up for fall failure. It has taken me years along with blood, sweat and tears to perfect obtaining a great fall wardrobe with pieces I can style in numerous ways, and listen, if I can figure this shit out … ANYONE can.

So behold, my secret to the perfect fall wardrobe. Are you ready for this? Come closer, because I will only say it once: Start. With. The. Basics. Then work from there.

BOOM. My work here is done :::drops mic:::

It may sound boring, but if you find yourself banging your head against the wall because you can’t get your fall style act together … let me help a sister (or brother) out, shall I? Here is a breakdown of your basic fall pieces that every person needs.

Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.43.27 PM1. Start with Skinnies: Start with a black pair and a gray pair. I personally die for the ones at Old Navy. The price is oh so right, and I can kick, stretch and kick some more in them. And since I’m cheap, I try not to throw them in the dryer for fear of shrinkage. Girls gotta save for her dreams, am I right? And outside of Old Navy, I’ve been investing in my favorite black denim from H&M for years. They are tight as shit, and you will have to dance and high kick a little to get them to move, but oh so worth it. Hell, I may start hoarding them one day.
2. Sigh … Basic Flats: I know, I know … but hear me out. It isn’t fun when you are running 20 minutes late and just need a God damn simple pair of black flats and all you can find are studded booties and rhinestone encrusted open toed sling backs. Make the investment in a good pair of black, nude and leopard print (yes, leopard print, to me, is a neutral …get over it), flats. So when you ARE running late, you can just throw on any of these go-tos, which will pretty much go with everything and anything, and be done with it so you can haul ass to Point B.
Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.47.08 PM3. Shield Your Eyes to Saucy Boots: Over-the-knee hooker boots are my fav. If I could have closets and closets filled with them, I would. BUT … every lady needs a good pair of flat black boots and a good pair of flat brown boots. “Riding boots” … if you will. I was never a fan of brown boots, until I realized it gives a look, especially a fall one, a softer feel, where as black boots always give me a dominatrix vibe. The OTK boots might be tempting you, luring you with their seductress ways … but remember, we are starting basic, here. Take a cold shower, and buy the basic boots, for the love of God.
Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.49.08 PM3. Get Down With The White Button Downs: Button downs don’t just mean khakis from the Gap, tucked in with loafers. Woof. They make them a bit more jazzier now. Look outside of the Gap box and try stores like Nordstrom and Loehmann’s … those stores are where you will find makers of the classic white button down who thought outside of the boring box.
Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 2.04.21 PM4. The Tits of T-Shirts: Call me crazy, but it is really hard to find the perfect fitting t-shirts. But when you find it, the one that fits perfectly, long enough with the right sleeve length, you buy it in every color … and some you buy two of. Because they are a rare commodity. And know, you will wear them with everything. Don’t lie to yourself. You will. I’m already kicking myself for not investing in more of my favorite Abound t-shirts from Nordstrom Rack, shown to the left.
Screen shot 2013-11-02 at 1.53.59 PM5. Rock A Trench: Yes, they are trendy right now … but they are forever. This is a forever piece. This is when you say, hey I want to invest in a designer piece, but I don’t know what to buy. You say: Burberry trench. Because you will literally have it until you are wrinkled up, old and gray.

I Got 99 Problems, But A Witch Ain’t One

Happy Halloween!

‘Tis truly one of my favorite holidays … and not just because you get to transform yourself into anyone or anything you have ever wanted to be. Mostly it is because of the copious amounts of chocolate and candy you can consume and not be judged for it.

I have so many fantastic memories from Halloween’s past. Like when I got to wear red high heels to school when I was in third grade (note they had like an inch block heel) when I came dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz (what can I say, I had growth spurts early on and could rock a woman’s size 7 heel). Or when my roommate in college and I dressed up as Sonny and Cher and I got to whip my long black wig around all evening, hoooooooo :::hair flip, tongue to top lip:::. Or even this past weekend when I dressed up as the twins from The Shining with one of my dear friends and got to scare the shit out of people all evening. I mean … Halloween is the best.

But here, right now, I want to pay homage to some of the baddest ladies that make Halloween, Halloween. The ones who made us dream of being able to point our fingers and make Prince Charming appear, or wiggle our noses and have an ice cream sundae pop out of thin air when our sweet teeth were calling.

So Happiest of Halloweens to all of my fantastic readers. And enjoy my mini photo montage below of some of my favorite witches from TV, movies, music (not saying Stevie Nicks is a witch … buuuut …) and even literature (clearly because I’m a word nerd).

Be safe, eat a ridiculous amount of candy and chocolate, and drink any and all spooky cocktails responsibly.

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Retire Your “Sexy” Cat Ears …

grady… because scary is the new sexy this Halloween.

We’ve all done it, ESPECIALLY if you are a college graduate. You say you won’t wear lingerie, throw on a pair of animal ears and call yourself a “mouse … duh” (it just wouldn’t be Halloween without quoting Mean Girls), but you will and you do … because every girl you know is, and dressing like an ironic tree just doesn’t seem like it would make you the coolest chick at the party anymore.

I was torn this Halloween. Do I go funny … or do I go scary, something I hadn’t done since I dressed like a witch in third grade. Most of the time I go funny … or as a pop culture reference. But this year … I was jonsin’ to scare the shit out of people. Don’t know why … just was. And what is scarier than the twins from The Shining, am I right?

And after attending a party this past weekend where I spent the night freaking people out, including me when I looked in the mirror … I realized that dressing scary is a thousand times better than dressing like a cat whore. I imagine the two guys reading this want to throw sharp objects at me for making a statement like that … but wait, I have my reasoning:

1. The Hotter The Mess The Better: Making yourself look dead is a breath of fresh air from the every day trial and tribulation of trying to make yourself look like a stud. I received more joy out of applying thick amounts of black eyeliner and smearing it down my face then if I was actually trying to perfect the cat eye look. I rubbed eye shadow on my lips to accent my paleness … I did things outside of my makeup comfort zone (since, I try my hardest to, you know, look alive on a daily basis). AND, not to mention, no one could tell if I was drunk or not. In fact at one time I looked at myself in the mirror mortified over how drunk I looked, but realized it was just my awesome death makeup. My biggest concern of the night wasn’t that my whore red lipstick had come off, but that I didn’t look scary enough. When, my friends, will you EVER get this opportunity?! It’s brilliant.

2. Get Comfy: Sure, wearing corsets, fish nets and stilettos seems like a fun idea, in essence, but it sucks. Badly. It literally encompasses everything about Life Sucking In A Strapless Bra. You’re cold, you’re in pain, your God damn fish nets are falling down, you look drunker than you are because you can’t walk in your stilettos, and every 10 seconds you have to keep checking to make sure your giggly bits haven’t popped out of their home for the evening. Awful. Hence why rocking a nightgown from the granny section of Walmart … yep WALMART … and flats was pure genius. I was warm, I kept my figure by belting it with ribbon, AND … my favorite part, I had pockets. POCKETS! I didn’t have to shove my phone in my cleavage, for once.

3. That’s a Scary Mask, Bro: I got to scare the shit out of people for funsies. I mean, this one speaks for itself. If there was someone chatting with me that I didn’t want to entertain anymore, I would just turn on the Shining charm, angle my face down and look seriously frightening. Memo was received after that one.

4. No Competition: Girls spend more time than you think trying to make themselves look like an amazingly, beautiful version of themselves in pop star/whorish cat form.  And when a hotter version of your costume would waltz in to the party, it would crush your evening and make you want to lose your voice talking shit. But when you are dressed as a zombie twin … it doesn’t matter. Oh hey, 14 versions of Lady Gaga … what’s good? I’m going to go twerk in my granny gown from Walmart. Byeeeee.

So there you have it, ladies. Don’t be afraid to get a little scary … it rules, mostly because of the comfort level. I don’t want to act like an ACTUAL granny here, but if you think guys will want to talk to you more just because you threw on some fish nets, short shorts and called yourself some sort of woodland creature … well, for shame. Have fun … that’s what Halloween is all about. I had fun scaring people … and if being a whorish squirrel will make your evening come alive … then so be it … who the hell am I to judge!

Happy Halloween, kids!

Got Crushed Condé Dreams?

tumblr_mdpa1o4HfI1rqp20wo1_500When I was in high school, the thought of working as a writer at Vogue, for me, was better than getting the opportunity to meet Mick Jagger in person. It was everything. It was the reason why I worked tirelessly in all of my English/creative writing classes in high school. It was the reason why I fought my way in to publications at age 18 to start my freelancing career. Hell, it is the reason I am doing what I am doing here today.

I don’t want to quote Drake right now, but I see no other option … :::sigh::: in the editorial world you truly gotta start from the bottom so in 20 years you can say “now we here!” Gross, let’s disregard that moment, shall we. Moving on. So internships in college are a must. I truly believe you can’t get anywhere in the editorial world without them. And hearing that Condé Nast has axed their internship program is devastating on so many levels.

When I realized I couldn’t just waltz into Vogue and start writing after I graduated high school, I got hungry for editorial internships. Mind you this was during the “LC and Whitney Teen Vogue” era … and every girl in her 20′s who thought she had an ounce of style was fighting for these prized positions so she could sit in a style closet, pretend to type on a Mac computer and discuss boy drama and last night’s events at Le Deux with fellow interns.

I won’t lie to any of you though. I met one of my best friends at a style internship. And we (sometimes) sat in our intern office on our Mac computers and kind of felt like Whitney and LC, but secretly loathed them at the same time because we were the real deal. Unlike them, we spent our internships fact checking and looking for any and every opportunity to get a chance to be published in the mag and impress out editors. And no, this was NOT a Condé internship. We were hungry … and if we got the opportunity to go to Paris, we would have gone. Lauren didn’t go to Paris. Lauren stayed at the beach with her boyfriend. How did that work out for you? (Sorry I couldn’t help but drop that epic quote from The Hills).

I’m devastated for my once 18-year-old self and current hungry young style writers with big Condé Nast dreams that will never be fulfilled. I get it, high-powered editors are sick of toying around with interns who are just there to be “there” or don’t give a shit, or feel entitled and just want “Vogue Magazine Intern” on their resumes. There is nothing worse than a shitty intern. BUT … there are diamonds in the sea of slackers, high-powered editors, there are diamonds.

For young, driven style writers (ew I sound like I’m 80), walking in to an internship should be intimidating, yet one of the most memorable moments of your life. It should be something you want to throw your entire self into. It should make you want to ask questions, ask more questions, and go above and beyond your role as an intern. Saddle up because you will be asked to do some shit-tay things … but do it with a smile. You might not get paid, and if you DO get paid ANYTHING … get down on your knees and thank sweet Jesus, because in my day (hello … I’m a granny), that was a rarity. Do everything in your God damn power to have your editor say to you on your last day, “you’re hired.” If you don’t feel that in an internship … kindly leave.

But for the young writers with crushed Condé dreams, your careers aren’t over. Trust. There is life outside of Condé, believe me. Just because the curtains have closed on the Condé internship program doesn’t mean one day you won’t be rubbing shoulders with Anna Wintour somewhere. Truth.

Signing off … your wise, old granny style writer :::shaking cane:::

Lesson Learned: Stop Hitting Snooze

article-1368963-0B4A7BF100000578-386_468x514I’ve never been one to listen to alarms, or eagerly jump out of bed two hours before I’m supposed to so I can squeeze in my morning jog, shower and then peaceful flip through the newspaper. Nope. I’m more of the set my alarm a half hour earlier than I need to get up so I can snooze until I actually have to wake up, then barter with myself so I can sleep 10 minutes more. “If I take 10 minutes to do my hair instead of 15 and not pack lunch … I can totally sleep longer.” Sometimes it works … other times it turns into a whirling dervish of a nightmare.

Welp … today was my nightmare. I learned a very valuable lesson that snoozing even more than you allow yourself to snooze equals hot mess. Because some mornings … everything goes wrong … like:

1. Your hair is a hot mess. Satan clearly came in and turned your thermostat up to a bazillion degrees or you contracted some weird eight-hour Black Plaque that caused you to have a fever of a 105 because it looks like you sweated yourself to death. Meaning your hair is a half curly, half straight, matted mess that takes longer than usual to tame.

2. You throw together an easy outfit since it is Friday, and add a little bling to it with your favorite necklace. Then you realize said favorite necklace is half-broken, yet fixable, but needs actual tools to fix. No time for that, though. You carefully rig it so it stays on your neck, until you’re walking to the train and feel it slowly slipping off your neck. Now it lives in the bottom of your handbag, and your outfit, which is definitely “menswear” inspired, looks like you went shopping at Mens Warehouse because all of your “feminine touches” failed miserably.

3. Your kitten needs attention. Because she always needs attention in the morning. You know this. And you can’t say no to a little, adorable kitten who is rubbing up against your legs looking up at you with big eyes in dire hope that you will be her playmate. Right? How could anyone possibly say no to that face?! Dammit :::shaking fists while rolling around on the floor like an idiot with the kitten:::

4. Your manicure looks like a crack whore took a stab at a new career path on you. Chipped to hell and rigid to the point where you can’t even be seen in public. So before running out the door, you decide to throw on an extra coat to cover up the chipped parts … until you realize you are using the wrong color … and the color you are using is 150 years old and thick … really, really thick (and I loathe that word, just to be clear). You go back and forth, should I go bare, or should I just keep going. But there is no looking back now … you have a train to catch, dammit, since you missed the last four you SHOULD have been on. And when you realize the nail polish is so thick (vom) that it won’t dry, you try your best to carefully slip into your brand new trench coat without staining it with Essie “Real Red.” You’re in the clear until you’re waiting for the train and notice a little drop of it on your coat’s lapel. Fuckity, fuck fuck.

5. You don’t have time to check the weather, assume it’s going to be balls cold and, in reality, it  turns out to be a mild fall day. You end up sweating to death whilst power walking to the train, so you rip off your circle scarf (this is where the necklace tumbles off your neck) and shove it into your big tote bag of wonders. And when it comes time to dig for your train card, it is nowhere to be found. You then have to sit down on a germ infested bench and dig through your bag. Your circle scarf now has become a jungle for tampons, loose change and lip glosses. Your umbrella a vortex of gum wrappers and iPhone accessories. It’s gone. Nowhere to be found. The last train you could possible take before actually being REALLY late just chugged on by, and you’re basically screwed. Until you see the yellow little devil card peeking out from under your umbrella, basically giving the finger. You shove all your shit back into the bag of wonders, suppress your need to scream bloody murder, and keep on going.

So let’s tally this up, shall we? I’ve somewhat ruined one of my most beloved new coats, my nails look worse than when I woke up … I’m literally actually considering getting a manicure over my lunch break it’s that bad, and my necklace is hanging out at the bottom of my handbag, probably to stay there for a really long time since I’m lazy. I’m also lacking caffeine since I didn’t have time to stop for tea this morning, and I’m overall a hot disheveled mess.

Lesson learned: Get your God damn ass out of bed when the stupid alarm goes off. It sucks and is painful, but at the end of the day, not having to deal with all that stuff above would make me a happier, more caffeinated person.

Now … does anyone know how to get red nail polish out of fake suede? Anyone? Anyone?

