Do I Look Fat?

anigif_enhanced-2570-1399938997-41_previewThere is nothing worse than having a friend stand in front of you asking the following questions:

“Do I look fat?”
“Can you see my muffin top?”
“Does this dress flatter my figure?”
“Do I look like I gained weight”

It’s a shitty situations for both parties, as a matter of fact. As the person asking the questions, if you are anything like me, you want the cold, hard, honest truth because you don’t want to walk around looking like an asshole. For the person responding to said questions, well, you are stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Even though your friend may be asking for the cold, hard, honest truth, does she REALLY? For me, even though I do ask for the truth, I know deep down I would be absolutely devastated if my friend did tell me I look like I gained weight or that indeed she can see my muffin top. And that friend runs the risk after speaking said truth of me turning into Satan, spiraling out into a haze of self loathing and labeling her the worst friend on the planet who thinks I am fat.

Ahhhh females, aren’t we AMAZING?!

As females, we have days where we feel awful about ourselves, whether it is brought on by PMS or just having an “off” day … it happens. For example, yesterday I found myself in a dressing room, sweating to death, trying on dresses whilst feeling completely bloated and disgusting. The last thing I wanted to be doing was trying on dresses, but alas I needed to her ‘er done. Luckily my best friend came with me for support and opinions.

Nothing I tried on wow-ed me. In fact, I don’t think I would even be wow-ed if I was trying on couture since I was feeling straight up like this:

24zhab9So I was relying on the reaction of my best friend. You can tell when something looks good right away. It is an immediate “YES!” “PERFECTION” “SOLD!” If the next sentence is, “wweeeelll :::circles around you:::, do you own Spanx?” it is a no go. The worst thing you can do is lie to someone whilst dress shopping. In fact I have the sickest lie-dar on the planet. There are simple signs to looks for. The corner of their lip starts to curl, their eyes will get big, they may start playing with their hair. Listen, I know, you don’t want to hurt your friends feelings. I get it. You are a good person. But there are nice ways to do it without being like, “you look disgusting, take that off.”

“That style just isn’t working for you, let’s try something else more flattering.”
“You have such great legs, we need to find something that accentuates them more!”
“That dress is something a hooker would wear, take it off, you are better than that.”

And so on and so forth. What I am saying ladies, if you ask your friends to give you the cold, hard, honest truth, don’t get pissed off when they give it to you. You asked for it. If you are asking for the truth, but really fishing for compliments, that is just an unfair game to be playing. If by asking, “do I look fat,” you really want validation that you are thin, I mean … just stop.

But to the person having to give the cold, hard, honest truth, there are ways to sugar-coat it without being like, “meeeeh ya definitely look like you gained 10 lbs,” all the while destroying your friends hopes and dreams and potentially your friendship. Just don’t lie. For the love. It isn’t cool to let your friends walk around like assholes. And lie-dar exists. You think you’re being coy, but, indeed, you are NOT.

The-More-You-Know

 

Dresses, Dresses, Where Art Thou Dresses?

Photo credit: http://www.liveluvcreate.com/image/nothing_to_wear-383015.html

Photo credit: http://www.liveluvcreate.com/image/nothing_to_wear-383015.html

What’s the age old saying, “a watched pot never boils.” Well, yeah, the same goes for shopping when you are looking for something specific.

Say you are looking for a red leather crop top (bare with me), and you go out to hunt for that one and only red leather crop top … I guarantee you, you will not find it. It’s just how the universe works. You will find everything else under the sun during that hunt, jeans, leather jackets, spectacular statement jewelry. All things fine and dandy … but just not in the budget … because God dammit, you are in need of a red leather crop top (don’t ask me where the red leather crop top came from … it manifested in my brain and … well … wah-laa).

My frustration is stemming from the fact when a girl needs a great dress … they can never be found. At least that is how the cookie crumbles for me. Any other random time in life when my day planner has tumble weeds rolling across it, I stumble across the most drool-worthy dresses that make me crave someplace fancy to go. Do I buy them? Absolutely not. Something shiny will catch my eye, and since I have no place to go, the shiny thing wins. And then there are the times, like right now, when everyone and their mother is having an event slash getting married, and the only options that I have in front of me are to wear are my birthday suit (gross) or a dress I have worn about 15 bazillion times. Yawn.

Sure, I could Rent The Runway. I’m a HUGE fan of Renting said Runway. It is pure genius … IF you only have one event to go to in that month. Unfortunately for me (I mean yaaaaaaay weddings), I have a bazillion, like I said. So Renting the Runway just wouldn’t be a financially smart move. I’m in the market for a new fancy dress, anyways. A girl should invest in at least one a year, right? And lucky for me, all events I have will be with different people. Therefore they will NEVER know I wore the same dress a bazillion times … that is unless they are reading this, well, then …. hey, ya got me. Give me a break, what do I look like, Paris Hilton?

If only I could find said dress :::sigh::: Especially after seeing all the magic during NYFW and now LFW, I want something spectacular, something different, something that doesn’t have a DVF price tag. I’ve gone to Nordstrom, Nordstrom Rack, Zara (which had some awesome dresses, but everything I liked was in white, and that is a HUGE no-no whilst attending a wedding), and yeah … yawn central. Everything is so cookie cutter. Short, strapless, crew neck, a little leather, a little sparkle. Literally have seen it a million times.

Lesson learned: When you see a good dress that makes you swoon and fits you like a glove, no matter what you have going on in your life, buy it, for the love of God. So you don’t find yourself in these situations like I’m in, banging your head against the wall, and contemplating going to stores you would never step foot in only because you have run out of options. “Oooh I wonder if Talbots has any hot looks?!”

What Anna Says Goes

annawintour_getty_650145a1After watching Anna Wintour answer 73 random questions, which to the normal person would be exciting, but to her looked truly painful, I got to thinking. Wonder if Anna Wintour asked me to do something?

Now, I’ve never met Anna Wintour, and I’m not sure Caroline Wozniacki has either. Who knows, they could be wearing matching BFF bracelets for all I know. But according to an article, Anna Wintour told Ms. Wozniacki (who is a Danish tennis player … it’s okay, I had to Google her, too) to cut her hair. Really? Cut her hair?

Alas, Caroline did it. She got a hair cut. Why? Because Anna suggested it. My mind exploded. You should only get your hair cut if you want to, or have such bad split ends you need to, not because a powerful stranger told you to do so, right? And how insulting. Why don’t you just tell me I look like crap instead of dancing around the obvious. I was outraged, thoroughly.

And then I remembered … it wasn’t just a powerful stranger that told Ms. Wozniacki to get her hair cut. It was Anna Wintour. The most powerful and most influential woman in the fashion industry. With that being said, she knows her shit. It’s not like your Aunt June from Nebraska who always liked you with a bowl cut.

So then I put myself in Caroline’s shoes. If I got the pleasure of sitting next to Anna Wintour during fashion week, and she actually acknowledged my existence … after I tried to inconspicuously take a selfie with her in the background all the while nerding out, I would almost instantaneously become her bitch. Why? Because it is Anna Wintour. If the woman “suggested” I rip off my dress because it was so ugly her eyes were beginning to burn, I would rip that baby off like it was put together with velcro. No ifs ands or buts. It would be my pleasure. And only because I would have the comfort of knowing because Anna suggested it, I would be applauded for it, instead of laughed off the fashion week runway.

Basically, after a lot of thought and contemplation … I would most likely do whatever Anna Wintour told me to do. Dye my hair blonde. Shave my head. Wear hot pink all day errday. Like the pavement in Times Square. Sign me up. Why? Because well … A. I would be slightly scared of what would happen if I ever disagreed with her and B. after years in the industry, and months and months of putting together a pretty rad magazine … ya gotta trust the woman … unless she asked me to lick the pavement in Times Square, then she truly is a sadistic witch.

Bad Juju, Be Gone

Photo credit: http://www.designworklife.com/2012/08/17/the-dark-arts/

Photo credit: http://www.designworklife.com/2012/08/17/the-dark-arts/

I am, truly, a very superstitious person. I knock on wood, throw salt over my right shoulder, I never count my chickens before the hatch … it all just freaks me out.

But the worst is when you buy something and come to find that it is a hex. Now I know you are probably thinking, this chick is crazytown, which I totally get, I think that about myself, sometimes, too. But I have to admit, there are a few pieces of clothing and accessories that I refuse to wear because something always goes wrong when I wear them. Hence they are a hex and should be burned … but are too pretty to be set ablaze. So I just keep them in my possession and stare at them longingly.

Most recently it has been a pair of shoes. I won’t blow up their spot, because truly they are so pretty and so fantastic … and I covet them. But in the two times I’ve worn them, everything has gone to shit.

For example, one of the biggest wardrobe malfunctions I have ever encountered, leaving me basically naked for the evening, happened when I rocked those shoes … or well, attempted to rock them. THEN an opportunity that sent me to the moon and back with happiness unraveled before my eyes whilst wearing them. When I got home from said opportunity unraveling, I threw them against the wall … hard. Like really, REALLY hard. It felt good.

To the non-superstitious person, there is no correlation. They would still rock these amazing shoes until the cows came home. For someone like myself, they are dead to me. I’m not saying these shoes caused all of these bad things to happen. In fact, maybe they have no involvement what-so-ever. The fact is, the idea of walking this Earth in said shoes with all that bad juju surrounding them, and with the potential for other things to go to shit … doesn’t seem like something I’m down for.

Unfortunately it isn’t just the shoes, I have really nice pieces of jewelry I refuse to wear … or outfits that traditionally bring bad things to my life that now hang in my closet neglected and probably a little dusty, all because EVERY time I wear them, negativity follows. I know, I know … #SuperstitiousPeopleProblems, waahhh, boo-frickity-hoo, but it sucks when you pour your hard-earned cash into your closet only to find a black cloud follows said piece.

Weird, right? I know … I should probably see someone about this. They are inanimate objects, for crying out loud. But regardless, no one wants to rock something that reminds them of truly unsavory memories, right? Or with the potential of a black cloud to follow. Better safe than sorry is what I always say.

:::Sigh::: I should call a priest.

Me, Myself, And A Wardrobe Malfunction

Jennifer-LawrencesWhen it comes to packing for a long weekend, or an event, I always pack a backup outfit. Even if I’m dead set on what I’m wearing, I always have something else to fall back on … God forbid. Except … this weekend.

After work I was headed to a friend’s house to get dressed for our other friends bachelorette party. Now, because I hate lugging things around town, I decided to only pack the outfit I was going to wear because it was my black leather pencil skirt, new shoes (which I wrote about like 15 times last week) and a simple black lace tank. In the words of “Yonce,” it was “flawless.” That skirt is hands down is my favorite article of clothing because A. I got it for a ridic price at Loehmans (RIP) and B. it fits me like a glove. So why would anyone need a backup outfit when dealing with such perfection … right?

A glass of wine down and a few moments of relaxation, I decided to start the dreaded “getting ready” process, which usually leads me to start sweating profusely and getting extremely anxious (hence why I only go to dive bars now where sweats are totally acceptable). “Da club” outfits stress me out. The hair, the makeup, the “do I look fat” questions … oyyy.

So I put on my black lace tank, shimmied up my black leather pencil skirt, awkwardly reached behind me back to zip it up, and realized I had gotten it caught on my black lace tank. Shit. Zipper up: nothing. Zipper down: nothing. So thankfully the bride-to-be was sitting right there, so I called her in for assistance.

The worst possible thing you can hear when someone is zipping you up is “shit.” And alas, that was what I heard. “Umm your zipper just broke,” she exclaimed softly for fear rage may travel through my body making my head explode.

Me: What … no … stop … what?
:::Moves to the mirror to see the damage:::
Me: Fuck.
Friend: Let’s just find some pliers.
Me: PLIERS?! I’m trapped! I can’t even get this thing off of me!
Friend: We can fix this. Let’s just shimmy it over your head.
Me: ARFGHSDKGHSK :::Fiddling with the zipper:::

And that is when the handle of the zipper (probably not the proper term for it, I’m aware) broke off. And that is when, out of sheer rage, I ripped open the zipper like the Incredibly Hulk. Leading my friends to consider fleeing for safety.

So there I was, standing in my favorite black leather pencil skirt that was just shot to shit … with absolutely nothing to wear. Nothing. Besides what I wore to work, which was a stupid cotton dress, when all of my girlfriends looked like they were going out to dinner with Carrie Bradshaw.

Moments like that, you’re hopeless. Literally. Screwed. Do I run home, which would take me time, or do I go buy something quickly, which means I will only be shopping for need instead of want, and I probably won’t really like it. Do I show the world my birthday suit? Or better yet, do I go “Carrie” style and start destroying and killing everything in my path?

As much as I wanted to go with the later, I took a deep breath and decided to work with what I had … AKA my friends closet. Not much more you can ask for. Hence why having really good girlfriends who know you well enough to just start throwing her black dresses at you until you find one you like and fits is SO very important in this life.

So my friends, lesson learned. Shit breaks. Shit goes to shit. It happens. But there is always a solution. Wardrobe malfunctions happen … even Nicki Minaj knows that. You just need to take a deep breath, maybe chug some alcohol (if you are of age) be resourceful … and pray you are your girlfriends you are with are the same size.

For those of you concerned (I know you are secretly), my black leather skirt is currently at the dry cleaners getting a brand new shiny zipper. We will be together again this Friday.

Style Stud: Bus Stop Boutique

logoAs a tall gal, it has taken me a VERY long time to embrace sky high heels. I would always admire them from the sidelines. Maybe purchase them and just gaze longingly at them in a glass case. But only recently did I rock them with zero fucks given.

But even if you don’t care, standing next to a 5 foot girl, as a 5’9 girl wearing 4 inch heels .. is super awkward. I end up resembling Gigantor and in an effort to make fun of myself before anyone else has the opportunity to, I will stomp around making growling noises (I’m normal, I swear).

My dream has been for there to be a middle ground between amazing stilettos and kitten heels, so I can still feel like I’m wearing big girl heels, but not looking like the damn Jolly Green Giant whilst standing next to my teeny tiny friends. But alas, none can be found, unless you like Easy Spirits … which no … just … no.

Enter Bus Stop Boutique, stage right. We fell in love on Instagram (I feel like I should make up a song about this), when I saw my fantastic friend Sarah (yes I spoke about this earlier this week), rocking a fierce pair of heels that I needed to have. I made her take me to this mystical place where I knew there was just something special about the shoes.

If you live in Philly, congrats, now go to Bus Stop Boutique immediately. If you are looking for a cool pair of shoes, something out of the ordinary and want ace customer service by the lovely Elena (owner of Bus Stop Boutique), bring it on down to Queen Village.

But in all honesty, the reason why I fell head over heels (no pun intended) for this boutique is because it catered to the tall girl. Yes, they have stilettos and insanely cute flats, but they also have the rare and illusive mid-size heel … aka a tall girl’s dream. You can still strut and be sexy, but not turn into a sky high beast.

I would like to thank Bus Stop for treating my tootsies like a queen and for hooking me up with a pair of heels that make my feet feel completely and utterly fancy. Sometimes we need an extra special pair of shoes to get us from A to B … and this is the spot to get um, ladies.

Now indulge with me over just a few pairs of shoes I’m drooling over for fall …

ALL-BLACK-Kitten-Heel-Black-Stud-BUS-STOP-Boutique-338x600

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Jeffrey-Campbell-Oriley-e1394152272361-506x900

Nicole-Banyan-Stone.-400x400

Cat Calling Your Clothes

pantsoffIf you are woman, you’ve been cat called in some way. For me it is usually overly cocky construction workers telling me to, “smile,” which makes me turn into Satan. But either way, there will forever and always be those gross men in this world that think it is okay to compliment a woman by screaming awkwardly at her on the street. “YO BA-BEEEE, BRING THAT OVER HERE TO DADDY.” Oh yes, I forgot, let me swoon, twirl my hair, and bring “that” over to you. Which is my fist. To your balls.

And listen, if you haven’t had the pleasure of being cat called, consider yourself lucky. It is just straight up embarrassing and doesn’t make you more of a woman or validate your “hotty status” in any way shape or form.

But I realized something over this past weekend. I found myself in Zara, drooling over their fall line and twirling around saying, “it’s too good … it’s all TOO good!” with stars in my eyes. Especially when I came across this amazing motorcycle jacket (see below). It was straight up sexy … I had to have it. But I found myself verbally harassing the inanimate object for no apparent reason:

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“Look at you over there, you leather temptress.”
“You need to come home to mama.”
“Oh baby … bring that over here and be mine.”

Umm yeah … awkward as shit. I’m very much aware. But when I fall for a piece of clothing like I did for this motorcycle jacket, it is love …pure, unadulterated love. And I feel very much the need to express that love … by acting like a buffoon on the street ogling ladies and making them blush with embarrassment.

Listen, if I were this leather motorcycle jacket, I would have totally slapped me across the face. “FRESH! :::Slap:::” But my mom always told me to invest in a good,expensive piece only if you love it so much you could kiss it. And I suppose I took that a step too far. Unfortunately my leather love muffin is still sitting in the store as A. they didn’t have my size and B. a $300 leather motorcycle jacket just isn’t in the budget unless I wanted to live out of it for a few months.

I’m not saying it is okay for assholes to whistle at ladies on the street and embarrass us profusely, but I AM saying it is okay to cat call your clothes … because that only means you love it so much you could kiss it.

Bitch, I’m Stealing Your Look

CaptureWhen in elementary school, or middle school even, sharing a look with a friend was completely okay and insanely cool. Much like “On Wednesday’s we wear pink,” I would call my best friend up and exclaim, “tomorrow let’s wear white crew neck Gap t-shirts and Gap boot cut jeans!” (Yes … I actually literally did such a thing) And we would walk down the halls thinking we were the bees knees when in real life we were the biggest bunch of clowns that had ever existed.

Even if I saw a fellow classmate, you know one of the “cool” girls, rocking a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes that I coveted, I would have no qualms going out, buying them, and then sitting next to the girl wearing the same thing. I saw nothing wrong with it.

Nowadays, in this place called “adulthood,” that shit don’t fly. If you go out for drinks with a friend and find you are wearing the same thing, it is mortifying. Simply because well A. you look like you’re auditioning for Deal or No Deal, and B. all night you will deal with drunk assholes slurring being like, “jjjjuuusssguyys twinsssooorr ssssumthhiinn”?

And in the office when you walk in wearing the same thing as a fellow employee, you smile and exclaim “twinsies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” and maybe take a pic and post it on social, but deep down, you know it sucks and is uber annoying. And not because you think you’re the most original person on the planet by wearing a black maxi on a Monday, but strictly because you are an individual who detests every five seconds hearing, “omg Susie in Accounting is TOTALLY wearing that outfit, too. You guys should take a pic.”

But this weekend I found myself falling back into my elementary school ways. Scrolling through Instagram, I stumbled upon the most perfect pair of heels that ever existed that my friend Sarah had just purchased. Drool dangling from my mouth I commented, “I want to go to where those shoes are.” And like that I had started the “bitch, I’m totally going to steal your look” process, something I hadn’t done since I purchased the same pair of Puma slide-on sneakers as the coolest girl in the 8th grade.

The difference was … I asked. I asked my friend Sarah if it was okay. Yes it is a free country and yes I had every right to purchase said shoes without her blessing, but to me, fashion is sacred. When you buy something as fantastic as these heels were (see above) you do so because you adore them and can’t live without them and find them to be something special. By not asking her if I could steal her look, I felt like I would be destined to strut around in them with some bad ju-ju. You know, falling face first into a puddle, the heel cracking off and spraining my ankle … normal stuff.

When I asked her, which felt like I was proposing marriage, her response was quite refreshing … “I take it as a compliment when people want to steal my look, go for it, girl.” And then I jumped up in mid-air and ran off skipping and kissing said heels. No that didn’t really happen, instead I kept asking “are you sure, are you sure, are you REALLY sure?!” until I was REALLY sure she was going to hit me.

So I bought the shoes. Now we are shoe twinsies … we should take a pic and post it on social (psyche). But no in all seriousness, it is normal to covet another person’s look. I do it all the time. Strangers on the street? Bitch, I steal their look all day errday and never ask. “Excuse me kind lady, may I go to the store and buy those shoes you are wearing, pretty please?” Umm no. But when it comes to friends, co-workers, your dog walker … you ask. Because that is the right thing to do. Otherwise you are tacky, my friend, straight up tacky. Admit that you envy their look and want it so badly you can’t stop drooling. It will make their day AND you’ll get something you desire out of it as well … without any bad ju-ju.

TWINNING … I mean … WINNING!

What I Learned This Summer

67a4c8077fa9b247b48b74915c649fbcDude, it’s Labor Day weekend … what the eff. As everyone is getting ready to get their best festival gear out for MIA Festival, or hit the beach one last time, or wear their white pants until they fall off ONLY until Labor Day, though (which is a bullshit rule that makes no sense), I find myself getting all reflective and shit. I think it’s because when I left my house this morning, that awful chill was in the air that still gives me “back to school” anxiety … even though I’ve been out of school :::mumbles::: years. You know what I’m talking about. I always remember having to write the “here’s what I did this summer” essay … which I secretly loved, because I was a huge nerd who loved writing prompts/still do. “I went to Florida with my family and it was fun.” Good times. Good description, self.

But, oddly enough, I do think reflection is important … or maybe it is the fact that I just started yoga again and I’m drinking the kool aid … either or, either or. As trivial and silly as the things I learned this summer are, I do feel it is important to write them down … strictly so I can look at them 10 years from now and ridicule myself for being such an asshole.

So with all of that being said, I hope everyone had a lovely summer, and if you are anything like me, you are really to kick its ass out of town so we can embrace the deliciousness of fall fashion. Until then kids, have a fantastic Labor Day weekend, be safe, be smart … wear white until the cows come home. And, oh yeah, ‘MERICA!

1. Canadian tuxedos (all denim errthang) makes me way happier than I should get and are shockingly chic

2. Leather is okay when it is about 80 degrees, but you WILL get swamp ass

3. One piece bathing suits are no longer for prudes and squares (I want to thank Khloe Kardashian for this one)

4. High tea is an event that every woman needs to attend, at least one (but it is expensive and you will need a cheese steak after)

5. Reading is a great escape from all the bullshit you are suffering through (I clearly forgot this and was reunited on my vacation)

6. Birch Box is something everyone needs to subscribe to, because it always arrives when you need it (bad days, PMS, just hating life in general)

7. To be kind, because you have no idea the battles and struggles other people are facing

8. That I loathe flip flops, but would sell my mother for some great vintage jewelry

9. That adult temper tantrums exist and can be brought on by awful pants and lack of air conditioning

10. To never go to trendy pop-up anything in the city because you will end up wanting to punt it (Spruce Street Harbor, I’m looking at you … bathroom passes … pssshh)

Drool With Me Now: Fall Fashion 2014

image1xxlOkay, I know we have a few more days until Labor Day, and I promised after bitching about the Polar Vortex last winter that I would do nothing but embrace every drop of sunshine and twirl in myriads of maxi skirts … but, yeah … I just made my first fall purchase. I couldn’t help it because I’m THAT ecstatic over summer getting the eff out of town. And yes, I truly intend to make out with said bag when he arrives at my doorstep, that is how much I adore him.

I’ve just had enough of sticky subways, makeup dripping down my face, and having to apply deodorant like three times a day, it’s unbecoming. And I want to punt my summer wardrobe. Listen, I’m not the girl who makes “mood boards” or “inspiration boards,” I have Pinterest for that shit. But the drool coming out of my mouth over fall fashion is excessive, to say the least. So I just had to share with you what I’ve been daydreaming about, right? Clearly.

1. Leather: Leather shoes, leather motorcycle jackets, leather shorts, leather underwear, leather all day err day (calm down, PETA, it will be faux or “hemp” leather … whatever is the politically correct way to rock leather)

11P10FBLK_normal2. New Over-The-Knee Boots: Oh yeah, they are still completely relevant and nothing brings me more joy than walking down the street in hooker boots “Pretty Woman” styley.

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3. Capes: Ya gotta bring the drama every now and then, and quite frankly I’ve been lusting after them since Lupita dropped the Cape bomb at the Golden Globes last year.

Capture4. Fuuurrrrr: I already own a faux fur jacket … and that clearly was my gateway drug to more fur, because now all I want to do is add to my collection. And quite frankly the fur they showed during fashion week is on POINT (seriously PETA, settle, I couldn’t bare to skin my cat and wear her, so this, again, will be eco-friendly fur … chill)

30C01GBLK_normal5. Removing Color Completely: Not that I wear a lot of color to begin with, but I’m really going to make a conscious effort to only wear neutrals. Black, white, beige, maybe a camel. Then if I’m in dire need of color (yawn), I’ll throw in something like a merlot-colored tote bag or something.

2014-Black-White-Outfit-Combination-Ideas-136. Bucket Bag: I’ve been on the fence about these bad boys, as I couldn’t decide if this was a bad 80′s trend revamped or a classic staple. I’m still not quite sure, but anything stylish that I can carry my entire life in is something I want to take a spin in.

23015591_927. Chelsea Ankle Boots: Swoon. The boot game this season is fierce, and where to begin can seem overwhelming. Welp kids, you start here, with the classic Chelsea boot in black. God speed after that.

Capture8. Extreme turtlenecks: If the Farmers Almanack is right, this winter is going to be freaking cold. True … turtlenecks have been connected with prudes and squares in the past, but the dramatic thick turtle necks that I literally could hide in and hibernate is something I can get behind.

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9. Novelty Prints: I gave up ironic t-shirts years ago, even though I did own the typical “Everyone Loves an Irish Girl,” shirt. Yes, I’m sick of seeing the overly ironic “Celfie” shirts, but I kind of like what some designers are bringing to the table … especially under an over-sized mens blazer. Mmm scrumtilescent.

