My Favorite Game: What’s In Your Purse?

Screen Shot 2016-05-26 at 10.45.09 AMIt has been FAR too long since we’ve played this game. So considering it is basically a holiday weekend, we’re doing it, dammit.

Let’s play WHAT’S. IN. YOUR. PURSE. (I REALLY need to come up with theme music for this bad boy and maybe get one of those super skinny microphones a la Price is Right Bob Barker years) 

So let’s see what is in my lovely Rebecca Minkoff electric blue tote, shall we? (isn’t she a beaut?)

1. Wallet (clearly … also I really need a new wallet, any recommendations? I’m stupidly picky about shit like this, too.) 

2. Floating one dollar bill (I’m awesome)

3. Sparkly case where I keep my lipsticks/lip glosses … that is empty … because all of my lipsticks/glosses are currently living at the bottom of my purse (that’s what happens when you’re lazy and don’t use the zipper, moron)

4. Six lipsticks/glosses, ranging from NARS to Rimmel London by Kate Moss (my current fave), to Butter London

5. Le Spec shades that make me happier than anything else in life right now

6. Le Spec shade case that is currently not housing my shades because, again, I’m the worst

7. My fancy little old lady pill case (every lady should always have Advil and Pepto pills on her person at all times, you heard it here first)

8. Mini emergency kit. Oh wait, you just randomly got your period? Hold up … let me whip out my teeny tiny tampon for you … BLA-DOW. (You have no idea how many times this thing saved my ass)

9. Fiji Water bottle (:::hair flip::: because I’m fancy as fuck)

10. Apple ear buds (because if I had to listen to people’s convos on the train everyday you would need to commit me)

11. $1.32 in change (that’s not annoying at all)

12. 2 random blister Band Aids (because working in new sandals is a bitch)

13. A Sharpie pen (I mean … is there any other pen in the world? I think not.)

14. An opened thing of travel tissues that are gross and should probably be thrown away

15. A random dudes business card (because I get drunk sometimes and like to make friends)

16. A used tissue (lay off, man, I have allergies)

17. SEPTA train pass and PATCO train pass (they are like Metro cards but cooler … suck it, New York)

18. A hair tie and hair clip (because I’m a woman)

19. And finally … a weird, awful, mysterious dust that lives at the bottom of my purse (hence why I need to throw away my tissues). I don’t know what it is, really. It’s not like I keep full baguettes of crusty bread in there daily (although that’s a really good idea…). But it is always there. Always. I was soothed when I saw another blogger write about it as it made me feel like I’m not the only dirtbag who continuously has this weird, nameless shit living at the bottom of her purse. 

So there you have it, kids. Unfortunately I don’t have anything weird to share like a whip, or a dead man’s toe. 

But I DO want to know the strangest thing that lives inside your purse. Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

Armholes In Jackets Are So 2000…

Screen Shot 2016-05-17 at 4.11.45 PMI’ve always been notoriously bad at putting coats on. I know, I know, what is wrong with me, right? What kind of idiot can’t put on a coat? Well … me. I cannot. And Jesus, it gets like 20 times worse when I’m drunk. 

It was all so much easier when I was little and my mom would hold my coat open for me, and I could just slip my arms in. “One arm at a time, honey.” 

Now when I’m moving a million miles a minute, my arm gets stuck in the lining or I realize one arm is inside out half way through putting my coat on, leading me to curse like a sailor and struggle like a dim wit T-rex caught in a net. What can I say, I’m the least sexiest human being whilst putting on a coat.

But turns out, arm holes are for suckers. Yeah. You heard it here first. You’re a complete square if you wear your coats like this … 

christmas story jacket

It’s all about the chic drape over your shoulders, kids. How glamorous, right? Just like when you’re chilly and your man friend gives you his tuxedo jacket to drape over your shoulders (that’s a thing, right?) … well, now that’s how all jackets should be worn. Why? Because cool people said so. 

That fashion editor waiting for a cab, making imaginary phone calls. Kim Kardashian and all Kim Kardashian-like folk. Literally EVERYONE who is ANYONE is all about the drape (yes, that was double dipped in sarcasm). Why people are taking such a chic stand about not using armholes, well, I have no clue. Maybe they resemble a dim witted T-Rex, too, whilst putting on coats and said down with them … who knows.


Now … like I said before, I move at a million miles per minute. Even when I try to take it down a notch, I’m hauling ass somewhere. So tell me, “cool people,” how does one keep a chicly draped coat over their shoulders whilst hauling ass on an average day? Hmm? The answer is they don’t.

::::Strutting, strutting, strutting … coat falls to the ground::: FUCK! :::picks coat up, drapes back over shoulders … struts, struts, struts … coat falls yet again and girl sets fire to coat, keeps strutting:::: 

And when the coat is chicly draped, how do you do anything? You literally would have to retrieve your cocktail from the bar with T-Rex arms. I mean, completely and utterly hilarious, but annoying as balls. All you can really do is just stand there and look super pissed off and important. Gross.

I get it, it’s romantic, it’s chic, it’s very “worldly” and can give you this imaginary power of feeling special. Drape a coat over your shoulders, throw on some red lipstick, dark shades, and you’re suddenly a big deal (see look, I did it in the above pic … don’t I look like an ass?). That man across the street really isn’t peeing on a building, he’s a secret paparazzi snapping pics of you. Riiiigggghhht.


But for the girl on-the-go who doesn’t have a driver, or an assistant, or anyone to help her with anything and takes two trains to get to work (yep, I’m talking about myself … halla) … yeah no. I don’t have time to casually frolic or waltz down the street. I’m too busy plowing through slow walkers and giving dirty looks to morons who tell me to smile. And dammit when I want to reach for my cocktail, my coat will have to enjoy being on the ground, because ain’t nobody got time for T-rex arms.  

So unfortunately I will have to only do the drape in the privacy of my bedroom where I like to pretend I’m Kate Moss (wait … no I don’t … STOP LOOKING AT ME!), or when I get a boyfriend to drape his tux coat over my chilly shoulders. But until then I will continue to resemble a dim witted T-Rex whenever I put on a coat. Come and get it, boys.


International Pop & An Art Nerd

5121ffee-b4aa-4a08-920e-6b20cc2a7064I remember going to the Philadelphia Museum of Art when I was a wee lass (we’re talking maybe 4 or 5) and falling in love with the Van Gogh sunflowers. My mom bought me a poster of it in the gift shop when we left, and it was kind of over for me from there. I would spend my days painting paper plates with water colors, and having my family oogle over my “mind blowing” “abstract” creations. I was going to be the next Van Gogh … clearly.