Going Old School With ModCloth

modclothInspiration can come from numerous places. Street style, flipping through fashion mags, a day of shopping (or what I like to call my cardio regimen). But recently I found myself fascinated with the fashions from the 1950′s. Perhaps it is the vintage furniture store by my house that makes me lust after every piece in there, or maybe it is my borderline obsession with the new show Masters of Sex on Showtime. I’m more obsessed with the wardrobes though and how timeless everything is. A little rigid and out of touch with today’s lax society … but classic and beautiful.

As much as I adore being able to rock jeans everywhere I go from work to fancy restaurants to parties, I kind of wish I got to experience what it was like to have to throw on your best dress, pearls, gloves, and hat for outings like going to the mall. I’m lucky if I even brush my hair when I go to the mall.

So when my friends over at came and asked me to style this lovely Remarkable Without a Cause dress from their private label collection, I immediately saw a golden opportunity to turn it back old school.

All women look good in red. And if you don’t think you do … it’s probably because you are too chicken to try it out. Yeah … I called you a chicken. A red dress, especially this one, is a classic show stopper. One, if styled the way I did, you could wear to work, a date, dinner with friends, or even out running errands, if you want to return to the classic days of beauty. Hell … Chris DeBurgh made an AMAZING song about it. If you don’t think you look good in red, I want you to click this link, listen to this song, and ponder this red dress. Go on … do it.

My inspiration came from Lizzy Caplan … better known as Janis Ian from Mean Girls, but currently has taken the role as Virginia Johnson on Masters of Sex. She’s a single mom, aspiring to be something other than a homemaker, which back then was like saying you fancied worshipping Satan in your free time, and she’s pretty much an overall bad ass chick portrayed in the 1950′s.

What I love about this look that I created is that it immediately ignites confidence. I just imagine a woman dressed to the nines in all of these items, throwing on the shades, grabbing her black patent handbag, flipping her God damn hair and storming the streets. And not to mention it is a great piece to invest in, since it is timeless. A dress cut like this will never go out of style and will forever flatter most body types.

So I hope you have enjoyed my styling for … it was a little too much fun, and a couple of things may or may not have ended up in my closet whilst styling … you know … by accident. And you know what … I’m not ashamed.

All items can be purchased on here: Dress: Remarkable Without A Cause, Shoes: Woo Cute Heel, Bag: Smart Maneuver Bag, Tights: Pin-Up To You, Shades: Take A Glint, Hat: Artistic Accolades Fascinator, Cape: Plethora of Poise, Gloves: Not to Worry

Behold: Coat Porn

I’m a woman obsessed with coats. I think I’ve secretly always adored them. It all started when I was in college watching Devil Wears Prada, or “D Wears P,” as I like to call it. Anne Hathaway’s character goes glam and struts the streets of New York with “Vogue” playing in the background (I mean don’t we all walk around singing “Vogue” to ourselves secretly? No? Just me? Coool … :::shifty eyes:::) Anyways, she rocks several fantastic looks with equally fantastic coats to match. At that point in time I was still in the elementary mindset that you only buy one coat per season and that is that. I say that because I used to battle with my mother every fall when it was time to buy a coat. I loathed everything. So deciding on one was enough for me. But years later as a college student, little did I know such a thing as a coat collection could exist!

And now … as a grown ass woman (it’s cool, I still feel like I’m 15, too don’t worry), I’ve been seduced even further by coats. Who was the saucy minx who wooed me, sang sweet fabric nothings into my ear until my heart fluttered, you ask? Who was the vixen who made me salivate for elegant warmth? Olivia. Mother effing. Pope.

She lets Fitz seduce her, I let her seduce me with her breathtakingly structured designer coats every episode of Scandal. Seriously ABC, I hope you are cool with airing coat porn on your channel, because that is what every episode of Scandal is. Every time Olivia storms into the White House or sneaks off to some secretive meeting while one of her clients sleeps soundly on her couch, I get hot for her coat. I’m not even afraid to admit it.

I was even once loathed white coats before Scandal. Number one I am a stain magnet, number two I take public transportation and God only know what kind of anonymous strangeness could end up on them and number three I just don’t think they are a good long-term investment. Because when I buy a nice coat, much like every coat Olivia wears, I buy it like I would a car. How many years will I have it? How many miles will I walk in it? Will it go with everything I wear? But now … all I’m sayin’ is … mama needs a white coat.

And since the air is starting to have an actual chill in it … I have this strong desire to acquire several amazing coats in different neutrals and tweeds strictly due to Olivia Pope on Scandal. My bank account doesn’t thank you.

So enjoy below as I would like to pay homage to all of the coats I lust after every week due to my Scandal addiction in hopes I can find them in a “look for less” capacity, because I think I can speak for a vast amount of Scandal addicts when I proudly say I can’t swing Tory Burch trenches and Burberry capped coats at this very given moment. Hence why this is coat porn.

Disclaimer: I would avoid viewing this if you are at work, as you may start drooling and or moaning at your desk. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Be still my heart.


Oh dear God … the gloves. You. Are. Killing. Me. With. Those. Gloves.


Mmmmm … strut your stuff, coat …


Oh yeah … button it up … just a little more …

Okay maybe don’t make that face …


That’s it … that’s what mama likes …

My God in heaven. You always know how to hit the spot, Burberry.


Looking Into My Crystal Ball O’ Fashion

Sometimes I think about people who survived the 70′s and 80′s and how they look back and cringe over the outfits they chose to wear. Bell bottoms, power suits, leg warmers, neon everything, acid washed this, punk rock plaid that. Now I only endured three whole years of the 80′s myself, which consisted of me wearing mostly OshKosh and Esprit … so clearly I was the epitome of adorable :::hair flip::: so I have nothing to worry about.

But why do we partake in certain trends if we know sometime down the road we will either be made fun of for what we wore, or end up making fun of ourselves … like how our parents and grandparents get flack for pornstaches, shoulder pads, and Aqua Net infused hair styles. Well kids, it is because we want to be cool. And unfortunately what sets the standards for “cool” is what comes off the high fashion runways. And unfortunately … again … some of those trends just shouldn’t trickle down to gen pop, am I right? But they do … and we make them work for the sake of being “cool.” And if you don’t agree, well then prepare yourselves for my wave of shame.

The wave of shame will have to wait, though, for now I would like to take the role as a fashion soothsayer and predict just what trends will make me cry, eye roll, and want to drink in decades to come:

Ombre Hair: Yes, kids … not only did I dive into the ombre trend head first, but I did my OWN ombre. And after 8 months, one hair cut, and one dye job … I still cannot get rid of the ombre. It’s fall. I’m over the ombre convo, personally. And when people who aren’t even born yet (ew) question why I thought it was a cool idea to dye the bottom of my hair a lighter color … I sadly won’t have an answer for them :::sigh:::

Nail Art: Who needs a canvas when I can express myself with my nails :::jazz hands::: The question is … how many colorful geometric shapes can I have on one nail?! And psh let’s be real, you aren’t anything unless you basically have the God damn Mona Lisa painted on your middle finger nail while the others are painted in a metallic chevron print. Throw flowers on them. Put a bird on it! There. Is. No. Such. Thing. As. Too. Much.

CaptureLiquid Leggings: These seem like a great idea … especially when you don’t have the balls to buy a pair of real leather pants because deep down you know you aren’t Mick Jagger … nor will you ever be. Enter liquid leggings stage right … in every. Color. So cat woman, eat your heart out … you are about to see every delicious nook and cranny of my ass. And when my children, children’s children, children’s children’s children come across pictures of me rocking said pair of liquid leggings with a shirt that isn’t quite long enough to cover my ass fully … they will be thrown into a spiral of night terrors so intense no amount of therapy will ever help them recover.

sandy-in-greaseDIY: In 20-30 years, Pinterest will be the new Atari. And DIY-ing will be the new bedazzling. You heard it here first, kids.

Crop Tops: I’m only including this because they forcefully make a come back every couple of decades. Think about it … 50′s/60′s, late 80′s/early 90′s … and if my math is correct (which it probably isn’t because I am an idiot when it comes to math), around 2033-ish will be when they make another come back after we banish them away in a few months. And when your kid refers to your old Urban Outfitters crop top as “vintage”, I hope you have a box of Kleenex and a bottle of Jack next to you.

Arm Parties: Every time I say “arm party” in my head, I immediately feel this urge to jump up and dance like Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air to “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.” I’m all about arm parties. I think blending the right watches, bangles and bracelets together is amazing … with that being said, I guarantee in 20-30 years this will be considered the new “neon” or “wearing more than one watch.” But never fear, generations to come will revive it and the Man Repeller’s legacy will live on loud and proud.

Heel-less Heels: Thanks for this one, Lady Gaga. Love, your little monsters who are now in their mid-forties with their podiatrists on speed dial. GASP is that a claw?! Nope … that’s just my foot.

Swooning Over Some Spark

Is there anything better in life than surviving an ultra bland Wednesday only to come home to find a shiny package patiently waiting for you from the Postal Service?! Okay … maybe it wasn’t shiny … maybe it was cardboard, but in my head it had a halo around it, alright.

So I bet you are dying to know what was inside, right? Well let me walk you through my experience of opening said package …

Step 1: Desperately trying not to rip open my package like the Incredible Hulk.


Step 2: Succeed … and holy lord, is that a Kitsch hair tie keeping together the posh and pink tissue paper?! The note and spectacular post card … Packaging. Is. Everything.


Step 3: You had me at black velvet jewelry bag.


Step 4: And there she is. :::Sigh::: Isn’t she beautiful? My 1980′s vintage chunky chain bar necklace. :::Swoon::: It may never leave my neck.


Step 5: For real, good luck getting this off of my body, kids.


So if you are looking for a birthday gift, a “you’re my best friend and I adore you” gift, an early Christmas present, or perhaps a gift from you to you to remind yourself how fantastic you are (which I thoroughly recommend doing this every now and then … it’s only healthy) … look to Sweet and Spark for some unique vintage jewelry that I can almost guarantee will always be in style … because vintage is always chic. You heard it here first, kids.

And to Jillian over at Sweet and Spark … thank you truly for sparkifying my bland and boring ol’ Wednesday.

Spark yourselves immediately.

Some Thoughts On A $60 Dress

sarah-silverman-cheap-dress-2013-emmys_350x350Sick of hearing about the red carpet at the Emmy’s yet? Oh come on, you know you want to read just ONE more blog post about it.

I was overall impressed by the red carpet at the Emmys this year. A smidge too much of J. Mendel for my liking, and the fact that Carrie Underwood actually wore a prom dress thoroughly disturbed me, but besides that, I’ll tip my cap to the stylists behind the stars.

So I was sitting on my couch with my cat, sweatpants, hair in messy bun, sans makeup … watching the red carpet and acting like I’m seeing my best friends strike a pose in couture. Yet let’s be real, I don’t know these people. I just know the roles they play on my fav TV shows. But I clear my schedule to endure two hours of them being asked inane questions by Ryan Seacrest and showing off everything down to their manicures in a weird little devil box known as the “mani cam.” Seriously though … with the mani cam, E!?

So when I heard Sarah Silverman state that her dress happened to be off the rack and $60, my frugal, realistic side wanted to give her a slow clap. FINALLY, a star going against the mold and wearing something I could purchase. FINALLY, showing that a dress can be under $100 and still be fantastic enough for the red carpet. Because God help me if I was ever invited to the Emmys, with my luck I would run into Heidi Klum and she would be all, “I’m wearing Versace, who are you wearing?” And I would be all, “Phillip Lim … for Target … that I bought on a shady street corner … and I’m pretty sure it’s fake :::backs away slowly:::.”

But then I remembered something. These people make a ba-zillion dollars. Literally. I’m watching Ryan Seacrest babble and make people awkwardly walk their hands down an undersized red carpet because I want to live vicariously through them. I want to go to bed dreaming of Prada dresses and Roger Vivier stilettos. I want to salivate over Fred Leighton jewels. It’s sad … but let’s be real here. That’s why we watch these silly shows. To escape our lives and pretend to live in the land of glitz and glam for just a mere moment. It is a night with waves of harsh judgement and critique, and a lot of “she looks a hawt mess,” but my GOD does it feel good.

So, while I appreciate the statement Sarah Silverman made on the red carpet, I just kind of wanted her dipped in jewels and luxurious fabrics made by the God known as Marc Jacobs. Kind of … just a little. You’re famous. You make good money. You’re pretty … and even if you weren’t, you probably could hire a team of people to make you pretty. Seriously … as disgusted as I am with myself for saying this, I just want you to make me hate my life a little bit because you look so damn good in a dress I could only afford if I sold my body on the black market.

Fashion Over Technology

apple godUnfortunately my family doesn’t own a chain of popular hotels, nor was my father a very famous attorney who represented a very famous football player who may or may not have murdered his wife, nor am I the daughter of a famous actor of actress, therefore my life consists of choices.

Do I want to buy a pair of Louboutin’s … or do I want to live in a van down by the river?

Do I want to buy a Chanel quilted purse … or do I want to be forced to dance around my place with my new Chanel purse in my PJs in a sea of eviction notices, sans power with my cats (think Grey Gardens) as my friends gallivant out on the town?

You get the idea.

So I have had my iPhone 4 for about 2 years now. Let me say, I am not the type of gal that needs the latest and greatest technology. I’m all about getting the previous version for $100 less that basically does the same thing. Hence why I got the 4 when the 4S came out … and you know what, who needs Siri, from what I hear she is a saucy bitch. But I digress.

So this morning, I found myself getting high on Apple for no apparent reason. I felt this insane pressure to jump in on the craze happening around the country known as the iPhone 5C and 5S. All of a sudden I was frantically trying to get into my online Sprint (yes, I have Sprint … go ahead, make your comments) account, which I NEVER do (hi, I’m old school). But my user ID was wrong and then my password wouldn’t work, and a Pin!? God. Dammit … who made me a Pin?! Then I tried my “secret question” which was “what street did I grow up on.” Welp, Sprint, I only grew up on ONE street, and that answer wasn’t correct, so clearly I was drunk when I made this devil account. So yeah, I was seconds away from flipping my desk prostitution whore-style. Then jumping on my flipped desk like a wild beast screaming and pounding my chest.

I literally did everything in my power until FINALLY by the good graces of Jesus I somehow was able to log in and quickly throw an iPhone 5 in my shopping cart. Mwahahaha IT WILL BE MINE :::lightening bolts crash::: I was salivating. I was mad. I made it all the way to check out, tackled my purse to retrieve my credit card  … when …

I decided to take a deep breath. Compose myself. And at that moment I felt my heart racing like a maniac and saw what I looked like enduring this insane Apple attack from the outside. I had turned into the ultimate spazz. My eyes were probably dilated, too for all I know. What the hell? Why was I about to buy a brand new phone when in reality, minus a few bumps and scratches, my iPhone 4 is f-i-n-e. My case is cute (like to die for cute), and I’ve had a love affair with this phone for 2 whole years, longer than most of my actual relationships … so why would I just trade it in (literally), like it meant nothing to me? And then a photo montage of good times with my iPhone started to move through my head (juuuuuust kidding, I’m not that insane … well, okay maybe a little).

You wanna know what truly stopped be from purchasing a brand new iPhone today? Boots. Fall. Boots. :::Swoon::: I already have a functioning iPhone. And iOS 7 … screw that, who needs it when you can have a luscious pair of over-the-knee black leather boots … :::sigh::: I can 100% deal with a slower moving system, and a phone that sometimes drops calls, and maybe an on and off button that doesn’t completely work and sometimes seems to bruise my thumb, for a couple fantastic pairs of fall boots in numerous colors and textures.