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10. Textures: I’m very basic when it comes to fabric … I’m mostly a cotton gal. That “Fabric of our Lives” commercial should totally check out my closet, although I refuse to sing. But this season I want to dip my feet in the season of velvet, silk, satin, lace, and everything in between … hell, throw felt up in this piece.

Karl Lagerfeld Gets An Internship

CaptureSince I was 18, all I wanted to do was work at Vogue … said every girl who has ever watched Sex and the City. But no seriously, it was all I want to do with my life. I freelanced my ass off until I found myself a Junior in college, in Philly, realizing my Vogue dreams were in the wrong damn city. So I decided to find the “Vogue” of Philly … which was Philly Style Magazine.

When my interview got scheduled for an editorial internship, I immediately had an anxiety attack that all of the Natty Ice in the world couldn’t fix. Devil Wears Prada had just come out and all I kept thinking about was this is a style magazine, in a large city, and a Miranda Priestly-esque woman wearing couture will surely turn her nose up at my discount garbs and dismiss me. I was a college student, for crying out loud, I could barely afford Forever 21. Seriously … Forever 21 was my couture. All I had was bedazzled halter tops, ugly boot cut jeans, and kitten heels I would wear out to “da club” and sweats. Stay classy.

In this case I reference the only source I trust when it comes to timeless fashion … enter my mother stage right. She took me to Forever 21, even though I was thoroughly against it as I was certain four editors wearing Helmut Lang would start hysterically laughing at the poor quality of my clothes. But luckily my mom had/has a sick gift for finding cheap clothing that looks insanely expensive. We settled upon a pair of high-waist (literally came up to my taas), black flared pants that were to die for, which I would pair with a black button down puffy capped sleeve shirt I had from Old Navy. The whole, “but mom, I need Chanel,” shit didn’t really fly over well.

The day of my interview I threw my portfolio in my black over-sized tote … from Forever 21 … which looking back was heinous with horrifying “gold” hardware, and went on my way. When I walked into the all white room, basically almost every girl looked like Lauren Conrad from the Hills (the Hills was basically the Bible for college girls at this time … see below). Me … I looked like Karl Lagerfeld. I had completely forgotten that Lauren Conrad was basically Jesus for girls 18-25 years old and everyone wanted to not be the “girl who didn’t go to Paris.” Fuck.

CaptureLong story short, Karl Lagerfeld got the internship over all the Lauren Conrads … okay maybe a few Lauren Conrads made the cut, too. Turns out the editors were more interested in my writing then my outfit. Take that, Devil Wears Prada. Real life wins in this case. AND I didn’t have to get coffee for anyone once OR get their kids an unreleased copy of the Harry Potter book. Boom.

Internship style is insanely tricky, kids … there is no perfect formula. My advice would be definitely to own your style. That is important. Your style … not trends (there is a distinct difference). You want to be you and express who you are, not rocking cheetah print rompers with your bra straps hanging out because some style blogger told you to. At the same time, remember you are in an environment with people who no longer beer bong Natty Ice or go to ABC parties (oh yeah … I know what that is, kids). Don’t be that girl/guy that the older folks in the office talk shit on and ask “where your pants are,” behind your back.

Ps. I totally said that about an intern this past year.

Dude, Who’s My Designer?

Homer-BlankStare-1Giuliana Rancic: So let’s hear it … who are you wearing?!?!
Celebrity: :::Crickets:::
Giuliana Rancic: :::Confused look:::
Celebrity: Umm …
Giuliana Rancic: … does it start with a J?
Celebrity: :::Frantically looking for assistant to find the name::: yeah umm … give me a minute … JENNIFER GET OVER HERE. JENNIFER. HELLO. JENNIFER.
Giuliana Rancic: :::Awkward::: Alright … let’s get Jennifer over here. Hey Jennifer, girl!
Celebrity: What? Who? Jay Mongel? No, that isn’t it. Wait. Oh yes. Right. Herb Jones. Yes. That’s it. I’m wearing Herb Jones.
Giuliana Rancic: Thanks so much … now over to you Ross in the skycam.

Seriously, though? The amount of celebs at the Emmys who didn’t know the designers they were wearing from shoes, to earrings, to clutches, to dresses was astounding. And quite frankly, for no apparent reason, pissed me off thoroughly.

I suppose I put myself in the shoes of a designer, regardless if they are established or up-and-coming. Mostly I felt horrible for the up-and-coming bastards. Could you imagine? Holy shit … Julia Louise Dryfus’ stylist called you and wants clutch options for her Emmy look. I would die. I would probably embarrassingly enough pee myself with joy. And then turn on disco music and start jazzercizing in place.

You either make a clutch to match her dress or send her options … and then she chooses one. You think, “this is it. I’ve made it. Here I am standing next to JLD, and we are officially best friends.” You will be her Kate Moss to a Marc Jacobs. Wait. Strike that. Reverse it. No longer will you be that poor bastard in the billowing over-sized shadows of Michael Kors, you will be known, dammit, KNOWN.

So you gather your crew. Host an Emmy watch party. Pop some popcorn, pop some bub, pop your booty with joy. And wait for the moment when JLD graces the red carpet. Okay, it’s here. It’s happening. JLD is chatting with Guiliana Rancic … she’s putting her clutch on the freaking nonsensical “clutch cam,” and the moment arrives. All of a sudden things start slowing down in only a way that  makes it prominently known something insane is about to happen.

Guiliana Rancic: So tell us who made that amazing clutch!
JLD: Ummm … wait … hmmm … uhhh … fuck … JENNIFER!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! You fall to the ground in actual pain caused by the carelessness of a celebrity. “She wanted MY clutch. She hugged me. We shared laughs together. I was making her a friendship bracelet for fucks sake.”

When people see something shiny, they want it, they need it, they just have to know everything about it so they can either, A. max our their credit cards to buy it, or B. daydream about it in a series they like to call “my life would be so much better with …” So when you are getting interviewed, remember the little people, would ya? Who is that clutch by? HERB JONES, ladies and gents, HERB JONES (I really feel like the fake designer known as Herb Jones would bring a lot to the table, don’t ya think). Then everyone with a line of drool coming out of their mouths will Google and oogle all things Herb Jones. Then Herb Jones will be famous … kickin’ it on a yacht with P. Diddy.

So for shame, celebrities, for forgetting the people who made you look so fantastic. And, oh yeah, let’s not forget about your damn stylists. When do you ever hear a celeb give props to their stylists. Umm never. We aren’t idiots. We know “you did NOT wake up like dis.” The jig is up, friends. Ya had help … now maybe throw up your thanks, just a little.

Oh you want to know what I’m wearing today? Dress by Zara, gladiators by Coconuts, necklace by the lovely and talented Nikki Virbitsky. That is how you DO. :::Drops mic:::

Consciously Uncoupling From Carbs and Vodka

Screen shot 2014-08-25 at 5.31.05 PMWelp, I’m back from vacation. And it was lovely. Truly. I’m refreshed, rejuvenated, creatively stimulated from my brain sitting on a shelf for the past week, and I’m no longer Casper the Friendly Ghost status. I’m more like his fourth cousin second removed, Slightly Toasted Marshmallow. What I’m trying to say is, I no longer look like I have a vitamin D deficiency, ya dig?

But when you look deeper inside my soul, and my veins, you will find something way less pleasant. Way less … healthy. And that is because vacation means carbs … and copious amounts of vodka. Seven days of, “ooh a frozen pizza for breakfast … SURE why not!” “Cocktails on the beach at 11 a.m. that can’t stop won’t stop until I crawl to bed at 1 a.m.? Bring it on!” For seven days. I know, I know … poor me, my life is so terribly, waaah, boo frickity whooo … but talk to my body, who wants to go on strike. It hates me … thoroughly. It wants to cut me.

If you don’t believe the horrific state I’m in right now, let me tell you a little story called I only peed once on an eight hour car ride home. Just once. That is how significantly dehydrated I am. The only hydration I received whilst on vaca was when I switched to vodka and club. Literally, I think I drank 14 bottle of water today and I still feel like my eyes are roaming around the desert with no water in sight seeing mirages of dancing pieces of bread.

So because I can’t keep my eyes open and I’m lethargic, and cranky, and my skin looks like something that roams around the hallways of a middle school, and I feel like I’ve gained straight up 15 pounds … I’ve made a decision. It has been a hard one to make, let me tell you. And slightly disturbing to even contemplate. But carbs, vodka and I … need to consciously uncouple. It’s time. I’ve always wondered why this Atkins character would invent such a torture-some diet that cancels out all carbs. Now I get it. He must have gotten back from a family vacation and felt like a bloated whale and said, “ENOUGH!” 

I’m not one for diets. Or working out. Or being active. Or wearing those crazy ass “waist trainers” that Kim Kardashian has been seen using (ps. what in the name of all crazy is that shit about?) I’m just not. To sound like an obnoxious, valley girl for a hot minute (we all get one minute in life to sound like such hideous fools), like :::twirls hair::: shopping is my cardio :::pops gum:::. But when you feel this gross and unhealthy like I do right now, you do drastic things that you would never thought were possible. Like MAYBE just MAYBE not ingesting so many damn carbs.

At the end of the day, ladies, it is about being healthy. Mentally and physically. Pizza at all hours of the day and too many cocktails equals death. Yoga and veggies equals fresh to death. I mean, I hope so. If I don’t start feeling better on top of giving up carbs and vodka, I may or may not shank someone. Just sayin’.

Man, if everything goes according to plan, I will look like a super model just in time for the polar vortex to rear his/her/shis ugly face so I can layer my six pack under inches of wool. Screw that, if I have a six pack, I’m rockin’ a bikini in zero below weather. What what. #Classy

 

Old School Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Week!

vacationcover2Want to know why I woke up with “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s stuck in my head this morning? Because that is where I am headed tomorrow … what what :::Raises roof awkwardly:::

As much as I would like to continue sending you my snarky, sarcastic, honesty- and lerve-filled posts on fashion, lifestyle and what-have-you throughout the next week as I kick it on a beach, I’m going to try the impossible and “disconnect.” Even just saying it gives me anxiety. I mean what is life like without social media and having your phone glued to your body?! ACK! How will I make my Selfie Book!??! (Kidding … clearly). And not posting to Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra for an entire week kind of makes me feel like I’m leaving it with a shady babysitter as I go off and gallivant. But … I’m going to give it a whirl.

The good news is, I’ve deemed next week, starting tomorrow actually, Old School Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Week! What does that mean? Well let me explain! I went through a solid three years of content and pulled out my favorite seven posts, all the way from 2011 to present day. I’ve outlined the posts below, and check Twitter and Facebook for live updates throughout the week, and use #OldSchoolLSIASB to join in on all the throwback fun. I hope you enjoy reminiscing as much as I did … I had a little too much fun doing it, actually.

Sadly I must bid you adieu at this point, kids. I hate goodbyes! Have a lovely week and enjoy all of the old schoolness happening on Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra as I lay on a beach at an undisclosed location (don’t want any freaky stalkers … because clearly, people are dying to stalk me) and try not to turn into a lobster. Yes, I will be that girl on the beach with a hat, under an umbrella, with SPF 70 on and will probably forget to rub it in thoroughly in awkward places … like my cheek. Hot, right?

We’ll return to our regularly scheduled program Monday, August 25 … now let’s awkwardly raise the roof for funsies again … because … why not!

Saturday, August 16: Is Your Dress TOO Short?!

Sunday, August 17: Hangover Chic

Monday, August 18: Beyonce is Brainwashing Us

Tuesday, August 19: Even Target.com Can’t Handle The Missoni Collection

Wednesday, August 20: Just Say No: Drunk Online Shopping

Thursday, August 21: A Day In The Life Of A Woman Wearing Spanx

Friday, August 22: Why I Would Be The Worst Victorias Secret Model

Ye Old Art Of Waxing

sq_carell_chest_wax_300x300I’m about to embark on a week filled with sun, sand, and cocktails … lots and lots of cocktails … at odd hours of the day … when you are properly at work … mwahahaha! (Sorry, I had to).

But as I’ve been making mental lists and starting to pile up things I would like to bring with me (#overpacker), it also has brought something to my attention that not a lot of people feel comfortable talking about … but oh yeah, we’re going there. That would be waxing, kids … waxing.

When you go on a beach vacation, you basically have it all out there for a week, as bathing suits leave little the imagination. Even if you’ve moved to the one-piece (which, for the most part, I have), there is a lot of skin you’re showing … a lot of skin that if you’re a lady, shouldn’t be covered in hair. Hair is gross … woof.

I’m a waxing neophyte. The only thing I’ve ever gotten waxed is my eyebrows … and that took me years to commit to. I was so scared of the pain I walked around like bushy mcbusherson … it was hot, let me tell ya (I was also 13, give me a break, that is what those awkward years are for, right?)

But now, it is all about getting your bikini area waxed. And to that I say … bitch please. I’ve heard horrific stories about a thing called a “Brazilian wax.” Perhaps they are urban myths, but I would rather not pay a total stranger to make me get on all fours, ALL-FOURS, naked, and have them take a burning hot substance to my lady parts. It just doesn’t sound pleasant … to be completely honest it sounds nuts. Call me a Granny all you want, I’m here eating Werthers Originals and clutching my handbag for dear life. I keep it real. The stories I’ve been told and the screams I’ve heard at salons from women enduring the Brazilian are something made from nightmares.

I realize the “Brazilian” is the extreme end of waxing. But the PG-rated wax, the ones where I hear you put your legs in stir-ups and still have a stranger get all up in your bid-niss whilst being half naked … hmm yeah, still not my cup of tea. I’m not a prude. I’m just not down for paying for embarrassing torture. At least give a girl a shot of vodka before getting that personal with her, my God.

Sure, dealing with your “bikini area” yourself isn’t pleasant either, but at least you are alone in your shower. Sure, the end result usually looks like you have tiny red spider bites all around your woo haa or a weird rash … but quite frankly I would rather that than, again, paying a stranger to be all up in my bid-niss making me turn and twist in weird positions for the sake of removing ever stitch of hair. And if anyone questions my weird rash or wonders if I have an STD, I will be HAPPY to explain to them my theory on waxes. Yep. That is sure to bring all the boys to the yard.

You know what, your gyno should give you a free wax after your annual. I would be okay with that. He/she, a trained professional, has already been down there exploring, poking and prodding … why not get a complimentary wax after it all. I mean the whole visit is rather unpleasant to begin with, why not get a little “spa-like” treatment afterwards to heal your wounds of being completely violated for the sake of lady health. Just a thought, gynos of the world, just a thought.

I know, I know … hundred and thousands of women get waxes every year. I bet if you’re reading this and you’re into bikini waxes you think I’m the biggest wuss in the world. And to that I say … you are correct, sir. Unless I’m going to go live in a nudist colony on planet “that would never in blazing hell happen” I will most likely never get a Brazilian. I may try a regular wax just for funsies, though. But someone better get me drunk before hand. That is an order.

Be Kind

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Perhaps it was the outpouring of love and memories on social media, or how he was such a large part of my childhood (I’m pretty sure I watched Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Jumanji until my VHS broke), but the passing of Robin Williams struck me hard.

This ridiculously talented man, who made so many laugh and brought so much joy to so many lives found no other answer but to take his own life. I had the same reaction when Alexander McQueen died. And it truly hurts my heart.

Alexander McQueen, Loren Scott, and now Robin Williams. I read a tweet by Maria Shriver yesterday that said, “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” And nothing has ever resonated more with me. One of my main messages throughout a lot of my posts is showing kindness to your fellow person. Share compliments and stop being “mean girls,” for the love of God, because unfortunately, that shit still happens after high school.

That snarky email you want to send today for no reason, that eye roll, that silence in the bathroom instead of saying “hi,” or “wow you look nice today,” because you feel too awkward to say something, your crutch of “resting bitch face,” your neglect for the people around you … today I challenge you to make a change. Because one compliment, one acknowledgement, one smile, can bring an uplifting moment to someone who needs it more than you will ever know. Hey, I’m guilty of all the things I just listed. Hell, I eye rolled an innocent mother on the train today because her toddler was screaming bloody murder. But truly, we are all human. Perfection isn’t obtainable. And we need to remember this and change.

I know I rarely do “real talk” on Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra, but depression is present more than you think … and it’s unfortunately deadly. It is also something I care about deeply. That woman you work with who you think is the biggest snobby bitch in the world who you can’t stand, may be dealing with an unimaginable battle, whether mentally, physically, at home, or elsewhere. Put yourselves in other peoples shoes before you judge and take the “mean girl” route. You have the power to help others in need, whether you know they need it or not.

I beg of you to be kind today … and hell, most days. Step out of your awkwardness and remember you’re dealing with human beings. Talk to the girl you loathe. Smile at a stranger on the street. And if you yourself are suffering, please know there are a myriad of people who want to help you and want to listen, myself included.

Robin Williams will be a massive presence who will be missed dearly. But your presence is just as important. Know that and never forget it. Take the proper steps to get help if you need it.

How Long Does It Take You To Get Ready?

audrey-as-holly-in-sleep-mask_with-cat-on-backI remember when I was in high school, I would spend hours planning my outfit for the next day. By the time I was finished it would look like a bomb had hit my closet as I was trying to concoct the “coolest” most “outlandish” outfit possible. I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like waking up not knowing what I was wearing. The horror.

Flash forward :::mumbles::: years later and it’s all about sleep. Nothing is more important to me in the morning than sleep. I don’t care if I have to wear a belted trash bag to work … mama needs her ZzzZzz’s. It takes me a solid 15-25 minutes to get ready in the morning, maybe 30 if I fall asleep whilst taking a straightener to my hair (hey, it has happened … mostly when I’m hung over).

But seriously, to the women that take over an hour to get ready in the morning, what in the name of sweet Jesus are you doing? I’m not shaming your or trying to make you feel bad. Hey, we all have our rituals in the morning. And sometimes those rituals involve massive amounts of sleep, but to each their own. A well rested lady is a lovely lady, that’s what I … always … not … say … :::Shifty eyes:::?

So I’m here to help the ladies who take an extreme amount of time to get ready in the morning. No longer will your significant others toe tap and complain about your beauty regime, because all ladies hate that shit. Dudes will never get it that it takes time to make us look like decent human beings in the morning. I happen to look like a gargoyle when I wake up. So, regardless of how long it takes you to get ready in the morning, you have every right to tell you significant other to shut the fuck up. Oooh you showered and had to put gel in your hair, maybe a little moisturizer? Boo frickity hoo. And if they gasp in horror, tell them Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra told you to say that.

Anywho, back to what I was saying. Follow these steps for a morning that will have you out the door in less than 45 minutes. Your life will be changed. Think of all the time you will have left over for activities, and by activities I mean sleep.

1. Don’t make breakfast. Don’t even turn your coffee pot on. In fact, don’t even go downstairs, that is where temptation lies. Throw a Special K bar in your purse when you’re running out the door, get coffee at work and call it a day.

2. Shower the night before. I’m telling you, it makes a difference. When you wake up, wash your face, put some moisturizer on, and start making yourself not look like a gargoyle.

3. Wash your hair the night before, too. I mean this is the true time suck. If you wash your hair and blow it out, all you will have to do in the morning is touch it up with a flat iron or curling iron. Boom.

4. Get a lucid idea of what you want to wear the evening before. If you’re like me, you have a Clueless-style catalog of your favorite outfits in your mind (or perhaps I’m just a freak, either or). Just make sure the outfit is clean and ready to go, and factor in some time to steam said clothes need-be (although if you can rock this out the evening before, too that would be splendid).

5. Keep your makeup simple, for the love. You aren’t going to da club, you’re going to work. Moisturizer, foundation, concealer, a little mascara, eye liner, blush, fill in your brows … and ta-da. Most likely you won’t look like Kim Kardashian, because she has a team of professionals that surround her at all times … and I’m pretty sure it takes hours to make her look like that. It just isn’t reality. The irony, right?

6. Don’t you dare groom yourself in the morning. Nails, eyebrows, waxing, shaving, plucking, smoothing, extracting, exfoliating all needs to be done the evening before. Otherwise you’re screwed. Have fun getting up at the crack of dawn, kids.

7. Keep your hair simple. If you did all the hard labor the evening before, all you have to do is touch it up, or throw it up, or add a little wave. We aren’t going to prom, we are going to work. Keep your eye on the prize. Why do you think they invented sock buns? I bet it was invented by a broad who hates getting out of bed in the morning, I’ll tell you that much.

8. Keep your accessories organized. If they are a jumbled mess, that is an obvious time suck. I keep my necklaces/bracelets/etc. right next to where I do my makeup so I can be thinking about what I want to wear with said outfit. Grab it. Throw it on. And wah-la, I’m accessorized.

9. Take a good amount of time for your teeth. Seriously. Dental care is important, coming from a person who has had some issues. Brush, gargle, floss, water pick … do your thang with this one, kids.

10. Absolutely no social media. Disconnect. 100%. Take this time to meditate or something as you get ready. No tweeting, updating your status on Facebook (OMG you guys, trying out my new NARS lipstick this morning, what do you think? #PoutyMcPouterson), Snapchatting (is that the next thing the kids are doing?), Instagramming, texting, or taking selfies. For the love of God … no selfies. Truly, no one cares.

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Drool-Worthy Beach Kimonos

rs_560x415-140401091650-1024.2thailand-kim-kardashian-elephant.ls.4114_copyOkay, it’s true, I haven’t taken a “beach” vacation in years. So you can clearly understand why I’ve been going on and on for the past couple of weeks about flip flops and one-piece bathing suits and sunshine and unicorns … oh my. Yes, I’m thoroughly pumped.

And since I haven’t been on vacation in some odd years, I clearly needed to re-stock up on the “summer essentials.” 70 SPF (not trying to become a hot wrinkled mess), bath suits that aren’t like string bikini’s because, like, no … and swimsuit coverups. Which leads me to my newest obsession in life … kimonos.

Listen … I have scoured the interwebs for awesome coverups, and nothing compares to the coverup kimono … they are rad. If you’re going to the beach anytime soon. invest in one ASAP. They are so fierce (like Kim Kardashian fierce … and yes, I just called her fierce because her style is insane … come now, you have to agree), sexy, and uber chic. Who wouldn’t want to float around a beautiful beach with your sheer kimono flying behind you in the wind. I mean … hi Beyonce, what up.

Even more good news? They are all on sale right now (and if they aren’t, well screw that, it’s basically fall … give me a break). I just purchased this one from H&M on sale for $17. But sorry kids, they are sold out. Whomp, whomp.

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Beach kimonos, they are so hot right now, beach kimonos. Here are some of my faves …

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Flip Flops … Yawn.

flip-flop-for-the-fischers-001I don’t think I’ve invested in a pair of flip flops since I was in college, and they were used strictly for shower shoes. Now I know, people will contest that a pair of flip flops defines summer and is a staple that every woman should have. To comment back on that statement, all I have for you is a big ol’ drawn out yawn. I know. I’m a freak.

There’s a reason why I haven’t purchased flip flops in :::mumbles::: years. They straight up bore me to death. And the sound they make when you walk is ridiculously annoying. Nothing makes me want to take a nap more than standing at the “wall of flip flops” at Old Navy as women excitedly snatch up every color of the rainbow. How do you choose a color?! Seriously. All you have to work with is a color, since, really, there is nothing much more to them, and quite frankly I don’t want to stand there having an anxiety attack over what color blue to buy. And then I realize I loathe color and call the whole thing off.

Unfortunately I find myself in a predicament where I need to invest in a pair of flops :::sigh::: In 2 weeks I will be going off the grid in an attempt to relax on vacation. So I’m trying to make that week as stress-free as possible. If I’m running to the beach, need to take the dog out, want to go drunkenly dance somewhere other than my rental house, a pair of flops sounds like a good idea instead of spending time putting my gladiators on (although I covet them). But can I tell you, my search for a cool pair of flops has been nothing but an annoyance.

All of them are so basic, or have some weird ugly design or have a 3 inch platform, or say some awful shit like “Hottie!”, or are waaaaaaaay over priced, again, for a thing of rubber on my feet I’m using to walk on (Havaianas, I’m looking at you). If I’m going to spend $45, I’m going to buy a pair of gladiators, not some yawn-worthy pair of flops I will probably end up burning by the end of summer. I’ve literally scoured all of ShopStyle.com and every other “trendy” site for an outlandishly cool pair of flops for a decent price, and they cannot be found. Like can a sister get a pair of flops with studs or skulls on them, or something?!

True, my search wasn’t a total bust. ModCloth is on their game with cool flops, but alas, my size was out of stock in all of the flops I desired. Besides that, the only other ones I fell head over heels for, of course, were the Valentino rockstud PVC thong sandal. Literally drool-worthy. But if I won’t spend $45 on a pair of flops, I sure as balls won’t be spending $295. Seriously, like I know you’re Valentino and all, but come now. They are damn flop flops.

I’m torn on what to do and running out of time to make a decision. Do I cave and just buy the most basic flop I can find, and deal with the yawning and bordem, or do I stick to my guns and just continue to rock gladiators to the beach … which, I imagine, will be uber annoying. Or who knows, maybe I’ll become one with nature and not wear any shoes. OR, become a total princess and wear heels to the beach. What do you think?

Listen, if you know of a place were I can find a sweet pair of flops that won’t drain my bank account, send that info my way as soon as humanly possibly. Until then, my search continues.

Yawn.

Style Stud: Jinxed Philly

outside2Hi, my name is Kate, and I’m a vintage jewelry addict.

No I’m serious … I have complete vintage jewelry problems. You can tell by the ridiculous overflowing amount I have in my bedroom. I know, I know, I could have some other truly disturbing and life threatening vices in my life, but still, an addiction is an addiction. At least with this one my body is decorated amazingly at all times.