… except not. After insisting my mom buy me a fancy easel, canvases, and paint, I began to realize I had absolutely zero artist ability (can barely pull together stick figs), and was thoroughly bummed out slash infuriated. I believe I even punted one of my failed art pieces. Yep. That’s how I roll. 

I thought my love affair with art was over, until I took a random art history class in college. And while my friends were drooling and falling asleep next to me, I was soaking in every slide (yes, my professor used slides). There was this wonderfully nerdy world of art history that I needed to explore. 

I ended up minoring in Art History, and still get chills when I think about the lives of legendary contemporary artists. The culture, the fashion, the creativity … it’s all overwhelming to me. In fact, I just watched a documentary on Robert Mapplethorpe and still cannot stop talking about it. Even though every time I try to bring it up to my mom she goes, “Kate, ew … he took pornographic photos.” No he didn’t … but that is neither here nor there.

While I’m a self proclaimed “art nerd” I rarely make it to the glorious museums that I live like 20 minutes away from. It’s shitty … it really is. In fact, I almost let the International Pop exhibit slip through my finger tips (I’m the worst … and SUPER lazy).

The exhibit is thrilling and I’m still swooning thinking about it. I was like a kid meeting her idols for the first time. I mean I was in the presence of Jasper John’s American Flag! It was a fucking really cool moment for me. (See … total dork. I wasn’t kidding).


So if you haven’t, go see this exhibit. Now. Like close your fucking computer and go. Get a little culture. Discover something new. And if you ever want to nerd out about art, you know where to find me, kids. 

Here’s a taste of my favorite pieces (even though it was insanely hard to choose)… 








Style Stud: Nicole Angemi of iHeartAutopsy

ce9cf13f-00bd-4a0b-af73-338b9838c922I discovered Nicole Angemi in an interview she did with Philly Mag last summer. The article was entitled “Meet the Local Hospital Worker Who Posts Autopsy Photos on Instagram,” and immediately I needed to know more. My curiosity got even worse when I saw the “local hospital worker” was this rad looking chick covered in tattoos.

And you know me, I love a stylish, bad ass looking chick.

With over 800,000 followers on Instagram, Nicole has this magnetizing way of drawing you in to her world of severed limbs and chest cavities with swords sticking out of them (LITERALLY … it was awesome). I normally don’t enjoy shit like that, but I find myself continuously scrolling through her Instagram account with one eye opened. It’s disgustingly addictive, what can I say.

Oh, and if you have a “tough mother” in your life, be sure to check out Nicole’s iHeartAutopsy line, and score your mama a “Dura Mater” t-shirt.

I want one and I haven’t even spawned yet.

What is your favorite piece in your closet currently? My custom Ben Venom battle jacket and my Valentino flats which were my push present from my husband for my middle daughter Lillian.


Where can we find you on an average spring Saturday afternoon? The Philadelphia Zoo

Your nails are notoriously rad. Where do you get them done and how long does it take? Ruby at Top Nails and Spa in Collingswood. It takes about 2 hours and I go every 3 weeks.  

Is it hard to work with nails like that? No. Everyone always asks me that. I have had nails all my life so I am used to them. Sometimes they actually help me dissect. 

What is your most beloved part of your job? When I get a really challenging specimen/autopsy with distorted anatomy and pathology and I have to take time to determine what the problem is. I also love very simple cases that have textbook pathology too. I always thought it was very cool to open a body and find exactly what I learned in school. 


You can’t show a nipple on Instagram, yet your feed is all random body parts. What is the trick to getting away with it? A nipple can’t be shown because Instagram has to draw a line with nudity otherwise hardcore porn shots will start showing up in your feed. The photos I post are within the guidelines of Instagram’s rules and do not show nudity or violence. 

Describe your style in 4 words: Modern, morbid, monochromatic, mompunk, 

I’m sure you get asked a lot of crazed questions about your profession. Which your least favorite and why? Are you scared of dead people? No! I’m scared of the live ones! 


Your tattoos are beautiful. Is there any rhyme or reason what you get or where you decide to place it? My earlier tattoos were picked based on design alone. As I have gotten older, my tattoos have become more sentimental and every one has a special meaning. At this point I just get one wherever I have room! 

Do you have a favorite tattoo artist in Philly? Pat Haney

Do you have plans for your next tattoo? Yes. My husband and I are getting matching coffee/Wawa themed tattoos for our 8th anniversary because we met there. 

Favorite store in Philly? The Strange and Unusual 


Your may be the red lipstick queen. What is your go-to brand? Mac makeup-always 

Who/what inspires you? Family/friends in my life who are doing positive things and constantly pushing themselves to do better. When you surround yourself with people who are always challenging themselves and striving for more, you find yourself doing the same. 

Is there anything that you get grossed out by? Explain grossed out? I touch other people’s poop, blood and body fluids every day. I don’t enjoy poop. I wouldn’t touch poop if I didn’t have to, but it’s my job so I do it. Yeah it’s gross. It’s poop of course it’s gross. 

What can we look forward to seeing next from you? Expanding on my iheartautopsy merchandise! A book, more lectures, a TV show, who knows!

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Are Fast Fashion Gowns The New Big Game Ad?


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When I saw someone post on Twitter that the gorgeous dress Ciara rocked to the Met Gala was made by H&M, my first thought was, “that’s a stupid typo. Man, they must feel like an idiot.” 

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some H&M. I still get a kick out of people complimenting me on my statement necklaces and then rocking their world by telling them it was from H&M and only cost $30. Yeah. $30. 

But when I think of H&M, I think Cochella, acid washed short shorts, basics in every shape and form, Micky Mouse crop tops, and where fringe goes to die. Not Met Gala glam. Not even close. I don’t even think I could find a dress to wear to a wedding that wouldn’t expose all of my jiggly bits there, to be quite honest. 

H&M ended up outfitting Ciara, Hailee Steinfeld (she’s a person, right?), Jennifer Hudson, and others for the Met Gala, AND styled SJP last year! I mean where have I been?! 

It makes you wonder why a super star with endless amounts of connections and resources would choose to wear H&M to the Met Gala, especially when they most likely have Gucci, Chanel, Zac Posen, and every other haute couture designer at their fingertips. Why rock a brand that styles every average shmoo with stylish looks for under $50?