So suck it, iOS 7 nerds, mama is embracing her now vintage iPhone 4 and buying herself a couple of pairs of fierce boots and booties. Make fun of my iOS 6 all you want, iOS don’t give a shit. Vintage iPhone’s are the new black, you heard it here first.

Yes, kids …today was the day that fashion beat out technology, at least in my world.

All funds that would have gone to the iPhone will be going here:





Hey! Philly Does Fashion Week, Too!

CaptureNew York City. Meh. London. Uh huh :::files nails:::. Paris. Yawn. Milan. :::Epic eye roll:::.

It is all about Philly fashion week, people! We got style, yes we do … even though most of the nation thinks we are extremely fat jerks who stuff our faces with cheese steaks and soft pretzels (only a quarter of the time is that true, a thank you very much).

But yes, I am proud and confident enough to say that Philly is turning, slowly but surely, into one of the most fashion-forward cities in America. Will you see Anna Wintour front row in any of the shows/boutique events? Probs not, but I would like to warmly invite her to do so on behalf of the City of Brotherly Love.

And talk about a hipster’s dream come true! Years from now when a more chic and exclusive car company that doesn’t even exist yet is sponsoring Philly Fashion Week, you can proudly scoff at all the labeled-out fashion editors stomping out of the Four Seasons and into the tents at City Hall (yes, this is how I imagine Philly fashion week to look in a couple of years) and say, “pssh I was attending Philly fashion week before these ladies even knew Philly was on the map.” Oh yeah … it’s happening.

But until Anna Wintour arrives and before the fashion world realizes how truly unique and stylish our dear city truly is, we will remain “underground chic,” which I personally think is pretty damn cool.

So for those of you who would like to be “underground chic,” here are some of the most fun and fashion-forward events from some of my favorite designers and boutiques that this city has to offer.

Vintage Designer Pop-Up: Join Fashionaires as they share their designer vintage collection at Palomar Hotel for one day only. Let’s talk about McQueen, Valentino, Oscar de La Renta for up to 80% off the designer store price tags … swoon.
Date: Friday, September 20th starting at noon at Palomar Hotel

The Philadelphia Collection (Okay, take a deep breath because over 60 fashion shows, events, and parties will be happening during this monumental week … here are just a few of my favs).

Hope Chest Undressed: SPANX is here, ladies … what, what! Have some cocktails, enjoy some entertainment … mingle, and oh yeah … get those unruly bumps smoothed!
Date: September 19th, 4-7 p.m., Hope Chest

Rittenhouse Row Fall Fashion Crawl: Boutiques, like one of my favs South Moon Under, will be bringing their fall fashion a-game for an evening of events, cocktails, and pure style.
Date: September 19, 6-8 p.m., Rittenhouse Row

Dressed To A Tea With SA VA: Time to act like proper ladies, which means it is totally cool to faint over fantastic fall fashion from local designers Irina Sigal, and SA VA. Can’t promise that a dapper gent will be there to catch you and fan you back to life, though, so faint at your own risk.
Date: September 21, 2-4 p.m., Sofitel Philadelphia

United By Blue Grand Opening Celebration: Let’s welcome this community-focused boutique to Philly the proper way. I mean come on, every product you buy not only rocks but helps remove one pound of trash from oceans and waterways. Our aqua life thanks you in advance.
Date: September 25, 6-9 p.m., United By Blue

One Shoe Blues

ep50_carrie_tripping_runwayThis weekend I started doing an audit of my shoes since it’s almost boots season (eeeeeeeeeee), and I noticed that some, if not all, of my flip-flops and sandals need to be burned. Clearly I did some walkin’ this summer. Which brings me to what I call Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra story time. Gather around, kids … this is a story about probably one of most monumental wardrobe malfunctions of my summer:

As a preface, I would like to state that I was 87% sober when this event occurred. 

Picture it: Labor Day Weekend 2013. Made in America concert. Well … outside of the Made in America concert. My friend and I made this genius assumption that since there was only an hour left until Beyoncé went on stage ticket prices would absolutely be lowered from $150. Genius. Until some intimidating sales person told us, “NOPE still $150, ya comin’ or goin’, ladies?!” Cool. I wasn’t too bummed, though. The sea of trash trucks blocking off streets like something out of Batman (Christian Bale Batman, not Michael Keaton Batman), concert goers wrapped in American flags, girls who looked like Urban Outfitters threw up all over them throwing their iPhones at me to snap a pic of her and the beeeeeeessssssssssties in front of the Made in America sign … um yeah … let’s just say we backed away slowly.

So we decided to walk on down the Parkway for a nice stroll. A stroll that ended up us pretty much walking around the entire city, but I digress. More importantly, a stroll that my Forever 21 sandals that I had worn for two summers clearly couldn’t handle.

Now before you guys roll your eyes at me and say, “listen, I totally know where this is going and you are a damn fool for buying shoes at Forever 21,” I would like to say to you … CHILL OUT, MAN AND LET ME FINISH MY DAMN STORY!

Ahem, where was I? Ahh yes, the Parkway. It was a lovely humid evening, and the farther you got from the concert, the more the city felt completely abandoned. I found myself looking at black SUVs and wondering if young Blue Carter was inside with Momma Bey. Checking out the beauty of the museums. Enjoying light conversation about where to find margaritas close by with my friend (I told you it was really humid out). And then it happened. Mid-sentence I, out of nowhere, trip. In slow motion (at least in my head), my sandal literally folds in half as I lean forward preparing to fall (I probably made a really awesome face during all of this, too). Luckily my cat-like reflexes stopped me from actually falling, but when I looked down, I found the thong part of my sandal hanging on by a literal thread. How poetic.

There I was. At the end of the Parkway with my one sandal in ruins, picturing myself walking around the city barefoot, contracting numerous flesh-eating viruses as onlookers pointed and laughed, and desperately praying that Payless would pop up magically.

Since I had one thread holding my sandal together, I decided to use what the Gods gave me … and walk on, with my head held high. Well … I’ll use the term “walk” lightly. I ended up having to do this really strange swagger, and no, words just wouldn’t do it justice. I’ll let you use your imaginations for that one. Enjoy.

So the point of all of this is that I want to give Forever 21 a slow clap, and at the same time I would like to do a touchdown dance in front of all the Forever 21 shoe haters, because that sandal that was hanging on by an actual thread didn’t break for the rest of the evening. The little guy stayed strong. I was in awe. Sure I had to walk like an idiot for the rest of the evening, but at least I didn’t have to go barefoot and die. Am I right?

So the moral of this story is, Forever 21 shoes are not only cute, cheap, and awesome … but can pretty much withstand anything with a little hope and a lot of awkward swagger.

The end. 



Photo credit: Visit

There has been a lot of talk about how to not only take an Instagram pic, but also how to look über fab in it, thank you Tyra Banks. There are even articles out there describing what the filters we choose say about us. :::Sigh::: really? Come now, people. Back in the day, I highly doubt folks sat at their typewriters writing about how to not only take a Polaroid pic, but how to make yourself resemble Farrah Fawcett.

I suffer from a pretty severe Instagram addiction, like most Americans. When the phrase, “throw a filter on that shit,” resonates with people from the baby boom era … you know it is a viral disease. And it doesn’t help following people gifted with great photog skills, because it only makes you want to step up your Insta-game. For people with an unexciting life, Instagram makes you feel like you’ve traveled the world with filters and focuses … when it reality, it’s just your average day at the van down by the river.

A part of me misses the disposable camera and film that you had to insert into an actual camera. Why? Because then you wouldn’t take the picture, have five girls dart for the camera, review the picture, freak out about how they resemble a gargoyle and make you retake the photo 1,200 different times with numerous different “hand on hip” poses. Sigh … the good ol’ days.

But instead of giving you tips like popping your hip or angling the camera 35 degrees north of your eye brow for a fantastic photo … I’m going to give you some pointers on what not to do. And just so we are clear, I’ve pretty much done all of them, so no judgement if you partake in these activities, ahem:

1. Don’t. Take. Selfies. Seriously.: I think each person in the world should be awarded a “one selfie a year” card. Because at least once a year you probably look ridiculously fierce and maybe someone isn’t around to help you capture that moment. Then, go ‘head, extend that arm and use your “one selfie a year” card. Then you are done. Until the ball drops next year, you are to not take any more selfies. Promise? Okay everyone take some rubbers (points and my eternal love if you can reference where that quote came from). Listen, I’m going to go ahead and make a big assumption here that the rest of the year I BET someone is around to help you make some photographic memories. You know I’m right.

2. Don’t Ask Drunk People To Take Your Photo: I literally did this this past weekend because I happened to be slightly intoxicated myself and it went a little something like this, ahem: Drunk Me: “hey you, here’s my phone,  will you take our photo :::throws phone at drunk kid:::.” Drunk Kid: Umm I don’t know how to work one of these :::laughs:::. Drunk Me: What?! Who doesn’t know how to work an iPhone … photo now!” You know what I ended up with? A bad, dark photo … turns out the idiot had never heard of a concept known as flash. And also, giving a stranger your phone … really bad idea. Strangers plus handing over a really expensive phone plus intoxication equals your phone dropping in a mug of beer or said stranger running away with it. Or maybe I’m just paranoid, either or.

3. Don’t. Duckface: I’m not even elaborating on this. I know you are thinking it makes your face look so fantastically thin and chic … but wrong. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. You look like a fool. As an ex-duckfacer, except back in my day we called it “Blue Steel” … I’m telling you, you will look back at these photos of yourself 10 years for now and be like “wwwwwwwwhhhhhhhhhy,” and then try to delete them off the Interwebs and realize, OMG I can’t because it is on here forever … I’m screwed. History will forever have photographic evidence that I am indeed an imbecile. So from me to you … stop it. Don’t make me tell you twice.

4. Don’t Act Natural If You Are Clearly Posing: It makes no sense. Why in Jesus Christ’s name would you be acting like you didn’t know someone was taking your photo when we can all clearly see your arm extended, desperately trying to hit the camera icon to take the photo. Psst, just between you and me, people know the paps aren’t following you. We know you aren’t famous (unless you are, then still, you probably would have some minion taking this photo for you). Hate to break this to you but, the gig is up, bro. Don’t worry, you’ll get ‘em next time.

5. Don’t Fixate On A Pose: “OH, EM, GEE … Lisa’s best friend Stephanie told my best friend Rachel’s best friend’s best friend’s dog walker that if you put your hand on your hip and tilt your head to the side, you’ll totes look one hundo percent better in pics.” That rumor got spread so fast to every single female on this planet, until it crossed my ears and I went, “huh?” So I, of course, tried it, and I, of course, ended up looking a hawt awkward mess. Listen, I’m not saying don’t do this, I’m saying be sparingly with it. Photo with your grandma? Maybe wrap your arms around her instead of hip popping, just saying. I swear, your arm won’t look fat in that one photo with your Mom Mom. On the red carpet? Hand on hip, my friend. Tilt that head until the cows come home. Know your audience, know what kind of photo you are taking, and know that the “hand on hip” pose wasn’t sent down from Jesus.

Instagramming is about self-expression, fun, and creativity. Stop giving in to this false sense of celebrity and just be yourself. Here is a song to remind you of that: In advance, you are welcome.

Now back to my regularly scheduled addiction … deciding between Toaster or Lo-Fi.

Get Your Sexy On … Or Not

I may be the most non-sexy person on the planet. And I’m not saying that in an attempt to gain compliments, I’m being 100% factual. And you know what, I’m okay with that.

In life, there are the Scarlett Johansson’s of the world, and then there are the Tina Fey’s (ps. let me make this clear, Tina Fey is my girl. My dream is to one day wear matching PJ’s with sheep on them and nerd out in front of a table filled with delicious junk food and 30 Rock reruns with her. Tina, if you are reading this, first of all OMG Tina Fey is reading my blog, second of all … we’re both Philly girls, we both love junk food, we both adore writing, I mean why AREN’T we best friends should be the question at hand here). Expressing my admiration for Tina Fey … complete.

And if you are anything like me, when you are around a Scarlett Johansson-type woman, you feel this insane pressure to up the sexy ante, if you will. Am I right? You see how seamlessly they bring the boys to the yard just by sitting there and ordering a vodka and club, and maybe giggling here and there. All of a sudden you start to think, hell … I CAN DO THAT!

Wrong. Stop it. No you can’t.

But alas, you will try … and most likely fail. Behold, how you will try and fail at being sexy told by some of my all-time favorite ladies in the whole entire world that I absolutely idolize:

1. You decide after dinner to indulge in a little intellectual convo. Men love smart women. Smart is sexy. You put your fork down and start hitting all the important points. You sip on your wine, flip your hair back like the perfect gust of wind has just graced your presence when … something doesn’t feel right:et3o22

2. You hear attracting things to your mouth intrigues men, so you start applying lip gloss slowly. You roll the applicator over your pouty lips. You think your lip gloss is poppin’ and that everyone in the bar is ready and waiting to make out with you but instead … 40038926

3. You see the guy across the table from you cracking really bad jokes. When the Scarlett Johansson of the group laughs, every one of her perfect teeth sparkle, her smile brightens up the entire room. Angels cry with happiness. She looks like she should be the “after” in a Crest White Strips commercial. So you go for it, you laugh at the idiotic jokes, you feel the sexy protruding from your inner being … when maybe you’ve gone a little too far … http___makeagif.com__media_9-06-2013_8Kf_bL4. Alright, now it is time to bring it to the dance floor. If there is one thing you know how to do, it is bust a move. You start moving like a backup dancer for Britney Spears, flipping your hair back and forth like Cher is trying to possess you, waiting patiently for the swarm of eligible bachelors to start fighting for your attention when in reality …

KristinWiigDancingGif45. Screw dancing, who needs that when you can sip your drink seductively. You slowly bring the straw to your pouty lips, playfully biting it until you decide to take a big sip when

What I’m saying is sexy can’t be learned. You either gots it or you don’t. I’ve embraced the fact that I’ll never be this: scarlett-johansson

But instead a whole lot of fantastic this: SNL-saturday-night-live-388968_384_288

What To Do When You Have No Plans

2c64ff0a792e3be6dbc5c229f1af2deeBecause I have absolutely no concept of time, someone alerted me to the fact that Labor Day was around the corner, meaning now, and I was dumbfounded. Like Summer 2013, where did you go?

Now, does anyone else get heart palpitations when a large chunk of time is staring at you and you have nothing to do with it? Or is that just me? I will be the first to admit that I hate being alone. So you can understand my anxiety about this weekend and how I have nothing to do.

But I decided something. Summer 2013, for me at least, was shit. I’m so ready for it to fade to black and have its sister, Autumn enter stage right. So I’m going to take this 3-day weekend and dedicate it to me, because I am single, childless, in my 20′s and can do shit like this. I’m not saying I’m going to get my hurr and nails did, get a massage, pop a bottle of Veuve for funsies. Nope, I’m talking about supreme decompression and doing things that will make me feel good inside and out … and not in a cosmetic way.

So if you are plans-less, like me, and need some inspiration, here are a few of my Labor Day activities, ahem:

1. Pimp out my blog: Yes, it has been over 2 years … it is time I get big girl hosting and do a complete redesign. There is a lot of boring, technical back-end stuff that needs to be done, so I’m going to saddle up and try and figure it out. GoDaddy … be prepared for frantic phone calls.