Meet Jinxed … the best Philly vintage store (in my opinion) AND my all-time favorite dealer of vintage jewels. At any given weekend you can find me there, face down in a pile of awesome necklaces, trying to figure out how I can financially afford 10 of them. But the reason why it is so tantalizing and addictive … is because the price is always right. $15 for a choker? $20 for some awesome weird looking statement piece that happens to look like the Philadelphia Flyers symbol? Umm hi, you’re mine.

I’ve always been a girl who would find her accessories at places like Burlington Coat Factory, TJ Maxx, Forever 21 … because they secretly had/have some awesome pieces, you just have to look hard and be patient. And if you’re laughing at me that I ever bought jewelry from Forever 21, laugh again, friend. I actually have some fantastic pieces from like six years ago. I call it F21 vintage. Their jewelry is definitely shit now, but back in the day, there were some wow-worthy pieces, let me tell you. You just had to take care of them … which I did :::hair flip:::

I find something so interesting about vintage jewelry. The history, who owned them back in the day, how they got to the point of me holding them and lusting after them. And, hello, they are one-of-a-kind. Okay maybe they aren’t really … I’ll never be sure, but you probably won’t see some random gal at the bar wearing the same necklace as you if you happened to score it at Jinxed.

:::Sigh::: I must really like you people for telling you my vintage jewelry secret … so … you know … you’re welcome. Feel free to say hi to me on Saturday afternoons … I’m usually the girl holding a myriad of necklaces contemplating which to buy, and how I can have them all … and which organ I can sell to do so.

Check out some of my Jinxed scores below:

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Down With Plus Size

CaptureI was watching E! News the other day where they were talking about this stick figure model who is considered “plus size.” And then I kicked my TV in, set fire to it, and ran out of my house screaming madly like a crazy person. No. That didn’t actually happen, but you understand how frustrating that is to hear, right?

What the hell, society? Seriously. How sick is it that this woman (shown to the left) is considered to be “plus size.” And quite frankly, who makes these decisions? Huh? Some big shot at some corporation got together with the “board of big shots” and decided, “yes … let’s teach the women of our country that being frail and freakishly thin is the chic decision to make … no matter what health complications come from it.” (Ps. I image them all to be wearing top hats, smoking pipes, and all having handle bar mustaches with curls at the end … and monocles. Definitely monocles are involved.)

No no … don’t you dare take an interest in good food or cuisine, ladies otherwise you will become “PLUS SIZE!” DUN DUUUUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN! :::lightning bolt and bats flying about::: They are treating the term “plus size” like it is the black plague that shows like the Twilight Zone would cover. Oh no, don’t eat that cupcake or the Plus Size Plague will get ya! Run bitches!

In all seriousness, this needs to stop. It’s a damn size, and you know what? No ones business. How about that. Do you tell people how much money is in your account? Or how much money you make a year? Or how many people you’ve slept with? Then you don’t need to disclose your size in clothing.

I’ll come out and say that the size I wear is totally considered “plus size.” If I wanted to take an interest in modeling, I wouldn’t be rubbing shoulders with the likes of Cara Delevingne or Kate Moss, nope I would be on the D List runway with the “plus size” models. The only celebrities at the fashion shows would be like reality stars, Bret Michaels and Fabio. Woof. But the funny thing is, most women, the normal ones who are healthy, work out, and indulge in the goodness of life, are considered “plus size.” And all of a sudden makes all of them, including me, spiral out thinking, “I’m not good enough, I’m fat, I’m ugly, I have rolls, no one will ever want me.”

Well screw that. Every woman’s body is different. And that is what makes every woman awesome. We need to embrace our size instead of fearing that we will have to walk around with the scarlet “Plus Size” strapped to our asses. And those big shots with the pipes, top hats and monocles, really need to re-think this whole “plus size” business. Sizes are sizes. Numbers are numbers. Just because a size goes past a certain number and is two digits (gasp) doesn’t mean you need to make us out to be freaks of fashion nature, alright?

Down with the term “Plus Size,” I say. Burn it at the stake!

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Photo credit: http://www.stylehasnosize.com/2014/home/beauty-comes-shapes-sizes-ethnicities/

Totes!

64857-610x610-1328126070-primaryI’m not a huge fan of graphic anything. I think Juicy Couture and Urban Outfitters ruined it for me back in the day (although I totally had an “everyone loves an Irish girl” shirt, but can safely say I never had “Juicy” across my ass). I’m more of a straight forward kind of gal, leave the quotes and bold words for Twitter and Instagram … or a blank wall, not my choices in fashion. Like, for example, I was walking through the city last night and saw a girl wearing black short shorts that said “I love skulls” across the ass. Like why?

As I went from working in suburbia to a city transit commuter over the past year, I have adopted a love for tote bags. Reason being, I no longer have a car to stash all of the necessities for the day ahead, like a change of clothes in case I am going out after work, different shoes, makeup, a book, etc. Now, I need a bag that lets me carry my entire life without looking like a straight up bag lady … Mary Poppin’s style, if you will. I want be carrying a damn floor lamp and not have anyone know AND look super chic doing so.

I used to roll my eyes at canvas totes, probably because it reminded me of something my aunts would use at holiday functions to haul in all the delicious foods they made. They weren’t a statement of style … they were a statement of functionality (yawn). But not anymore. I gotta say, the tote game has been kicked up a notch this season … graphically speaking.

Now, there is a fine line between graphical totes that are acceptable to carry around. If it says something like, “HI HATER!” or “Ain’t No Wifey,” I will most likely light fire to it instantaneously. Just stop. No one cares if you’re trying desperately to be “gangster” and feel the need to express your teenage angst via your tote. Just stop. Sit this one out.

Luckily, this season, I have seen some really clever (and chic) graphic totes that are not only outlandishly cool, but a total conversation starter. And if you can’t tell the different between an acceptable tote and a non-acceptable tote, step outside of yourself for a second and picture someone else carrying that bag. If you don’t think, “man what a douche who is trying too hard,” it is good to go. Otherwise, run … RUN FAST!

To get your TOTES inspired (see what I did there … I’m so cool), here are some of my faves for the fellow bag lady, like myself.

Street Glitter Gallery’s …

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West Elm’s …

img34cMarc Jacob’s …

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ModCloth’s …

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Lulu Guinness’…

50005291_3K Is For Black’s …

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Bringing Back The One-Piece

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Photo credit: http://couturecourier.tumblr.com/post/6089440859/i-want-a-one-piece-bathing-suit-i-want-to-look

I blame teenagers for giving the one-piece swimsuit a bad rep.

Think about it. Going down the shore with your friends, sans parents for the first time in your life … boys to flirt with, sun to soak up, and most importantly, boys to flirt with. So no one had any time for a one-piece. What are we five with cut little cut-outs in the back or on a damn swim team? No … girls wanted to show off the goods, bring the boys to the yard (minus nips and va-jay, of course). You weren’t anything unless you were wearing a ittys bittys teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini, or something of the sort.

But somehow this mentality was carried on into adulthood, and I am very guilty of this. As I got older, the more I detested the idea of a bikini. I would sigh, stomp my feet, but end up buying one anyways without even considering a one-piece … because clearly that meant I wasn’t “sexy”. Sure, I could have worked out, ate right, got some side abs going on … but instead I wore a mou-mou until I wanted to tan, where I would lay completely flat, remove said mou-mou awkwardly and blend into the sand in my stupid bikini, so no one could see how undefined my stomach truly was. All of this lead me to loathe going to the beach, by the way. How silly, right?

I’m going to say something right now, and it will probably lead to several women throwing stuff at their computer screens or tablet screens … but I’m willing to take that risk. Brace yourselves, kids, are you sitting down? Ahem … most people … don’t look good in a bikini. There. I said it. Now everyone calm the eff down and let me explain, won’t you?

You really have to be 100% comfortable in your own skin to rock a bikini and rock it right. If you aren’t comfortable strutting around buck ass naked like you own the world, then I doubt a bikini is the right option for you. If you are, congrats, rock that shit. And you know what, there is NOTHING wrong with not being comfortable walking around naked. Hell … I’m not. It doesn’t mean you’re fat, or out-of-shape, or ugly. It means bikini’s are the devil. No article of clothing has the right to make any woman feel this way! Now, let’s burn them! Who’s with me!?

Besides lighting fire to these bad boys, there is a truly brilliant solution to this problem. A simple, easy solutions that will make all of us stop hating going to the beach and wishing death upon those stick figure models who look so damn perfect in a string bikini (ps. unless you are 100 lbs with no taas, or happen to have fake taas, string bikinis won’t work … it’s total discrimination, I know. I happen to have larger taas and they just don’t work). The solution is finding a different style of swimsuit … taa-daa! There is a whole world of swimwear that will make you feel sexy, cool and confident and that doesn’t mean you have to show off 95% of your epidermis. Sometimes, the less skin you show, the better. Leave a little the imagination … ehhh?! And no … I’m not talking about this … calm yourselves.

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Photo credit: http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/chat/2889267/posts

I’m not saying don’t strive for something. If your goal is to rock a bikini hard, do it. My God, go for the gold. But I am saying as a group, we should stop shaming ourselves because we can’t fit in to Gisele Bundchen’s bikini. I’m sorry … it’s just unobtainable. Real life doesn’t have Photoshop. God made us all different and fantastic in our own ways. Find a style that works for your body. So what if the world can’t see your damn belly button. The important part is a swimsuit that compliments your body in the best way possible. And yes, one-pieces can we sexy. Trust.

Here is the proof, kids.

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JETS by Jessica Allen

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Are You Sure Those Are Your Pants?

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Photo credit: http://www.drawnforyou.com/jimmy-fallon-wears-tight-pants/

I’ve always heard stories about people going to work and then realizing that A. they aren’t wearing their own pants or B. that they aren’t wearing any pants at all. Okay, maybe B. is a drastic exaggeration, but it falls in line with my assumptions that these people were straight up mad. How the hell could you not be wearing your own pants? Who are you? Seriously. Get help.

Welp … the saying is true, kids. Thoust shall not call the kettle black … or the pot black … wait. Oh shush, you know what I’m saying. Let’s bring it back to a time last week when I got up in the morning, took my black skinny jeans off the hanger and thought I had gained 100 pounds over night.

Now, anytime a gal puts on skinny jeans (or guy, I won’t discriminate if you get down with ball huggers), there is a little dance involved whilst putting them on, especially if you just washed them. You pull them up halfway, do a little squat and shimmy, pull them up a little more, shimmy shimmy shake, then bring it on home and pull them all the way up with three mid-air jumps, and a bit more shimmying (this time it’s just for funsies). This is the life of a skinny jean wearer, am I right?

Well on this particular morning, I slipped on my black skinnies, and by the time I got to the second shimmy shimmy shake, I realized they weren’t fitting right. Now I base my weight on how my clothing fits. If it isn’t tight, it’s right, if it is, well, you need to lose weight … for SHIZ (see what I did there? Ehhh?!).

All I could think was, “did it happen finally?! Have all those years of eating carbs and potato products finally caught up with me!?” Literally buttoning these suckers was the saddest moment of my life. Like how could I have let this happen?! They buttoned, so that was good and all, but were they comfortable? Umm negative. I think I still have a button imprint under my belly button a week later. But typical me, I was running late, so I threw on an oversized shirt so no one could see my protruding muffin top, and went on with my way thinking about how obese I had become overnight.

The entire day I kept fidgeting in them, trying to pull them up in an effort to make them more comfortable and tolerable, but alas there was no rescuing my suffocating stomach. The worse part was I had to return something at Zara and the last thing I wanted to do was enter in to one of my favorite stores in my sad condition. But I went anyways, and since they were having a mega blowout sale I HAD to try stuff on, of course. Duh.

After acquiring way too many pieces of clothing to try on, I entered the Zara fitting room, questioning why I was subjecting myself to this violent form of torture. My damn pants didn’t fit me anymore. I had no right to enter into any room unless it was a Jenny Craig waiting room.

Now, if you are familiar with Zara fitting rooms, you know everything is very white … and VERY bright. You can’t hide from yourself in these bitches. So I went on my way, trying stuff on, trying not to make eye contact with my grotesque body. But when I went to put my ill-fitting pants back on I realized something: Wait. When did my black skinnies get so faded? And Jesus, when did the back pocket start to look like it is about to fall off? And OMG, when did I fall and rip the knee on these guys? What … is … HAPPENING! Then all of a sudden it hit me.

I’M WEARING MY BLACK SKINNIES FROM 5 YEARS AGO!

If I could have done a touchdown dance in the Zara fitting room, I would have … but the room was too restricting. Turns out I didn’t gain an excessive amount of weight overnight, I’m just a dumbass who keeps her old skinny jeans that should be thrown away still on a hanger in case of a “what if” moment (yes, I’m THAT psychotic).

So as you can assume, I’m super relieved and have since thrown those devil jeans away. The bad news is I have not the slightest idea where my real black skinnies are. If you have any information about their whereabouts please contact me ASAP.

Cheese fries for all!

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HELP! I’m Dieting!

CaptureIt’s sad but true :::sigh:::

I can’t say I’ve ever dieted in my life. And it isn’t because I’m naturally thin and gorgeous (I mean if you are I want to personally smack you), but it’s because, basically, I love carbs … mostly potato products. And if I couldn’t have carbs, I would probably stab someone. My whole thing is if my clothes fit and if I feel healthy, then there is no need to diet. I don’t own a scale, and when I go to the doctor and, against my will, they have to weigh me, I don’t look … after begging them not to weigh me in the first place (I always lose that battle). It is all about how you feel, not about the number you are.

I’m subjecting myself to this dieting nonsense because in a mere three weeks I will be on a beach for the span of five days … a place I haven’t seen in quite some time, also known as “vacation.” And the idea of putting on a bathing suit makes me want to light fire to them and frantically run away into a dark cave and hide in the fetal position until the next snow storm.

Could I stand to lose a few LBs? Sure, who couldn’t. But here is a fun fact about me: I hate gyms. Loathe them. I’ve tried, really I have … numerous times in fact. But they skeeve me. People are always trying to talk to me, asking me when I’ll be done the machine, telling me my shoe is untied, hitting on me. And seriously dudes, why? I don’t go to the gym to bring the boys to the yard, okay. In fact I’m probably in a disgusting t-shirt, weird sweats with stains on them, hair in a bun, and no makeup … sweating my balls off. Oh yeah … let me get some o DAT! Freaks. So yeah, gyms are not an option for me. EVER. Unless there is one in my house … real housewives style. That I probably, STILL, won’t use. But I imagine a treadmill would make a lovely clothes hanger.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a stationary person. I walk a ton, and sometimes I dabble in yoga (although I’m currently in the hunt for a new studio). But the reason I’m subjecting myself to this dieting hell is because, well, in your late 20′s things just aren’t, oh, how you say, naturally tight anymore. Gross, right? Eww, aging.

So as I sit here eating my plain Jane salad with half the dressing, no cheese, and minimal croutons miserably, I can’t help but crave a large plate of curly fries … and maybe a large margarita pizza to back it up. But in order for me to thoroughly enjoy myself on vacation, mama needs to tighten this shit up. I’m only dieting for me, because at the end of the day, you are the one that has to live with yourself, am I right?

In other news: dieting is the devil.

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The App Is IN The Tablet?!

01-zoolanderI wouldn’t call myself “tech savvy” in any sense of the term. I still have one of those old school block TVs that weigh a literal ton, I’m not a huge fan of HD and don’t really grasp the difference, and my computer is from 2007 (although that is something I’m well aware that needs an upgrade).

So when I got the opportunity to use the Verizon Wireless 4G LTE network Samsung Galaxy Tab 7.7, I was thrilled to expose myself to some new technology … even though I’m a notorious Apple snob. To be quite honest, I had no idea how to use the thing once I got it (picture Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson banging on the Apple computer like monkeys in Zoolander). “The files are IN the computer!?” But after a little investigating and Googling, I got on track and started the App downloading process.

When it comes to Apps, I’m very basic. Traditional social apps, Shazaam, Google Maps, you know, the norm (what can I say, I don’t like a lot of clutter). But I did use this Tablet opportunity to try out some fashion/lifestyle apps that could potentially upgrade my life. Oh yeah, and MAYBE I may or may not have downloaded Kim Kardashian’s app and became slightly addicted to it. I won’t say yes or not, but I will say if you need some downtime to just play something that is mindless, download immediately. But that’s all I will say about that.

When I stopped pretending I lived in Kim Kardashian’s world (not that I’m admitting to downloading her app, nope, not up in here :::shifty eyes:::), I did find some apps that every woman needs in her life, on her tablet, and/or phone. Seriously. Even though technology may not be my forte, I did enjoy stepping outside of my App comfort zone on this fancy little device (although I am not converting to Android, ever. Sorry … Apple fo’ life).

Pose:  Trendsetters, this one is for you. Check out the latest looks, trade clothes with other fashion-forward folk, and get inspired for some new style. I mean, if you are looking to stay one step ahead of the style game, this App is a must.

Silk Knots: Okay, maybe not everyone owns slash can afford an Hermes scarf. Hell, I sure as balls can’t. BUT this awesome app teaches you how to tie knots in elegant and unconventional ways. Target, Hermnes, Chanel, H&M … Apps shouldn’t discriminate.

Whisp: This App is like one big super gigantic mall, minus all the annoying people, germs, women with strollers, gross loitering teens, and people working in kiosks insulting your hair styles in hopes you will let them use their fancy hair straightener on you. Whisp literally pulls millions of products for you to shop in one convenient place. Genius? I think so.

Beautified: Some days, I wake up in a shitty mood and decide I need to treat myself. But it isn’t always easy to get a last minute appointment at the prized salons and spas. Thanks to this nifty app co-founded by Who What Wear and Byrdie, you can now book last-minute services in awesome salons and spas near you. Right now it is only available in NY, LA, and San Fran, but coming soon to Miami and DC (ummm hello, where is the Philly love?!)

ASAP54: Have you ever seen a girl out one night wearing an outfit you would sell a loved one for? Welp, now you can take a creepy pic of said person, upload it to ASAP54, and find where that chick got her look. Creepy? Slightly. Amazing? Totes. You may not find an exact match, but definitely something similar. Meh … something is better than nothing, right?

Kindness: It Still Exists

c36cbc551d1f4cfe40989b8bc7b07807You know when two ladies rush up to give you a compliment and your first thought is, “holy shit I’m about to get jumped,” there is something seriously wrong with me slash this world we live in.

I found myself at a dreadful outdoor drinking arena where you needed a damn bathroom pass to go visit the fancy Porto-potties on the other side of the venue (Spruce Street Harbor for those of you from Philly). Beer only? Bathroom passes? Hipsters passed out in hammocks? The stank of the Delaware River? Porto-potties? Not my scene. But this is neither here nor there.

As I was waiting to enter the fancy Porto-potties, I saw these two normal looking blonde ladies, who were probably in their 30′s, rushing over to me. At first I thought, “dear sweet Jesus I’m about to get jumped/harrassed/or robbed.” When you’re in a city, especially on the East Coast, that is where your mind goes. I secretly surrendered and braced myself like a fool and just said, “welp, here it is, my time has come.”

But to my surprise, and mostly shock, these two ladies stood in front of me saying, “OMG you look so beautiful this evening! Look at that outfit of yours, it is so pretty!” I stopped flinching in anticipation that they were going to deck me, and looked at them like a deer in headlights. Friendly people? No no … friendly women offering up amazing compliments that were making me glow? Whhhhaaa?! Where am I? Did they just jump me and now I’m in heaven?

And no, I was not wearing anything special. I wore my most comfortable maxi skirt, tank top, and had exhaustion and anger splashed across my face after a long day of hosting a bridal shower all day and then having to deal with an overflowing bladder at a bar with bathroom passes and way too many rules … and no vodka.

These ladies were a breath of fresh positivity, and quite the confidence booster. Never once in my 27 years existing on the East Coast had any stranger, especially a woman, been so sincerely nice for no reason. I had to ask them though, “where are you ladies from?” And my assumptions were correct, they were from out of town. The midwest to be exact. And there you have it.

I’m not going to single out city gals or East Coast ladies only, but we are so quick to judge one another, and I’m guilty of this, too. When I’m standing in line for the bathroom, most likely I’m entertaining myself in my head making rude comments about people, and it’s shitty. And when we do reach out to our fellow female and offer a compliment, we are too quick to roll our eyes, or assume they are hitting on us, or think, “what does this bitch really want.” 

I truly want to thank these anonymous ladies for making my night extra special. Sometimes a stranger telling you that you look lovely is just what the doctor ordered, let me tell you, because I had an extra pep in my step the rest of the evening. You never know what people have going on. And always assume women have RBF (resting bitch face), because I’ve been told I look like a non-approachable bitch, and that is so not the case. If you assume they have RBF, it will make the compliment giving THAT much easier.

Since then, I’ve been more opened to complimenting my fellow females, even if I don’t know them. And hopefully you will do the same. Sure, the girl may think you’re trying to mug her, but listen, baby steps people, baby steps.

I’m A Little Tea Pot …

759ce1220f70c77d1d1278b17ddc95bbSometimes you just need to shake it up. Lately I’ve been feeling like Mr. Roboto, doing the same things every weekend. And you know what? Life is too short for Mr. Roboto nonsense. So this weekend is when I say, “ENOUGH!” and do something I’ve always wanted to do since I was a little girl … and that is attend high tea.

Perhaps it is my recent obsession with the show Ladies of London, or with my admiration for British culture in itself, but high tea has always been on my to-do list. Since I was little I’ve had a fascination with teatime, pretending with my plastic tea cup set, and throwing fits when I didn’t get the matching teacups in the Match Game. And I’m pretty sure I will be that old lady with the millions of china closets lining my house filled with precious tea cups, and if anyone tries to touch one I will most likely throw one of my cats at them.

The thing is, what does one wear to high tea? I have this vision of a fantastic white dress with lace white gloves and maybe a hat. But Jesus, we aren’t in foggy London town back in the early 19th century, for crying out loud. This is 2014, in Philadelphia, in the summer heat. Even though I won’t be having tea with the queen or any dignitaries (not that I’m calling my friends slobs, lahve ya!), I still feel like one needs to pay homage to the tradition by not dressing like a slob OR a hipster.

Jeans are definitely a no no, and anything plaid probably isn’t the greatest of ideas. I do have this vision of wearing all white, pinkies up and such, graciously pouring my tea into my lovely tea cup, and then accidentally pouring the hot tea on my lap, which will lead me to leap up like a psycho, knocking over the fine china, cursing like a sailor, and leaving stained and probably wearing a badge the owner of the tearoom gives me that says “unfit.”

Listen I believe I’m the Eliza Doolittle of the tea scene, but before the professor shoved marbles in her mouth to make her speak properly. “THE RAAAIN IN SPAAAIN FULLS MAIIINLY ON THE PLLLAAAINEE.” Yep. That’s me. Regardless of my klutz tenancies, and the fact that I’m a magnet for stains and awkward situations, I’m truly looking forward to drink real tea with real people and eat real scones instead of drinking water with my stuffed animals and eating Wonder bread.

Pinkies up!

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Rubbing Of The Thighs

polls_lauren_uncomfortable_1658_620846_answer_1_xlargeThere is something disturbing happening to ladies in the summer heat. Something that women don’t usually like to talk about. It is the evil that cannot be seen, touched, or smelled … but yes, oh yes, it can be felt. I am here today to air out this dirty laundry, because let’s be real, it happens to the best of us. I’m talking about our upper, UPPER thighs rubbing together. And no, I’m not going to refer to it by the name so many like to call “chub rub,” because even saying it in my head makes me gag. And quite frankly, no matter what body type you have, it can happen to you. :::The more you know star swipe:::

There is nothing worse. You think you look so cute in your little skirt, strutting your stuff down the street, then all of a sudden it starts to happen. Skin on skin. Sweating. Back and forth. Back and forth, until you find yourself no longer strutting, but walking like you have a stick up your ass to soothe the irritation, but it doesn’t help. You know you are going to end up with an odd looking rash that will be the antithesis of sexy.

The sick part is women immediately think they are fat when this happens. Hence why I want to take the name “chub rub” throw it in the mud, run over it with my car five times and light fire to it. Ladies, trust me, regardless if you have the elusive and coveted “thigh gap” … there is a special place in your thighs that will, inevitably, rub together and torture you until you sit down. So don’t think you’re safe if your thigh is the circumference of a penny, it will happen to you, one day. Oh it will happen.

When it happened to me the first time, I immediately thought I had gained weight or the carbs I so love and cherish finally caught up to me. But no. I am proud to say I am not shaped like a model. I’ve got curves, my body isn’t perfect (but really, who does have this elusive “perfect body”). My thighs rub together when it is hot and humid and I’m sweating in places that I didn’t think I could sweat, and you know what, that just makes me feel more like a woman.

But even though this “situation” makes us become very VERY aware of our thighs and almost embrace them (which we should), the irritation it leaves is still the least sexy thing in the universe, like I said before. I mean no one wants to see that. Hence why these are the most genius things I have ever seen, Bandelettes. Sexy and cute, these lacy numbers wrap around your thigh to stop the rubbing. Genius, thy name is Bandelettes.

It almost makes you want thigh chaffing to happen because they are so cute, resembling a saucy thigh high. And for $14.99, I think this is a fantastic solution to a rather unsavory problem, don’t ya think? So thank you for helping us avoid that ridiculously unattractive rash thigh chaffing creates. Seriously. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

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Adult Temper Tantrums

veruca-saltRemember when you were little and it was totally acceptable to freak out about something, turn into a complete spazz, and throw yourself on the ground kicking and screaming in defense? Looking back, those are cringe-worthy moments (not that I had them, I was a perfect child). Because now when I see children in full-blown freakout mode, it makes me want to overdose on birth control.