The Met Gala is known as the “Super Bowl of fashion.” So why don’t more “fast fashion” retailers style celebs? It’s a walking advertisement. It’s that million dollar 30 second ad during the Super Bowl (I feel like I can’t say Super Bowl, but I’m doing it. Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl), except walking down a red carpet for much less money, and even more exposure. Kind of genius, when you think about it. 

Annoying As Balls E! News reporter: Kate! Kate! Who are you wearing?!?!

Me: Well, I’m wearing Zara for Zara off Zara tonight :::flips hair … falls flat on face walking up the stairs mid-hair flip:::

And also, umm H&M, I want that dress. I want all of those dresses. I get it, I doubt the dress is being made the same way the Micky Mouse crop top is, but that doesn’t deter me from wanting it. Ciara’s dress made me literally drool. It’s gorgeous. GIMME!

Unfortunately black tie, or bridesmaids dresses, or even wedding gowns has this stigma of only being purchased in stuffy bridal boutiques, or expensive department stores. But to have the luxury of looking as put together and chic as Ciara did in H&M for a quarter of the price? Umm … sign me the fuck up. “Oh shit, I just randomly got invited to this Black Tie event, what do I do?! Ahhh life!” You could just bop on over to H&M and call it a day. 

Look we women want ease and we want to look fantastic doing it. We want to look like we spent 8 hours getting ready for an event but in reality barely spent an hour because God dammit we only have a fucking hour. So if fast fashion retailers want to start making Met Gala-level gowns, I wouldn’t turn my nose up to shit like that. Nor should you.

Best Dressed At The Met Gala: Not Balmain’s Army

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So the Met Gala was last night. It’s one of my favorite nights of the year. I order a plethora of Chinese food, whip off my bra, throw my hair in a messy bun, get cozy on the couch in my PJs, and tweet my face off over the fashion. 

This year’s theme was Manus x Machina: Fashion in an Age of Technology. I was looking forward to dresses that were powered by solar energy, or an iPhone-inspired gown. But no. Just a lot of metallics and sequins. Because, you know, that says “tech.” Sigh. 

And Jesus Christ, what is up with Balmain? Everyone was wearing Balmain. Riveting. Yes, Olivier Rousteing has a beautiful point of view, and has definitely changed the direction of fashion. But every time you see someone wearing one of his gowns, you KNOW it’s Balmain, and you KNOW one of the Kardashians has already worn it in a different color. Which becomes monotonous and boring after a while. Not impressed.

But a few folks managed to look fantastic AND be on point with the theme. And if you were an Olsen twin, you didn’t give a flying fuck about the theme and managed to kill it. So there’s that.

Spoiler alert … it wasn’t any of the Kardashians or anyone who rocked Balmain (in fact, I do hope Anna Wintour verbally shamed Kanye West for wearing jeans to the Met Gala). 

So here is what you have been waiting for all year … my “best dressed list” from the Met Gala. TA DA. 

Poppy Delevingne KILLED IT. Favorite look of the night, by far.


Photo credit: Just Jared

I hate Disney shit, but Zac Posen made Cinderella’s dress come to life in the most bad ass way possible. Swoon. 


Fame Monster is BACK, baby, and it gives me glorious glorious chills. Claws up, Monsters. 


Sister of the year goes to Solange Knowles in this gorgeous “lemonade-inspired” gown.

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Dude … H&M made this dress. H&M! I dream of a day when I walk into the store and next to the ball hugging skinnies and bedazzled blazers, this will be hanging for me to purchase and own.


I know, I’m in shock, too, but Nicole Kidman in that McQueen cape rocked my world.


Credit: Just Jared

And Beyonce … because I feel like if I didn’t include her my blog would burst into flames. And that dress. Sweet mother.


Me, Rosacea, And It Cosmetics

Screen Shot 2016-04-29 at 11.13.41 AMI feel like I was lied to as a teenager. “Only teens have bad skin,” they said. “You’ll only have to worry about wrinkles and fine lines starting in your late 20’s,” every advertisement ever said.


Here are am, on the presuppose of 30, knees deep in skincare products because, wait for it, oh yeah, my skin went to shit a few months ago. Why. No seriously, like why? 

As a teenager I had immaculate skin. I was that asshole that got a weird pimple on her chin once in a blue moon and would cure it with a 99 cent bottle of rubbing alcohol. 

But I feel like the minute I turned 29, my face was like, “SUCK IT, BITCH, WELCOME TO THE TERROR DOME,” and turned itself into this red, blotchy mess, with pimple-like beasts everywhere. I assumed I had acquired “adult acne” which magnified my hatred for everything 20x more. 

After spending a fortune on “ultra calming” creams and serums, face masks (that ended up irritating my skin even more), and an arsenal of concealers and foundations to try and hide the horrid mess my skin had become, I threw in the towel and decided to go see a professional. 

Long story short, a dermatologist diagnosed with rosacea. Which doesn’t have a cure. Oh yeah and is treated “simply” with 2 doses of an antibiotic daily, and 2 applications of a medicated cream daily. Sigh.

I don’t want to be all, “I have rosacea, whoa as me :::faints on a chaise:::” because life could be a lot worse. But it really has effed with my confidence. I didn’t even feel motivated to apply makeup as I knew within a few hours of my day, my face would just look blotchy and flushed once more. What’s the point, you know?

That was until my mom, who literally never sleeps, was up watching QVC at 3 a.m. (freak) and was introduced to a brand called “It Cosmetics.” 

“Kate! This brand helps people with rosacea,” she exclaimed excitedly. 

“Mom, first of all, stop watching QVC at 3 a.m., and also I’m not buying some weird makeup brand off of freaking QVC,” I said in a shameful tone. (I’m such a bitch.)

But I was desperate to start looking like myself again. So I looked into this “It.” Turns out it is sold in Ulta, and, after viewing their videos, my God, their products really do fight the good fight against rosacea, meaning it covers up the damn redness. (Sorry for doubting you, Ma)

Guys … It Cosmetics has changed my life (and no, they aren’t paying me to say this). I traded in my $50 fancy shmancy Laura Mercier foundation for It Cosmetics CC Cream. Not only is it cheaper ($38 dollars and a little goes a long way), I’m finally starting to feel like me again as this product has proved to me that it can truly help keep the redness at bay. In fact I’m itching to try their other products. 