2. Become One With Netflix: I know, I know … it’s the last weekend of summer, I should be living it up outside, frolicking in the ocean … blah, blah, blah. Listen, I’m not even close to being tan. Not trying to get all wrinkled up for one summer fling, am I right? So yes, I’m going to cuddle up with Netflix and catch up on some movies and shows that I’ve been dying to watch. I.E. House of Cards.

3. Surround Myself With Fantastic People: Clearly I’m not going to spend the weekend like a recluse, duh … I told you I don’t like to be alone. But allowing yourself to be around people who are positive and love you for being you is the best thing you can do for yourself.

4. Spoon My Kitten: If you haven’t seen my numerous Instagram pics, and have seen and them and haven’t unfollowed me yet, I am a new cat mommy … and this little two month monster needs love and attention. #CatLady

5. Dive Head First Into Fall: Mmm, Fall fashion. It’s time to reinvent myself … and by reinvent myself, I mean buy as many pairs of boots as I possibly can. I’m ready for crisp, fall air … my wardrobe … isn’t. That means I need to go get lost in the mall for a bit. If I don’t come back after a few hours … don’t send a search party, I probably just fell asleep in a pile of leather boots or something.

6. Not Go Anywhere Near Made In America Fest: Crowds. Woof.

7. Kick It In My Backyard: Do you know they sell baby pools for like $5 at Five and Below? Because they do. Signature cocktails. Backyard lounging. Sunshine. Baby pool. A little slice of heaven.

8. Diet who now?: Yeah … diet shmiet … come September I’ll start counting my calories. Until then … it’s all about carbs on carbs on carbs.

9. Sleep: ZzzzZZZZZZzzzz, step 1 of a fantastic beauty routine. Catch up on Z’s and then get cocktails with them and take them home for a night cap. I’m not kidding … I’m going to pretend sleeping until 11 a.m. is totally the social norm and I will tell my mental alarm clock to suck it.

10. Live: Doing something that kicks your heart rate up a notch is the healthiest thing you can do. Not sure what my “live” moment will be just yet, but stepping outside of your comfort zone is not only freeing, but healthy. Get a tattoo, have a cocktail or 5 at lunch, sky dive, explore a new part of the city alone … it will be worth the rush.
With that being said, I hope everyone has a fantastic and safe Labor Day Weekend, no matter if you are shakin’ your ass with Beyonce or spooning a cat.

Slow Clap For Special K

CaptureI give you my 100% approval to throw stuff at me when you read the next paragraph, ahem:

When I was in 7th or 8th grade, I remember shopping at the Gap and being utterly disturbed and devastated when I went from a size 2 to a size 4. I would try to squeeze my ass in the size 2 pair of jeans … only because they were a size 2, and because I was under the assumption that moving up to a size 4 meant that I was gaining weight and getting fat. Alright, I have taken cover, you may throw whatever you want at me, just don’t aim at my face.

This awful and embarrassing memory popped in to my head when I saw the latest commercial out of Special K last night. Now I love me some Special K (and no Special K is not paying me to write any of this) … especially those breakfast bars, the chocolate and pretzel ones … to die for. The problem is I could eat like four of them in one sitting, which defeats the whole purpose of being “healthy”. I gobble it up like a beast and crave 10 more. But that is neither here nor there.

I did kind of fall in love with their “Size Sassy” campaign, for numerous reasons. In our world, obviously, there is such a push to be fit, skinny, in a size 2. Size 2 is king … and also … completely unobtainable for normal women. And you know what, there is nothing wrong with that.

A little secret about me: I never weigh myself. I’m not saying everyone should do this, but this is just what works for me. I’ll only get weighed if my doctor literally drags me to that old-fashioned machine and makes me. And it isn’t because I’m pushing that number under the rug, or turning a blind eye … it is because I feel like I am healthier when I don’t know. Listen, you know when you gain weight, or feel bloated, or even unhealthy. Your body tells you those things. You know when your pants are a little too snug and when you need to do something about it. The hard part is actually getting off your ass and making a change.

And I just want to give Special K a slow clap for changing their messaging a bit and focusing on women getting to what they believe is a comfortable weight and to one that makes them feel good enough to fit in to their “sassy pants”. For some women that may be a size 14, others it may be a size 6 … who knows. Doesn’t really matter. We don’t live in a world of 2, 4, and 6 and for the rest of the people, they can just try Sears (if you get that reference we are officially best friends). We are all different and that is what kind of rules about being a chick (Jesus, let me break out in song).

At the end of the day it is about the fit and look of a pair of jeans, not shaming yourself for not resembling Kate Moss …  am I right? A guy isn’t going to deny you and say, “woof … that girl is rockin’ a pair of size 10 Citizens of Humanity … bu bye :::z snap::: (because that is how I imagine men hit on women in their minds …clearly). No, they are going to be too busy checking out your curves to even give a shit. I’m not a violent person, what-so-ever, but if a guy EVER commented on the size of my jeans I would drop kick a bitch.

So thank you, Special K, I really hope you’ve started the movement to help women stop torturing themselves by trying desperately to lose those annoying 10 pounds, as well as fixating on their weight, and instead help them get healthy and slip into their sassy pants, whatever they may be, over a reasonable amount of time.

If you haven’t seen this kick-ass commercial, check it out here:

Disclaimer: I swear Special K did not pay me to write any of this. I just love a good advertising campaign that supports women instead of putting awful thoughts in their heads about the need to look a certain way that is totally unobtainable. Word.

Dear MTV …

imagesOkay, I could sit here and write about how my eyes burned whilst watching Miley Cyrus hump teddy bears, or how she single-handedly ruined “Blurred Lines” for me forever, or how I was so tired of seeing the MTV camera only pan to Taylor Swift and her stupid face … but no, I refuse.

What I WOULD like to say is, what the eff, MTV?! Seriously. Want to know why I felt like I was 100 watching this spectacle even though I’m only 26? Because you don’t play music videos anymore. Not even a little bit. Instead you make up shows about slack-jawed yokels who get engaged to the “love of their life” via the Internet (ps. how does one even do that nowadays with the death of chat rooms? Seriously, am I right?!) and need some “dreamy” hipster to help them figure out, WHOOPS … that 5’10 bikini model you thought you were engaged to is actually a balding 55-year-old man who is bi-sexual with a foot fetish. Oh and my new fav is the commercial I saw for the show about more slack-jawed yokels on the road to figuring out if they are related. RELATED. Umm … come again?

Can I just say from age 12 to maybe two years ago, I worshiped the VMAs. Wanna know why? Good performances, actual shocking moments (One word: Madonna), not just Miley Cyrus jiggling her “ass” awkwardly in the face of a married man, and videos I was actually rooting for. The amount of money that these artists … well … record labels spend on these videos for NO ONE to see them unless you happen to be bored one day and say, “hey self … wonder what Drake did for his new music video,” and pull up YouTube is not only a travesty … but ridiculous.

The only thing that saved the show last night was JT. And I’m not just saying that because I die for him or want to marry him secretly, but because the guy is pure talent. You can say you hate him all you want and talk all the shit you would like, but deep down you know I’m right and you are probably juuuuuust a little jealous. Come on … admit it.

Sigh … MTV, listen. You are a channel that people in their 30′s and 40′s look back on with fond memories. In fact, I’m in my 20′s and look back with a smile as I recall running home from high school to catch TRL because Britney Spears was going to be on or Mariah Carey was going to make a mid-breakdown special appearance. Now … do kids REALLY get excited about shows like Awkward? Catfish? The freaking CHALLENGE?! Hi … those people weren’t really young even when I was a teenager, and yet they are still doing all these stupid stunts to win $25 thou. Cool.

I’m going to sound like I’m wearing a Talbots cardigan buttoned up to my neck, holding my Chanel quilted handbag close to my chest as my reading glasses dangle around my neck from a set of pearls (which I’m not … I’m actually pretty liberal) but … I’m really frightened for our youth. All I’m saying is, maybe, just maybe, stop trying to push the limits and maybe focus on setting an example for kids … show them art, show them music, show them expression. Don’t just teach them that one day, if you act a fool, you can be a reality star, too. And if not, well, those record labels should take the money they would spend on a fancy video and give it to a better place … like music/art programs for kids. Just sayin’ … because I really don’t want to be in my 30′s and 40′s shaking my fist at a bunch of 20-somethings just showing off that they are “adults yo” by twerking in an ill-fitting onesie with their tongues sticking out. Just sayin’ …

And scene.


Step Aside, Smokey Eye, Step Aside

22c43ecd8fd3c62386c357b92d7c58f5The thing I love about the fashion industry is that trends come and go … except Chanel. That shit is here forever … and I’m one hundo percent okay with that. But what I’m saying is if you don’t like a trend, or something doesn’t look right on you … it will fade to black in seasons to come. And that is a fact you can rely on.

Except the God damn smoky eye. What is with that thing?! I remember I was in high school when it started to take off … and that was :::starting to trail off and mumble::: number of years ago. And I was immediately put under its spell, getting it done for both of my proms, and formals in college, and just for funsies when I needed a pick me up, and now I’m STILL getting it done for weddings and events. Welp, the spell has been broken … I’ve had just about enough of you, smokey eye.

Sure, it looks über chic on some people … but I realized after all of these years, every time I get it done, I walk around afterward asking people if I look a hot tranny mess. I suppose I have an issue with having eye shadow up to my eye brow, and then I feel restricted because in my head I think I should only wear a nude lip … but still the makeup artist puts color on my lips and then I feel like Mimi from the Drew Carey show, who knows. Honestly, when you pay good money for someone to do your makeup, you should walk around thinking nothing but, “I’m the shit.” But for me it’s more like dear God my face is shiny, I look like a stripper, how do I get this shit off of my eyebrow .. etc.

It doesn’t help that no one can it properly, either. A makeup trend shouldn’t be this tricky, folks. Revlon shouldn’t be coming out with products like, “smoky eye for dummies”, 10 years after the makeup trend surfaced. And quite frankly when I see Kate Hudson on that commercial for Almay’s version of “smokey eye for dummies”, showing how simple and stress-free it is to apply, I want to punt my television AND her skinny ass. I mean, come on. I’ve watched YouTube videos, I’ve had extremely talented makeup artists explain to me the tricks of the trade, and I still end up looking like an awkward, gothic teenage kid who hates her parents and expresses her teenage rage through black eye shadow and liner.

To me, the smokey eye should be “smokey” … grays, blacks, you know … DRAMA. But every time I go to get it done, they end up using all of these crazed colors, when in reality, I’m just looking for the old-school drama and glamour of the look. Now listen, I know I’m not a makeup expert … and I’m not THAT talented at applying makeup, but when someone is coming at me with blue shadow to match the dress I am wearing and somehow will turn that color into a “smokey eye” … well, I”m backing away slowly and then running like hell.

Then there was that time that I wanted to just get my eyes done for a bachelorette party I was attending, and of course, since it was a sassy night out with the gals, I wanted the drama. I always have this vision of myself looking like a bond girl with a smokey eye. Well this lovely, super “talented” makeup artist decided tangerine would be a cool color to use. I thought it would just be an accent color, meanwhile she was slapping it on my entire lid, up to my brow. The looks of sheer horror on my friend’s face was priceless, and when I saw the finished product, the amount of rage I felt was endless. That was the one and only time I have ever shamed a makeup artist in my life. I just stood up, took a cloth and started wiping it off. She looked confused and scared. I just returned to my natural state and stormed off. Tangerine? Really? Just because I have blue eyes doesn’t ever make that color okay to use as a shadow … just sayin’.

So to the cosmetics companies out there, do not try to lure us into buying products that make the smokey eye easy, breezy and beautiful … because they do not. “All you do is one stroke of the dark color, then another stroke of the lighter color, a little mascara, and little liner and then .. WA-LA!” Shut your face, okay … shit like that doesn’t happen in real life.

To the smokey eye … you were fun. I played around with you, we had some semi-good times together. But you’re a little too high maintenance for my liking. Let’s put you away for a better day and give another eye makeup trend a whirl, shall we? I personally adore the thick wing-tipped, Amy Winehouse-inspired liner and only that.

What is your favorite eye makeup trend?

We … Got … You BACK!

songI mean is everyone else still recovering after hearing the AMAZING news of N’SYNC reuniting AND performing at the VMA’s this weekend?! My 13-year-old self is squealing with joy, while my 26-year-old professional self is keeping the squeal inside and instead secretly trying to remember the sweet dance moves to “Bye, Bye, Bye.” It’s funny … I can’t remember what I did yesterday, but I CAN sing every single lyric of “Digital Get Down” … but I digress …

Right now I would like to time travel back to the year 2000. A time when I was freshly 13. A time when I rocked braces AND a palette expander (hawt). And I time when I was 110% positive that I was going to be Mrs. Kate Elizabeth Timberlake.

I attended two N’SYNC concerts, and both times were pure ecstasy. I literally have a photo album (what up, old lady), of really horrifying pictures of little dots that were N’SYNC from my disposable camera (yep, I’m SUPER old) with even more horrifying captions next to them. I wasn’t one of those girls that screamed until they were hoarse during the concert. Oh no … I sat there, next to my best friend, held her hand, and cried. CRIED. Except that one time when he totally pointed at me during “This I Promise You,” I cried AND screamed. I mean … I still get the chills thinking about it (psyche).

So before attending my first concert, I was convinced that somehow I would get to go backstage and meet Justin, so I needed to look like, PERFECT, because clearly we were going to fall in love instantaneously, right?! To explain my 13-year-old style in the year 2000, I was secretly obsessed with Carrie Bradshaw. Even though I was definitely not allowed to watch the show, I saw her in other places and died for her. So, in essence, she was my style idol. So I tried to make her edgy and fabulous style happen … at the Gap … since … welp, that is where my mom took me to shop … cool.

So enjoy my top 3 highlights of the style I rocked at my very first N’SYNC concert, ahem:

1. I talked my mom into letting me get my hair professionally straightened for the concert. My hair was really short and, due to sweet sweet puberty, an insanely kinky, curly disaster area. If I tried to straighten it, I would have a horrific afro. So I needed my hair dresser at the time, who was known for making my hair “Asian straight,” to make me glamorous. At the time it took them 2 1/2 hours to get my hair perfectly straight … and it was worth every agonizing moment.

2. Remember crystal tattoos? Oh yeah … I also made my mother go on a massive hunt for these bad boys because I HAD to wear one to the concert. That would totally bring Justin to the yard. Oh yeah … and I’m pretty sure it was in the shape of a butterfly … :::rolling eyes:::

3. I was rocking a sweet palette expander AND braces. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it is a rather large piece of metal that goes on the roof of your mouth and every night it had to be turned with a key to “expander your palette.” It was a painful nightmare and made me talk funny. So thank Jesus I didn’t actually meet Justin because it would have sounded something like, “OH EM GSSHHEE, JUUSSHHTIN, I JUSSHHTH LUGGE YOU!” I like to think he would have still married me, though.

Woof. So there you have it. Even though it makes me cringe a bit … it brings back fond memories of me standing in front of my TV waiting patiently for Carson Daly to play an N’SYNC video so I could learn all the dance moves. And yes, my plan is to get my girlfriends together on Sunday night so we can drink wine and keep our fingers crossed that everyone, besides Justin Timberlake isn’t a fat, overweight loser now … mainly Chris Kirkpatrick.