But this weekend I had a bit of an outer body experience. You know when you have the perfect outfit in your mind, and you spend time and good amounts of money trying to pull it together, and think you have it made … but later on find out you absolutely do not?

I was attending one of my good friend’s bridal showers, and what I was dreaming of wearing was my red palazzo pants from Zara, a lace black tank, and lots of strands of sparkly black beads, perhaps hair in a bun, and my strappy black stilettos. Sounds genius right? So I put my pants on, my tank, my heels, and started layering on all the strands of beads I purchased (which were not cheap), and well, the whole thing looked like shit. I felt my anxiety rising, but I took a deep breath and thought, “I’ll save the styling for last.” (Important point to my story: I don’t have AC in my upstairs, which isn’t conducive to rage.)

Luckily my best friend was there getting ready with me, and my mom … well lucky for me, not them. As I was slowly transforming into the Incredible Hulk over jewelry drama, I turned around only to hear from my best friend, “dude, can totally see your underwear.” Shit. What? I was wearing the only nude pair of undies I owned. So what do you do in a pickle like this? You go commando. Not my favorite thing in the world, but, meh, when in Rome. So I took it off, put my pants back on and did a little spin for my loved ones to check out my “situation” in the back, to which I saw faces trying not to burst out laughing … for fear they may die. Yeaaaahh I mine as well not have been wearing pants. My neck, my back, my woo haa and my crack were literally all out and about (gotta love silk pants). Sweet Jesus, my blood pressure. My blood pressure!

Bet you think it couldn’t get worse, right? Welp, have you ever had your mother say, “I KNOW! I’ll go get some of my underwear for you to wear.” At that point my mouth just hung open. Was she serious? “What?! They’re clean!” she screamed in defense of my shock. Sharing underpants with my mother? Is this what my life was coming to?! I was sweating, everyone was lying to me, I felt like crap about myself, and now this?! Enter adult temper tantrum stage right. It went just a little something like …

“I’m not wearing your damn underwear, you crazy woman.”
“NO! NO NO NO NO NO!” This is all mother f-ing wrong!”
“I look like shit.”
“You lie to me one more time I will cut you!”
“I hate these f-ing pants.”
“You all have heinous lie faces. HEINOUS!”
“Where are the scissors, I’m cutting these pants in half.”

And so on and so forth. I only gave you a dose of the massive amounts of curse words that were flying out of my mouth. God help my mother. But seriously … who offers someone their underpants? I mean I guess that’s love, in some odd backwards universe.

I was on a rampage, to the point where everyone just left me alone. And I was happy about it, because clearly I needed to find my zen. But on the voyage to find my zen, I looked in the mirror to find my hair looking like something Sporty Spice would have rocked back in the day. I tried to take deep breaths but the rage was coming out of my pours. If I could have screamed, “I’M NOT GOING!” ripped off my outfit, jumped back into bed in an air conditioned room, pulled the covers over my head and called it a day, I would have.

So there ya have it. Some may say I need medication, others would say I need therapy. I just call it the shit hitting the fashion fan all at once. When you don’t feel like you look your best, it alters your mood drastically. As much as I wanted slash still want to take a scissor to those pants, I got my shit together and wore them loudly and proudly to the bridal shower. I hope all the ladies in waiting enjoyed my panty line and being able to clearly see that they were lace. Because I looked HAWT.

Lessons learned: Try on your outfit dream ahead of time to check for wardrobe malfunctions. And get ready in air conditioning … ALWAYS. And if you don’t get ready in air conditioning and you are having massive wardrobe malfunctions, don’t take it out on your loves ones. OH YEAH … and if you are a mother, NEVER offer your daughter your underwear.

To my mother and best friend, I apologize thoroughly for my adult temper tantrum. Kids get pacifiers if they act up, I got Chardonnay. I was a win.

Three … Three Years Old!

il_340x270.325624847Yes, it’s Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra’s THIRD birthday today. And can I say I now feel bad for rolling my eyes at parents who cry during everyone of their children’s birthdays like, “where did the time go :::sob sob sob:::” Well yeah … now I’m one of those sobbing fools.

As I sit here sipping on champagne (I traditionally treat myself to a bottle of champs every blogaversary), there is a montage of blog moments rolling through my head with “Memories” playing in the background (aren’t you jealous that you aren’t in my head right now)? Every year has been so different and so filled with those delicious “pinch me” moments that make me just hungrier for more. Oh yeah …I’ve got big plans, people .. BIG plans.

This blog is my epicenter of happiness and the best thing I have ever done so far in my 27 years on Earth. Never once have I thought to myself, “meh … over it.” And when that thought never crosses your mind, I truly believe you have something special. Because being a blogger is hard, and time consuming, and lonely, and annoying, and exhausting, and competitive … did I mention time consuming? But like I said, my life would have sucked way worse if I didn’t wear a strapless bra when I was 16 and thought to myself, “LIFE SUCKS IN STRAPLESS BRAS! Wait … I should do something with that one day.”

Most importantly, it is one of the most rewarding things I do because of all the amazing support I receive. From friends, family, co-workers, friends of friends, people I don’t even know, and freaks on Twitter … it is overwhelming sometimes how supported and encouraged I feel because of all of you. Cliche warning: I honest to sweet Jesus wouldn’t be able to keep on keepin’ on without all of your well wishes, comments, retweets and other social media buzzwords that equal support nowadays.

So yeah … I can KICK, STRETCH and KIIIICK …. I’M THREE, THREE YEARS OLD! What up year four, let’s do dis!

 

Mmmm Couture

6.nocrop.w840.h1330I want to go to Paris. And not so I can fall in love under the Eiffel Tower, or stand in the ridic line at the Louvre to not see the Mona Lisa, or wear a dumbass beret and really scream, “HEY … I’M MURICAN!” No. I want to dive in the sea of overflowing fashion that is happening right now. I want to bathe in it. I want to be injected with it. Oh yeah …  I said it.

Ladies, New York Fashion Week is amateur hour compared to the Paris Couture shows. You don’t see the swarms of fashion bloggers from all over the country taking selfies out front of the shows. Or assholes like me who just stand out front of Lincoln Center ticketless and hoping to see a cool famous person. Nope. This is strictly for the big wigs. The people who truly respect and want to soak in every ounce of the beauty and art that these shows have to offer. I’m not hating on my fellow fashion bloggers, but even I know I don’t belong there. Some things should remain sacred, ya know?

So instead I sat on my bed last night, flipping through the slideshows on The Cut and pretending I was sitting front row next to Anna Wintour and Grace Coddington trying to act cool but secretly freaking out inside. Everything was so beautiful, so abstract, and some so simple you would sell a loved one just to hold it (trust me, I’ve contemplated it).

Life just doesn’t get any better than couture. It just doesn’t. We forget sometimes because there is truly so much crap out there. Beautiful crap … but crap. But when you see couture it just like a breath of fresh air, like “holy lord, I’m wearing trash bags and paying too much money for them. What am I doing with my life.”

I’ll let you decide which is your favorite, but I completely fell head over heals for Dior’s show and would put on one of those coats in this heatwave happily and twirl around. Hell, I would probably live in it like a cartoon character who only rocks one outfit. So if you would excuse me, I’m going to go back to daydreaming that I’m in Paris for the couture shows and not sweating on the subway with the commoners. K, bye. Now enjoy some of the pieces I’m currently drooling over.

CHANEL

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CHRISTIAN DIOR

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Dior

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ON AURA TOUT VU

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On Aura Tout Vu

GIAMBATTISTA VALLI

Giambattista Valli

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SCHIAPARELLI

Scrap

STEPHANIE COUDERT

Stephanie

*All photos were taken from The Cut.

Heat On The Street Is Making Me Delusional

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Photo credit: http://www.unbrelievable.com/little-fille

I feel like I end up writing about this every summer, but I can’t help it. The heat is too much. And I know, I know … I was the queen of bitching about the polar vortex this past winter, but my lesson has been learned. At least I don’t want to pass out trekking through a blizzard, am I right? But you know how it goes, the grass is always greener … blah blah blah.

With that being said, I’ve found myself wanting to do/doing some really awkward things due to the heat. Call it heat stroke, call it not giving an eff … who knows. But I felt the need to share as I’m sure we are all in the same boat if you are suffering through this heatwave in the city like me … ahem:

1. Dressing like Kim Kardashian: Seriously. I was on the train this morning and I looked down at my outfit and thought to myself, “OMG I’ve watched so many Kardashian’s marathons that I’m turning in to them.” Well that isn’t exactly the case (at least I hope not). But I am rocking a high waisted pencil skirt and tank, much like this … but less skin (don’t want to become the office ho), of course … and not in Paris … on Patco. And not in couture … in discount. And proud of it!

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2. Sweating all over my tote: Do I need to go into more detail here? I just would rather not. But my tote … my poor, poor tote.

3. Pencil dive: I would love nothing more than to dive into a pool in all of my clothes and then continue on with my day. Black eye liner running down my face and all.

4. Get naked: Not really … I’ll never be THAT hot. But I’ve been trying the extremely hard task of dressing by wearing the least amount of clothing possible. And FYI, maxi skirts don’t breathe.

5. Take a breather: In the subway station. And yes, there are no chairs, but the idea of sliding on the disgusting, disease ridden, yet cool walls all the way down to the disgusting, disease ridden ground sounds glorious.

6. Walk slow, homie: I’m a notoriously fast walker. I want to get from A to B as quickly as possibly and if you get in my way, I will call you a “douche clown” in my head. But in this head, honey I stroll. Which sucks because I have to leave my house earlier than usually to make my train.

7. Try really hard not to stink: I started to notice around 1pm that I stink. I’m that guy stinkin’ up the joint. Some deodorant brands claim they last all day … well no. When it is hot as hell and you’re a commuter, it sadly does not. So hell yes I have “desk deodorant”. Every woman needs one. Don’t be the stinky employee in the building. Don’t be that guy.

8. Not drinking my Starbucks: I’m obsessed with the lemonade black tea combo not sweetened. It’s insanely refreshing. But lately, I’ve just wanted to pour it over my head rather than drink it. Sure flys would attack me, and I would be a hot mess for the rest of the day, but it just seems so delightful, doesn’t it?

9. Get hooked up to an IV: Of water that is. Why isn’t this a thing? How much quicker would it be to get hydrated if you could just get hooked up to an IV of water and call it a day. Running to the water cooler, and the bathroom, gets exhausting. #LazyAndDehydrated #SmallBladder

10. Buy a Parasol: I’ve seen these women walking around the city with umbrellas open when it is perfectly sunny. Secretly I was like, “What up Michael Jackson,” but then I realized they were genius. Umbrellas block out the sun, dumbass. Seriously, the top of my head feels like it is on fire when I’m in the sun. Not good for the hair coloring business, let me tell you.

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All joking aside, be safe in this heat! Take your time, wear light and breezy clothes … and for the LOVE of GOD … hydrate!

Style Stud: The Great U S Of A

 

flag-detailLadies and gentleman … ‘MURICA.

I mean how could I NOT make the American flag my style stud of the week? It’s a beaut … what can I say.

Well I’m going to keep this short and sweet as I need to get dressed and prepared to start getting my eat on and my drank on underneath some fire works (which I hope you all are doing the same). But I got to say how lucky all of us are to live in such a fantastic country (and if you are reading this and you’re in another country … I’m sure it’s fab, too). Sometimes we forget … but freedom of speech kind of rules, along with all of our other pieces of freedom we most certainly take for granted. For example the fact that I can sit here typing whatever the fuck I want (yeah I said it) whenever the fuck I want (uh huh … said it again) … is kind of amazing (my family is most certainly going to kill me at our BBQ today for cursing on my blog … sorry fam).

So with all of that being said, I will dazzle you with some of my most coveted ‘MURICA pics. Like the one at the top is by one of my favorite artists, Jasper Johns, who just happened to be from Philly, too (not that I’m biased or anything :::shifty eyes). Everyone have a fantastic 4th … eat, drink, be merry … and responsible. No one likes a hot mess.

women tina fey american flag magazine covers vanity fair magazine 2340x3329 wallpaper_www.knowledgehi.com_100

KGrHqJgwE4-W5OBOQbUDERmg0_3 willf ladygagatelephone Britney_Spears_American_Flag

(I know, I know … not ‘MURICA but I still adore her)

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And FINALLY … the lady who started it all …

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Backhanded Compliment … Meet The Back Of My Hand

tina-fey-thumbs-downWe’ve all been there. We look good. We feel good. We want to strut a little. Then all of a sudden you run into “that” friend. The friend that loves nothing more than to investigate what you are wearing, doing, and seeing with a fine tooth comb. That person mine as well be a hurricane that will wipe away and destroy all the goodness you have going on with one simple comment, that goes something like this: “I wish I had the confidence to pull off something so see-through.” Umm … wait what? Are you saying I look good and confident, or are you really telling me my outfit is see-through?

When you receive a compliment, all you should be doing is blushing and saying how flattered you are … and a little taken back by how nice this person is being. Your hand will go to your heart and your face will shift as your are saying “Awww!” and then you will say, “oh my GAWD … THANKS!” You might even give them a little friendly shoulder punch. It will feel like a breath of fresh air. It will feel like spring time with no humidity. It will feel like the first sip of wine after a heinous week. It will make you glow.

Backhanded compliments, on the other hand (no pun intended), deserve to go to the back door. What is the damn point?! Are you THAT insecure that you feel the need to insult me, yet don’t have the balls to follow through so you just sugar-coat it with a little positive adjective to make me feel all warm inside?

You know when you’re given a backhanded compliment when you start to say, “thaaaan…” but stop and say, “wait, what?” instead to yourself. You still say, “thanks” minus the blushing and the feeling of taking that first sip of wine after a shitty week feeling. Because really, you are trying to dissect what the person just said to you and see if it truly was a compliment. Most of the time, if you are scratching your head in confusion … it was a backhanded compliment. I think we should change it to something more delightful like, “YOU JUST GOT BHC-ed!” I’ll come up with some hand motion to go with it shortly. Hey, it’s a work in progress.

Now I get it, you are probably saying, “seriously … what the hell are you talking about. Maybe you should stop being so paranoid and just accept a compliment when it is given and stop being a bitch,” But let me give you a taste of some common BHC’s that you (probably) have encountered. And then I will do the “I told you so dance” … ahem:

“You’re so fortunate that you can go shopping so much when you don’t have family and a mortgage.”

“It’s so refreshing to meet someone who likes simple things.”

“I love that you don’t care what people think!”

“You’re so brave for wearing that.”

Grrr ::shaking fist::: just stop. Everyone stop BHC-ing one another, for the love of sweet Jesus. Didn’t your parents teach you, “when you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all?” They probably did, except some asshole found a loophole, also known as backhanded compliments and that is how people get around it. Listen, you either like something or you don’t. I don’t think people should shell out compliments unless they are REALLY passionate about something. Like if I see a girl walking down the street in shoes I would sell my mother for, I would say, “hey …random girl … those shoes RULE!” And then she would think I was hitting on her … and probably run away, but come on, you know what I’m saying!

So I challenge you all to give a REAL compliment today. Don’t bring someone else down just because you are feeling shitty and jealous … just do it. It will feel good. If it doesn’t … well, there is always wine.

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I Swear I’m Not Goth

99a2fa5150e40e7336fb410239dd192aAbout two weeks ago, my 12-year-old niece told me that, “everyone knows if you wear all black, you’re goth.” And then my head did this:

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:::Sigh::: kids, am I right? Silly, silly, per-pubescent children … how little do thy know. Right now, my niece is all about neon. Neon everything. The more color, the better. So I can understand why she looks into my closet and thinks, “holy shit (although she best not be cursing :::back of my hand:::), my aunt is goth.”

When I was her age, I would have never worn all black anywhere for fear people would have thought I was goth. Goth wasn’t something cool to be in middle school, or even in high school. They were the scary kids who shopped at Hot Topic, had KORN patches (backwards R and all) on their book bags and rocked a lot of chains everywhere. Their hair was either black, or spiked in different colors of the rainbow, and they invested in black lipstick stock. I would only threaten to go goth when my mom made me do something I didn’t want to do. I mean I worshiped the book of Britney Spears and wished I was in the Gap commercial swing dancing in khakis, for crying out loud. In no way shape or form did I associate myself with the “goths.”

So as the words were coming out of my mouth to shame my naive niece, “Ummm black is chic, you know nothing,” I kind of understood where she was coming from. In kid-teen world, all black everything means uncool and goth. In adult world it is dignified and chic …Karl Lagerfeld and Kanye West says so. The more black you wear, the cooler you are (well, um, that’s what I think, at least).

And if I was forced to go back to middle school, right now, as a 27-year-old woman, Billy Madison-style, I would most definitely be considered “goth.” 97.4% of my wardrobe is black … or some dark color. I like my neutrals, what can I say. My jewelry is always statement-worthy (I have a cuff that most certainly could be used as a weapon). My nails are Lincoln Park After Dark (aka close enough to black as I will go). My hair is one shade away from being black. Anything with studs on it makes me insanely happy. I rarely leave the house without liquid black eye liner, and I’ve recently become obsessed with dark burgundy lipstick. Preppy bitches would most definitely be yelling, “go back to the crypt, goth!” as I strutted down the hallway.

But I’m not goth. I don’t wish I was married to Satan. I’m definitely not depressed. And never once have I ever nor will I ever own or download a KORN album. I wear black because it makes me feel good and comfortable. Black is chic, and that is something you learn over time. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it. I wear blackish nail polish because I think it rocks. I feel naked without my liquid black eye liner as I feel it makes my blue eyes pop, and the color pink makes me want to vomit. But hey, that is just my style. If you want to walk down the street looking like a God damn highlighter … go for it, people. Style is about self expression.

I suppose the age-old saying is true, “don’t judge a book by its cover.” Those “goth” kids in high school that I used to avoid were probably not as freakish as I made them out to be. They were just doing something I didn’t have the balls to do … which is to be true to themselves. One day I looked at my colorful closet and realized I was only wearing the same two black shirts I owned over and over … and decided to say, “screw it,” and wear what I liked without worrying about some jerk giving me a stupid title like, “goth.”

So yes, I don’t enjoy color, but no, kids, I’m not “goth.” And even if you do ID yourself as a said “goth” … that, again, doesn’t mean you beckon Satan on the reg. If only kids knew how cool the color black was sooner. :::Sigh:::

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Great, now I feel old.

Style Stud: Old Navy Flip Flop Vending Machines

Emma Roberts Checks out the Old Navy Flip Flop Vending Machine in LAThere’s absolutely nothing worse than wearing a fantastic pair of heels throughout the city, but your feet hurting so badly you just want to chop them off. Or even worse, your feet hurting so badly you wouldn’t mind strutting through the city streets barefoot! Trust me, the idea of getting hepatitis rather than having to deal with wearing 5 in torture devices seemed pleasant to me definitely more than once.

But could you imagine, suffering and walking like an idiot through the city to avoid sharp pains of death, when … wait? Could it be? A FLIP FLOP VENDING MACHINE?!?! WAAAAAAAAAAAA!?!

Thanks to Old Navy, a flip flop vending machine isn’t just a mirage women see when they are in shoe pain anymore. It’s the real deal to honor their $1 flip flop sale. Listen, I haven’t worn a pair of Old Navy flip flops since I was in college, mostly as shower shoes, but if I was in need, I would literally kiss the machine and give it my money … happily, instead of carrying around a pair of flats with me and taking up precious purse space. It is genius.

I have nothing against Old Navy flip flops … they are a great go-to when you need to run a quick errand, walk your dog, go outside and get the paper … and especially, when you want to set fire to a pair of uncomfortable heels. Old Navy … I applaud you.

My only bone I have to pick with Old Navy is this: Why don’t you have any flip flop vending machines in Philly? Huh? We have lots of stylish women who love their high heels but hate the pain. We have lovely parks and lovely streets for you to put said vending machines on … so why are you depriving us of this golden and comfortable opportunity. Philly needs some comfort and some flop love, too, Old Navy … Just sayin’.

Vogue: The New Debbie Downer

debbie-downerNothing makes me pee my pants laughing more than the Debbie Downer skit on SNL. Specifically the episode with Lindsay Lohan where everyone in the skit can’t control their laughter. If you don’t know what I’m referring to, well :::sigh::: shame on you, but let me dazzle you with this, you’re welcome in advance: http://vimeo.com/41787619

I came home from work yesterday to find myself hot, tired, and needing a little escape. Enter Vogue, stage right. Now I have notoriously expensive taste. I can’t help it. I’ve tried, I’ve really tried, but it is in my genes. I want to thank my mother for this one, because the apple doesn’t fall far. So yeah … thanks Mom. But as I poured myself a glass of wine, snuggled in on my couch and started to dive face first into the land of Vogue, I realized something. If you are an average gal like me, makin’ money, but nothing close to Beyonce money, with a taste for the finer things in life, but live on a tight budget … Vogue is the new Debbie Downer. Yep. There. I said it.

“When you’re enjoying your day, everything’s goin’ your way … then along comes Debbie Downer. Always there to tell you about a new disease, a car accident or killer bees. You’ll beg her to spare you, DEBBIE PLEASE! But you can’t stop Debbie Downer! :::WHOMP WHOMP:::”

So this is what was going on in my head as I thumbed through Vogue last night:

Me: OMG that bag is to die for. Seriously. My heart … It’s the perfect color, size, everything. It is exactly what I have been look forward. THANK JESUS! That’s it … I need it. How much could it POSSIBLY be?
Debbie Downer: The bag is Balenciaga … and it is $5,000 … WHOMP WHOMP If you buy it then you’ll most likely end up not being able to pay your rent and living in a van down by the river. And you know what they say, where there are rivers … there are snakes.
Me: :::Heart breaking, fiercely flips page:::

Debbie_Downer

Me: Now look at that dress. That is a dress that every woman needs. It is classic, it is the right length … it’s timeless. This is totally an investment I could make. Oh please be in my price range, please be in my price range :::crossing fingers:::
Debbie Downer: The dress is made by Chanel … and it is so expensive you have to call someone to find out the price. Probably because it is so expensive you will go into cardiac arrest.

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Me: Those shoes are everything. EVERYTHING. I would wear them everywhere. I would kiss them every day. I could think of 15 outfits I could pair them with. I could make it work financially … perhaps I’ll sell my blood? Ehh?!
Debbie Downer: Whoa, whoa, whoa … slow down there, Sally, these shoes are Valentino and only Kim Kardashian can afford to buy them like they are pairs of Keds.

SNL_1376_03_Debbie_Downer

Ugh. I literally punted the magazine after I was done torturing myself. Now I’m not stupid. I know Vogue only shows high fashion pieces of clothing and high fashion accessories. I get it, I get it. But just ONCE. ONCE I would like to instantaneously fall in love with a garment on the pages of Vogue and actually and realistically be able to purchase it without hearing this sound.

Hiss … DEBBIE DOWNER …hiss :::shaking fist:::

Sorry I Can’t Go Out, I’m Shaving My Legs

lady-gillette-ad-1965The idea of showering is so relaxing, right? Getting in your clean tub, scrubbing off the dirt and grime of the day, soothing scents like lavender floating about. Glorious, right? Even taking baths seems like a treat (except I will only take baths in really nice hotels, only … don’t ask me why … most tubs skeeve me), but I’ve always wanted to fill my tub up with lemon slices and just chill.

But in the summertime, showering gets a little less relaxing due to a little thing called excess leg hair. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do shave my legs in the winter, but I half ass it 100%. If you do take the time to thoroughly shave your legs in the winter, well … hmm what’s that sound, you ask? That is me shaking my shame stick at you. Take advantage! For the love …

I personally have rather long legs :::hair flip::: To some that may be considered an envy-worthy quality, but quite frankly, during the months of sweltering heat and short skirts, I would like to chop them off.

Shaving my legs is literally the last thing I do whilst showering (I know you all REALLY needed to know that). I don’t know why, but the idea of flinging my leg to the side of my tub and covering it with body wash (because I never have shaving cream), exhausts me.

There is nothing fun about shaving your legs. Nothing. You can’t even turn on music and rock out whilst doing it, because you will get cut, and you will bleed. You have to make sure your legs are properly coated in whatever kind of shaving cream you use otherwise you will be plagued with a little thing called razor burn (woof), then you have to move in some contortionist fashion to grab your razor on the other size of the tub. And then the fun begins, as you try to balance on one leg … yes one leg … while holding a device that could be considered a weapon. Cool.

Sorry for the Seinfeld moment here, but what is the deal with razors?! Why do they all have to be pastels? Huh? I don’t get it. Men get these cool silver razors with different speeds and we get Susie Sunshine’s razor? Bullshit. Just because it is pink with pretty little flowers on it, doesn’t make me want to hop in the tub and spend my evenings smiling and removing the hair from my legs and thanking Jesus Christ I’m a woman. No. It infuriates me. If Schick made an all black razor with skulls all over it, I would totally invest. Just a thought. Because the idea of dragging a sharp razor blade up my leg just so I don’t offend people with my leg hair doesn’t equal frolicking in a field of daisies, let’s be real.

And no matter what, I cut myself. Always. I could be going as slow as possible, concentrating and balancing on one leg like a boss, and I ALWAYS tend to bleed. I’ve literally ruined every white towel that I own. I even get the razor that promises to not cut you and I still walk out of the shower with a line of blood dripping down my leg. Sexy, right?