Rosacea sucks. It just does. Every time I get out of the shower and see my flushed red face with blotches all over it, I want to cry. I can’t have a glass of wine without looking flushed like I just ran 10 miles. Going “makeup free” will never be an option for me, unless my goal is to frighten small children. It’s just a straight up confidence killer.

But having a product line that actually covers up the redness and blotchiness without making you feel like you’re wearing stage makeup is kind of a God sent. Like I said in my Instagram post, I would make out with it if it wouldn’t be totally weird. 

So for those of you who are rosacea sufferers like myself (which are way more than I thought), I’m preaching the It Cosmetics gospel, HARD. So go … fight the redness with ease for a change.

Thanks to It Cosmetics for helping me get my swagger back.

Lemonade: The ‘You Oughta Know’ Of Our Generation

2016-04-21-beyonce-lemonade-hbo-638x425Again, feel free to throw shit at your screen after you read the next statement I’m about to write, but I’m not the biggest Beyonce fan. Do I like her music? Do I whip my hand back and forth drunkenly? Umm I have a vagina … duh.

So when I heard about this “Lemonade” nonsense, I was kind of like, “meh, I’ll watch it when I can watch it.” But luckily I stayed with a friend this weekend who would skin and wear Beyonce if she could, so we ended up watching it together. 

It went a little something like this:

Hmm this is a creepy … I’m into it. 

What is going on?

Wait …

Did Jay Z cheat on Beyonce?! 

Is that Solange?! 







And so on and so forth. 

But guys … this is the “You Oughta Know” of our generation. Except it isn’t about weird Joey from Full House (still grosses me out), it’s about JAY mother fucking Z. 


We’ve all had our hearts broken. And if you haven’t well, goody gum drops from you, “Miss Perfection.” But normal human women have gotten burned once or twice. Hey … it has happened to me … recently

And you know what I wanted to do? The jilted bitch I only let live in the corner of my brain wanted to buy cans of spray paint and stain the city with “[name of idiot] is a heartless douche.” But I don’t act on these things. Because I like to consider myself a sane individual. 

But Beyonce took all of those satisfying fantasies we’ve all had about getting revenge on our ex’s and turned them into a beautiful piece of musical art. The jilted bitch that lives in the corner of my brain was finally satisfied. She did it all for us. All of the awful things we’ve wanted to do to our version of “Becky with the good hair.”

So next time when an idiot burns you and breaks your heart, just turn on Lemonade and be like “THIS, jackass, THIS IS FOR YOU. THIS IS WHY YOU ARE AN AWFUL INDIVIDUAL. Boom.” 

Thank you, Beyonce, thank you for saying all of the things a lot of us didn’t have the balls to say when our hearts have been torn to shreds. Because even though it would be the most satisfying act in the world to strut down the street smashing his shit to pieces… our society really doesn’t make it easy to be a woman who is jealous OR crazy.

Instead … we gotta rise up. It just makes it a lot easier to do so when Lemonade is in the world.


Style Stud: Prince


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When I heard Prince had passed, my heart began to hurt. And quite frankly I didn’t know why. While I adored him, I wouldn’t throw myself in the category of his “number 1 fans.” Would I get down to “1999” and interpretively dance to “When Doves Cry”? Hell yes. But could I name 20 more songs … probably not

I think I was mostly fascinated by his persona … the man who could give you the hand and forever shame you without saying a word. The man who had the balls to change his name from “Prince” to “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.” That is AMAZING. No one will ever be cool enough to pull something like that off ever again. NO. ONE.

Prince was among the select few artists that paved the way for every “weirdo” to know it is okay to be yourself. And that just because you are “different” doesn’t make you any less worthy of love and respect. And best of all, to embrace who you are.

So while I know Style Studs are using Philly-based women, I had to select Prince today, because quite frankly no one had his swagger and style. If only I could strut like this man. If only.

The creative world has a major hole in it today, kids. So to all my Prince fans, and to all of the kids who never fit in … let’s pay our respects.




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Style Stud: Nicole Michalik of iHeartRadio

30001c41-2486-41ad-a44a-a0344e8626daNicole Michalik has most likely talked to you on your way to work or school. Given you the right pop culture dish to share with your friends or coworkers (you know … so you don’t look like a complete square), and perhaps even offered you a chance to win free concert tickets.

She’s been a staple in the Philly radio scene for years, wearing several different hats across the iHeartRadio network, from Nik the Web Chick to Nicole and Chio in the Morning.

I mean … this chick is BUSY. Talk about “girl boss.” She works hard and looks good doing it, if I do say so myself. SLAY, Nicole (isn’t that what the kids are saying nowadays??).

Now let’s do the damn thing and get to know the woman behind this iconic voice, shall we?

What is your most beloved item in your closet right now? This long black, kind of see through, but not really, tunic/shirt from Macy’s. It goes with gym clothes and heels. And also my Louis crossbody. I bought it for myself for my birthday this past summer. It’s like my husband and kids until I get my own.

Describe your style in 4-5 words.  Casual, classic, with a little edge.

What is your favorite on-air interview to date and why? Oh, this is always such a hard question. I have to go with Bradley Cooper. 1.  Because he’s my #1. 2. Because he lived up to everything I hoped and more. I interviewed him 3 times and hosted a movie screening with him. He was always down to earth, friendly, gave hugs (swoon) and told me, “wow, that is a great haircut” (double swoon)

Where could we find you on an average spring Saturday in Philly? Flywheel at 12:30pm (FLYBEATS!!!!), brunch, then just bee bopping around. I also LOVE my couch and catching up on my shows. I want to find a husband who loves me as much I as love laying on my couch. Ha!


You’re so open about your health and weight, which I think is awesome. What is a piece of advice you can give to someone with low self esteem or struggling with their self image? It’s fuc$king hard! I am very blessed with great hair, and not so blessed with a not so great metabolism (and hypothyroidism). So I try to focus on the good. I have an amazing family, amazing friends, amazing jobs, amazing apartment. The days where I get really upset about the scale, I remember that I used to be a size 24/26. And I just keep going. 

In a world where Podcasts rule, and streaming music is king, why do you think radio is so special? It’s a way for people to connect.  You turn on the radio and I am talking to you. I’m telling you a cool story about an event in Philly (like how Soul Cycle is FINALLY coming!) or how Taylor Swift and Calvin Harris celebrated their 1-year anniversary, or how I think Chio is being ridiculous. It’s like having your friend in the car, at the gym, or on a walk with you. 