What is your favorite N’SYNC moment?

Beyonce Is Brainwashing Us

1375967866000-beyonce-pixiePhase 1:
Queen Bey chops off her “hair” into a pixie cut which causes hysteria amongst the masses. Breaking News headlines erupted, bloggers went absolutely insane, and even CNN covered the story … must have been a slow news day, huh, kids? No wars … poverty … destruction to cover? No? Alright, Beyoncé’s new do it is.

Me? Well, I wasn’t that shocked. I just assume all celebrities wear weaves, extensions, and/or wigs … because I would if I was famous. And honestly, who the hell can have long, luscious, chemically treated locks that look THAT good ALL the time … am I right? So, again, I just assumed that she took the extensions out and chopped off what was left into a fierce pixie. Not that big of a deal … not that mind-blowing. But according to sources, those long luscious locks were all hers. Mmmm hmmm and I just wake up looking natural beautiful every day. Pa-lease. And if you did, Beyoncé … why didn’t you post pics of the several inches of hair you hacked, hmmm? That moment is totes Instagram-worthy … so what’s the deal?

Brainwashed Status: Psssssh, please :::flips hair:::

Phase 2:
More people start talking about, and by more people I mean everyone in the world. I swear monks that have taken a vow of silence uttered, “did you see Beyoncé cut all of her hair off?!”

I began to get irritated, yet intrigued, over people’s idiotic statements like, “I’m going to sell my tickets to see her concert because what is Beyoncé without her hair?” Umm … whaa? A woman with that kind of endless amounts of dough could make a splash and chop all of her hair off and the next day have a flaming red bob with blunt bangs. I mean, give me a break.

But I couldn’t help thinking about the balls it took to do something so drastic like chopping your hair off. In fact, I found myself bringing it up in conversation: “So how about Bey’s pixie cut, huh?” What was happening?! I curled up in a small ball and began stroking my long, somewhat luscious locks thinking to myself, “I would never hurt you like that.”

Brainwashed Status: Bey is creepin’ on in.

Phase 3:

All it took was one more person.

I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, checking my Instagram (no I wasn’t, employer, I was doing … my … job :::thumbs up:::) when I saw one of my favorite models, Coco Rocha, in the process of getting her luxurious locks chopped into a pixie.

What. Was. Going. ON!?

The end product was amazing. She looked fierce. Compared to her pixie, her long hair was yawn worthy and dull. But stop. Wait. She is a model. She is always fierce. But this hair cut put me in a trance. Beyoncé looked amazing, now Coco … maybe I should …


For a hot minute I thought to myself, maybe JUST maybe the big change I needed in my life was to chop off all my hair. Think of how easy the maintenance would be. No more long showers conditioning my long locks, no more hours straightening and flat ironing and curling. I could just shake it out, blow it out, and be done. And then I remembered I had curly hair. And this vision flashed before my eyes for some reason:


What had happened to me?! Had I gone insane. Abso-frikin-lutely I had! I have thick, unruly, kinky curly hair. And I’ve worked YEARS tirelessly to get my hair to this length. Why, sweet Jesus why, would I do something like that to myself?! Sure, if I had a dream team of people who could 24/sev touch up my hair during humid days and constantly reassure me that my head didn’t look ginormous and that I don’t look like a dorky, teenage boy … sure. Yes! Sign me up … but those things just aren’t in the cards now, are they?

Listen, I appreciate the Twiggy throwbacks, but I really hope this doesn’t become a “thing”, because ladies, you need to be a special person to pull off the pixie. You need to think about your personality, your style, what kind of hair you have (curly girls … avoid and use caution), your outlook on life, etc and so forth. Because some women chop of their hair and it only accentuates their beauty, and others … well … yowsa. If we could all have pixie cuts one day and long flowing locks the next like Queen Bey, well, we would, now wouldn’t we?

Sigh. Nice try with the brainwashing, Bey, now if you would excuse me, I need to go whip my long, semi-luxurious locks back and forth for funsies.

What Up, Bag Ladies?

img-thingSo that bag to the left? It’s simple, chic, cute, “sporty”, dependable … and officially the biggest pain in my ass … no no I’m sorry … my right shoulder.

I traded in my car keys for life on the train as a commuter about two whole months ago. I was used to sitting in my car for an hour, firing through radio stations, singing to myself, sometimes talking to myself, and cursing out other idiot drivers. All activities I could no longer partake in. So what does one do whilst riding said train? I can’t just stare out the window … I need stuff! Lots and lots o’ STUFF! And “stuff” can’t just live in my quaint across the body purse that is lovely for summer, now can it? NO! I need yet another bag. Yep … I’ve become that girl. The girl that walks around with her purse … AND  the “other bag”. The other bag where all the “stuff” lives.

Maybe it was because I was used to throwing my life in my car. If I needed to change into flats … there was most definitely two different pairs in there waiting for me. If I needed a cardigan … no worries, the question was did I want blue, black, or a patterned version? But now … I was all by my lonesome. And because of that I adopted this tote. This evil, evil tote.

I had big plans for said tote. I was going to fill it with fantastically interesting books (yes, I’m old-fashioned … I don’t believe in all that e-reader, iPad bullshit), an umbrella, hand sanitizer, magazines, a note pad in case I felt like writing “old school”, bottles of water … you know everything I thought a gal riding the train needed to keep her entertained. Riiiiggghht.

Listen, I won’t hold you in suspense any longer … because I know you are standing on your chair right now screaming, hands waving violently like, “for the LOVE OF JESUS … WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR DAMN TOTE!?” Welp, kids … this devil bag has become a part of me for some reason. Kind of like my comfort blanket on the train, in a sense. I have no reasoning behind it, I just need to have it with me, alright! Lay off, man! Okay, I suppose maybe I feel like it makes me look “official” or like I’m actually going to work and not just grabbing brunch with my besties Carrie Bradshaw-styley. I just need to be carrying something … and I made that something this tote crafted by Satan.

But the other day I realized I hadn’t ACTUALLY used my tote in a really long time. Meaning I hadn’t put anything in it or taken anything out of it. So why was it so damn heavy, and what the eff did I have in there? When I looked … I frightened myself a little. Like uttered the words, “dear God,” and took a step back.

So I will hold you in suspense no more. Right now … in the bag that I carry on the train and off day after day … here is what you would find inside of it (side tid bit: this is the first time I’m actually rummaging through it as well … so yeah … enjoy the ride, kids)

-A close to 300 page book … that I finished over a month ago

- A print out of questions for an interview I conducted with a woman … close to a month ago … that I no longer need … or want … or have use for … Jesus …

-An umbrella (that I put in there today only because I got stranded under an over hang on the street last week and learned my damn lesson)

-A plastic Walgreens bag … with nothing inside of it but a receipt … really?

-Good God … my old broken wallet … that is broken … and old … and literally has nothing inside of it besides like an old insurance card or two … what are the kids saying these days “SMH”? “SHM”? Oh … you get it.

-A take out menu for a sushi place around the corner from where I live (never know when hunger could strike, am I right?!)

-Oh boy … :::cough::: a take out menu for a really awesome pizza place around the corner from where I live … yowza

-2 bucks … now THAT is what I’m talking about!

-An empty Stila lip gloss … RIP, I adored that color … hmmm note to self, visit Sephora tomorrow … I’ll write that on my … oh wait … note pad I never got

-2 things of peanut butter crackers that are practically dust by now … ew

-An empty chap stick … what is wrong with me?

-2 very old magazines that I was using for research that have since fallen apart in my bag … so technically this should be written as “parts” of a magazine

-An oversized decorative flower pin (think Carrie Bradshaw) … I got creative whilst accessorizing one morning and decided it was a bad idea by the time I made it to the train

-One tampon …

-A receipt from Walgreens … yes, different from the plastic bag … I love me some Walgreens

-A train card that is identical to my actual train card except has negative $1.14 on it (don’t even ask me how that happens) and MY train card has money on it (or so I hope, at least)

I need a moment of silence :::::bows head in shame::::::

Sigh. I don’t have words for myself. After I found the second takeout menu my self-respect level plummeted. In conclusion … I legit have absolutely no reason to be carrying around this tote. And to top it off … I HATE having to carry around 2 bags. I get so confused. Are my sunglasses in my purse or in bag number 2, is my chinese takeout menu in my tote or in my wallet? I mean for the love of Jesus … why am I doing this to myself?!

But alas, I shall continue to dream of the day when I can afford a Birkin or Celine bag … or some lovely, rich, delicious leather tote that can hold my entire life. Now if you will excuse me I have to go shame myself and light fire to this stupid bag devil that has allowed me to carry around ridiculous amounts of crap with me.

My Personal Hell: Crop Tops

CaptureHmm … where do I begin.

I think we can all agree that this summer has been nothing but a big ol’ pain in the ass. Heat wave after heat wave, ridiculous storms that come out of nowhere, always looking like a sweaty hot mess … I’ve had just about enough. And when I thought my irritation levels couldn’t possibly get any higher … crop tops came into my life. Literally, every cute top I’ve seen this summer is a damn crop top. It is such a shirt tease. You see it folded and get all bright-eyed like, “yes … perfect color, perfect pattern, perfect everything … SHIRT HEAVEN ::::twirling around with said shirt in hand::::!” Only to pick it up and start noticing half the fabric is gone … which makes you want to punt the sad excuse of fabric across the room.

Apparently everybody’s doing it, though. I saw Jennifer Lawrence wearing a tribal print crop top … so I went out and bought a tribal print crop top (if you get that reference, I officially adore you) … and then I put on said crop top and realized, holy shit, self … you don’t have a trainer, NOR do you work out … henceforth you have NO right to be wearing this.

:::::And scene::::

No seriously … whomever said crop tops are a “thing” this season should get a serious talking to. Because, in my eyes, the only people who can appropriately and righteously rock them are A. teeny boppers, tweens, teens, you know … “kids” these days and B. insanely ripped individuals who live for working out and consider their bodies a temple. For example I just opened the door to my temple for a garlic knot … therefore I do not fall into that category. We all make choices, people.

Don’t get me wrong, I think they look really good … on certain people. I especially love it when only about 3 inches of flesh above your belly button is exposed and the rest is covered up by said crop top and a high-waisted skirt. Like J. Law, for example, looked fantastic in a style like this at Comic-Con. But J. Law, unlike 95.4% of the American public, basically gets paid bazillions of dollars to look hot … and that properly involves a trainer.

So let me give you a little sneak peek into my brain if I was forced to wear one of these torture devices, ahem:

1. I would be freaking out that I was overly exposed. I know, it is like 3 inches of my stomach … not like my tas are out and about, but still for a girl like myself who fancies layers and the “Mary Kate Olsen look” … it would feel like I was wearing a bikini at the grocery store. I’m not a nun … but nun-ish qualities sure do come out of me when I talk crop tops.

2. Fat rolls. The minute my ass sits down, they will surface … and this is what would be happening in my head: “OMG I need to suck in my stomach. OMG is he looking at my fat roll … is my fat roll looking at him?! Okay sucking in my stomach … sucking … it … in. UGH, shit. I can’t breathe … and now I can’t talk. Maybe I’ll just smile and nod. Okay, screw it I’ll just stand up. But will people question me standing because of my fat roll?! Maybe if I sit perfectly still and slouch a little over to the right … no one will notice my fat roll. AH HA! I have it, I’ll cross my arms … yeah crossing my arms is the trick. AHHHHHH GET ME OUT OF THIS CROP TOP HELL.” ::::::And scene:::::

3. Phantom fabric syndrome. I feel as if I would be constantly pulling the crop top down, thinking I’m having some sort of weird wardrobe malfunction, when alas, I decided to intentionally expose my stomach … boom, phantom fabric syndrome.
So people, if you have cut, tan abs and not spray tanned ones like some people … go to the land of crop tops and be free. Me personally, and I’m going to go ahead and speak for every woman who enjoys carbs and garlic knots as much as me, think crop tops need to do a pencil dive back to the 80′s or something.

True Story: We Don’t Glisten, We Sweat

55e61724cfcf31dbb7e8e9ec8f4308f2So this is my 3rd year in a row writing about how to survive a heat wave and look chic doing so. And honestly … this year is by far the worst. In fact I was looking back at previous heat wave-related blog posts that I’ve written, laughed, and called myself a wuss.

I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter what you do … unless you are blessed enough to go from air-conditioned place to air-conditioned place … you are inevitably going to look a hot mess during a heat wave, especially one like this.

And because of that fact, I really … REALLY want to kick the girls I see on the train who look refreshed, composed, and put together, because there I am: Sweaty, disheveled, trying to cover up the fact that I’m so out of breath I could die, casually wiping the sweat from my brow, and making sure my hair hasn’t turned into an afro … and then realizing it has and desperately trying to flatten it out. I swear I’m a TRIP to sit next to on the train.

So instead of telling you, “O-M-G LADIES … there is this FAB anti-humidity hairspray that will make your hair not move and you will look INSANELY AMAZEBALLS all day,” I’m going to be real with you. Because when it is 100 plus degrees outside, the only thing I want to know is that there are ladies dealing with the same awful shit that I am, and are not indeed calm, cool, crisp, and collected.

So behold, things I loathe due to heatwaves:

Doing my hair: Why? Humidity is going to make my hair its bitch the minute I step outside to walk to the train, so why should I take the time to put product in it, straight it, and smooth it out. Honestly, I leave my house saying, ” oh yeah, I look good,” only to get to work crying, “why, lord, why” … as I try to make sense of my newly acquired frizz disaster area.

Wearing pants: To hell with them. They are so restrictive and uncomfortable. A pair of jeans hasn’t touched my ass since early June, and I don’t fore see that changing any time soon. By the time I’m walking home from the train I just want to rip them off and run home in my skivvies. Some call that cray … I call it freedom.

Applying makeup: I literally just went to Nordstrom, went up to the Bobbi Brown, my all time fav, counter and said, “make me less shiny.” She then went on to tell me I have rosacea, to which I said, “no no, sweetheart, I’m sweating because I was just shopping in Forever 21 for the past hour.” She apologized immediately. So she gave me some great products, but when you sweat you sweat … and sometimes nothing can take the shine away. I consistently feel sweaty, sticky … like my pores are about to walk themselves to go get a facial. Hell … I might apply my makeup perfectly and go sit in an air-conditioned room, just for funsies.

Running out of dresses: And when you don’t want to wear pants, you turn to dresses … and a dress supply only runs so deep. So I’ve been tasked with getting creative … and literally I’ve gotten to the point where I’m questioning if I look like a skank when I go to work. But it’s too hot to even care. I’m just assuming people will be suffering from heat exhaustion and won’t care.

Accessorizing: I love me some statement necklaces, bangles, cuffs, etc. I love mixing and matching them with different outfits. I love it, I love it, I LOVE IT! But today, for example, the outfit I’m wearing is crying out to be accessorized, but I literally bid my jewels adieu today and went for the all-natural look. Yep. Can’t do it. When I started to sweat under my cuff is when I threw in the towel. Woof.

So there you have it! I’m not going to be one of those people and say, “GOD I can’t wait for winter,” but I REALLY want to. So if you find yourself sweating your face off, miserable next to a girl who is perfectly perfect … know you aren’t alone, sister … and sometimes mister.

Did You Just Tell Me To “Smile”?