The worst days are the ones where you are going to a pool party or the beach and have to shave it all. Like ankle to thigh. Woof. Nothing is the worse than ankle to thigh shaving. I literally have to block off like an extra 15 minutes in the shower to do a thorough and complete job. Because if you don’t think you have hair on your upper thigh … you’re a damn fool. It’s there. And it’s fierce.

So what I’m saying is, let’s stop shaving our legs, ladies! To HELL with those pastel razors. FEMINISM! YAY!

 

Juuuuuuuuuuust kidding, body hair isn’t okay. Ever. But seriously, Schick, black razor with skulls all over it. Make it happen.

An Ode To My Juicy Tracksuit

paris-hilton-and-juicy-couture-terrycloth-trackpants-galleryYes, I lived my teenage years during the 00′s … the zeros? The 0′s? What the hell are we calling that decade? So that only meant one thing. Everyone was well aware of the fact, that my ass (or lack there of), was indeed … Juicy.

Why my mother gave into my incessant begging for these coveted tracksuits, I have no idea. Looking back, they look like something that should have died in the 70′s. But seeing the cool, popular girls strutting around the hallways of my high school in them, like something out of the O.C. or Mean Girls, with their designer totes to match, made me crave them. I wanted them in every color. And not because they looked comfy. Oh no. To be honest, I don’t know what the allure was.

But one Christmas morning, I tore through a gift box, and there it was. My very own, black, velour Juicy tracksuit. The dangling J on the zipper gleamed, and all of a sudden, I felt … rich. Famous. Like Paris Hilton (ew right?). Side note: Do you know how expensive these tracksuits were? I want to say, somewhere in the high $100′s to low $200′s for both pieces … of velour. With that being said, my mom got mine at Lohemans, meaning I probably had last year’s style … but God I didn’t care. I wanted to throw on oversized sunglasses, strut around town with my knock-off designer tote, and listen to the newest B. Spears track (pre-K. Fed … she was still cool).

You would think rockin’ a tracksuit to school would be the epitome of comfort. Like wearing your jammies to school, right? WRONG. YOU ARE WRONG, SIR. Me? Well I was 5’9 in high school. But rail thin. And let me tell you something, a large didn’t fit me in Juicy tracksuits. Seriously? Umm okay. So I was an extra large … and THAT barely fit me. Oh yeah, and the pants (no, unfortunately mine did not have “Juicy” across the ass), were never long enough. When I sat down for class, everyone knew what kind of socks I was rocking with my Birkenstock clogs (oh yeah … clogs … and velour … I was the shit) and if I had shaved my legs.

You know what else sucked about rockin’ Juicy velour sweats? Everyone seeing my ass crack and/or thong (oh yeah … I wore thongs, too. I probably owned stock in thongs in the 00′s). Why in the world some big shot at the Juicy velour tracksuit factory thought it was a genius idea to make a pair of sweats so low that women’s vagina bone hung out … I will never understand. Did I give a shit? Oh no. If Britney Spear’s vagina bone was out, as was mine. So I sat in my seat, listening to my teacher go on and on about something, hardcore slouching so much that my back was barely touching the seat, trying not to move, for fear the person in back of me would get full view of my crack. Back problems were no concern to me (literally I would walk out of class and my lower back would be numb). And forget crouching down to get something in my locker. I perfected this sideways, limbo where I strategically would pull my shirt down as I scooped whatever I needed up.

Good times, right? I actually just gave away my last Juicy zip up to my niece (it wasn’t velour, it was cotton and striped and what I thought to be, once upon a time, super abstract and different for Juicy), which is, unfortunately, probably a vintage relic for her. But am I sad to see Juicy closing all of their US stores? Absolutely not. Those tracksuits were torture devices, and their sizing was unrealistic and idiotic, and by the way, it’s not nor has it ever been cool to walk around with the word “Juicy” on your ass. No one will think your ass is “all that” just because the word Juicy is across it. Track suits are full of lies, I tell you, LIES.

Hey, every generation has that cringe moment. Mine happens to be rather expensive and stupid … and probably the reason why I have back problems. The good news is, I don’t wear thongs anymore. So that’s cool. What up, granny panties!

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Style Stud: TOGGERY

contact_imgI can’t stress how important it is for a woman (or a man) to own a good set of basics. Now I’m not talking about stuff you can rock to the gym or wear lying around watching Kardashian marathons, eating snacks and getting stains all over them … no (not that I do that … okay maybe a little). I’m talking about quality basics you can look fantastic in whilst running errands that are also so versatile you can throw them on with a pair of skinnies, a great statement necklace, a pair of fierce stilettos and rock it out on the town. Not only that, but a good set of basics that lasts (and doesn’t become hard as a rock after a wash and shrinks down into something your Barbies could have worn … trust me, it happens to the best of us).

Finding the perfect white T is like finding a diamond in the rough. Call me the Goldie Locks of basics, what can I say. But it happened. I found a white T that was JUUUUUUST right and thy name was TOGGERY. They are based out of Philly (I’m a pinch biased), the garments are beyond soft, versatile, stylish … and LAST. Umm and hello, Lana Del Rey rocked TOGGERY on the cover of her new album. Clearly all of the cool girls know what’s up.

Lana-Del-Rey-Ultraviolence-2014-1500x1500So when I got the opportunity to hang out with Kate D’Arcy and Alison Latta, the ladies behind TOGGERY, I only fell in the love with the brand that much more. It was so refreshing to hear designers be so passionate, not only about the brand, but about the quality of their product. I’ll stop babbling about how much I adore them and let you get to know TOGGERY, as well as Kate and Alison, a little better below. If you need me I’ll be rockin’ my cool girl white TOGGERY T around town.

Ps. Between you and I, make sure to check out one of my FAVE style sections, Shoppist on PhillyMag.com, on Monday for a little TOGGERY promo. But shh, you didn’t hear it from me.

1. Tell me a bit about how you both got into fashion. What inspired you?

K: I grew up in a retail business and after college I went back to night school for design. I’ve always been in fashion in one form or another so finding a career in the industry only seemed natural.

I’m inspired by personal style; I love people watching, especially fashion people watching. My favorite part of the job is seeing how people put their personal touch on the clothing we create.

A: Prior to TOGGERY I had been working in the Financial Services industry. I had always been in love with fashion, and would always pine over magazines such as Vogue, In Style and Harpers each month – even as a kid. TOGGERY was like the dream-career I never thought was even attainable. When I joined TOGGERY 2011, I began to realize how truly passionate I am about working in fashion.

2. Where can you purchase Toggery? Is it national or just in the Philly area?

You can buy TOGGERY online at www.toggerybrand .com or find us at a specialty store near you! We currently sell to 200 + specialty stores across the US, Canada and Japan. You can find TOGGERY at Fred Segal in California, United Arrows in Japan and more locally Knit Wit in Philadelphia.

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3. How long has Toggery been around?

K: 2007 – 2010 I was doing TOGGERY as a side project at night and on the weekends. It started as something small that evolved into a lot more than I expected. During that time I acquired a vast knowledge of the industry as a whole from production and manufacturing to sales and marketing.

In 2011 TOGGERY sales really started to pick up and I realized I couldn’t do it on my own. It was at that time I approached Alison about working together and overseeing the financial end of the business.

4. Describe the woman that would wear Toggery.

K: She is your favorite person at a dinner party!

5. How did you both meet?

A: Kate & I actually met through mutual friends at a Phillies tailgate party in 2009. We all collectively stayed in touch due to the Philly network, and eventually paths crossed and we became friends and business partners! Interestingly, we met on the same day that Kate and her now husband met! It was certainly a day to remember (although for the life of me I cannot tell you who the Phillies played and what the score of the game was)!

Capture6. Is Toggery American made? If so, where do you get your materials and where are they constructed?

K: Proudly made in the USA! From start to finish we create our goods working with expert production partners along the east coast. We knit our uber soft custom fabrics at Carolina knitting facilities and our remaining production and distribution takes place in eastern PA.

7. Out of all of your pieces, what would you say is the “go-to” piece for any woman?

A: A great fitting tee is crucial, specifically a TOGGERY short sleeve white v-neck tee.

8. Tell us a bit about your upcoming collection. Is there anything new we can expect?

K: We custom knit this amazing sweater for our F/W14 collection. The fabric has our trademark softness and it’s cut in silhouettes you’ll live in come fall!

9. Why would someone choose Toggery over another “basics” brand?

TOGGERY is your favorite tee. Our uber soft fabrics, precision cut fit and insane quality sets us apart from other ‘basics” brands. We give our customers more than their money’s worth through style and quality that lasts beyond a season.

10. Who do you both admire in the fashion industry? What inspires you in Philly?

A: I am inspired by Zac Posen. He’s an American designer (so I of course love that) who so remarkably understands how to design for a woman. Zac lets his fans follow him through the workday and shares some of his personal life with us, which really allows a follower to understand the hard work and emotion that goes into building a brand.

K: Sticking with the designer theme I’m going to say Isabel Marant. I really respect the brand and business she has built over the years. Her design aesthetic makes you feel like the ultimate cool girl and her brand is accessible without being saturated in the market place… that’s a hard balance to keep in this industry.

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My Self Diagnosed Shopper’s Remorse

Buyers-RemorseI love clothes and accessories. I luhve um. I luhve um. I LUHVE um :::kicks leg up in the air::: What lady doesn’t? If I could take home everything I try on and lust after, I would. But alas, :::sigh::: … I would be living in a van down by the river.

You know those commercials for diseases or illnesses on TV? “Do you feel tired? Weak? Like you can’t get out of bed? Take :::fill in name of drug here::: for relief! Side effects may include bleeding from the eyes, toes, and finger nails. See your doctor for any complications.” I would love to make a PSA or something for a little thing that I’m personally plagued with known as “Shopper’s Remorse.”

“Do you love shopping? Do you lust after clothes :::showing a girl getting excited over a new blouse, and giving a cashier her credit card, jumps in mid-air in excitement over purchase::: But after you purchase the item, does the price tag make you filled with fear? Anxiety? Self-loathing? :::shows girl scratching her head curled up in the fetal position with visible signs of anxiety::: Then you may be suffering from Shopper’s Remorse. But with this quick pill, you will no longer feel anything but happiness over your new purchases! Side effects include skin tone changing to green, balding, and extreme rage.

Yeah, if only there was a pill for Shopper’s Remorse. I would be a happier, less stressed out person. Yes, I would even risk the side effects of becoming the Incredible Hulk. Because most times when I shop, no matter if I scored an amazing deal, or just broke the bank, I will leave that store freaking out over how much money I spent. It’s insane. I’m a crazy person, I know. “Did I spend too much money? I totally spent too much money. OMG I’m broke. Wait, no I’m not. But I should return this shit, I don’t need it. But I love it. I just won’t buy lunch this week.” AHHH.

For example, once I was roaming through Nordstrom Rack and found Marc by Marc handbag, that was gorgeous, marked down to like $80. When I stopped thinking I was getting punk’d, or that the handbag had a string attached to it and if I attempted to pick it up, someone would move it, I think I texted everyone in my contacts list asking if I should buy this bag. Now yes, $80 is a good chunk of change. BUT the original price of the bag was like $400 (it was a refurbished bag, meaning someone bought it and returned it, and there was NOTHING wrong with it … it was gold). Any normal human soul would have already been home with it, stroking it and doing a happy dance. Me, well, I was sweating, pacing back and forth, waiting for my friends and family to text me back to tell me to purchase the handbag … dumbass. I did. Thank Jesus. But not without being PLAGUED with Shopper’s Remorse.

Hell, I get Shopper’s Remorse when I buy two pairs of sandals from Forever 21. FOREVER. 21. What. Is. Wrong. With. Me. It happens almost every time I shop. Sure, some may say I’m cost conscious and concerned about my spending, but that isn’t it. I think apart of me just hates spending money. OH-EM-GEE, am I cheap?!

Regardless, if you suffer from Shopper’s Remorse, I feel your pain. We can curl up in the fetal position and drool all over ourselves until anxiety consumes our entire bodies together … but at least we’ll have fantastic style, am I right? UP TOP!

My Flirtation With A Straw Tote

31812167_009_bThis past weekend … I fell in love with this bag. Isn’t it grand?

I locked eyes with it from across the floor. I acted casually. Pretending I was looking at skirts and shirts, dancing around the store floor, pretending the bag didn’t exist, but my peripheral was always on it. Always. And forever. I think I was scared to pick it up and get intimate with it, because I’m well aware of how expensive Anthropologie bags are (hello triple digit madness). But of course, I picked it up anyways (because clearly I like torturing myself). And it was only :::gasp::: $88! WhaaaaaaaAAAA?! I know … but did I buy said fantastic bag? No. Because I’m a damn fool. A damn fool who falls in love with bags and then doesn’t buy them because of the, “what if I can find something like it for cheaper,” factor. And as I sit here and type, I’m desperately trying not to go on Anthro’s website and purchase the bag.

I am a firm believer that you shouldn’t just jump to buying a bag on impulse that is over $50 … UNLESS it is a ridiculously good deal. Then jump. Hell, do a pencil dive. In this case, I knew I had some time to do a little research. So yeah, my newest quest in fashion is for a straw tote. I love the idea of them. They are feminine, have a vintage edge (old lady chic), fits the summer bill, and still allows me to carry my entire life within it. That’s magic right there. And as much as I adore the Anthro one, I just needed to see what else was out there … slash if I could find a better one for cheaper (more importantly).

Sigh … my research you will find below (click the image and it will take you to your desired tote). But at the end of the day, I’m probably going to cave and invest in the Anthro straw bag, simply because of our history and my undying love for it. If you can’t get it out of your head, it has to be yours, right? But I truly believe every lady needs a good go-to straw tote this summer. Buy yourself a little Tuesday treat … you deserve it. Because you rule, and you’re pretty, and you work really hard, and it’s hot as balls outside. Right? (I can find an excuse to invest in anything)

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The “Just For Funsies” Methodology

d2eb25d88a86b94229ace14408e2b411Shopping is no easy task … I don’t care who you are. Say you go out shopping for plain t-shirts, right? Well, if you are anything like me, you will return home with a bag full of everything except plain T’s (what can I say, I get distracted quite easily … ooh something shiny?!! EEEE!).

I do have a method to my madness whilst shopping, though. My number one rule is I try not to fixate on the one or two things I need within my wardrobe. If you go in saying, “I need a black maxi dress and only a black maxi,” think of all the goodness you will overlook, right? Tunnel vision is a bitch, let me tell you. So I believe in walking into a store with an open mind. Take a deep breath, and start combing through the garments.

But I also believe in a little thing called, “just for funsies” whilst shopping. What is that, you ask? Well, let me explain. This past weekend I went shopping with my best friend, who was looking to jazz up her style a bit, which is always fun because it is like an untouched canvas. But you know when you are shopping and come across a piece that you DIE for, but say, “oh I could never pull this off,” and put it back down, only to lust after it secretly for the rest of the day? My question to you is, umm why can’t you pull that shit off? How do you know? You’ll never know unless you embrace the “just for funsies” methodology.

Just for funsies [juhst-fawr-fuhn-ies]: Trying on a piece of clothing that is out of one’s comfort zone.

For example, I came across a pair of wide-legged satin red pants. I adored them instantly. We were instant lovers. But I was saying to myself, “oh I can’t pull these off. Where could I wear them? Will they be flattering …bitch, bitch, bitch whoa as me?” as I shamelessly flirted with the material through my fingertips. But that’s when I thought to myself, what is the harm in bringing them in the dressing room with me? What, I could look like a clown and the dressing room attendant will point and laugh at me? Umm no. So I grabbed a couple different sizes (as I had no idea how they would fit and loathe having to get dressed and run back out to grab a different size), and decided to give them a whirl. Long story short: they are my new favorite thing. If I could make out with them I would (but that would land me on that weird show on TLC where men make out with their cars).

My “just for funsies” methodology is a great way to step outside of your style comfort zone. It is also great for a laugh or two, especially if you are shopping with your girlfriends. My best friend and I peed ourselves laughing over micro mini skirts that barely left any vagina to the imagination and unflattering dresses that made me look like a 1950′s housewife, and not in a good way. Even if you are shopping by yourself … Jesus put doors/curtains that close off dressing rooms for a reason. Have a laugh at yourself if you tried something outside of your comfort zone that makes you look a hot mess. I feel like dressing rooms should be a “safe place” or “judgement free zone.” Talk to yourselves, ladies. Laugh a little … for the love. Clothes are meant to be tried on.

My “just for funsies” methodology won’t kill you, I promise. It will let you embrace styles you never in a million years could pull off, but, realistically, can … sometimes. So for that, I accept your praises. Don’t be shy … send them my way. You’re welcome in advance.

Stress Shopping

tumblr_mbnhm9ULPH1qcuglxo1_500When faced with a confrontation, or find yourself stressed out to the max, or perhaps receive an email that makes you want to pull your hair out slash punch your fist through the wall, do you ever just want to … shop? Some people work out, mediate … I shop.

This past weekend I found myself in a situation where I was so annoyed that I just needed to be surrounded by style. I didn’t even know what I needed or wanted, I just needed to be in a store to relieve some stress. All of a sudden I found myself driving to Old Navy. Why? Because I love their jeans. To die for. And they are like $20, you can’t beat that … aaaaand I happen to be in the market for a white pair of jeans.

But what I found was over stimulation. Holy colors and graphics, Old Navy, holy colors and graphics. I tried to take a deep breath, close my eyes, open them and take my time sorting through the insane amount of clothes, but it was too much. The large volume of people, and the lights, and the strange hipster music was literally making my head swirl.

My breaking point was when I tried to get into a new section of the store, and was blocked off by a mother, pushing a cart, with two rambunctious children, immersed in a conversation with her friend. First of all, why do clothing stores offer carts? Are you REALLY going to buy THAT much product that you need a damn cart like you are shopping for Thanksgiving dinner? Come on. Last time I checked they only let you bring like six items max in a dressing room. So hence my confusion around the cart convo. All they do is clog aisles and make fellow non-cart using customers, like yours truly, infuriated.

So back to the cart lady blocking the aisle. I politely, with a smile on my face, said “excuse me,” which got no response. Her children still danced around me like candy possessed nightmares as she yelled to her friend, who was at the end of the aisle, to “get her the right size, NO NOT THAT SIZE, THE OTHER SIZE. YEAH YEAH … THAT ONE. NO NOT THAT COLOR.” I said “excuse me” one more time, which still fell on deaf ears, when I decided to suck in every ounce of fat on my body to squeeze past her. Only then did she acknowledge me as I snaked past her, which made her send me a look of death that probably would make babies cry. Really? Seriously? Did you not hear me … oh whatever.

That’s when I said, “I’m out.” Before I made it out the door, my frazzled self became eye-to-eye with a bohemian-style maxi dress. I stood there for a bit figuring out if it was “me”. Does it go with my sense of style? Could I pull it off? Before I knew it I was waiting in line to check out with said maxi that I was still unsure about. I didn’t even try it on. I just bought it. What in the hell? The funny thing is … almost a week later … I STILL don’t know if this maxi is “me.” Do you think this maxi is “me”? It’s so not me, I’m probably going to return it.

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The fact that this silly maxi dress that I purchased for $39.95 at Old Navy is hanging in my closet is due to a little thing that I like to call stress shopping. Although this specific experience was stress on stress on stress due to ignorant women and insane children running amok. Oh yeah … and carts. Those damn carts. Can’t a girl just shop in peace?

If you need me I’ll be at Old Navy making a return.

The Bright Side Of Being Sick

Photo Credit:http://www.refinery29.com/siri-tollerod-makes-the-cat-la

Photo Credit:http://www.refinery29.com/siri-tollerod-makes-the-cat-la

If you’ve been following me on Instagram, you are probably wondering, “why is this bitch turning into a full blown cat lady?” For the past three days it has been all about cats, simply because, well, I got poisoned by something I ate which landed me in the hospital. Yes. The hospital. None of it was cute. Not that any illness is “cute” per say … but I would have preferred to have to discuss the symptoms of anything besides food poisoning with a male doctor who is a stranger, and probably my age. Ugh … I lost a piece of my dignity for sure.

And because I’ve been trying to pretend I’m a different more fantastic human soul than I actually was the past couple of days, I’ve been forced to shine a light on the positives whilst dealing with such a non-chic illness. So here is what I’ve come up with. And hopefully, if you (God forbid) end up not feeling your finest, remember the following things … ahem:

1. I’m giving my skin a break. I haven’t turned the light on at my makeup table in literally three days. Nothing but moisturizer has touched my skin in literally three days. Normally I would be mortified that my naked face would frighten children, but alas, I am just straight chillin’ with my cats. This is a perfect opportunity to purify and just get “au natural” if you will.

2. I torture my hair on the reg. All day err day I’m taking 450 degree torture devices to my follicles, straightening and curling and de-frizzing, and dying, and de-tangling. I’m a straight up hair abuser. But not in the past three days. My hair hasn’t been touched by a brush, nor has it been touched by any styling devices. It basically hasn’t left bun form. Sure, it may look like a rats nest, but it is getting rest, just like my body is. There is nothing better than styling your hair after a few days of giving it rest. It’s like buttah … trush.

3. I’m sure we are all guilty of not drinking enough water. Lucky enough for me, by doctors orders, I was told I had to drink water … or bad things would happen. What those bad things were, I have no idea. Dehydration? Fainting? Who knows … but I wasn’t about to mess with it. And like Zoolander says, “moisture is the essence of wetness and wetness is the essence of beauty.” Beautiful skin and complexion just doesn’t happen without being properly hydrated. That lesson is learned with age, ladies and gents.

Aaaaaand that’s about it. I wouldn’t wish what I had on my worst enemy, but alas, at least I took advantage of the situation to give my entire body, and beauty regime, a rest.

Most of all … I’m looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning and making myself look a little less like this. It’s starting to get worrisome …

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Style Stud: DYLANLEX Necklaces

Capture8I think I need jewelry rehab. Specifically my vintage jewelry obsession. It is starting to get comical. Every weekend I somehow acquire two more pieces … I just can’t help it. They are so affordable. And unique. And sad … sitting there in the vintage shops, all lonesome. Looking at me with those sparkly puppy dog eyes. I just HAVE to rescue them, right?! So yeah … I’m pretty much the cat lady of vintage jewelry.

But that is neither here nor there. What I do want to discuss is Dylanlex. The jewelry line that is making me drool all over my iPhone since I discovered them on Instagram. I mean … this collection is straight up necklace porn. It’s delicious. It is everything.

If I had to describe the perfect piece of jewelry for someone to buy for me, I would send them to this site (hint hint for all you ladies and gents just dying to win over my heart … ehhh?!) Hmm a $10 vintage necklace or an $800 rad piece of Dylanlex art. You know what, I’m THAT crazy about this line that I would contemplate living out of my car for a week with my cat with no food just to be able to afford one. Yep … that crazytown obsessed.

They are just … so beautiful … I mean … it’s just … I can’t. Just check it out. These bad boys have left me speechless … talk amongst ya selves.

Ps. There is a necklace named “Jagger” … which I assume is after my  most favorite person on the planet. I’m in lerve. Hearts are in my eyes.

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ROYGBIV Hair … The Thing Of Dreams

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Photo credit: http://callinamarie.buzznet.com/photos/32rainbowhairstyles/?id=68523464

Sometimes I envy Kylie Jenner. And no, I SWEAR I have not gone mad.

The girl can literally wake up in the morning and say, “hey … I want blue hair!” Makes a quick phone call to her “glam squad” and with hours it is done and she is posting selfies of her new blue do on the Instagram looking all pensive and shit. There was no contemplation. There was no thinking about the consequences. There was no asking her friends what they thought. There was no thinking family members would disown her. She just did … because she can. Because if it ended up looking a hot mess, she has the power (and funds) to get it dyed back to normal the next day. Or if she gets bored with it she, again, has the power (and funds) to do the next hair big hair trend she is craving at that very second.

If I lived a “Kyle Jenner-esque” life, my hair would be a different color every week. And it wouldn’t be damaged because my “glam squad” would insure that it would stay healthy throughout the dying process. But, alas, Kris Jenner is not my mother (thank sweet Jesus). I don’t get paid thousands just to show my face at events, and brands aren’t begging my sister and I to throw our names across product lines for hipsters. I’m … ::: le sigh::: normal. To be a Kardashian or to be normal, that is the question.

Unfortunately I function in the “real world” where I have to ask myself questions before I do something drastic like dye my hair blue. Will I get fired? How will my family and friends react? Will people on the street look at me like I have 12 heads? Will I get fired? I know half of these concerns are just me being overly aware of what people think of me, and that is a personal battle (working on it every day), but I, unfortunately, whether it is just in my head or a real fear, cannot just wake up and dye my hair a random color. And quite frankly … it’s a bummer. Because like I said, my hair would be a different color every week.

Vidal Sassoon just came out with box dye for bright red, purple, or blue colors. I thought to myself, “finally … out-of-the-box hair colors are going mainstream … this is my chance!” Perhaps I could do the blue, and the blue would look more black then blue and wouldn’t be THAT shocking. Right? Buuuuuut after the DIY ombre disaster of 2013, I refuse to ever dye my hair something crazytown myself. Lesson. Learned. The hard way, of course.

To the ladies strutting down the street with ROYGBIV hair colors, I envy you and applaud you. I adore it, actually. No I refuse to not roll my eyes and say “bitch please” under my breath when you pass me out of sheer jealously … even though I kind of want to, but it would only be out of jealously, I swear. ROYGBIV hair for me is a bucket list item for sure, probably above bungie jumping (which would involve me overcoming my fear of heights … which is a WHOLE different story).