What inspires you? That I am a girl from a really small town in Pennsylvania who graduated with 104 kids in her class who always said she wanted to live in the city and be in entertainment. I always wanted this. It’s always been my passion. I’m inspired by people who have it a little harder than everyone else. I always felt I wasn’t the norm. I was always a little different. I still am really. I like being unique. Sometimes it just makes it harder, or takes longer to get where you want to go. Remembering that, keeps me going.

Since we only hear your voice, I have to ask, what is your work style like? Do you feel like you can dress down more, even go makeup free? I am pretty casual day-to-day, but I still always try to look presentable. Today I have on skinny jeans, a grey and cream open stripped shirt with a black tank underneath, my Yosi Samra flats, earrings, bracelet, and necklace. Almost every day I AM makeup FREE. I only wear makeup if I have a client meeting or an artist interview. I wake up at 4:30am, in work at 5:30am … so I’m not putting on a full face of makeup.  

Do you have a signature style? I LOVE my red lipstick. It works really well with my dark hair and blue eyes. 

What is your go-to lip color? Mac lip liner in “Follow Your Heart” and Mac lipstick in “Ruby Woo”.


I feel like as a radio personality, you have to be so connected, to social media channels, pop culture. How do you feel about that? Do you ever wish you could turn it all off?  I am the Director of Social Media, and I also get to do a lot of cool projects for national (i.e iHeartRadio Music Festival, iHeart Radio Music Awards), but yeah, sometimes it’s overwhelming. I love that it’s instant news, but there are times I wish things could just breath a little more. Plus, I loathe the Internet trolls. I hate that it produces so much hate. The whole culture of “mean behind the screen.” It makes me so sad and worried about the future.

Tell me … how do you feel about Beyonce’s new “atheleisure” line and will you purchase it? She’s a genius. She knows how to make money. If I like something, I’ll try it.  For now, Athleta is my go-to for workout gear. 

What is next for you? What does the rest of 2016 have in store? I would love to find the man of my dreams and lose some weight. Both are always such a struggle for me. I would love Bradley Cooper to come back to Philly for some more interviews, along with Justin Timberlake, Beyonce, and Gaga. Ha! Plus get some travel in. Not to mention have the show(s) grow so more people can hear our antics. 


Spring Sandals: They’re What’s For Dinner

7df7c9ea2cb61fbb9d486f6c8ef66f7eI have this violent urge to up my sandal game this season. Perhaps it’s because I’m not allowing myself to buy anything “springy” until I actually successfully stick to my diet (that’s a different story for a different time), but right now, my mind is all about the shoes. 

And luckily this season, I feel like everyone stopped smoking a hipster’s stash of crack, because everything is really good. While last year I felt like it was all flatforms and normcore nonsense, now there seems to be a little somethin’ somethin’ for everyone. 

So I’ll stop wasting my breath because … shoes … and allow you to browse a few of my favorite pairs. Because yes, I have been scouring the interwebs for all the best ones (yes, this is what I do with my spare time)

Umm … you’re welcome :::takes obnoxious bow:::. 

ASOS – $45.50 (they are on sale … RUN!)


Sam Edelman – Gretchen – $129.85

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Zara – $69.90


Topshop – $48 (I own these and they are my life)


Sole Society – $74.95

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Steve Madden – $69.95 (swooning HARD for these bad boys)

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Daisy Street – $39


Zara – $119


10 Things To Not Give A Shit About

Screen Shot 2016-03-31 at 12.16.24 PMI’ve come to realize I spend a lot of time worrying, thinking, and analyzing things that really don’t matter. Like ridiculous amounts of time. For example last night on my way home, I couldn’t decide if I should go to Rite Aid and THEN take an Uber home, or go to Rite Aid and hopefully still have time to make my second train. Or … do I even need to go to Rite Aid at all (I needed tampons … yes, self, you needed to go to Rite Aid). 

It’s not healthy. And I’m about to turn 30. Bitch … I cannot afford stress lines, wrinkles, and grey hair (well, more than I already have). 

So after reading a super inspiring article from a writer at the Huffington Post who wrote a list of stuff she will no longer give a shit about in 2016 … I decided to do the same.

Feel free to get inspired, roll your eyes, or even add to it. I don’t care. But just like my closet, my brain needs a good spring cleaning.

So behold, the things I’m going to try my hardest to not give a shit about:

1. Caring about how many times I wear an outfit in a 2-week span (yep, because my coworkers totally keep a journal of my daily outfits)


2. Worrying about not having plans over the weekend (because there is NOTHING wrong with going to bed at 9pm on a Friday evening once in a blue moon, even though the paparazzi outside my house will absolutely write about it and make me look like SUCH a loser)


3. Trying to make sense of people who are selfish, think they are the only ones who have stress in their lives, and make you work on their schedule (unfortunately you can’t fix shitty humans just like you can’t fix stupid ones … byeeeee)


4. Being concerned that I left my hair straightener on (you didn’t … and it’s 2016, you have a hair straightener that automatically shuts off after a while … simmer)


5. Focusing on the fact that my face is broken out when I’m having a conversation with someone and all I can think while their talking is, “you’re staring at my pimple, you’re staring at my pimple.” (Hi … I’m human, nice to meet you)


6. Stressing that my life isn’t progressing like the people I follow on social media who are getting engaged, celebrating promotions, or attending awesome events (because, you know, everyone loves posting when their dog dies, how much they hate their job, or that they are having problems with their significant other)


7. Pondering if I should have a glass of wine after work even though it’s a Tuesday, and I’m trying to lose weight, but I REALLY want one… (Jesus Christ, HAVE THE GLASS OF WINE … I refuse to say “yolo” but for the love …)


8. Gaining wrinkles over the fact that I could potentially be single for the rest of my existence (or I could stay with/decide to date a complete and utter scumbag just for the sake of NOT being single … hmm decisions…)


9. Being paranoid that people think I’m a bitch. Guess what? Sometimes I am. And sometimes so are you. It happens. But overall, I like to think I’m a decent person with morals and manners (don’t let the all black wardrobe fool you). But sometimes, the bitch pants get thrown the fuck on. (Hi, again, I’m human, nice to meet you) 


10. Worrying about the plans I make and situations I have no control over. Should I go? Shouldn’t I? Why can’t it be like this? Would it be bad to cancel? Wonder if it’s super awkward? Can’t I just go to Rite Aid and buy tampons later? (SHUSH, self … JUST GO … #mantra)


Style Stud: Vittoria Woodill of CBS 3 Eyewitness News

unnamedYou may know Vittoria Woodill as a member of the CBS 3 Eyewitness News team and her reporting on “Taste with Tori” and “CBS 3 down the shore.” But I came to know her from her super successful fashion blog, Polished for Pennies.