Photo Credit:

Photo Credit:

Let me tell you a little story called “me walking down the street alone.” I usually have sunglasses on, or if it is raining I’ll have my umbrella up, strategically covering my face, and yes I always have my ear buds in. Why? Because I don’t want to talk to you. No offense, freaks on the street, or person who needs directions. I just don’t want to be bothered. It’s not bitchy … it’s honest … and I have an awful sense of direction, so at the end of the day, I’m doing you a favor.

But yesterday, as I was dragging my ass home across what felt like the surface of the sun, I unfortunately caught the eye of a man who looked at me and said, “it’s okay to smile.” Umm, excuse me? Really? Listen, not a lot of things get under my skin. Not a lot of things make me want to “prostitution whore-style flip a table,” but if a stranger, or someone I don’t quite fancy tells me to “smile” … I will cut them. I bet you are wondering what I did to this innocent man who at the end of the day was probably just hitting on me :::flips hair:::, since I doubt he gave a shit about my emotional well being, right? I politely said nothing, and decided to murdered him with my eyes.

Here’s the thing, people, when I’m walking down the street, I’m in my own world. I’m all up in my head, thinking about my day, life, loved ones, things that give me anxiety, then switching gears and pondering how many glasses of wine I should indulge in that evening. And other times I just have lot of white noise up in there … or perhaps a donkey sleeping under a tree with flies swirling over his head. Sometimes I’m just brain dead. And none of those things … make me want to shine on a smile. It’s not because I’m miserable or hate life, I could be completely content as a matter of fact … a smile is just not necessary at that given moment.

Which brings me to this phenomenon sweeping the country known as “bitchy resting face.” Hell yes I’m self diagnosed with this. I look like I want to murder someone when my face is resting or if I’m walking down the street. The funny thing is, if you interrupted the nonsense going on in my head while I was walking down the street to tell me something important … or basically tell me anything but “smile,” I would be happy as a clam. I would be totally normal and friendly … unless you are a freak of nature, then I’ll probably run away. Because in reality, here is what is going on: I’m listening to Lady Gaga or like the Nelly Pandora station like an idiot, giggling in my head about how ridiculous the lyrics are or something and trying really hard not to trip on my flip flops. Yes, I’m more likely to trip in flip flops than heels.

So what I’m saying is, do not be intimidated by people who suffer from Bitchy Resting Face. We can’t help it. And quite frankly, don’t you just want to kind of punch someone when you see them walking down the street smiling from ear-to-ear … just a little? In my eyes, only for monumental events like walking away from a great interview or date, getting super exciting news, or someone gifting you a unicorn that cries diamonds is it socially acceptable to smile like an idiot whilst walking down the street.

At the end of the day, we are all very skeptical of one another, which we should be, to an extent. We don’t live in Pleasantville and the girl walking down the street skipping and smiling and singing could be an ax murderer … who the hell knows. But what I’m saying is, let’s go easy on the people with Bitchy Resting Face. It doesn’t mean anything at the end of the day … unless you indeed really ARE a bitch, then rock on.

Also, for the like 1.5 male readers I have, telling girls to “smile” doesn’t make us swoon or giggle or shine on a big ol’ smile just for you, okay (unless Justin Timberlake told me to smile … or if he told me to do anything as a matter of fact. Oh you want me to eat this piece of trash on the street, OKAY!)? It makes us infuriated and want to hurt you.

Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Turns TWO!

e3f66bb3de199dd84d18f3b0ac06e64dSometimes when I think about the past year, for numerous reasons, I almost need someone to pinch me.

For some reason, any larger than life moment that happened for Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra this past year … happened when I was driving to work. Yep, literally behind the wheel. I may or may not have been checking my email whilst driving, and before you start shaming me, I learned my lesson, alright. Because receiving shockingly fantastic news, like oh I don’t know, your blog being quoted in mother effing TIME MAGAZINE ONLINE is not something one should do behind the wheel. Or that time I was driving, minding my own business, listening to my fav, Elvis Duran and the Morning Show, and hearing my BFF Carla Marie mention Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra on the “What’s Trending” segment. Nationally syndicated. NA-TION-ALLY. SYN-DI-CATED. I about fainted. I still get woozy when I think about it, as a matter of fact.

Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra is my dream, my baby, and something I have fantasized about doing way before I even knew what under wire was and how badly it sucks. But to my family, friends, co-workers, fellow bloggers, and cat who support and inspire me every day and push me to take things to the next level … I sincerely thank you. I literally wouldn’t have the strength, courage, and drive to do any of this without you … and that is a scientific fact.

And then to my dear readers and followers … where the hell would I be without you crazy kids? Every day you are making my dream that I’ve had since I was about 6 or 7 come alive. All I’ve ever wanted to do with my life is write. And knowing people, besides my mom and cat, are reading my words … still gives me goosebumps. Your comments, ‘LIKES’, ‘SHARES’, and :::fill in other social media buzzwords::: make me shine inside and out. You make me want to be a crazy lady and stay up until all hours of the evening concepting, writing, and plotting to make Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra bigger, better, and more bad ass … just for you.

What a CRAZYTOWN year … is all I have to say. I still shake my head in awe when I think about all the fantastic people I’ve met and opportunities that have been handed to me the past year. In the words of my Aunt Pat, I am truly blessed.

Year THREE … let’s do this.

PS. That woman chillin’ on the moon with a bottle of bubbly in the photo above is indeed NOT me. Although I wish it was.

Strippers: Are They The New “IT” Girls?

b07e6c18e389e4fa67c27982e4961e11Have you ever been shoe shopping, passed a pair of lucite heels and said to yourself, “nice stripper shoes!” … No one? Really? Cool … totally … yeah … me either :::shifty eyes::: No for serious, if you are a chick who fancies shoe shopping, you’ve been confronted with stripper shoes before. And if you haven’t … well … you haven’t LIVED!

I define stripper shoes like so:

  • 4 inches or higher
  • 2 inch platform or higher
  • Sparkly or studded (or both if you’re super fancy)
  • 96.4% made of lucite

I like to call this the “Cinderella trickle down effect”. Think about it. Your parents introduce you to this magical princess who lives happily ever after and gets to rock these dreamy glass slippers. Like who didn’t want to be her?! And for most little girls, this is where our shoe craze started. So thanks, Cinderella. You lived happily ever after and meanwhile I’ve spent the past 26 years desperately searching for a pair of shoes that can make me swoon like your damn glass slipper.

So yeah, I would stomp around in my Mom’s regular old pumps, confused why she didn’t own a pair of sweet lucite heels, but pretending anyways they were my glass slippers. And in an effort to get me to stop badgering her to invest in a pair of lucite heels, she told Santa to bring me “kiddie heels” from the Disney Store with Cinderella branding all over them and about a one inch lucite heel. Remember those? Looking back they make me cringe …but back in the day I felt fancy. Ps. In the 80′s … my fake glass slippers didn’t light up, kids. I would have DIED for these.

So you go from a glass slipper dream to one day getting bitch slapped by reality when some kind soul explains the concept of “stripping” to you. From then on clear heels skeeve you out, make you feel cheap*. You hold your head high when you walk past them because all of a sudden you’re “above” them, for Cinderella no longer owns that look. Instead an innocent woman named “Candy Cane” who is just trying to pay for college or med school by working the late shift at the local strip joint does.

But when one designer wants to make a trend happen … it happens. And in 2013 … everyone is all about lucite. I swear Anna Wintour must have decided to go to the strip club late night and fell in love with some lucite or something. And months later there I am on Pinterest minding my own business when I stumble across a fab pair of lucite heels and start drooling like I’m 5 years old again. Boom … Cinderella trickle down effect complete.

I would personally like to apologize to all the strippers out there on behalf of all of us ex-lucite haters who now only like them because they are fiercely trendy. First it was over-the-knee Julia Roberts, “Pretty Woman” boots en vogue, now lucite heels. And if you are a stripper, you absolutely have the right to say, “bitch stole my look.” Because … well … we did.

So if you are going to cave and give in to this trend, you need to repent for your shit talking against stripper style. Yes, it is true. For they have owned this look loudly and proudly for years.

My only question is, what will be the next stripper inspired trend?

*I would just like to clarify that I think there is nothing wrong with stripping. To each their own … and if you got the bod for it … go ‘head, girl! Just be safe … of course (sorry, kids … had to have a Mom moment).

It’s Pronounced ‘MURICA … Duh

4-Bruce-Springsteen-flagI’m not sure why, but I have this strong urge to paint my entire body red, white and blue this 4th of July. I just love it. BBQs, little pink houses, pies, Bud Light, Chuck Norris … I just want to shout it from the roof tops … I love ‘MURICA! I’ve lived only minutes from the greatest city in the US of A my entire life … yeah that’s right … I’m talking about Philly. Betsy Ross, the liberty bell, Will Smith … your city … SUCKS (stolen from Tina Fey). No seriously, I’m not hating on your city … I swear we are lovely people who just like to indulge in cheesesteaks and once in a blue moon fancy whipping batteries at non-IGGLES fans. Therefore we are NOT indeed cranky fat jerks like numerous publications have claimed. The birthplace of ‘MURICA truly rocks … Elton John says so … and you know that’s legit.

So at the end of the day I probably won’t end up painting my entire body red, white and blue (you’re welcome), but I have been pretty impressed by some of the festive looks popping up all over the interwebs. Once upon a time it used to be considered extraordinarily lame to rock ‘MURICAN flag shirts with the year printed on them from places like Old Navy. Or remember the days when you used to cringe when your mom would rock a light up Uncle Sam pin to your family BBQ? But now … it is entirely bad ass. Hell, I’m totally going out and getting a fierce stick on ‘MURICAN flag tattoo just for funsies (because if I got a real one I would probably wake up hung over on the 5th cursing violently at my idiot life decisions).

So I say anything goes this 4th of July. Wanna rock ‘MURICAN flag short shorts? Do it. Got a crazy Uncle Sam-inspired hat that is callin’ your name? Rock that shit. Feel like drunkenly dancing around to Philadelphia Freedom in your backyard with a beer in your hand (which is an amazing workout … not that … I have … umm … done it or anything)? Go for it, you jazzercising maniac! Have a ball kids … and do it responsibly, for the love of Jesus. It is totally not ‘MURICAN chic to get behind the wheel whilst intoxicated. Crash, cab, train, plane … do what you must to get home safely :::star swipe, the more you know:::

And now behold … my favorite ‘MURICAN styled looks! Feel free to share yours with me on my numerous social presences … I’ll be sharing mine!

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There’s Life Outside of Power Suits

il_340x270.389610297_2ex1Some of you may have noticed I’ve been MIA lately … and some of you may not have noticed … to which I can only say, well I didn’t notice you were gone either, so … you know … THERE! But on a less elementary note, I’ve been busy transitioning into a shiny new job. Yes, it’s true, I have a life outside of one that Sucks In A Strapless Bra .

Throwing my comfort blanket off to begin a new journey at a new job officially meant that I no longer was surrounded by people who understood and accepted my personal style. When you spend 40 plus hours a week with people over the course of a couple of years, they start to turn into family … weird uncles you wish you could disown and all, so they are kind of forced to accept it. I could walk in on a Tuesday wearing 4 inch gold sparkly stilettos, because I was depressed and needed a pick-me-up … duh, and no one would even blink. Now if I wore those on my first day, I would forever be named “sparkles” or the “over-the top chick” or “the skank who is trying too hard.” I’m sure they would get more creative than I ever could.

Some may call it “4th grade problems,” and maybe I’m having ‘Nam flashbacks of the first day of school, but the “first day of work outfit” is critical. I define myself by what I wear. Make fun of my handshake, Judgey McJudgersons, but not my style.

Five years ago (OMG … IT HAS BEEN FIVE YEARS?! :::Bangs head against keyboard::: WHY, LORD, WHY!!!) … bloated from taking advantage of it being socially acceptable to still binge drink as a college student Monday-Friday, I started my first big girl job. Here is how hawt I looked: Oversized black slacks … oh yes, I said slacks (didn’t want the execs to know I had luscious lady lumps) that were too short, a white blouse of exaggerated frills that didn’t fit properly, and a black and white grandma-style cardigan, my hair slicked back, and flats. I vowed to myself that I would never buy a suit*, so I suppose this is how I compensated.

*To this day I still have not bought a suit … and I refuse. Suits are for squares … that is what I always say.

So besides not looking like a skank, or too conservative, or not fun, or not stylish … there are some key components to consider when planning what to wear on your first day of work. Whether you are a seasoned pro or trading in your flip cup and beer pong skills for more productive ones, here are some helpful tips:

1. Be yourself. Own it. It’s scary, especially if you are right out of school. You are going to feel this intense pressure to look mature, put together and anything but yourself. Shit, you are going to run out a buy a damn suit … and you aren’t going to like it. BUT STOP. Be you. Not you in da club, or corporate you, but your classiest self. Let your style shine, because at the end of the day that is what your employer will value most, that you are a real life human being.

2. Don’t dare wear anything that takes down your confidence. If you feel your dress is too tight or if you suspect that your ta’s are hanging out too much, put it away for a better day. You will be focused too much on that instead of meeting new faces and presenting your most fantastic self. New co-worker: “Hi my name is …” You: “OMG are my boobs out, do I feel a breeze on my nipple!?”

3. Wear something that makes you want to strut. When meeting new people, you don’t want to act above them, but you do need an air of confidence about you. When I need to feel like this I usually channel Mick Jagger. I’m not saying wear 5 inch stilettos and booty shorts Beyonce-style, but just something appropriate that makes you feel fab. If you feel fab in 4 inch heels, go for it. I personally usually wear flats on my first day so people don’t automatically assume I’m a freakish giant from outer space.

4. Give a shit. Do your hair, wear makeup, wax your eyebrows, iron your outfit, paint your nails, and use a lint brush, for crying out loud. Again, you keep telling yourself they won’t, but people will judge you. You want them to remember your shining personality and not that you have a burger stain on your blouse.

5. Establish a line between boring and fabulous. Minimalism is huge right now. My first day outfit was definitely a little safe, but very me. Black skinny jeans, black pointy flats, and a white sheer, flowy button down with black lace on the shoulders. I jazzed it up with some fantastic bracelets. Statement jewelry, when worn properly, will be the conversation starter you are praying for. It opens the door for someone to compliment you, and for you to compliment others … aka building relationships. People loving people, that’s what it is all about.

And there you have it. I definitely don’t have all of the answers … but I do know how important it is to let yourself shine. I spent many years portraying myself as something different than I actually was and thoroughly regret it, especially after I found an atmosphere that allowed my true self to shine, flaws and all. People like real people and someone they can relate to … remember that.

Oh yeah … and just say no to suits.

Die, Humidity, Die.

photo-11Maybe it is because I’m living a life sans air conditioning for the first time since college, or maybe it’s because I thoroughly enjoy snuggling under blankets when it is a little chilly … and because I’m afraid monsters might attack me in the middle of the night (issues), but this humidity nonsense is starting to get to me.

I have this theory that it is 100% impossible to look your best when you are surrounded by layers of thick heat. To those of you who live in a glorious climate where such nonsense doesn’t exist, let me give you a slow clap right now followed by an epic eye roll. But for folks like me living near or in a city whose middle name is “smog” and or “humidity” well … yeah … meet us.