 

Photo credit: http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/originals/f1/2a/b4/f12ab49e0c6066717c0b2eb433b1e7c3.jpg

Photo credit: http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/originals/f1/2a/b4/f12ab49e0c6066717c0b2eb433b1e7c3.jpg

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Photo credit: http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/12/9a/f2/129af2e29f3c57434c323127ebfcde30.jpg

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Photo caption: http://doublecoolwithknobs.tumblr.com/post/23109133885

Photo caption: http://doublecoolwithknobs.tumblr.com/post/23109133885

My Closet Issues

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Photo credit: http://www.pinterest.com/pin/497929302522278185/

I’m the type of gal who likes everything in one place. I don’t understand the people that have a shoe closet and a coat closet and a sweater closet and a closet for God knows what else. I likes it all where I can sees it. That is until I moved to a place that was clearly built before women were plagued with shopping addictions. One dress. One petticoat. One corset. Literally my “closet” is a hole. A small, dark hole that can’t come close to holding what I need. Hence why I adopted a garment rack, which has become my best friend. I feel like Kim Kardashian or some shit … minus all the designer clothes, and the big ass. But I digress.

Going back to how I like everything in one place, I was never a person who put all my winter gear in a Tupperware box in the basement and switched it out for my summer gear. My theory is clothing doesn’t belong in Tupperware boxes or in “space saving bags” in a basement. How sad, right? My clothing is like my children. Would I put my children in the basement when the weather changed. Umm no … I’m not a psychopath. And wonder if in the middle of winter we get a heat wave and I need a cool t-shirt or something? Nope. Can’t have it. It’s in the Tupperware box never to return again until Memorial Day :::shakes fist:::. Whomp whomp. Screw that.

Unfortunately, due to my clothing addiction, I’m running out of space. Even on my Kim K garment rack. And since I thoroughly don’t believe in Tupperware (with my clothing or with food … it’s skeevy and weird), I’ve resorted to turning my dark hole closet into my “winter gear” storage (I had to give it a nice home), and then kept my spring/summer/things that are typically for warmer weather but I might be able to make them work in the warmer months on the garment rack. Yet … I still find myself having a space issue (I told you, I have a really bad clothing addiction).

I’ve literally forgotten about pieces of clothing I own, strictly because they are so cramped together. Which is a curse and a blessing because when I come across something I forgot I had … it’s like God damn Christmas morning. And then makes me feel silly because I’ve realized I’ve been buying similar garments over and over again (I swear I’m not crazy, I just likes what I likes).

I’ve found myself wondering if I should have a method to my madness. I’ve always rolled my eyes at people who color-coded their closets or alphabetized their closets, but maybe it makes a different. Oddly enough, the whole thing freaks me out. People can get SO intense with it … and I’m just not type of gal. And … ps. I loathe change. “From right to left you will find my sleeveless dresses, maxi dresses, formal dresses, which then transitions to t-shirts, fancy t-shirts, embroidered t-shirts. Oh and everything is color-coded in alphabetical order based on color.” :::Bangs head against wall::: I mean … no. Just no. The idea of it makes me sweat.

But for someone like me who likes having a bit of chaos in my life, I’ve decided the best way to organize my closet overload is to do it strictly by the following system: Dresses, tanks, t-shirts, long sleeves, jackets, and pants. Boom. And in my dark hole of my closet will live the bulky sweaters and coats that will have a comfortable rest until the cooler months return. This way, when I’m madly rushing to get out the door in the morning, and don’t have the slightest idea what I want to wear, I will easily be able to pull exactly what I want and not have anymore “Christmas morning” moment (although they are delicious) or a Clueless moment screaming, “WHERE IS MY COLLARLESS SHIRT FROM FRED SEGAL!”

I’m excited about this decision. I call this growing up, people, I call this growing up.

How do you organize your closet?

Real Talk: One Stall Bathroom Etiquette

Photo credit: http://chloes-vintage-nostalgia.tumblr.com/post/21556591157/caron-paris-powder-puffs-and-perfume-3-the-puff

Photo credit: http://chloes-vintage-nostalgia.tumblr.com/post/21556591157/caron-paris-powder-puffs-and-perfume-3-the-puff

This weekend, I found myself in a crowded, trendy bar/restaurant with a full bladder and a dire need for a cocktail. I know … I know … you are wondering, “dude, seriously? Where are you going with this story.” But trust me … it’s going somewhere, I promise.

I truly don’t understand the restaurants that put their bathrooms in a place that require people to have to stand around tables of other people eating until it is their turn to relieve themselves. “Sorry I swear I’m not hovering … just waiting for the bathroom, but wow those enchiladas look delish!” Annoying, right? Well anyways, this where I found myself. So let me explain the bathroom situation (I won’t blow up said restaurants spot since, well, their food and cocktails are to DIE for). There is one room for the ladies and one room for the gents. Meaning you walk in and lock the door behind you, leaving a line forming outside. So the woman in front of me, who was rather fancy looking, left her friends, who looked like they were ready to peace out of the joint, and entered the bathroom.

Now … who knows what the hell was going on. And I’m not going to make any guesses because, well, that is just rude, and I’m a lady … but this woman took FOR-EV-ER. Like obnoxiously long. To the point where there was like five people standing behind me waiting … yes, that long. To the point where I was getting nervous that the door wasn’t really locked and I was just waiting outside causing a line for nothing (I’ve totally done this before) even though I saw the broad go inside. And to the point where the five girls behind me started chatting with one another, including myself, which is THE WORST. I hate “girling out” whilst waiting to pee. Am I the only one?

So you know when you are looking for a parking space at the mall and see a person get into their car in a SICK spot, so you put on your blinker and wait for them to back out, but they take their sweet time? My Nana used to say, “oooh look, she’s putting on her makeup and combing her hair.” Again … I don’t want to make any assumptions because this woman could have been sick for all I know, but I just had this feeling that something like this was going down. And that enraged me even more.

FINALLY … she opens the bathroom door, looking more glamorous than ever in her little white sundress … and makeup bag … YES … makeup bag, in hand. I resisted temptation to trip her. Not only was I going to pee my pants, but I had a freshly poured margarita waiting for me at the bar. She flipped her hair and frolicked over to her friends, kissed her boyfriend with her freshly glossed lips, and went on her way. My newly found best friend waiting behind me looked and said “it’s about time … and I right?!” I smiled politely and went on my way into the bathroom.

I was in and out. Peed, washed my hands, checked out my hair, all in under a minute, or at least I thought so. It was impressive enough for my new line BFF to say, “girl you are QUICK!” Want to know why I was quick like a bunny? Because I was aware that my newly found best girlfraaaands were waiting. And they are human beings who probably have lonesome margaritas waiting for them as well and don’t want to spend their moments out on the town hovering around strangers eating glorious meals waiting to pee.

What I’m saying, ladies, if you are in a restaurant with a one stall bathroom … maybe don’t feel the need to apply another layer of makeup, flat iron your hair, and file your nails. It’s just not cool. Unless you are having some personal problems, which again, I don’t want to discuss because that would be weird … and gross … you have no reason for taking more than 2 minutes. None. That’s why Jesus invented compact mirrors that fit nicely in your handbag. It’s a-okay to powder your nose at the table. Why? Because I said so. If there is more than one stall, powder your face in the bathroom, girl. Do it up. Hell, paint your nails. But when you know people are waiting, be kind. Be conscious. Because then you leave people like me out in the wild with a bunch of talkative girls who I don’t know, thirsty and about to pee my pants.

Style Stud: Lobo Mau

Photo Credit: LoboMau.com

Photo Credit: LoboMau.com

I gotta say, one of my favorite things in life is original, one-of-kind fashions for a price point that doesn’t make your mind explode. When I first came across Philly designer, Nicole Haddad and her clothing line, Lobo Mau in a Philly Mag article, I literally had to stop myself from drooling all over my keyboard whilst viewing her FW14 collection. I wanted/still want everything. And I was praying to the Gods of fashion that it wouldn’t be $500 for a t-shirt. Lucky for me, the fashion Gods heard my prayer. No only is Lobo Mau a brand that every stylish lady should have in her closet, but is one that won’t break your bank and have you justifying not paying your bills. We’ve all had that “I don’t REALLY need cable this month,” moment, right? Yeah … not necessary here.

Nicole is definitely a creative soul that everyone needs to chat with. Her dedication and eye for style is something to be admired …  And it is just an extra added bonus that she is from my favorite city in the entire world … Philadelphia.

Enjoy getting to know Lobo Mau and Nicole as much as I did!

1. Where are you from originally?
My father is from Brazil and my mother is Italian-American. I’ve spent most of my life living and traveling between Brazil and Philadelphia.

2. Where did you study design (if you did)?
I have a Master’s degree in Fashion Design from Drexel University. Prior to that I earned my BA in Art History and Italian from Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, NY.

3. What inspired you to become a designer? What inspires you in general?
In Brazil it is very common to have your clothing made for you by local seamstresses or designers. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been taking my ideas to seamstresses and having my clothing made for me. Eventually I just thought to myself “Why don’t I just learn to do this mysef?” Also, my great-grandmother and grandmother on my mom’s Italian side were bridal and evening wear designers in Philadelphia. They were very successful and designed dresses for celebrities such as Grace Kelly. So I grew up with that influence in my life.

4. Have you always designed or did you go down a different career path at first?
I have always designed, but for a while I was interested in Academia. I thought for a few years that I would become a scholar and art historian writing books, publishing journal articles, and lecturing to college students … but then I realized I needed to lead an artistically creative life, so I went back to school for design.

5. What year did you design your first collection?
I graduated design school in 2008 and then started my line. My first collection consisted of digitally-printed fabrics that I created in Photoshop.

6. Where is your studio located?
My studio is currently in the basement of the designer co-op US U.S. I have been a part of this co-op shop for 3 years now, and it has been a really supportive environment for me to grow my business.

 7. Who do you look up to designer-wise?
I look up to Alexander Wang for building such a big business based in salable clothing. I look up to Mary Katrantzou and Manish Arora for their crazy amazing prints and use of color. I love designers like Jil Sander for her beautiful minimalism. I’m obsessed with Dries Van Noten’s FW2014 Collection.

8. How do you view the Philly fashion scene, and what made you design here instead of in LA or NYC?
The Philly fashion scene is growing a lot, but it still has a long way to go. I am currently working with a group of dedicated individuals who want to change the manufacturing situation in Philly. There aren’t many places for a designer here to manufacture, which is a shame because it was once the #1 place in the US for garment manufacturing. I love this city though, and I have built a life here. My family is here, my husband has a great job here, and I’d like to continue living and working here.

9. Describe the girl that would wear your most recent collection.
The girl who would wear the FW2014 collection is fashion-forward, but also classic.

10. Where can people buy your pieces and when will your most recent collection be available?
I sell to about 12 stores all over the country. In Philadelphia, the latest collection will be sold at US U.S. Designer Co-op in Old City and Style Camp in Chestnut Hill.

11. What are your price points?
Anywhere from $50-$100

12. Are your garments American made? What fabrics do you work with?
Everything is made in Philadelphia right now, although my fabrics come from LA.

13. How did you come up with the name “Lobo Mau“?
Lobo Mau means ‘big, bad wolf” in Portuguese. As a child I loved the story of Little Red Riding Hood and I thought it translated well into an idea for a clothing line. I’ve always liked bold fashion, and the name fit well.

14. What’s next for you and your brand?
I’m going to keep growing my business and work on getting my web store really up and running. I’m going to be dressing some celebrities this summer, and working on a capsule collection with a singer from Brooklyn, Denitia, from Denitia and Sene. They have been named Nylon Magazine’s favorite artist this month.

15. What is your advice for aspiring designers?
Be prepared to work hard and to keep persevering. You are going to knock on hundreds of doors and sow hundreds of seeds, and if you keep at it long enough, you will make it. Also, having a niche product is helpful.

Photo credit: http://www.phillymag.com/shoppist/2014/04/07/philly-designers-lobo-maus-latest-collection-is-amazing/

Photo credit: http://www.phillymag.com/shoppist/2014/04/07/philly-designers-lobo-maus-latest-collection-is-amazing/

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Photo credit: http://www.phillymag.com/shoppist/2014/04/07/philly-designers-lobo-maus-latest-collection-is-amazing/

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Photo credit: http://www.phillymag.com/shoppist/2014/04/07/philly-designers-lobo-maus-latest-collection-is-amazing/

photo credit: http://www.phillymag.com/shoppist/2014/04/07/philly-designers-lobo-maus-latest-collection-is-amazing/

photo credit: http://www.phillymag.com/shoppist/2014/04/07/philly-designers-lobo-maus-latest-collection-is-amazing/

A Naked No-No

Photo credit: W Magazine

Photo credit: W Magazine

This is a public service announcement sponsored by a somewhat street-wise woman who knows better.

Ahem …

Rule number one of womanhood: NEVER. POST. NAKED. PHOTOS. OF. YOURSELF.

Never. Like never ever. I don’t care if you are a nudist, a person who is allergic to every kind of fabric there is, or someone who just loves their body and wants the rest of the world to love their body, too … don’t. do. it. God didn’t just create amazingly gorgeous pieces of clothing … or Marc Jacobs for that matter … for funsies, am I right?

The reason I’m ranting is because of the latest Scout Willis drama that went down yesterday. The girl took it upon herself to march around Manhattan topless in order to “stick it to Instagram’s nudity policy.” Jesus Christ … excuse me while I go bang my head up against the wall.

I’m in no way shape or form a prude. I would never classify myself as a “square.” And I’m pretty open minded when it comes to shit. But I’m also a realist. And the real fact is, when you share naked photos with a person … no matter what social media platform you are on … they will inevitably be seen by other eyes. Oh that cute boy from science class wants to see your taas? Just one pic, then he’ll delete it? Bull. Shit. Trust no one with your nudies. Because if you do, your life will, somehow, some way, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow … will be tarnished. OMG that amazing dream job interview you landed and are 100% qualified for? Yeah … that will be a dream come true! Your life will be amazing. Oh wait … not so fast, nudey mcgee. The HR department found a pic of you on the interwebs showing off all your giggly bits. And there goes the golden ticket. Seriously … who wants to go down like that?

So Scout Willis, maybe use your “celebrity” and take to the streets supporting a more prominent cause … yeah? Oh … I don’t know, like the 200 girls who got kidnapped by complete religious psychopaths, or the hundreds of missing people on that Malaysian airline that no one can find, and their mourning families that don’t have answers … perhaps the huge mental illness epidemic our country is suffering from, leading to numerous violent shootings … or maybe the next tragic weather disaster to strike anywhere. Literally. Anywhere. Because letting impressionable young ladies/and naive older ones know it is okay and should be okay to post naked photos of oneself on the interwebs is DEFINITELY something worth everyone’s time. So keep flower picking with your taas out on the streets of NYC. We all appreciate it.

Psyche.

Listen, do what you please. Let your freak flag fly. I’m not going to judge. But social media taking a stand and not allowing people to post these kinds of photos is a step in the right direction, because nothing good can come from them at the end of the day. Tip of the cap to you, social media channels. I mean hell … I don’t even like seeing my naked body in the mirror, let alone in my Instagram feed. Why the hell would I expose my Instagram followers to that nonsense? You’re welcome.

Alright … rant complete. Whew.

Oh, Em, Gee. Sandals.

Photo credit: http://www.dsw.com/shoe/fergalicious+ferocious+gladiator+sandal?prodId=296723&cm_mmc=CSE-_-Shopping-_-Fergalicious-_-296723&mr:referralID=b2f92be4-e6a1-11e3-8dbe-001b2166c2c0

Photo credit: http://www.dsw.com/shoe/fergalicious+ferocious+gladiator+sandal?prodId=296723&cm_mmc=CSE-_-Shopping-_-Fergalicious-_-296723&mr:referralID=b2f92be4-e6a1-11e3-8dbe-001b2166c2c0

Let our feet be free! It was a joy to kick my boots to the curb. An honest to God joy. Seeing for the first time my feet, which had only been randomly manicured by yours truly during the chilly months prior, well … that was a different story. Woof.

But once a pedicure was secured, I was ready to dive head first into sandal season. I literally wanted to do the back stroke in a sea of cute gladiators and thong flops. Nothing would have pleased me more. But where does a gal begin?

I’m pretty sure you could walk into one store, find a smashing pair of black gladiators for $150, say “bitch, please,” walk into a more “economically friendly” store and see the (almost) same pair for under $50, and say “that’s more like it.” Even though I swoon over delicious high-end brands, I just don’t see spending over $100 on sandals. (Unless someone wants to buy me a pair, then of course, OMG expensive sandals, you shouldn’t have!)

Don’t get me wrong, I believe in investing in pieces. A sun dress? Absolutely, where do I swipe my credit card? Sandals just don’t happen to be something I see worth investing in unless they have a heel. Specifically because my favorite sandals come from the land of Forever 21. They are amazing and last. AND LAST. For example, I bought a pair around 2 years ago, wore them when I went tubing (I don’t do “water shoes”), washed them by hand afterward, and still got a full 2 summers worth of wear out of them. And they were under $20. Hello? You can’t beat that. I’m sorry.

In a world where we have 500 different versions of black sandals in different styles … where the hell do you start, am I right? Well … calm down, take a deep breath and let me outline for you the best sandal-styles to invest in for summer 2k14. And once you snag these … the sandal world is your oyster. Get all freaky with them if you please. Just don’t wear Birkenstocks with socks … or you will be dead to me. DEAD, I say, DEAD!

The simple black pair you can literally wear with anything and everything:

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Saucy brown pair you could (almost) wear with anything:

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A wedge (sandal … not salad):

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A sandal for those Xena Warrior Princess days:

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Ones with a pop of color/personality:

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Just promise you won’t rock these … promise?:

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Stains McGee

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Photo credit: http://www.redbookmag.com/recipes-home/tips-advice/spring-cleaning-tips#slide-1

Hooray! It is now acceptable to wear white! Everyone rejoice!

Psyche. If you still believe in that dusty old rule of not wearing white until Memorial Day, well, let me take a minute to shake my shame stick at you. Come now … it’s 2014.

So yeah, I loathe color. In small doses, fine, but you will never catch me in a ROYGBIV anything. I praise the book of Kardashian (yes, I just said that), wearing mostly neutrals. White, black (mostly black), grey, nude … and then, you know, I’ll spice it up with some colorful accessories. It’s not because I’m boring or “basic,” it is just because I find neutrals to be extraordinarily chic and leave endless options for accessorizing. Word.

As much as I wish I could rock an entire white outfit, I unfortunately am not gifted with those abilities. Because I’m what you would call a “magnet for stains.” People say it is all in my head, but I find it to be 100% accurate. So much so that it pains me to buy light colors because I know said garment will be destroyed in the matter of minutes. Stains just find me. If I’m sitting sipping club soda and a woman across the restaurant is eating a hamburger with ketchup, that ketchup will find its way to my blouse. I can’t win.

The worst part is taking my stained articles of clothing to the dry cleaners. The looks of judgement and confusion I get are slightly painful.

Dry cleaner: ::::Inspecting::: but what is it?
Me: I don’t know :::starts to sweat:::
Dry cleaner: :::Still inspecting::: dirt? Soda? Grease?
Me: Seriously, I just don’t know, can you save it?
Dry cleaner: Oooohh this will be tough, but I’ll try. You need to be more careful!
Me: :::Sulking away:::

Awkward.

Stain-wise, the strangest things happen to me. For example, this past weekend I had a bottle of hot sauce in my hand bag (I mean … don’t ask), which happened to be light jean colored and to DIE for, and said bottle of hot sauce opened in my bag and destroyed everything in its path. I’m calling it the “hot sauce massacre.” It actually isn’t easy for me to discuss as I will be begging dry cleaners on my hands and knees to salvage my bag over my lunch break. Not to mention I’m never touching hot sauce again as the smell is making me want to vom. Literally. I can’t. But somehow the hot sauce, which  ground zero of the hot sauce massacre was strictly centered inside my handbag, ended up on my duvet cover, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts. I just don’t get it. :::Sigh:::

What I’m saying is, I hope you are all enjoying your light colored clothes … all day errday. And most importantly, not carrying around bottles of hot sauce in your hand bags. And if you aren’t, think of people like myself who when they wear white, the tops of Starbucks cups magically fall off whilst drinking tea, leaving light-colored shirts covered in abstract tea art. Yeah … that happened, too.

 

What’s In A Name

CaptureI remember when I was in 7th grade, I had to get a palette expander installed across the roof of my mouth. It probably was one of the darkest times of my days as a teenager. Not only was it extremely painful, as my mom had to hold me down and turn the thing everyday with a key to “expand” it, but it drastically inhibited my speech. Oh yeah … and one day I woke up with a massive space in between my teeth, but that is neither here nor there (I’m not damaged from this experience at ALL). Anywho … back to the speech issues. I couldn’t say my name with that thing in my mouth. My name is Kate Concannon, and with the palette expander it sounded like “Kace Cocaon”. I’ve never hated my name more then in that moment.

Now in my post-palette expander days, I don’t hate my name as much as I once did, as I can clearly pronounce “Kate Concannon” properly. I do remember. pre-palette expander, begging my mom to let me change my name to “Cate” with a “C” when I was a tween (Cate Blanchett had just become ultra famous and I wanted my name to stand out). Or perhaps I craved a cool nickname like “CC”. But I always wondered what my name would look like in lights, or rolling off the tongues of E! News hosts. “Kate Concannon, pregnant with Justin Timberlake’s baby? Find out only here only on E! News!” So blah, right?

One day I came across something about January Jones, and I said to myself, “no way could that be her real name.” Some agent found her in LA as “Jessica Jones,” a doubty brunette or something and said, “I deem you … JANUARY Jones. Now off to the salon!” Welp, turns out joke was on me, her real name is January Jones. Bitch must have some super cool parents or something, am I right?

Then again there are some celebrities who I could see sitting right next to me in my office. “Hey Justin Timberlake, can you forward me that email when you get a sec.” “Tina Fey … can you grab me a pen when you go to the supply closet?” See! Totally normal … yet they are mega-super famous. But then again I could never in a million years see Kim Kardashian working in an office and filing papers. “Hey gang, this is Kim Kardashian, she will be our new receptionist. Make her feel welcome.” Hmm. No. Although it does excite me slightly to know the Kris Jenner would totally adopt me as my name would be “Kate Kardashian.”

I believe a person makes a name. If you have the right personality, style, charisma, etc. … you have the power to make “John Smith” stand out in lights. I, personally, don’t think I could go through with changing my name for the sake of stardom. Even for the sake of marriage! The whole idea makes me sweat. I’ve been Kate Concannon my entire life, and now I will be someone else? The whole thing perplexes me. I know it’s tradition and blah-blah-blah … but what? Seems a little dusty to me. A deal breaker to some, but a dusty deal breaker.

I remember an episode of Full House (yes, I’ve literally seen every episode like 20,000 times), where Stephanie wanted to change her name to “Dawn.” And then Danny Tanner went into this whole Dad spheal about how special she is and so on and so forth :::cue the sentimental music::: and she decided, “hey, I’m Stephanie Tanner and I’m okay with that!” It’s funny … I can’t remember what I did five minutes ago, but I remember that episode of Full House verbatim.

It still amazes me to know that so many celebrities have changed their names. And my curiosity is endless about how that process works. Does an agent not sign you if he/she demands you change your name and you refuse? And what qualifies as a “star-worthy” name? I like to think my name would look amazing in lights … at least on a billboard? Okay … maybe printed in a magazine or a book. Let’s be real, that’s where it belongs. Hell, we all belong somewhere!

Now a list of celebs who aren’t who they claim to be … ahem:

Bea Arthur: Really … Bernice Frankel

Carmen Electra: Really … Tara Patrick

Judy Garland: Really … Frances Gumm

Bruno Mars: Really … Peter Gene Hernandez

Spike Lee: Really … Shelton Lee

Natalie Portman: Really … Natalie Herschlag

Louis C.K.: Really … Louis Szekely

Olivia Wilde: Really … Olivia Jane Cockburn (Yikes, I kind of understand this one)

Portia de Rossi: Really … Amanda Lee Rogers

Kardashian Konfession

rs_604x1024-140520095320-634.kim-kardashian-shopping-parisI don’t understand the craze with the royals, never have. Now, don’t throw stuff at me when I say this, but I find Will and Kate ridiculously boring. Oh she shops at J.Crew? Riveting. Oh, she wore the same thing she did last week? Welcome to my typical Wednesday. I mean, yawn. Down right, yawn.

But what I’m about to admit is painful for me … and slightly embarrassing, but I have to get this off my chest. :::Sigh::: Okay, here goes … I’m … quite obsessed with Kim and Kanye. No I won’t refer to them as “Kimye” … but yeah, I find them so ridiculously intriguing, if I could sit in front of my TV and watch E! News updates on them all day, I would. Now … go ahead, judge me. I deserve it.

I’ve been a Kanye West fan for years. People think he’s crazytown, I see him as an artist. Kim? Well … yes, I’ve pretty much watched every episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians (because sometimes I just want to put my brain on an invisible shelf and drool), but I’ve always found her to be a little … oh, I don’t know, full of herself? Is that the right way to explain her?

But this Kanye West rebrand of Kim Kardashian (because that’s what happened … they fell in love and he rebranded her) is epic and completely fascinating to me. She went from this Herve Leger, hoop earring, Phantom riding, lip liner, extension rocking, party host in Vegas to this silent beauty with such style and class in everything she does. Like she isn’t just known for her big ass anymore, she is actually known for her style. What?

And Kayne didn’t just rebrand Kim, he rebranded the entire family. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall during that conversation. “Yo, listen. No wearing colors. Only rockin’ french brands. No more eating. No more blowing off the gym. Everyone gets a waist slimmer instructor. Kendall … I’m going to call up my boy Marc so you can walk in his show.” He probably had stricter demands, let’s be real … but he totally curated that family. Who curates an entire family?!