After talking with Vittoria, I walked away from this Style Stud interview insanely empowered, almost having a new found respect for my “stripes” as she would put it. She just has the affect on people.

The girl is real, down-to-earth, and all about giving ladies the confidence they need to look their best and own who they are. I mean … does it get any better than that?

I hope her words have the same affect on you as they had on me. So without further adieu, meet Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra’s Style Stud of the week, Vittoria Woodill.

What is your favorite item in your closet right now? A Chanel Suit I got at a thrift store for under $10.

Where can we find you on a spring Saturday in Philly? I’ve been cruising around town on Citi Bikes more than I ever thought I would recently, so I’m hoping to keep that up this spring with my boyfriend to discover more of Philly’s corners and crevices. With coffee, cool sneaks and sunnies, of course.

Coolest moment as a reporter to date? The Papal coverage. When I covered the Pope’s visit to Philadelphia it changed my life. Also rappelling down more than 30 stories of a Philly building was pretty epic. 

What was your most star-struck interview so far? Steven Tyler. He was just so cool and chill. It’s hard to believe rock stars can be so grounded and it seemed he was. 

Describe your style in 4 words… Polished, Eclectic, Cool, and Bold

How do you juggle your full-time reporting gig on CBS with Polished for Pennies? Is there a method to the madness? The method is trying to balance the madness and not being so hard on myself. Both take so much dedication so a lot of it has to do with writing and styling for the blog when I’m inspired and not being so hard on myself if I’m not pumping out posts everyday, when I have to produce creative content regularly on TV. So the method is to just do, feel it, and don’t think about quantity, but quality and meaning.


Where is your go-to place to shop in Philly for on-air looks? Usually Marshalls, TJ Maxx, Jomar, or H&M, but I don’t go out for specifics when I shop… I’ll shop anywhere if that something POPS and will POP on camera.

The earth is going to blow up tomorrow, where in Philly do you have your last meal and why? That’s easy… home and it doesn’t matter what’s on the menu… I’d pick that table over any any day. 

Who do you look up to/admire? My mom, my grandmothers, and Julie Andrews. 

What are some key pieces of advice for people starting out in communications? Work. Work. Work. Free work? Do it anyway. Work on networking, work on your craft, keep working to be a “brand” that make people feel something. Communication is all about people and if you’re working on your relationship with your audience and you care about that relationship enough to work on it and your skill… people will feel your authenticity. Be good hearted and sincere and they’ll listen. 

What is an accessory you could never leave home without? Sick shades. My Miu Miu cat eyes, Prada round frames, or classic wayfarer Ray Bans. 


Do you have a favorite designer from Philly? If so, who? Nyjha Lawerence. She’s a talented 7 year old fashion designer and she’s a bright light in this world. 

I know you were an Eagles cheerleader, which is pretty awesome. Is there anything you miss about cheering? Quality time with the girls. We had such a blast practicing and working together and those women were beautiful, supportive, smart, and loving. A great group to be around and work with. 

You seem to be all about confidence, which I love. What advice can you give to girls to enhance their confidence? Wear your stripes. Be who you are. Feel what you feel. Speak your mind and celebrate the beauty of being an individual everyday. If you allow yourself and others to truly see your colors, and you wear them without fear of being seen… you’ll find yourself in your own skin and you’ll feel great about it. That’s how you define your style and from that your confidence. 

Your career really seems to be booming, congrats! Any insight into what we can see next from you? Great question and I have no idea! I just feel so humbled by the job and blog I have now and the ability to connect to people in the ways I am. Whether through writing, fashion, or television. So as far as the future is concerned I have no plans for what’s next, I’m really just trying to relish in the present and be open to whatever falls into my lap. 


Behold: The Most Expensive Keychains In Ze World

Screen Shot 2016-03-22 at 4.18.33 PMI recently was in the market for a new keychain (so random, I know). The one I was using, let’s just say, had some bad juju attached to it. So I set fire to it and henceforth needed something new. 

I immediately had my heart set on the fury monsters from Fendi. It’s everything I adore in life: fur and monsters. “I mean it’s a damn keychain … how much could it POSSIBLY be,” I foolishly uttered to myself. 

OVER. SIX. HUNDRED. DOLLARS. For a fucking keychain. A thing that will get disgusting from the mysterious powder and dirt that always weirdly ends up at the bottom of my handbag. That will probably break like all keychains do. That will probably get Advil stuck to it (the bottom of my purse is the cave of wonders). I don’t know if you heard me or not, but OVER SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR A FUCKING KEYCHAIN. 

Okay I’m done. But seriously … over six hundred dollars for a fucking Fendi keychain. Like no. And now I need to go lay down.

After I put my brain back together, I decided to look on one of my favorite websites, Net-a-Porter, to see how much other designer keychains ran. And good news, Fendi isn’t the only luxury brand on crack. 

Burberry= $250

YSL= $275

Anya Hindmarch= $350

I literally spent time … too much time … scouring the interwebs for my beloved new keychain. But anything pretty or worth my time was unfortunately over $100 and made me want to punt my computer. How?! What?! Why do these designers think it is okay to price a tiny little spec of nothing at these astronomical prices?! 

While I resisted the urge to write Fendi a strongly worded note about how their crack abuse was affecting their price points, I stumbled upon the love of my life in keychain form. Skull gloriousness from Alexander McQueen … one of my favorite designers. And compared to some of the shit I was seeing … it was “reasonably” priced at “$115.” See below … isn’t he pretty?!

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I negotiated in my brain like a crazy person. “It’s only $115 … and you don’t own anything by Alexander McQueen … and maybe you just won’t go out for a little while … or buy yourself anything … or eat …” 

And then my more logical side kicked my craziness out of my brain with a 4-inch stiletto and said loudly and proudly, “IT’S A FUCKING KEYCHAIN.” And when my crazy wanted be like, “but … but … I love it…” the logical bitch in me said, “No. Go to Rite Aid and buy one that has a Liberty Bell on it for $5 … for fucks sake.”