Here’s what’s up, though. I wake up in the morning, take a shower, cool off enough to even think about taking a blow dryer or flat-iron to my head. And in between said drying and straightening I have to take t-outs to stick my head in front of a fan for sheer relief every 10 minutes or so. Once my hair is did I then shellacked it down with some sort of anti-frizz bullshit that some teenager at the beauty store talked me in to buying because, “like everyone here is obsessed with it.” Listen … I was desperate for a new product, but like how do you choose? Seriously. Everyone and their mom makes a damn thermal protector, shine enhancer, super straight serum shit, etc. … to the point where I got so overwhelmed that yes … I believed anything that the teenager sales associate with bad hair had to say. Now I’m left with a product called legit “It’s A 10.” Because with a name like that is HAS to be a winner …

So then once I’ve “tame the beast” … it is time to move on to makeup application. And all I can think to myself is, “how can I make this :::circle motion in front of my face::: not so shiny and sweaty looking. So I apply my moisturizer, my foundation, powder to take some of the shine away, bronzer … you get the point … and just when I think I have solved my issue and look somewhat decent … the humidity wipes away my work of art turning me back to a shiny hot mess. Seriously … to the women who can pull of the “dewy” (p.s. I LOATHE that word, but I have no other way to say it) glow … I effing hate you. Why is it that when I get attacked by high temperatures I look like an overweight dude who just ran five miles in a velour sweat suit? Like seriously I just don’t get it.

Fast forward to the end of the day and … my gawd. Exhaustion takes over from trying to exist like a normal human being in ridiculously hot conditions, I’m sweating and there is probably a good chance that I could smell, any sort of makeup has melted away, and my hair is a wild, frizzy disaster area. Cool. Welp … what do I do? I OWN IT. Yeah I said … suck on that, humidity.

Today I was playing with my hair, trying to pull it to one side, taming it down violently so I didn’t resemble a wild rabid beast … but I finally just said fuck it. Carrie Bradshaw, as cliché as this may sound … bear with me … didn’t give a shit. She had wildly insane HUGE curly hair and she owned it. So instead of trying to fix an unfixable problem since they don’t make hair straighteners that you can plug into your car (and if they do … please point me in their direction), I flipped my hair upside down, ran my fingers through it and tried to embody the confidence of Carrie Bradshaw … minus all the puns and “I couldn’t help but wonders.”

True … I still have yet to solve the, “I look like sweaty death,” problem … but I just invested in another spray tan because life is just slightly better when you’re sun kissed, so I’m hoping this will help. Listen we can’t look like golden Gods every day of the week … no matter how hard we try. So when the humidity gets you down … you just gotta flip that frizzy nightmare of yours around and walk with a stride of pride. This is what’s up: I’m hot, exhausted, probably jonsin’ for a frothy cocktail, and I look like frizzy hell … what up, world?

Walking Away From Things That No Longer Serve Me

Screen shot 2013-05-16 at 8.49.50 PMWhat is this pile of nonsense in the photo to the left, you ask? Well … I’ve been putting off spring/summer shopping. Reasons being that A. I can’t find anything that I really lerve, and B. I’ve become one with my closet. Instead of just shopping to shop, I’ve gotten very creative, with the help of Pinterest of course, with what is already in my closet. Repurposing old looks. Pairing different things together. But as I’ve been bonding with the clothes I already have, I’ve noticed these pieces that I haven’t touched in maybe over a year … just sitting there, never touching my body … EVER. Just taking up space. And I realized the only reason why I’ve kept them there is because I like the diversity they add to my closet, like magazine editors are knocking on my bedroom door to photograph them or something, and of course the age-old saying that leaves these stale pieces in our closets forever, “I’ll totally wear that one day.” No you won’t, shut up, fool.

So I’ve made a deal with myself. I’m not allowed to shop until I weed out these “filler” pieces. Hence why I immediately have a pile of clothes that no longer serve me on the floor of my room. Why do they no longer serve me? Well … they are pieces of clothing that have stains or rips on them. That are faded and no longer fit. Poorly made pieces of crap that are missing buttons, and other items that I just associate with bad memories. Oh … and let’s not forget all of those “sleepy shirts” I have. These are shirts that have my college logo on them that ended up in my dorm room at some point that I kept out of pure nostalgia. Or shirts from bar crawls that say stuff like “I’m Drunk Betches!”, or shirts I picked up AT bars that have “Bacardi whore” written across them. Bu … bu … BYEEEEEEEEEE.

When you get to a point in your life when it seems like everything and everyone is against you, where people are only interested in breaking your heart and walking away for you to clean up the mess and make sense of it all, or break down your confidence so severely that you no longer know yourself … you know it’s time for a change. Some start with finding Jesus … I start with my closet.

So the rules of this closet cleanse?

1. If I haven’t worn you in a year … you are gone.

2. If you remind me of some emotional bitch slap … you are too, also gone.

3. If you no longer fit right, yet I just love your color and style … gone.

4. If you are a poorly made piece of crap … see ya.

5. If you are stained … but I so desperately wish you weren’t stained … sweet Jesus, bye.

So there you have it. This is just the beginner pile. I may end up with like five pieces of clothing left, but at least it will be the beginning of a fresh start I so desperately need. Or maybe I’ll end up like those obnoxiously annoying chic ladies who literally have 10 pieces of classic staples in their wardrobe that they somehow magically transform into numerous different looks. Ha I could never live like this, my only hope is that I will be reasonably able to shut my drawers.

So there it is. If any of these garments interest anyone … I will be happy to send them your way as a token of my appreciation for you being a loyal reader of my nonsense. But be warned though … some of these pieces are poorly made pieces of crap. I won’t call out specific garments … but if you can guess which ones they are … bonus points for you, my dear reader!

My Mom Is Better Than Yours … 2013 Edition

Screen shot 2013-05-12 at 12.04.07 PMYes … as you can tell by the photo to the left, I am about four feet taller than my mother. She is this petite, Mick Jagger-esque, 5’4 sassy Italian broad, and I’m a 5’9 half Italian, half Irish monster (thanks, Dad) who is wearing four-inch heels in this photo.

So happy Mother’s Day to all you fab ladies out there. I honestly don’t know how you do it. First of all, as a 26-year-old lady, the idea of having children right now freaks me out to the point where if someone asks me if one day I might want to have kids, my immediate jerk reaction is a “deer in headlights” blank stare followed by slowly but surely backing away from the conversation. But who knows, that may change one day. What do you want from me, I’m 26 and selfish right now. But honestly, the walking around for nine months carrying the kid, the not drinking whilst preggo, then the awful child-birth (I unfortunately have an older sister with two kids who felt it necessary to give me all the nitty-gritty details … YOWZA), and then having the responsibility of making sure that one day said child can become a respectable and prominent member of society … I mean, my God. You don’t just deserve a glass of wine today … take the bottle to the face, ladies!

Yes, today is about showering the ones who raised us, nurtured us, and still allows us to crawl into bed with them while in the midst of emotional breakdowns (not that I do that or anything :::shifty eyes:::). But I think today is a pretty damn good excuse to admire all women out there who do great things in life. Whether you are an aunt, a God Mother, a sister, momma to a dog/cat, a best friend, a co-worker, a humanitarian, you do things to make other people/animals better, whether you know it or not. So I’m tippin’ my cap to all the ladies out there today.

BUT … back to my original point … my mom is the best. You may disagree politely, which I respect, and I won’t bore you with the details of why that statement is 100% accurate, but it’s true because none of this would have been possible without her love and support. I would have never taken a such a strong interest in fashion if it wasn’t for her subscribing to every fashion magazine known to man for most of my life, and to this day still having a better wardrobe than me. I would have never known how to express my personal style if it wasn’t for her pushing me to explore different things whilst shopping. And I would have never known what a strapless bra is … and therefore I would have never known how badly life sucks in it.

So mom, thanks for giving birth to me, at age 40, in Camden, N.J. (calm down … it was in a hospital you freaks), … aaaaand I’m sorry I was like two weeks late, I clearly didn’t want to leave your womb. Hell, I still don’t really enjoy being all out in the open. But thanks for being you … because otherwise I wouldn’t be me.

And don’t worry, I won’t tell Kelly & Mark (my sibs) that I’m your favorite. It’s totally cool … your secret is safe with me!


Stickin’ It To Abercrombie.

CaptureWhen I was in high school, I wanted to be cool. Like really cool. Like Kelly Kapowski cool. And I thought the way to do that was through trendy clothing that all the cool kids were wearing. Juicy, Hard Tail, Mavi Jeans … and good ol’ Abercrombie & Fitch. Sigh.

So, of course, on my Christmas list to Santa, clothing from Abercrombie was on there. Flash forward to Christmas morning when I’m holding boxes from A&F grinning from ear-to-ear like an idiot and my mom staring at me, shaking her head in disbelief and annoyance.

She then enlightened me to her very first … and last … Abercrombie experience, which I will share with you now, from her perspective, told by me (from what I can recall).

The smell was overwhelming when I first walked in to the point where it was making me nauseous. I kept going though because “Santa” needed to finish her Christmas duties. But it wasn’t just that. It was the music. The awful, horrifyingly loud music. I couldn’t think!

And then I got greeted by some model-looking half wit who is a size negative zero strutting around in A&F. I smiled and started to look around by myself. The funny thing was, there was no light! Just these tiny tea lights around the clothing. Was I looking at a t-shirt or was it a dress, I didn’t have the slightest idea!

So I was forced to ask a sales associate for help. I told the girl that I was looking for an outfit for my daughter, who was tall and skinny with long legs. She said some things but I couldn’t hear her. Her: “What kind of ::muffled noise::: Me: WHAT?! Her: “Does your daughter li … :::muffled noise::: Me: WHAT?! I CAN’T HEAR YOU? I mean I was screaming at this poor girl to get my point across! Once I started reading her lips, we got on the same page.

So she brought me over to the jean skirts, the ones that all the girls wear, apparently. I lifted it up to one of the tea lights and realized this piece of jean they were calling a jean skirt that looked like someone took a lawn mower to it was over $100, and would not even cover her behind. We moved on to t-shirts. She isn’t a large … at all. But when I lifted the medium up, it didn’t even look like it would fit a toddler. Forgive her for having breasts. So I was forced to get a large, which I wasn’t even sure would fit her. Not to mention I couldn’t find a t-shirt that didn’t say ABERCROMBIE all over it to save my life. And because I needed to get the hell out of that store, I was forced to buy an overpriced t-shirt … and the run towards fresh air and silence.

True life: That large t-shirt … didn’t fit me. And you know what, I was 5’9 and in no way, shape or form overweight. But even in their overpriced jeans, I was like a size 15, when normally I was a size 6. Really?

Clothing is supposed to make you feel good, help you express who you truly are, no matter what size you happen to be. You say you hate “fat chicks”, Mike Jeffries? Well I hate discriminatory, macho, close-minded, assholes who make people feel bad about themselves.

So to my mother, I apologize for making you go through this hell when I was a teenager. To normal human beings out there … if a brand makes you feel bad about yourself when they really should be in the business of making everyone feel the best they can  … know that no one has the right to do that … NO ONE. And Mike Jeffries, you make overpriced, unoriginal crap that pushes your brand name. That’s. About. It. Take a look in the mirror and try to find Jesus or something. Men who are CEO’s of a popular clothing company, who put limitations on what kind of human being can wear their brand based on superficial reasons, clearly have something deeper inside they need to work out.

So SUCK ON THAT …. aye aye aye aye aye aye!

AND ONE MORE THING: Just because you have a model stick figure standing to greet me at your store doesn’t make me want to slap “Abercrombie” across my ass. People buy clothing because it makes them feel good and fits well, not because some gorgeous model sold it to them. And if you only buy your clothes based on how the sales associates look … well, God speed in life.


I Can Like … Spell Punk … Can I Go To The Met Gala?


I’m not sure who thought it would be a good idea to let Hollywood experiment with punk fashion … but umm … yeah.

I desperately wanted Debbie Harry and Patti Smith to show up and like break shit and give everyone the finger and scream a lot and then leave … but alas it didn’t happen. Instead we had to watch starlets awkwardly play around with punk .. which, quite frankly, was painful.

I’m in no way, shape or form “punk” … and I think it is an incredibly hard style to pull off … because punk wasn’t about the style. It just happened … the music made it all come to life. It wasn’t because a stylist said … “ooh studs! SOOOOO punk.” It was because they literally didn’t give a shit. These people … live to give a shit. They get PAID to give a shit. Hence why it doesn’t work. And yes, the Met Gala is about experimenting with fashion, paying homage to it and living out a real life costume ball … but perhaps let’s pick a theme more obtainable.

For the following things do NOT count as paying homage to punk.

1. An overly dramatic smoky eye … yawn.

2. Baroque print dresses … wrong movement there, lady

3. Feathered ball gowns … unless you murdered the bird before the Gala and stuck its feathers to your dress, then that counts.

4. Platinum blonde hair … perfectly styled … just for funsies … tee hee I like, always wanted to do it

5. Faux hawks … amateur

6. Dramatic trains … unless an actual psycho path ripped up the material in the back … doesn’t count

7. Sheer black ball gowns … nice try, slackers

8. Floral print … … … I will have nightmares about Kimye’s look though

9. High slits … not the Grammy’s … go home

10. Cut out dresses … too trendy, holmes

So I will leave you with this thought: Why wasn’t there more Alexander McQueen where there wasn’t Alexander McQueen. That guy is probably in the after life kicking and screaming like, “WHY AREN’T MY DRESSES REPRESENTED!!!!! PUNK! HELLO?!”

And now …


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Not punk.

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Not punk.

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Gwyneth Paltrow: The New Regina George

gwyneth_paltrow_wallpaperRemember that girl in high school, the one you wanted to accidentally throw a banana peel down in front of where she was walking so she could slip and break her face … just a little? You know who I’m talking about … every girl had to deal with that girl in high school … and if you didn’t … well … you were probably that girl. Good for you.

And did you know … Gwyneth Paltrow was recently named People Magazine’s “World’s Most Beautiful Woman” GASP! And honestly, the haterade that has been pouring out of everyone because of this is absolutely classic. So yeah … looks like she has set the beauty standard in the whole entire world. :::Sigh::: Great. I mean for f*&ks sake … come on People Magazine. Like we don’t have any other shit to stress about, now we have to set our beauty standards to Paltrow? Really!?

But this got me thinking about the chick you wanted to banana peel in high school. Here are the qualities of that girl that made you secretly hate her, but at the same time crave her life compared to Gwyneth:

1. That girl: Excelled academically

Gwyneth: Academically … I know she graduated from the Spence School in New York City … sounds fancy … I’m sure has a degree in being beautiful and awesome too

2. That girl: Had the hottest boyfriend in high school

Gwyneth: Umm let’s go through her laundry list of ex-boyfriends, shall we? Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck … and now married to one of the sexiest rockers of our time, Chris Martin … ummm hello?! The Coldplay song “Green Eyes” is about her … I mean …

3. That girl: Was beloved by everyone (even the teacher’s spawned from Satan himself)

Gwyneth: She seems sweet as pie … I mean if Oprah lives and dies for you, shouldn’t we all? I can’t really see Paltrow smacking a bitch, but I could be wrong. Overall I would say she is pretty likable.

4. That girl: Sick body … like made Gisele look like a manatee

Gwyneth: The woman lives a yogi lifestyle. And that is why she is 40 and looks younger than me … I’m 26 by the way … cool. Also … doesn’t eat carbs … nor does she allow her family too. Sweet, Paltrow, how is that working out for you? Oh that’s right, your the most beautiful person ever … my bad.