The issue with all of this that I’m having is I find myself on the train to work, drifting off in my imagination, thinking about what kind of plastic surgery Kim got (seriously though, what did she have done … she looks effing amazing). And what will her wedding dress will look like. And if all of this will be televised so I can get all of my questions answered. Why wouldn’t I be thinking about my to-do list for the day, or my goals in life. No. I’m pondering what Kim’s diet regiment is and how I can get on it. Sick. Sick sick sick.

I’m not saying Kim and Kanye are the American version of the royal family. Absolutely not … I refuse to be that guy. I am saying my obsession with them is slightly frightening. Not like I’m going to fly to France and stalk them frightening, just a little unerving. It’s like staring at something shiny. I just can’t turn away. Slash her style is insanely on point. Every outfit she has been rocking in France this week … I need. Now. (See! The fact that I even know about all of her outfits in France is kind of vom-worthy. Am I right? Who AM I?!)

Now all I need is a Kanye West to come into my life and rebrand me. Any takers?

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My Quest For The Perfect Maxi Dress

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Image: http://atlantic-pacific.blogspot.com.es/2011_12_01_archive.html

It might sound nuts that I cannot find the right maxi dress, right? I mean they are everywhere. My GOD, they sell them at freaking Walgreens, for crying out loud. But real talk for a minute, I get it if a Walgreens at the shore (or the beach for you non-tri-state area folk) sell maxis, but one right outside of a city? Really? Stop it. No one wants any of that. But I digress.

The last time I found a maxi dress I wanted to live in was about three years ago at Loehmans (RIP … pouring some out for the raddest store EVER). It was one of those garments that I had no problem wearing once or twice a week. It was everything. And then I shrunk it like an idiot. And no one wants to wear a maxi that comes up to your calf … am I right?

Since then I’ve been living in maxi skirts, which, don’t get me wrong, rule … but sometimes I don’t feel like pairing a shirt together with a maxi skirt, alright? Yes. I’m literally THAT lazy. I just want to throw on a maxi dress and be done with it. I preferably one that doesn’t have chevron print on it. I mean that is what summer is all about.

Right now I find myself having what I like to call “MDE”… Maxi Dress Envy. Specifically with Kristen Taekman of the Real Housewives of New York. She’s currently the only one I don’t want to throw a shoe at, so that is saying something, right? But her maxi dress game is on POINT. Everyone I want to rip off her body, Cinderella step sisters-style. Look at the one below (sorry for the shitty image). Now this is something that I would live in until Labor Day. I mean mind you it would be a stained hot mess by then, but at least I would be comfortable.

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You know how they say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again? Perhaps they are right. I’ve been going to my same old stomping grounds, H&M, Urban, Zara, TJ Maxx … and just haven’t had any luck. Yet I keep going there over and over again and keep getting let down. And then someone brought “LOFT” to my attention. And I am using quotes because (now don’t throw anything at me) LOFT is Satan to me. I loathe it. So much that I have never stepped foot in there. I can’t tell you why, I just do.

BUT in the same breath, I am all about “pieces.” In no way shape or form is my wardrobe from one store only. I have Marc Jacobs all the way down to Target. I’m not a label snob (unless you are buying a maxi dress from Walgreens outside of a city, then you will get an eye roll from me). So perhaps one item from LOFT won’t kill me, right? I am that desperate (and I know I’m probably offending lots of LOFT lovers, which is not my intention … love you, kisses?).

So here I go on my journey of exploring stores I’ve never stepped foot in just to find the perfect maxi I can rock all summer. Talbots, I’m coming for you!

Hahahaha … kidding. Never. Never ever will I EVER step foot in there. Only because I did once for a job when I was in high school. They told me I would have to wear a suit and Fridays were considered “casual” where employees wore aprons over their suits … and then I left. I think I left so quickly there was a dust imprint of my body still standing in front of the store manager. Bitch, please.

Lion Necklaces … So Hot Right Now … Lions

m_524c99615a38f35785023773Mondays suck. There. I said it. Something is always just, I don’t know, off. There is either not enough caffeine in the world to revive you, you just aren’t completely out of the “weekend” mindset, or you, like myself this morning, were so frazzled whilst leaving the house you remembered your tea, buuuuuuuuut not your wallet. Henceforth, I’m a bit cranky. But that is neither here nor there.

With all of that being said … let’s talk about lions!

I’ve become obsessed with ridiculously gaudy gold jewelry. I can’t tell you where my obsession stems from, but all I know is that it’s fun and really makes an outfit. For example yesterday I wore an all black outfit, rather boring, with an insanely large gold lion necklace, and was complimented up and down. And if I wasn’t wearing that necklace people would have probably just been like, “oh look at that sad little goth girl.”

So back to this lion necklace. I was first confronted by one about a year ago. My heart fluttered and cartoon hearts began to appear all around me, and all I could think about was Versace … well, Maya Rudolph playing Donatella Versace specifically. Versace is known for their gaudy gold. And this lion necklace was definitely a throw back to that. Did I buy it? Well … no. And I wish I had a good excuse for this, but let’s just blame it on my severe shoppers remorse that I’m plaqued with.

Fast forward to present day when I frolicking through Nordstrom Rack and WAH-LAH, there was the lion necklace. And not just any gold lion necklace, a larger more gaudy lion necklace. I wasn’t going to let this guy get away from me this time. And I didn’t. He now lives on my jewelry rack in my room with tons of free space to roam with the other gold gaudy jewelry I own.

What I’m saying here is everyone is usually uber cranky on Monday’s and doesn’t want to be doing the adult-like things they have to do in order to survive. But what makes all of that better, is a Versace-inspired lion necklace. Nothing says, “suck it Monday,” more than that. Am I right? Talk to the lion.

Alright, everyone go get a lion necklace. Promise?

Max and Chloe – $60

phpdH1288366064Romwe – $12

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Charlotte Russe – $10.99

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Kenneth Jay Lane – $70

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My First Pair Of Kicks In 11 Years

Capture1I know what you’re thinking. Are those the beat up ol’ running shoes Jennay gave Forrest in Forrest Gump? Sadly … no. I assume they are probably in the Smithsonian or something. These pink gems happen to be the last pair of kicks I purchased … in 2003. Yes. 2003 was the last time I invested in a pair of sneakers. I bought these Reeboks on an annual NYC shopping trip that my mom and I used to take before every school year. Back then I rocked sneakers almost every day (I was in high school, heels weren’t really appropriate).

Fast forward 11 years later and here I am. The reason why sneakers haven’t graced my feet since 2003 is because I had absolutely no need for them. In college I pretty much wore Uggs or flats, or if I was heading out on the town, heels. Also I had absolutely no money to purchase things I didn’t 100% need. Once I got thrown into the “real world” I started my love affair with heels. Like big girl heels, not the kind I once upon a time purchased in Target in the sale bin. When it came down to it and I was faced with a pair of Sam Edelman stilettos or a pair of Nike kicks … who do you think won? Sam ALWAYS won. Still does. :::Swoon:::

I bet you’re wondering, do I work out? Am I active? Are you obsess? The answers to those questions would be sometimes, kind of, and absolutely not. I just found a way around purchasing sneakers by participating in physical activities that didn’t require any “active-wear” like yoga, for example. No shoes required, what so ever. Kind of genius, and my favorite way to break a sweat. Because I don’t run even if I’m being chased by a serial killer and gyms annoy me more than anything.

But after years of wearing seriously inappropriate footwear … stilettos, pointed stilettos, flats with absolutely no support, I realized I was doing a number on my feet. Let me say, I hate feet. Loathe feet. I will never ever understand people who have feet fetishes. But thanks to my poor footwear decisions, I started noticing that I’m developing bunions (ew), I have scars everywhere from blisters and cuts (ew), and my feet constantly ache. Cool.

As a commuter in the city, I walk EVERYWHERE. And when I gained the title as “public transportation user” and threw my car keys to the wind, I promised myself I would still wear cute shoes and not be one of those women who rock sneakers with a skirt suit. See below:

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And after almost a year of doing this, my feet are in worse shape than ever (don’t worry, I’ll spare you the imagery). So that’s when I decided to take to Twitter and have the general public help me find a great pair of sneakers that wouldn’t make me feel like a 1980′s working woman. Enter Reebok Women stage right.

I saw the commercials for Reebok Skyscape with Miranda Kerr strutting around and almost forgetting to take off her shoes before getting in the shower, but I was too fixated on how Miranda Kerr is the spokesperson for EV-ERY-THING to notice how rad these sneakers were. But I digress.

So after chatting with the great people over at Reebok Women, telling them my sob story about how I’ve been torturing my feet for years, they recommended the Reebok Skyscape … and not just recommended, but demanded that they send me a pair. Out of all the fun colors and styles, I, of course, chose the leopard print ones, as I felt I would have a better opportunity to style them up more. See below:

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And after 11 years, I FINALLY own a pair of ridiculously cool kicks that don’t make me feel like a “Sport Spice,” but just like me. A ridiculously big thanks to the great peeps over at Reebok Women … I’m in lerve. And no, I still refuse to part with my pink Reeboks. They are just too good to toss.

Oh also, I totes lay on my bed in my Skyscapes just like this … totes.

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Bathing Suits And Laying On Rocks

Gisele-Bündchen-HM-2014I am absolutely a realist. Give it to me real. Give it to me straight. So you can imagine how taken back I was when I saw H&M’s new commercial with Gisele Bundchen singing “Heart of Glass” in a string bikini, right?

I heard rumors that she was staring in their new campaign. I even heard she recorded her own version of Blondie’s renowned “Heart of Glass.” And you know what? I tipped my cap to her. I most definitely would NEVER have the balls to make my own version of such an epic song … and that takes BALLS. We are talkin’ Blondie here. It was something courageous and admirable, especially coming from an international super model.

:::Sigh::: and then I see the commercial. What the HELL, people? Her voice isn’t bad … auto tuned to death … but overall not bad. Definitely better than any reality star that has dropped a single, I’ll give her that (hello “Money can’t buy you class”). But what is with the fashion industry thinking women will buy bathing suits if they see stick figure super models with sick bodies just straight chillin’ on a rock with splashing waves behind them.

Seriously … no real woman wants to see that shit. None. Ever. Never ever. When was the last time you were at the beach and said, “hmm … you know what? I’m going to go sunbath on that rock over there with the rough surf surrounding it. I’ll catch you guys in a few.” WHAT?! Seriously. First of all, how uncomfortable could you be? Rocks aren’t comfortable last time I checked. Rocks bruise humans and leave scratches and weird marks. And knowing my luck, I would probably end up with a rock up my ass or some sea creature crawling on me, leading me to freak out, make some quick awkward motions and leaving me with a chipped tooth or unconscious on said rock, or something.

You know what else, when was the last time you were sunbathing, in a string bikini mind you, and said … “hmm, I’m going to lay on my side.” MOST. UNFLATTERING. POSITION. EVER. See below … have you ever done this, hmm? Does this look comfortable and relaxing to you? It looks like something that would induce an anxiety attack to me, personally … because everything just … you know … rolls to the side. Everything. Just sayin’ …
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You know what I’m doing when I’m wearing a bikini? Sucking in my stomach slash thinking about my fat rolls … what they are doing, if they are visible, and when and if I should put my mumu back on. Yep. That’s what’s up. I realize if you aren’t comfortable with your body, you should maybe find a suit you are more comfortable in, yeah yeah … blah blah blah … but bathing suits are awkward. They leave little or nothing to the imagination. You mine as well be walking down Broad Street in your bra and panties. For the life of me I have no idea why the sight of “water” makes it all of a suddenly okay to be half naked in front of total strangers. It’s weird, right? Listen, the only way you could get me in a position like the one above on a beach is if Photoshop glasses existed and everyone was wearing them.

So my point is whilst selling bathing suits … keep it real, for the love of God. Because when I’m sitting on my couch eating party mix, sucking down a Diet Coke wearing ratty ol’ PJs with my cat and all of a sudden Gisele in a bikini straight chillin’ on some rocks appears on my TV … yeah that doesn’t exactly make me want to hop in my car and head straight to H&M. It makes me eat more party mix … and maybe invest in another mumu or two … or five.

Reasons I Adore My Mom

unnamed-1This picture was taken at West Point either in the late 80′s or early 90′s. Pay no attention to me, I look a hawt mess, per usual, but how chic is my mama, right?! :::coughing::: years later, and some things don’t change

1. For never making us wear “Mother & Daughter” outfits from Talbots

2. Her sick obsession with rugs, baskets, and anything in a rustic red color

3. For never putting a leash on me when we went to the mall

4. For never licking her thumb and then removing “shmutz” from my face in front of my friends

5. For never telling any of my friends, “There are no rules in this house, okay. I’m not like other moms, I’m a hip mom, I’m a cool mom.” And in the same breath, for never rocking Juicy Couture or other inappropriate outfits.

6. For eye rolling people who always look “crisp” and put together whilst wearing white, no matter what … even if ketchup or mustard or other stain-prone condiments were present

7. For giving me “the treatment” every time I stayed home from school, including coloring books, slurpees, snacks, and a sweet setup on the couch … even if I wasn’t 100% sick

8. For blessing me with my Rolling Stones addiction, going to see them in the 4th row, in hot yellow pants, and touching Keith Richards

9. For teaching me that if wine bottles don’t have a cork, they are probably rubbish

10. And last … but certainly not least, how she refers to everything as a “machine.” Machine=remote control, Machine=pen, Machine=cat, Machine=oven, Machine=pretzel … it’s genius

Every year I write about how much my mom rocks … how could I not? In fact when I told her I was writing this post, she said, “Why?! No! Write about your Nana!” We are so much alike it is scary, because if I had a daughter who had a blog, I would probably say the same thing. It’s like how she hates having her photo taken … as do I (blame the lack of selfies on her … or thank her, either or).

But I have/had a lot of brilliant women in my life who have helped mold me … and this blog. My aunt, and God mother, reminds me I’m blessed every single time I see her. My Mom’s mom (Nana) was a chic hair stylist, and I feel I get some of my love of style from her. My Dad’s mom (Mimi) went to fashion school, and I still have her mannequin she made clothes on, which we call “Maude.” My great aunt (Aunt Rose) was a Rockette, and sparked my love for high heels. Quite frankly any woman in my mom’s family was a strong Italian broad who lived a very delicious (all AMAZING cooks), full, and wrinkle-free lives (seriously great skin … fingers crossed I get those genes), and my sister, well, she is the strongest woman I know … hands down.

I realize you don’t know these ladies … and you may be yawning reading this. But I wouldn’t be who I am today without every single one of them. And I encourage all of you to tip your caps to all the ladies in your lives that helped mold you into the powerful, fierceless beast you are today

Happy Mother’s Day!

*See Mom, I didn’t embarrass you THAT much, right? Love you all the stars in the sky!

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Style Stud: So Worth Loving

CaptureI think everyone by now is well aware of the fact that I’m an Instagram whore, right? Well one day I found myself in a bad mood, self esteem a little low, feeling kind of bad about myself (hey, we all have those days, and if you don’t, you are a dirty, dirty liar), when I came across the Instagram account for this brand called So Worth Loving. If you haven’t followed them, do so now … immediately.

Anywho, bad mood, feeling low … and I see this Instagram feed chock full of inspirational quotes, people inspiring others, messaging confirming that everyone has something special about them and everyone is, well, “so worth loving.” And it wasn’t corny or didn’t make me roll my eyes (trust me, I’m the first one to punt really awful inspirational quotes … like the ones in all pink with a high heel that says something in lipstick like, “EEEE kick that bad mood mama.” Woof.) Women all over are rocking “So Worth Loving” shirts, and not just rocking them, but styling them like a boss (another reason why I adore this Instagram feed).

Sticking with the Mother’s Day, women love and support kick that I’ve kind of been on this week, I think it is beyond important for all of us to take a giant step back from our “self circle” and make someone know “you are so worth loving,” and that is why I fell in love with this brand. I remind myself daily that you have no idea what struggles others are battling. That bitch you want to verbally tear down, might just be dealing with a personal crisis. That hater that keeps rolling her eyes at you, may just be having a low day and feeling terrible about themselves and just dealing with it in an adverse fashion. You never know.

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So Worth Loving isn’t just about selling shirts, and branding and what not, they are about promoting self worth, no matter what your sexual orientation is, body type, religion, hair color, eye color, or what group of friends you hang out with. They have created a community that shares personal stories in hopes that people will connect. They post inspiring quotes in hopes that people will recognize how worth loving they truly are. No, you will not find Gisele Bundchen in a string bikini on a rock formation singing “Heart of Glass,” rocking a piece of So Worth Loving (which DON’T even get me started on that), but you will find people you can relate to, which I think is WAY less infuriating, right? I want to throw a shoe at my TV every time I see that H&M commercial.

You only get one you in this life, and sometimes it is really hard to be true to your own brand. Trust me, I struggle with it every single day. And being a girl, no matter what age, just isn’t easy. Being anyone isn’t easy. People are just really good at making it look easy. Remember that. But it is so important to stay true to your brand, no matter if you have purple hair and five lip rings and covered in tattoos, or if you are a plain Jane. That’s you, and you are SO worth loving. Word.

I really do want to tip my cap to this brand because they have found a really great way to combine style and inspiration to lift people’s spirits and create a community where it’s 100% okay to be you. You know me, I’m all about stopping people from tearing one another down. I’m tempted to quote Tina Fey from Mean Girls right now, but I feel like I do that once a week on this blog and need to refrain.

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Full Of Admiration

9c7dc8490a9cbf193954119d345dd0e4As a writer, blogger, editor, creative soul … every single moment I’m looking for inspiration. And sometimes, on those lucky days, it isn’t something you have to seek out. It could be as simple as noticing something new that you walk by every day, or, you know, a cool door (not going to lie, I ALWAYS roll my eyes at door Instagram pics and restrain myself from making sarcastic comments). But hey … inspiration comes in different forms for different people.

A professor of mine in college once told me that you need to write every single day. It is like exercise. And yes, there are some days when all I want to do is punt what I’ve written and light it on fire … but I’ve learned to just send it out into the universe and see what comes of it.

What really revs my writing engine and makes me want to trek on, even at hopeless moments, are the fellow fashion and lifestyle bloggers out there. Joining this community several years ago, I braced myself for cut-throat attitudes, bitchiness, and to be on a lonely blogging island by myself, desperately trying to get my name out there, which sometimes feels like a needle in a stack. I was armed and ready. To my surprise, though, this community might be one of the most supportive and encouraging ones out there. Weird, right? I was floored. I still look at my support network in awe.

Maybe it’s the fact that Mother’s Day is right around the corner, and I find myself reflecting upon all the strong women that are in my life … but I just felt the need to give a shout out to my fellow lady lifestyle and fashion bloggers who make me want to keep on keepin’ on. I think it is SO ridiculously important to praise the ones that inspire you, motivate you, and guide you to become better at whatever the hell you’re doing, and I suggest you do the same.

So here are a few of my blogs that inspire me (and if I didn’t mention you PLEASE don’t take offense. It doesn’t mean I hate your face and your blog, it just means I admire SO many of you that I don’t want my readers scrolling for hours down multiple hyperlinks.)

 

Mother’s Day: Real Talk

sos55When I was little, buying my mom a present for Mother’s Day was easy. I could draw her something, make her something out of macaroni, give her a coupon book for hugs (I know, I was SUPER creative), or even get my siblings to sign my name to their gift (not that I EVER did that mom, never ever :::shifty eyes:::). And then you grow up, start making your own money and no longer are Crayola-sponsored gifts appropriate.

But you know what else isn’t appropriate for Mother’s Day? Anything that is being shown in commercials. It’s infuriating actually. No, my mom probably wouldn’t get jazzed over new towels. And she would probably punt an “open heart necklace” from Kay Jewelers. And I mean I might consider an Edible Arrangement, except the minute you want to dip a piece of fruit in chocolate, the price goes up by a million dollars.

Basically, according to commercials, moms want really tacky jewelry that looks fancy but isn’t … because supposedly “every kiss begins with Kay” … woof, food their kids will probably end up enjoying more than them, and stuff for the home. What? If and when I ever become a mother and I’m gifted anything for the home, like a vacuum cleaner for example, is the day I turn into the Incredible Hulk and start destroying shit. Fire balls would explode in to my eyes.

So instead of this bullshit we are being fed, I decided to come up with some really cool, authentic gifts for mom that will totally win you the coveted “favorite child award.” Because moms ain’t what they used to be. They are doing it all … kicking ass, taking names, and making a beautiful life for themselves and their family. That’s what women DO. And because of that fact, they deserve Dolce … not Dyson.

1. Classy Cocktails: Put down the bottle of wine that was on sale at your local liquor store, for the love of God. Get dressed up and take your mama out to a restaurant or bar that serves fancy cocktails (and no, anything with “well” liquor in it doesn’t constitute as “fancy” … sorry, bro). If a cocktail is more than $10, so be it. When it Rome …

2. OMG. SHOES: It’s true, ladies LERVE shoes. But instead of getting that pair of Keds your mom so desperately wants for her commute, maybe purchase a pair that she has been lusting over but would NEVER buy for herself. Even if she just struts are the house in them, a pretty pair of shoes can always brighten someones day. Am I right?

3. Plan An Adventure: My God mother always told me that “memories” are the best gift. So plan a day at a winery, get bombed with your mom. Go see a play. Explore a new part of your town. Plan a “couch potato day” where all you do is watch bad TV, eat greasy food and chat. Make a memory … you’ll always have it. (Damn, I’m getting sappy). Plan a spa day, but not a gift certificate, a day for you AND your mom to go together.

4. Birch Box: This is the Mother’s Day gift that keeps on giving. Not only will they get a box full of goodies every month, but they might just find their next go-to product, leaving the reminder behind each month that you are the best child on the planet.

5. Jewels Glorious Jewels: I swear to God, if any of you give anything to your mother’s from Jared or Kay or any of those other cheesy ass jewelry stores and you are an adult, SHAME. SHAME. SHAME. SHAME. Listen, if you’re going to get your mom diamonds, you should probably spend more than $99.99. Just sayin’. Go big or go home. That doesn’t mean all jewelry is out of the question, though. There are sooooooo many great statement pieces out there from Anthropologie to your local vintage store. You know what your mom likes, now go out there and get it. If you don’t well … SHAME. SHAME. SHAME. SHAME.

Listen, I realize I don’t know your mamas. Only you know her like the back-of-your hand. But try and think outside of the box. They deserve it, and you deserve to give your brain a little creative workout.

What’s In Your Purse?

Screen shot 2014-05-05 at 6.36.04 PMSometimes when I wake up on a Monday morning, I feel like the only thing going on in my brain is a tiny monkey in a Sergeant Peppers-like outfit banging together two symbols under a tree. That’s. About. It. Insert copious amounts of caffeine stage right.

So as I was sitting on the train this morning, pondering what I would dazzle my readers with, I began thinking about how I literally lived out of my purse this weekend (yep I was a bag lady), which means the weekend debris in my purse is usually epically random and strange … and sometimes gross. One time I found a hard-as-rock no longer soft pretzel in the bottom of my purse. Stay classy, self.

Do you know what this means? It’s time to play one of my ALL-TIME favorite games … WHAT’S. IN. YOUR. PURSE! (Side note: I should really come up with theme music for this game. For the time being I’m stealing the Price Is Right theme song. Sorry Bob? Or … Drew? Screw it, it will always be Bob Barker in my eyes.)

I haven’t done this in a while, in fact, here is the last time I wrote about WHAT’S. IN. MY. PURSE! With that being said, this is an interactive game. I request that everyone reading this shout somewhere on social media, or to me, either or, WHAT’S. IN. YOUR. PURSE! Honesty is the best policy, no need to doctor up weird shit just to sound cool or funny. And if you have live animals in your purse, I WILL in fact report you.

So let’s do this, shall we? Cue the stolen theme music …

-A Stephanie Johnson sparkly makeup bag that I love so much I could make out with it, full of 10 … yes 10 … lip glosses and lipsticks (If anyone knows of a makeup rehab, let me know)

-A receipt from the restaurant Bricco (girl needs to get her carbs on)

-An H&M tag for a pair of flip flops I bought out of sheer desperation because my feet hurt so badly from the shoes I was wearing. Turns out the flip flops hurt more (note to self, $5 flip flops are Satan)

-A random $5 bill floating about

-Ear buds

-Vintage sunglasses that I covet

-House keys on a Las Vegas key chain even though I’ve never been to Las Vegas, nor do I know where said key chain came from

-Transit pass

-Tic tacs (fresh to death)

-Sharpie pen (listen, I’m an extreme pen snob, if you ever were to steal my Sharpie pen, I would cut you)

-Another tag from an H&M sleeveless polka-dotted shirt I bought, impulsively, at the same time I purchased “Satan flops” because I was hot as balls in the shirt I was wearing (I’m clearly a traveling gypsy … and now a Cher moment, ahem: Gyspies, tramps and thieves … we hear it from the people of the town they call us … okay I’m done. I swear.)

-Receipt from dry cleaners

-A random three dollars (seriously, do I USE my wallet?)

-One bobby pin

-One mini hair clip

-$1.36 in change

-A mini sugar skull pillow that smells like lavender (it soothes me and it super rad … AND makes my purse smell delightful)

-Zac Posen wallet that I got for a ridic price at a vintage store

-Cell phone

And there ya have it. Definitely not my most random components to ever exist in my handbag, but still a little off. Now what I’m looking forward to is seeing what is in YOUR purse. Let’s hear it ladies … and gents. I will not say no to hearing what is in a murse or a “satchel” if you will.