So I let my logical side take the wheel. But no … I didn’t go to Rite Aid and buy a Philadelphia-themed keychain. I needed something that would hold my keys and make it easy for me to find them in the dark abyss known as my purse, and I needed something that isn’t terrible to look at and won’t break.

Old time-ey key ring! Don’t ask me where this vision came from, but all of a sudden I wanted a big ass brass ring like locksmiths used back in the day to hold my keys (see below). And where does one find obscure shit like that? Urban Outfitters. 


I wasn’t happy about it as I’m not the hugest fan of Urban, but it was $9 on sale and exactly what I was looking for. And guess who never loses her keys now thanks to her big ass brass keychain? THIS GUY. (I would share the link with you, but it looks like they removed it from their site … suckers).

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So look, now my keys live on an awesome ring of love, my bank account is still in tact, and I will forever and ever shame designer brands for their price points on fucking keychains. 


*Sorry, Mom, for saying the word “fuck” so much in this post

(wh)Y: Femojis

periodemojisLast week I felt extra pumped about being a woman with all the posts celebrating International Women’s Day. Scrolling through my Instagram feed with quote after inspiring quote from fearless ladies, I mean how could you not be insanely proud to be apart of the womankind?

That was until I realized a thing called “Femojis” existed.

What in the living breathing hell, people? While I love me some emojis, do we really need an extra set “just for ladies?” It’s like those awful pink pens “for women.” Unnecessary and kind of make me want to kick you.

I don’t need a special set of emojis to express myself when I have my period, just like I don’t need a special set of “Kimojis” for when I want to tell people I hold near and dear that I decided to be a stripper.

I will say as women we do need to open up more about our periods. I’m not saying talk about your heavy flow and wide set vagina, for crying out loud. I personally have no qualms with announcing that I have awful cramps and want to stab someone (in the right setting of course), but that is just me. Is it appropriate to roll up to a meeting late and be like, “sorry guys, had to change my tampon three times on my way in. Heavy flow this month, what can I say!” Fuck no.

Others are a little more reserved, which is totally fine. But for those reserved people who can’t utter the word “pad” or “tampon,” do we REALLY think they are going to send a text to a friend with a pad emoji in it? Mmmm no. Gross.

Saying the word pad > pad emoji.

And what happened to good ol’ fashion creativity? There are a myriad of fantastic ways to bitch to your friends about period pains through the traditional set of emojis currently on your keyboard.

For example:

I have insane cramps:


I’m a hot PMSing mess:


I’m so bloated I feel like I could die:


Don’t fuck with me right now:


While I love that people are making it easier for women to open up about this monthly nuisance most of us suffer with, I just don’t believe the right outlet is through pink emojis of bloated ladies, pads, and yes, don’t forget the best one yet … underpants that have a blood stain on them (dear sweet jesus … my brain just exploded).

So I will end this by saying very clearly that if any of you dare text me an emoji of pink blood-stained underpants, I will give you the ultimate block from my life. As I shake my head and groan obnoxiously, “(wh)Y?!”

An Open Letter About Slut Shaming

23-1422001202-kim-kardashian-selfish-book-coverI personally loathe the word “slut.” It should only be used when your cat is like laying on its back spread eagle like an idiot. Then you can be all, “look at that slut.” There ya go. But when it comes to women and the choices they make in life, meh … let’s refrain, shall we? 

So I get why Kim Kardashian got so infuriated when people started calling her out on social media about her nude selfie. She woke up one morning with “nothing to wear” and wanted to show the world her bod. Okay. That was her decision. Who am I to comment?

But Kim Kardashian is a brand. Like M&M or Budweiser. Her strategy is sex. She is dripping with it from her curve hugging outfits to her racy photoshoots. Sex to her is what the Clydesdales are to Budweiser and what “melt in your mouth, not in your hard” is to M&Ms. So we can’t shame her for having a consistent brand message, now can we? 

For example my brand message on Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra is NOT sex … in fact it is the total opposite. I talk about sweating through my bra for fucks sake (which PS totally happened to me today). So if I saw Kim’s nude selfie and said to myself, “hey, weird, I have nothing to wear EITHER.” Dropped trou, and posted a nude selfie, it would not only be offensive, but weird and awful, and I think I would make the entire Instagram platform melt. 

Everyone has a brand, whether they like to believe so or not. You’re promoting yourself to get into a good school, or just get your first part-time job or gain respect from people you admire. You’re making yourself look good so you can get that dream job or that promotion you’ve been after. Or just trying to reach goals you’ve set for yourself.

And the interwebs can fuck all of that up in a mili-second. Because most of us who aren’t Kim Kardashian don’t have a multi-bazillion dollar brand that is dripping in sex. And by most of us I mean probably none of you reading this. Hence why sending nude pics or posting nude selfies just isn’t cool. They will, I promise, come back to bite you in your bare ass.

Can you imagine sitting in front of Anna Wintour for a coveted editor position at Vogue and have her turn her iPhone around to you with a photo of you posing topless covering up your nips asking, “and what do you have to say about this?” MOR-TIF-YING. And so not worth it. You have a hot bod? Cool … go oogle yourself in the mirror. 

While I applaud Kim for having a consistent brand message and being proud of who she is and her sexuality (really I am), I think we all need to step back and reflect on what OUR brand message is. For me it’s straight snark and sarcasm. In no way, shape, or form will you EVER see any of my giggly bits on any social media channel, I can promise you that. But if you’re in high school, your brand is getting into a good school and getting your shit together. And there ain’t no room for nude selfies in that equation, my friends.

So unless Annie Leibovitz asked you to do a nude shoot for an art exhibit or Vanity Fair, I would say just don’t do it. Unless you are Kim Kardashian. Which you aren’t. So there is no need to emulate that shit. Because if you do, you need to be prepared for the repercussions. And unless you can handle being ruthlessly made fun of and called derogatory names, while having potentially great opportunities disappear then I say think before you post. HARD. 

And always remember, you are NOT Kim Kardashian. 


Style Stud: Emily Goulet, Editor Of Philly Mag’s Shoppist


Photo credit: Lauren McGrath

A lot of people like to say negative things about Philly. We’re fat. We’re mean. We’re ugly. For most of us, hearing these things is like nails on a chalkboard. We cringe and want to be like, “no stop! We don’t just eat cheesesteaks and whip batteries at Santa, we are more than that, dammit!”