5. That girl: Gorg … like stunning … made inanimate objects weep over her beauty

Gwyneth: Flawlessly gorgeous. Doesn’t fiddle with Botox or plastic surgery, just straight up naturally stunning. Excuse me while I go put on pounds of makeup so I don’t resemble death anymore.

6. That girl: Talented in every single thing she tried … like I’m talking could randomly hop on a pogo stick for the first time and become the world’s best pogo stick jumper

Gwyneth: Oh you know gave acting a whirl, won an Oscar. Gave modeling a whirl, ended up on the cover on Vogue. Dabbled in singing and did a freaking duet with Cee Lo and the Muppets on the Grammy’s. Then got into blogging because … why not take the spotlight away from actual bloggers who are trying to make a name for themselves :::shaking fist:::. Then decided to write a cookbook … I mean the list goes on and on.

7. That girl: Helped cure AIDS/feed the hungry/raised money for orphans … AKA made us all look really bad

Gwyneth: I mean she raises money for breast cancer research, is apart of UNICEF, donates to food banks, sells her own clothing on her blog to raise money … but when you are rolling in it like she is, she better damn straight help out charities.

8. That girl: Trend setter … I heard she wore army pants and flip flops … so I wore army pants and flip flops. (If you recognize this quote … I love you.)

Gwyneth: She could wear a paper bag and make it look chic. ‘Nough said.

9. That girl: Had more friends than she knew what to do with … people would just flock to her

Gwyneth: She knows Oprah and does yoga with Madonna … ‘Nough said. And quite frankly if she was in my general area … like I could touch her, I would totally kiss her ass and try to be her friend … “Oh your hair is SO pretty,” “OMG RIGHT?!” … that is how I imagine that conversation would go.

10. That girl: Lived a luxurious life with a plush home and cars that were more expensive than my parents combined salary.

Gwyneth: Do I even need to go there? She has homes on two continents … let’s talk.

So listen, let’s be real here ladies, the reason everyone is up in arms about Gwyneth Paltrow winning “Most Beautiful Woman That Ever Walked This Earth,” is because we are straight up J-E-A-L-O-U-S. I’ll admit it, I hate the bitch for no reason besides the fact that I wish she would stop blogging and divorce Chris Martin so I could have him … but God dammit do I respect her.

And now … I will leave you with this:







There Is No Crying In Spray Tanning!

Screen shot 2013-04-22 at 8.39.16 PMAs most of you know by now … I’m pale. Like really pale. Like pathetically pale. And lucky for me, some kind soul read my post about how pale I actually am and felt a need to aid in my search for a little sun kissed color. I woke up the next morning with a kind message from Adrienne, the owner of Baked Tanning in Philadelphia, offering to give me a spray tan … and when you look like Casper the Friendly Ghost’s twin like I do … you jump on a golden opportunity like this.

I had only been spray tanned once prior to this experience, and quite frankly it was pretty stressful. The exfoliating, the turning too dark after waiting too long to shower, the exfoliating again, and again, and again, and dealing with parts of your body that were darker than others. Luckily Adrienne gave me “spray tanning 101″ which I will share with you now so you can enjoy a painless, stress-free, almost relaxing tanning experience.

1. Exfoliate, Shave and Say Your Prayers: Don’t go insane, but get that dead skin off before the tan. You’ve been hiding your epidermis under bulky sweaters and tights for the past five months … start with a fresh layer of skin, ladies and gents. And yes … ev-er-y-where, all the good nooks and crannies. And the same goes for any unwanted hair. You may or may not be in the shower for a solid 45 minutes … I gave your fair warning.

2. Go All Natural: That means no makeup, moisturizer, or deodorant. Oh yeah … bet you didn’t know spray tanning turns deodorant green … cause it does. The Incredible Hulk look is so not hawt right now. So yeah, you may look like a hot mess going to and from the spray tan, but do what I did and pretend you are going to the gym … except … not. When people looked at me, I gave them a look back like, “oh yeah … don’t mind me … just going to pump some iron … in flip flops … yeaaaaahhh DON’T LOOK AT ME!”

3. Trust the Person Spraying You: If you don’t … walk the hell out. But usually … USUALLY … the person spraying you knows what shade of tan will look best on you. I trust Adrienne 110% because she gave me her background, told me how she trains her employees, etc. It’s okay to ask them those questions. And asking them their opinion is encouraged … they are the experts, for crying out loud. For example, if I told Adrienne that I wanted to look like I sat out in the sun below the equator for the past three months with no SPF, she would have told me I was absolutely cray and I would have respected that. Instead a natural, healthy glow was suggested.

4. Kim Kardashian Is An Idiot: If you’ve watched the entire season of Kourtney and Kim Take Miami with drool coming out of your mouth like me … then you’ve seen Kim and her blurred out nipples getting spray tanned every other day. Not just getting spray tanned … but getting layers and layers and layers of spray tanning. Turns out, there is no need to get layers of spray tan to make you darker. One layer of tan, with the right color suggested, will give you the perfect color … like I did. So Kim, maybe you should fire your fancy in-home spray tan specialist and hire Adrienne … just sayin’. I can’t image huffing spray tanning fumes is good for you either… organic smorganic.

5. Tans Don’t Just Fall Off: People think spray tans can melt off, slide off, run away without leaving a goodbye note. Nope. Let me bring it back to freshman year science class for a sec. Your skin is made up of cells. So in essence, you’re getting your cells spray tanned (ew … mental image). So when those cells die, they, along with their fierce spray tan, will fall off … making you pale once again. So you have to put effort into making those cells stay alive by moisturizing, for the love of God, with baby products. Powders, oils … yes … baby products. In my mind they may be cheaper, but I am in no way shape or form a momma, so who the hell knows.

6. No Fist Pumps or Hair Poofs: I didn’t leave Baked Jersey Shore-style … but God forbid you do … nail polish remover may be your best friend. Sometimes your ankles, knuckles, knee caps may get a little darker, and if that happens rub a little nail polisher remover over those areas and you’ll be good as gold. OR a lemon and sugar rinse will do the trick, if you’re an “all-natural” type of person.

I gotta say … this is by far the best spray tanning experience I’ve EVER had. I’m going on week two and I still have a nice, natural glow still (but I also made sure to keep my cells hydrated). And unfortunately, Kim Kardashian is a dirty liar … I did NOT feel 10 pounds lighter, but I did get a massive boost of confidence from it. I didn’t feel the need to wear as much makeup and I just felt healthier. A great self-esteem boost if you need a little pick-me-up.

And if you don’t live by Philly … I feel terrible for you, because I’m giving Adrienne and Baked Tanning my massive, shiny, unicorn sparkle stamp of approval for all fabulous ladies out there that need a pick-me-up. Not only is she a ridiculously talented spray tanner, but most importantly is no bullshit and will give you a service that will make you glow from inside and out.

So to Adrienne, I thank you so much for hooking me up so I don’t look like I’m an extra on the set of True Blood as well as taking the time to explain the fine art of how to get a beautiful and long lasting spray tan. Aaaaaaand I may be back in the next week … I’m starting to look like Casper again … ah!

A Plea to Pajamas

stylesight-intimate-details-new-york-fashion-week-fall-winter-2013-marc-jacobsDearest PJs,

What happened to our relationship? Did I keep you in my “comfy pant” drawer for too long? Was it that I spent too much time with my ratty, hole-ridden sweats? I know rebellion when I see it, and I’m on to you, my friend. Fed up with just being the “go-to-guy” for special occasions like Christmas morning, you busted out of the shadows and into the control of designers like Marc Jacobs.

Your silky touch used to soothe me whilst under the covers, and now you are too busy turning your nose up at us “normal folk” while strutting your stuff on some of the biggest Fashion Week runways. I realize I treated you badly. I realize I never made the effort to match your tops with your bottoms. I realize I may or may not have gotten bleach stains all over you. And oh those nights when we would fight … you would annoy me to the point where I found myself ripping you off and throwing you to the ground. :::sigh:::

But know that I adore you, my comforting friend, I just don’t want to wear you out on the town or to work. I don’t want to wear you with heels. I don’t want to have to put on red lipstick and style you senseless. It’s not you … it’s me. I want you curled up on my couch with me, snuggled under the covers and styled with a messy bun sans makeup with a glass of wine in my hand. But alas … you are too busy throwing away what we had to rub shoulders with glamorous models and actresses on the red carpet.

I realize if Marc Jacobs told me to jump … I would be more than tempted to say how high, but try and be you. For I cringe every time I see a group of normal women in a store, women who don’t have or can’t afford a stylist, surrounding themselves around you exclaiming things like, “what the HELL am I supposed to do with these?!

You’re about to put lots of fantastic women on the Worst Dressed List. In fact, Joan Rivers is licking her lips in anticipation to have her way with you. Stop being silly … and come back to where you belong.

The “Comfy Pant” Drawer Ain’t The Same Without You,

Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra

Cheers, Curls and a Fear of Jeans

Screen shot 2013-03-23 at 9.18.34 PMMy blogging soul sister down in Washington, D.C., Meaghan from District Sparkle, has pinged me to reveal five random things about myself … and quite frankly I couldn’t resist. Sometimes it feels good to let out the deep dark and embarrassing secrets of your past. And sometimes, like in this case, it is just good to reflect, laugh and embrace the fact that you were once, and most likely still are, a raging dork.

So if you didn’t think you knew me well enough … behold my five random facts:

1. Crazed Curls: It is true, I’ve been living a big ol’ lie. The minute I hit puberty, my hair turned into this thick, kinky curly disaster area that I loathed. I luckily stumbled upon a genius stylist who, in his words, taught me how to make my hair “Asian straight.” What once took me 2 1/2 hours to straighten my hair now only takes me 30 minutes, so thank Jesus for really expensive straighteners and conditioning creams.

2. Jeans Didn’t Exist In My Wardrobe Until I was 11: Until I was in 5th grade, stretchy pants and overalls were the only two things I would put on my body. Yea … I was hawt. Before I started 5th grade, my sister drug me to Old Navy and insisted I purchased a pair of jeans … normal, old school … jeans. But seriously … jeans freaked me out when I was little. I was scared I was going to get trapped in them and like pee my pants or something (yeah … I was a slightly odd child). But let’s be real here, my fears held me back from adopting really heinous jeans from the 90′s … in a way I did myself a favor.

3. No Piercings For This Guy: It’s true, I do not have one piercing on my body, including my ears. I have a tattoo, but no piercings. Never did and probably never will. When I was younger it was the fear of pain that held me back from getting pierced. But the older I got, the more I decided it was an economical move, meaning one less accessory I had to invest in. When I turned 25 I was going to give myself the quarter century gift of getting my ears pierced, but instead ended up getting my first and only migraine I’ve ever had. I saw that as an omen to stay piercing-free.

4. R-O-W-D-I-E: Yep kids … I was a cheerleader. Ugh. Listen, I wanted to be Britney Spears. I loathed competition and the idea of “trying out” for anything mortified me. So when they made cheerleading in 8th grade “no cuts” I said, “why not … that has to be just like dancing, right?” So on top of having to wear pleather pants and bandana tops whilst rocking out to techno music for my dance recitals, I had to stand in front of packed bleachers in an ugly cheer uniform making up cheers for wrestling matches because, “Dribble it. Pass it. We. Want. A basket,” didn’t seem appropriate. Hmmm … Ps. I don’t got spirit, no I don’t.

5. First Published in Third Grade: Excuse me while I remove the excess dirt from my shoulder. Listen, I just told you all about how I wanted to be Britney Spears and how I thought I was going to get trapped in my blue jeans and pee my pants. I deserve to gloat a little. So yeah, I wrote a poem about my mommy and it got published in some kids journal and won a prize. It absolutely terrified me at the time, but looking back was the start of my writing career. I always knew I wanted to be a writer, and this was a huge defining moment for me. Well … except for those few years during puberty when I was certain I was going to move to New York City and become the next Britney Spears. Psh … idiot.

I now challenge all of my fellow Philly fashion bloggers to reveal five random things about themselves! If I can reveal to the world my fears of peeing my pants, you can, too. Get um, ladies.

Pale Panic

Casper_the_friendly_ghost_4604f42d4e883Tomorrow Mother Nature FINALLY decided to throw in the winter towel and give us a little taste of spring. Thank God. Now I can literally burn my winter coat. We’ve had far too much quality time together … and it must be destroyed. But I digress.

In anticipation for the warmer weather, I was just brainstorming outfits to wear tomorrow … all of which are either dresses or skirts sans tights … and I feel like every time I imagine wearing said dress or skirt sans tights I find myself in this awareness commercial for pale skin.

Are you pale? ::: pans to me sitting around a table with my friends who are all laughing and having a good time, but I’m too busy trying to cover up my legs underneath the table::: Do you feel like pants are your only option? :::me laying in bed depressed as I pull the covers of my pale legs::: Know you aren’t alone. Paleness happens to everyone. :::”The More You Know” star swipe:::

I’ve been pale my entire life, in fact getting tan is something I have to dedicate my life to in the summers … and ain’t nobody got time for that. And I’m not like a porcelain skin, Florence Welch pale either. I’m like pasty pale. I want to punt people who have flawless porcelain skin as a matter of fact. I’m half Irish with pasty, gross pale skin, and half damn Sicilian … SICILIAN … and don’t have a drop of gorgeous olive skin on me. HMPH. Damn you, genes. But this year I’m like EXTRA pale. Why? Well … a few years ago I decided I was done “tanning.” Maybe it was the stupid Jersey Shore show and all of those kids looking like they were a rough 40 years old because of sun exposure, maybe it’s the fact that wrinkles scare the shit out of me and I know I’m not going to be in my 20′s forev … I really don’t know. But I’m done with it.

I was the Irish girl in high school who would go out in the sun wearing no SPF or like SPF 4 because I so desperately wanted to be dark and end up getting so badly sunburned I almost had to go to the hospital. I went to tanning salons all throughout college to bring all the boys to the yard or something. And now … nothing. For the past two summers I’ve invested in SPF 30 and above, and I think last summer I went to the beach once.

So yes … I’m insanely pale, by choice. No … like uncomfortably pale. See through pale. If you ever were curious as to what my tibia looks like … you could probably get a sneak peek right now. But that doesn’t mean I can’t spray tan or use tanning creams, which I’m open to. Spray tans are expensive … so that really isn’t an option except for special occasions, and I still need to do my research on which tanning cream won’t make me look like a carrot. So this whole me having to expose my paleness to the world tomorrow has caught me ALL sorts of off guard.

My options are I either sweat it out, wear pants or tights as everyone frolics about town in cute spring dresses with exposed skin as I have a Little Mermaid moment singing “Apart of Your World” staring out my office window as I eat my feelings. Or I just embrace my paleness, be an asshole and every time someone makes a comment or makes fun of me for being so pale, throw a skin cancer statistic back in their face. Boom. Yeah … no I’m not that guy.

But I do have a little secret weapon called the maxi skirt, my friends. Hello lover. It is totally cheating the system and I loves it. I’ll be covered so no one can tell I resemble Casper the Friendly Ghost, yet still get to feel the beautiful spring breeze. Problem solved. In the meantime, I’ll be on the hunt to try and find some cream that will make me look like I’m not actually vitamin D deficient.