Style Stud: Aoki Boutique

CaptureLast week I was scrolling through Twitter (I’m slightly addicted), and came across this Racked Philly article listing the top boutiques in Philly to follow on Instagram (I’m even more of an Instagram whore).

So I started checking out different boutiques, frolicking through their feeds, when I found something that made me stop what I was doing and say, “I need this in my life immediately slash I need to speak to whomever owns this boutique, she is my soul sister.” The image was of a plate that said, “Here’s your snack dumbass” (pure genius, am I right?) The boutique was Aoki Boutique and the owner, who I happened to have the pleasure speaking with, is Alina Alter.

This boutique is a cool girls dream, if you ask me. If you’re looking for one-of-a-kind finds or fashionable flair, this is your one stop shop. Nothing makes me happier than walking into a boutique, or even their e-commerce site, and screaming in my head, “I need it all! How can I financially make this work! Maybe I can just cut out drinking. Haha no wait, that’s just plain ol’ silly.” So yes, all drool-worthy, all things you will want to covet.

So I hope you enjoy getting to know Aoki Boutique a little bit better as much as I did.

1. How long has Aoki Boutique been around?
Aoki Boutique has been open for just over two years now!

2. How did you come up with the concept of the boutique?
I wanted to be self-employed, I wanted a women-centered business, I wanted a space that I could welcome people into, and I wanted to be able to curate a collection to share with people; all of those things provided the foundation for the boutique’s concept. Aesthetically, I just wanted the space to be happy, warm, inviting, inspiring, and for it to look and feel like stepping into your cool older sister’s closet or apartment!

3. What inspires you daily?
I’m inspired by international street style blogs like www.hel-looks.com from Finland and www.style-arena.jp/en from Japan; I’m reminded of my semester abroad in Tokyo and all the bold, outrageous, and impossibly cool outfits that I saw there! I’m also really inspired by other forms of media; movies, books, live music, you name it.

4. What made you open up Aoki in Philly?
I grew up around here, but never really imagined myself coming back to live here once I left for school. My last semester of college I was doing an externship in Florida and from there was all set to move to Arizona to do Teach For America, and was really only stopping home to attend my graduation ceremony and sort of get things in order. Long story short I had a total change of heart about what I was doing with my life and ended up not leaving again, settling back down here in Philly and starting to build a really great existence for myself here. I started to appreciate things about the city that I had missed growing up and realized what a perfect place it is to open a small business. It’s affordable, entrepreneur-friendly, and has a real DIY ethos. The independent retail scene here was and is strong and diverse, but I didn’t see anyone doing exactly what I had in mind for my store.

5. What are some of your favorite brands you carry?
My favorite in-store clothing brand at the moment is probably Three of Something, a cool up-and-coming label from Australia. My favorite jewelry vendor is Serefina, out of the Bay Area, and my favorite home goods vendor is Fishs Eddy (makers of the beloved “Here’s your snack, dumbass” plate)!

6. Describe your boutique in 3 words.
Quirky, Colorful, Whimsical.

7. Will you be carrying any new and exciting brands/products in the upcoming months?
I know it’s not even summer yet, and has barely felt like spring lately, but style-wise I’m already looking forward to fall! I’m all about yummy, cozy fall flannels, faux fur coats, vegan leather leggings, and other great layering pieces that I’m already dreaming about! Fall is definitely my favorite season to buy for, and I’ve already placed a few orders, I couldn’t resist!

8. What is next for Aoki?
I’m just continuously trying to grow my brand and expand my presence, especially online. The bread and butter of my business is through my brick and mortar location and it’s my favorite way of operating because I really get to know and interact with my customers, but it’s so important to supplement that with my e-commerce site and other online platforms. I sell directly from www.aokiboutique.com and also through a curated online marketplace called Shoptiques.com. Now that I’m in my third year of business I’m not looking to change any of the core aspects of my brand, I just want to continue to get my name out there and make sure people know that Aoki Boutique is here and what it’s all about.

9. Describe Philly fashion?
Philly fashion is as eclectic and diverse as its residents, so it can be hard to sum up. Generally it’s a mix of that conservative prep that you’re bound to see in any northeastern city, combined with that really original, DIY hipster aesthetic that you get from all the students, young professionals, and creative types living here. I wish I saw a little more risk-taking and a little less sports team-related gear, but that’s just my personal opinion. As long as people are wearing things that make sense for them and their life and are comfortable and practical, I respect and encourage that.

10. What is your advice for achieving a bad ass summer look?
It’s all about the crop top for me! Pair it with anything high-waisted to show just the slightest sliver of skin above the navel- super sexy, flirty, and keeps you cool as the temperatures rise

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Daft Punk Chic

Vanessa Stiviano comes back from court and shopping at Fresh and Easy

Photo credit: http://globalgrind.com/2014/04/29/every-sponsor-drops-clippers-nba-authenticates-donald-sterling-racist-recordings-v-stiviano-photos-updates/playlist/v-stiviano-makes-a-run-in-her-mysterious-head-gear/item/3961340/

Only one good thing came out of this Donald Sterling NBA nightmare, besides his racist ass getting kicked to the curb, and that is the Korean sun visor that his side piece wore to hide from the paparazzi.

Some may call it over-the-top, outlandish, idiotic. Me? Well, I call it sheer genius (and in no way shape or form does my love for this visor reflect my feelings for Donald Sterlings side piece).

There are just some days you don’t want to be seen. Nothing is worse when you are having a bad hair day or feel like something is in your teeth and run into your ex-boyfriend on the street, forced to make awkward small talk, trying not to fixate on the fact that a piece of broccoli is straight chillin’ in between your pearly whites. If you were wearing one of these lovely visors, none of that would happen. Your ex would be contemplating, “is that her, is it not? She would never wear a visor like that. But maybe in could be her. How embarrassing if it isn’t and I tap her on the shoulder. Wonder if a freak is hiding under there?” And by the time he’s done contemplating, you will have strutted past his ass.

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It’s rather flawless, if you ask me. And for all those famous people out there complaining about the paparazzi following them, laughing at how stupid Donald Sterlings side piece looked in this Korean sun visor, maybe re-think your judgement. Not only will you not be in the, “stars without makeup,” section of Us Weekly, but you will take back just a small slice of your privacy. You’re welcome. I swear I won’t call you a hypocrite if I see you rocking one of these.

So I’ve drafted a list of when it would be appropriate to rock one of these visors. I hope this helps every single one of you on your path to hiding from the public, ahem

1. You just hate people in general and don’t want to be seen
2. Hungover running errands
3. Hungover and just trying to exist
4. Doing the walk of shame
5. Days you don’t want to wear makeup
6. When you have the Black Death and need to make your way to the doctor without scaring small children
7. You’re in a Daft Punk tribute band
8. When you are playing hooky from work or school and don’t want any evidence that you’re day drinking
9. When it’s extremely humid out and experiencing a ridiculously bad hair day
10. After you got a chemical peel and don’t, again, want to scare small children

See? There are ENDLESS ways you could rock a visor like this. They’re futuristic, chic, and will help you defend yourself from awkward encounters with the American public.

With all of this being said, I want one strictly because of reason number 1 above.

Beyonce Wind Machine Hair

wind-machineLet me paint you a picture. …

This morning I actually took the time to do my hair. And I’m not talking about just combing it, oh no. I ran a flat iron through it, AND … wait for it … styled it by slicking a front piece back with a bobby pin. It took time, placement, patience … talk about motivation on a Tuesday, am I right?

My walk to the train is about 8 minutes, maybe 6 sometimes if I’m really hustling. And yes, I’m usually hustling because I’m notoriously always late. But thanks to this “awesome” spring we’ve been having, I usually have to deal with the elements, whether it is bitterly cold in the morning, raining, or more recently, windy. Like obnoxiously windy where I fear I may get blown off the train platform. But honestly … that is just the beginning of my windssues (see what I did there).

Quite frankly, I think this “April showers brings May flowers” nonsense is a bunch of hogwash. It should be, “April wind storms brings really bad hair days to women.” Nothing infuriates me more than when I see a woman in a gust of wind looking like Beyonce with a wind machine on her. And I see them all the time. Me? Well, my hair usually does this really heinous dance when wind hits it. It’s like swing dancing with hair, except more annoying and less cool. Here are some of its moves:

1. The Fling Around: Makes your hair look like a bad toupee with a weird fake comb over
2. The Smack Across The Face: Need I say more?
3. Low Visibility: Hair gets in your eyes making it difficult to see in front of you (yes, I have walked into things before)
4. The Illusionist: Hair flings to the opposite sides of your face creating a fake beard
5. The Glossy: Hair in lip gloss, my favorite and yours (nothing like the ends of your hair being covered in sticky gloss that you can do nothing about until you shower)

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Never once does my hair get flung backwards in some sexy, fantastic super model fashion. Never. Once. I’m always that girl trying to casually keep my shit together as my hair flies around like Medusa. And then you end up on the train, like me this morning, thankful that you no longer are getting blown around like a rag doll, thinking you look just as good as you did when you left the house, only to catch a glimpse of yourself in the train car window to see you have an alfalfa-like piece of hair sticking straight out of your bobby pin. And that is when I quietly removed said bobby pins shamefully, deconstructing all of my hard work.

Sigh, so yeah to the Kate Upton’s of the world who always get caught in the perfect gust of wind, never ruining any hair style you worked so hard on … I hate your face … just a little.

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Kate Is Coming! Kate Is Coming!

CaptureIf you can’t tell by my Twitter, Instagram, Facebook … pretty much every day existence, I have an unnatural obsession with Kate Moss. And no, it is not because we share the same name, although that doesn’t hurt the situation. It is mostly because she was the “it girl” when I was falling head over heels for fashion … and one of the reasons why I wanted to do a pencil dive within the industry.

So with that being said … you can kind of imagine how thrilled I am about the Kate Moss for Topshop collection with Nordstrom happening THIS Wednesday. And by kind of thrilled, I mean this is one of those rare instances where I will wait in line to snag a piece and perhaps even smack a bitch for it. Yes. Smack. A. Bitch. And by smack a bitch I mean casually bump into another woman and then run away screaming like a little girl after apologizing thoroughly (I don’t get violent over fashion, neither should you … it’s not a good look).

If I had to describe this collection in one word, I would feel compelled to make up a word and say, “fringetastic.” And if it doesn’t scream, “FLORENCE WELCH, BUY ME!” I don’t know what does! Sometimes people forget that clothes should not only look smashing when you wear them, but should also move in a way that accentuates a woman’s curves in the best way possible. So thanks, Kate for recognizing this. In 86% of her Topshop collection, I just want to put on said garment and twirl. So if you see some freak twirling in a Nordstrom dressing room on Wednesday … yep, that will be me.

There are definitely more than a few pieces I’m obsessed with and need in my closet as soon as the clock strikes 12 on Wednesday, which I have outlined below in an effort to get you all just as excited as me. But I swear if you take my size, it’s on. Hell, let’s just rename Wednesday, Mossday. Who is with me?!

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Girl Power!

There is nothing more that I love in life than empowering women :::insert Spice Girl high kick here:::

Unfortunately, when it comes to workout gear, I’m not one that likes the sparkles, and the frills, and the “PINK” across my ass. I’m sorry, I’m going to go sweat my ass off and burn some calories, not find my future husband.

When I came across the brand Machina, an elite boxing brand for women straight out of Philly, I immediately wanted to give them a slow clap. Not only are they a brand that motivates women, but they make it easy for us to get in the ring and face our fears, inside and outside the boxing world. And quite frankly, this line sold me on their website: “We love boxing and we are absolutely thrilled to be able to offer something special for women to help them do the things that they’ve been told that girls shouldn’t do.” A-freaking-men, because when we hit things, we want to look epically cool.

Whether you are going to go kick some ass in the ring or find your center in a yoga studio, Machina is the perfect empowering must-have.

How long has this brand been around?
Machina began out of a conversation in the Summer of 2011. One year later Machina officially launched as the first and only boxing brand dedicated exclusively to women.

Was it established in Philly? If not, where?
Machina is indeed a native Philly business – Philadelphia founded, universally loved

As a sporting goods brand we embrace the old school, classic style. We avoid gimmicks like adding techno-jargon labels to our product names or offering zebra striped pink gear. Machina is all about being tough, serious and no-nonsense – y’know, Philly-style.

What inspired this brand? Did you feel there was something lacking in the market?
The concept for a dedicated brand of women’s boxing gear began when partner, Courtney, started realizing that there were very few suitable options for women who were serious about boxing. She was training in gear that was bulky and awkward and she realized that the typical “ladies” gear that other brands offer is merely men’s gear colored pink or else inexpensive garbage intended for a light workout.

So there was a definite marketing opportunity. And as we had hoped and expected, there is no shortage of women who are serious about their boxing training and appreciate what Machina is about.

Where can you buy this gear?
Machina gear and clothing is available to purchase in our online store at http://machinaboxing.com

What are your price points?
Our gear for boxing is in the neighborhood of $50 – $60 for high quality, genuine leather goods. We also sell our Club Duffle bag, which is ideal for boxers and kick boxers for $77. Our tees and tanks go for $34 and $32 and the shorts and pants are $54 and $64. Oh, and our hoodie is outstanding at $69.

What is your most popular product?
Well our best seller, by far, is our 12 oz Carbonado training gloves. Word is spreading about how nice these are. We get tons of positive feedback and we even have a good number of professional and amateur level fighters who train exclusively in these gloves.

Is this gear only for female boxers or could a woman going to yoga wear this?
Actually, Courtney wears our clothing for every type of workout she does. In fact, our training pants and shorts are patterned after yoga and pilates pants. The fabric feels like a second skin, yet it’s breathable and forgiving. Additionally, the waistband of our pants was inspired by the classic thick boxing short waistband, only instead of a fat, heavy piece of elastic, the entire waistband is elasticized so it moves dynamically with you and doesn’t dig in. So absolutely these could be popular with women doing a pilates workout and there would be the added benefit of showing off how tough they are.

Our tops are also great for other activities. The fabric is super soft and has a bit of stretch to it. We wanted to be sure that when you’re throwing a punch that the shirt itself is not constraining you in any way. This unrestricted movement of the shoulders and torso is ideal for all sorts of workouts.

Why does this brand differ from other boxing gear brands?
We like to say that ‘women make up about 15% of the market for combat sports and therefore other brands spend about 15% of their time thinking about women. On the other hand, women make up 100% of Machina’s market.’  So when we design a boxing glove we are thinking about the end user strictly as a woman. This singular focus means that when we sell a “women’s boxing glove”, we are actually selling a glove that has been designed for a woman, as opposed to a glove that was designed for a man and later repackaged.

We often get comments from women looking for specific things that other brands don’t offer or that is not up to their expectations. So when we think about new products to add to our line, we are thinking about how to make each product suitable and desirable for a woman without being stereotypical or cliché. This is the major difference between Machina and everyone else producing combat sporting goods.

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HELP! I’m Scared Of A Bra

Screen shot 2014-04-21 at 7.46.36 PMSo I thought life sucks in a strapless bra … no, life probably sucks more in a bra that is backless. Yes. Backless.

I love backless dresses. Always have. I think it is a really classy way to show a little skin without having your taas out or a slit going all the way up to your who-ha. I’m not talking about your entire back exposed so everyone can see your tramp stamp, no. Just a little, you know, peek-a-boo, if you will.

I stupidly fell in love with a dress at Zara that was backless … and on sale … for $20. I mean how could you possibly resist a to-die-for sale like this, right? It was that romantic length down to my ankles, cap sleeves. You know what, let me show you a picture … see below:

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Lovely … right? I was slash am obsessed with it. It’s comfortable, simple … everything a girl could want in a dress. But wait a tick … how does one with rather large taas get away without wearing a bra with this dress? If I do wear a bra, it will be exposed in the back, and I’m pretty sure only Carrie Bradshaw can pull off exposing a lime green bra whereas I would look like I got tossed from the hot mess express. So … what the hell do you do? Because unfortunately going braless is not an option. Trust me. Half of the room would be really excited when I walked in, leading me to turn 50 shades of red and run away in a panic, and half would be trying to sew a scarlett “S” on my chest for “slut.” No thanks. Also, this dress is slightly see-through. Le sigh … anything else Zara dress, ya needy jerk!?

So I went to the experts (shout out to Kim over at Linda the Bra lady), and cried to her with my brassues. I had tried a backless bra from Victoria’s Secret that basically had masking tape on the sides that you would stick to either side of your taas, which supposedly you could wear more than once, but in real life would slide off the minute you began to sweat. And quite frankly I didn’t want to have to carry masking tape in my purse to this event I was attending in said above dress. And yes, once upon a time when I was in college, I wore that stupid Victoria’s Secret backless bra and brought masking tape with me in case it fell off. Which it did. Pan to me masking taping my taas in the bathroom of a bar. Stay classy, self.

So enter Nubra bra stage left. When I met with Kim, I explained to her my bra dilemma and how I really can’t “free ball,” if you will (what … it’s okay for guys to say it but not me?). She introduced me to the Nubra bra and immediately I had flashbacks of the time back in college where I was masking taping my bra back on in some shady bar bathroom. I’m a big girl now … I need a big girl bra. According to Kim, she wore this bra on her wedding day, when it was a bazillion degrees and never came off. Wait, what? Yeah … I know … I was amazed, too. I was sold immediately because quite frankly, you don’t screw with a girl on her wedding day … especially one who is a bra expert. Ring me up.

Since purchasing, I’ve taken the Nubra bra on a test drive, and yes, it is thoroughly strange to wear … but oddly comfortable. No, it doesn’t support your taas in a way that magical underwire can, but does the trick for something staying up with just adhesive cups. You know that feeling of falling when you are just about to fall asleep? Well, this is the feeling I get walking around with this thing. Except instead of falling I’m waiting with bated breath for this thing to fall off.

I will be wearing Nubra this Thursday at an event, and need as many positive vibes as possible that a heinous wardrobe malfunction doesn’t occur. I suppose that is why alcohol was invented, right? Don’t get me wrong, I trust Kim’s opinion, but there is something about big taas and no underwire … and no back for that matter … that makes me EXTREMELY nervous.

Stay tuned for the aftermath post!

Style Stud: Paula Mendoza

CaptureRecently my jewelry infatuation has been taken to another level. Every piece of jewelry I pass I want to adopt and make my own. Perhaps it is because I have a proper place for them to live now (shout out to Home Goods), so they no longer have to co-exist in a tangled, mangled web of insanity on my dresser.

I wouldn’t say my taste in jewelry is conventional. The stranger the better in my book. I would rather wear a gold tiger around my neck then a simple piece from Tiffany. So with that being said, I would like to introduce this jewelry designer that I have been swooning over, and slightly stalking via Instagram, Paula Mendoza.

I can’t even put in to words how fantastic her line is. But every time I see a piece, I get this tingly feeling all over my body and start drooling … just a little (sexy, right?) I also start plotting how I can obtain a piece of her work by doing things like oh … you know … selling my body, selling family members, selling my soul. Yes. That is how much I adore Paula Mendoza jewelry. I know I’m a freak … I love me some obscure jewelry, alright?

So instead of freaking you out more with using imagery and adjectives explaining why I adore this brand so much, let me show you a few of my favorite pieces.

And if you have been looking to get me a little gift just for funsies, I would happily accept anything below … :::cough, cough::: Easter Bunny (Mom).

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Easter Shoes

CaptureEaster was never my favorite holiday growing up. It was due mostly to the fact that I was force fed ham and milk at the kids table thanks to my aunts. Woof. Since then I’ve sworn off all pork products and get nauseous at the sight of milk. My bones will probably disintegrate by the time I am an old bag, but quite frankly I will take that risk.

The only part of Easter I truly loved was getting all dolled up. The picture to the left is me with my Dad at age 5ish … maybe? Yes, even I wore a proper hat and Easter shoes, once upon a time. Now my family is lucky if I even remove myself from my PJs on Easter.

Up until this season, I used to cringe at white shoes. They just reminded me of going to Payless with my mom as a child, getting the same God damn white patent leather saddle shoes year after year … oh yeah, with the white frilly socks to match. It’s like when you eat too much of the same thing, you get sick of it, right? Well … my mom bought me too many pairs of those white patent leather shoes. And since then, I’ve just had an adverse reaction to anything resembling an “Easter shoe” aka a white shoe … until now.

Now … mama wants a white pump. Like yesterday. The idea of an all white outfit, including shoes, or jeans, a nude top, and white heels just makes me swoon a bit. They are the PERFECT shoe for spring/summer. Hmm … perhaps I’m not so disgusted by them anymore because the white frilly sock factor was removed? I digress, though.

Yes … they have the potential to get extremely dirty, but you know what? I don’t give a shit. I’ve learned that if you are craving something, whether it is a piece of candy or a vodka martini, you should satisfy said craving to achieve pure bliss in life. So many times I’ve wanted something, but refused to get it. Instead, I just went back and forth in my brain about said potential purchase until I drove myself nuts. Now … mama is getting a pair of white pumps.

Happy Easter/Passover to all my readers. Hope the Easter bunny hops into all of your homes and gifts you with white pumps (hint, hint … “Easter Bunny” … aka Mom).

Now let’s review some white pumps that are making me drool, shall we?:

If I was a Kardashian, I would buy these bad boys:

407399_in_ppI would also buy these …

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And these …

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Since I’m not a Kardashian and “Ball on a budget” … I would snag these:

CaptureAnd these …

CaptureAnd probably these …

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How Weird Can You Go?

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Photo credit: http://www.businessinsider.com/coachella-crazy-outfits-2013-2013-4

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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Photo credit: http://www.vogue.com/vogue-daily/article/palm-cuffs-and-handlets-a-new-kind-of-bracelet/#1

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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Photo credit: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/14/nailsnaps-kickstarter_n_4965498.html

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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Photo credit: http://www.thefashionspot.com/buzz-news/latest-news/394893-so-theres-this-kendall-jenner-wears-oversized-givenchy-nose-hoop-to-coachella/

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.
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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.
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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!
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Me. #Awkward

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Prom Dresses … Real Talk

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Photo credit: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2298456/Photographs-probably-didnt-make-family-album–downright-strange-prom-photographs-really-capture-awkward-teenage-years.html

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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Photo credit: https://www.etsy.com/listing/117142923/velvet-fringe-kimono-classic-peacock?utm_source=Pinterest&utm_medium=PageTools&utm_campaign=Share

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?

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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!

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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.

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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.)

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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.

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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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Photo credit: https://www.etsy.com/listing/61284620/diet-coke-queen-retro-vintage-style

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?

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Photo credit: http://www.brainwreck.com/lists/874/15-Signs-You-re-a-Diet-Coke-Addict

 

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:

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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?

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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!

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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 …

Anna Wintour: JESUS CHRIST. FINE. FINE. PUT HER ON THE DAMN COVER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. FUCK.

——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.

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

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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.

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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.

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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:

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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.

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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.

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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 ShopStyle.com 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?

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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.

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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)

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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:

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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.

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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:

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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

Young

Joanne Woodward 1958

WOODWARD WINS OSCAR

Vivien Leigh 1940

AP I USA SELZNICK WITH VIVIEN LEIGH

Audrey Hepburn 1954

1954

Grace Kelly, Jo Van Fleet, Marisa Pavan 1956

Kelly

Ginger Rogers 1941

Ginger Rogers Jimmy Stewart

Sophia Loren 1958

Loren Lean

*All photos came from: http://photos.newhavenregister.com/2012/02/26/photos-history-of-the-oscars-movie-stars-of-the-1940s-and-1950s#15

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.

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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?

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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:::.

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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.

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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?

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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!

Photo Credit: Vogue.com

Photo Credit: Vogue.com

Photo credit: Refinery29.com

Photo credit: Refinery29.com

Photo credit: Refinery29.com

Photo credit: Refinery29.com

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Photo credit: Refinery29.com

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Photo credit: Vogue.com

Photo credit: Vogue.com

Photo credit: Vogue.com

Photo credit: Vogue.com

Photo credit: Vogue.com

Photo credit: Vogue.com

Photo credit: Vogue.com

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Photo credit: Vogue.com

 

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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Photo credit: http://www.nicethingsandstuff.com/2013_02_01_archive.html#.UwYwOoXLKw0

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?

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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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Photo credit: http://www.thefashionspot.com/style-trends/172297-sweatshirt-style-dont-discount-the-crewneck/?slide=1

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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Photo credit: http://shesbombb.tumblr.com/image/47923246264

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.
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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.

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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).

DVF

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 Valentino

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 Celine

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 Derek Lam

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 Calvin Kleinelle-calvin-klein-spring-2014-rtw-04-de-xln

 

 

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

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BCBG MAX AZRIA

BCBGMAX AZRIA

Dion Lee

Dion Lee

Rachel Comey

Rachel Comey

Tadashi Shoji

Tadashi Shoji

Lisa Perry

Lisa Perry

Packing For NYFW

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Photo credit: http://slightlyhipster.blogspot.com/2012/04/and-we-lived-happily-ever-after.html

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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:

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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?
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USA?

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?

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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’.

WOOT FOR FLAWS!

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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.

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Capes, So Hot Right Now, Capes

rs_293x473-140112223546-634.LupitaNyongo-gg.cm.11214_copyI 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?
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My Bag And My Back Problems

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Photo credit: www.genistra.com

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.
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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)
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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.

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Elisabeth Moss, J.Mendel: Bad ass perfection.

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

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Sandra Bullock, Prabal Gurung: Color blocking. Yawn.

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

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Robin Wright, Reem Acra: My woman crush.

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

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

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Jennifer Lawrence, Dior: No. And get extensions.

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Of course I saved the best for last!

Cate Blanchett, Armani Prive: Best. Dressed.

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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

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.
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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.

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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:

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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.

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

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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.

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

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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.

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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

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.

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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.

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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!

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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

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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.