But thankfully we have fine humans, like Emily Goulet, also known as the editor of Philly Magazine’s Shoppist, who uncovers the beautiful gems our city has to offer and puts them on display. To show people Philly is not only stylish and savvy, but we’re also chockfull of tastemakers.

I’ll admit it, I’m a huge fan girl of Emily’s as everything she writes about I immediately become obsessed with, a la Sticks + Stones, a beyond drool-worthy jewelry line. (I would sell my soul for a piece)

So I’ll shut up so you can get to know one of the finest writers and tastemakers Philly as to offer. I give you … Emily Goulet.

I can only imagine your closet is epic, but what is your favorite item in there right now? A black leather IRO moto jacket. And a collection of caftans from the ‘70s. I love a good caftan.

How did your editorial career start? I began as an intern here at Philly Mag just after college and have held countless positions here since, from research editor to managing editor. I’ve always naturally gravitated towards lifestyle coverage, so—after nearly 10 years—I’ve finally found my perfect role here.

Did you always want to work in fashion? While I’ve always had an interest in fashion, writing has always been my first love. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was old enough to hold a pencil. That’s what many people don’t understand about being a fashion or lifestyle editor: Writing is a huge part of the job. That’s how I spend most of my time at work, in my office with headphones on, writing.

I love your bathtub selfies. Where did you get that epic mirror? That was a gift from a couple who owned Love Illuminati, a since-shuttered (sob!) boutique in Newtown. They were getting rid of it and I adored it. Yes, it’s the only full-length mirror in our house, and yes, propped over the tub is the only place it fits.

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What are three of your favorite places to shop in Philly? Joan Shepp, Ninobrand, Material Culture. And any flea market ever.

What is your least favorite place to shop and why? Forever 21 and H&M. I find both stores incredibly overwhelming, messy and stressful. Zara is really the only fast-fashion retailer I like.


Photo credit: Lauren McGrath

Do you ever get writer’s block? How do you cure it? All the time! I’m lucky in that I get to work with so many talented writers and editors. It helps to sit with them and talk out what I’m trying to say, what message I’m trying to convey. And we read each other’s stuff constantly.

What is something clothing/accessory-wise you would never leave home without? My wedding rings. I wear a mismatched five-ring stack, which includes a spiky gold ring by Angela Monaco, a local jewelry designer (her line is called Concrete Polish) and owner of NoLibs boutique Ritual Ritual. I love the contrast between the diamonds and the modern, funky metal. And I’m almost always wearing at least one Tom Binns safety-pin earring.


Photo credit: Lauren McGrath

I know you’re a vintage lover like myself. Where are some of your go-to spots? Malena’s Vintage in West Chester is terrific, and Philadelphia Vintage and Consignment Shoppe has incredible treasures. Meadowsweet Mercantile is a newer spot, and they’ve got a great selection of women’s vintage, too. Jinxed has fun gems for the home. And The People’s Store Antiques Center in Lambertville is a total wonderland.

Describe the fashion scene in Philly? Do you feel it is up and coming, or do we have some work to do? It’s definitely up-and-coming, and we’re making huge strides. Our retail scene is better than ever. Sure, we’re getting a lot of off-price chains in town, but we’re also seeing a flood of new independent boutiques, too. The support between shops is terrific—everyone seems to understand that we all ride the wave together. We get a bad rap, but we’ve got some of the most stylish people in town I’ve seen anywhere.


Photo credit: Lauren McGrath

You definitely have a style to you, which rocks (love dresses over bell bottoms). Is there a method to your looks you pull together? I’ve found that my style goes in waves. Winter means a lot of black, a ton of layers, lots of texture, a tad more modern. In spring and summer, I find myself gravitating toward a more ‘70s, hippie-ish look, with much more color and pattern-mixing. I don’t mean to, but it always works out that way. I find that I’m most comfortable when I’m a bit uncomfortable, when I’m not quite sure if my outfit is working. If I feel too comfortable in something, then it’s boring.

Favorite designer … from Philly and not from Philly: In Philly, it’s Bela Shehu. I adore her. Not from Philly: Dries van Noten, Rosie Assoulin, Valentino and everything from Alessandro Michele’s Gucci. Everything.

Advice for girls/guys breaking into the editorial fashion scene: It’s not as glamorous as it might seem. And you have to love to write, first and foremost.

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Special thanks to Lauren McGrath, assistant editor of Shoppist for the rad pictures

Not Just A Crown: Miss Philadelphia 2016

20160229_inq_pmiss29-bThis past weekend I had the pleasure of serving as a judge for the Miss Philadelphia 2016 Pageant … crowning the newest Miss Philadelphia’s Outstanding Teen. 

Going in I was cool as a cucumber. But the minute these mini teen queens stepped in front of me to grill and judge them I was a hot mess. Like sweating through my leather pencil skirt hot mess. Because all I wanted to do was run up to them, hug them, creepily stroke their hair and be all, “it’s okay … you’re ALL beautiful!” 

But alas that is not what I was there to do. I was there to get my Simon Cowell on (although I’m clearly more of a Paula). 

From the women competing for Miss Philadelphia 2016 to my little Miss Outstanding Teen candidates … the one thing I couldn’t stop from thinking the entire time was, “holy shit, I could NEVER do this.” It takes balls. You are sending your vulnerability to the wind and standing up there baring your soul with a smile on your face in front of random people with fancy titles to judge you. That is some scary shit. Seriously … I was staring at all of them in sheer awe the entire night. 

Look, people like to talk shit about pageants because they unfortunately have a big ol’ stereotype behind them. Big hair. World peace. And airheads in bikinis. But I couldn’t tell you have far from the truth all of those things are. 

You need to care about something A LOT in order to perform on a stage like that … like, oh I don’t know, in a swimsuit. Really? You couldn’t get me to stand in front of 5 people in a swimsuit on stage, let alone hundreds. But hey, if I REALLY wanted to change laws or find a cure for a disease faster, meh, maybe I would consider it. 

Every single one of these girls had a platform they were supporting from gender equality, to LGBTQ rights, to cures for diseases and beyond. All platforms that made me feel like, “hmmm maybe I should stop crying about assholes in my life and maybe start making a difference like these chicks.” 

Because with the crown on your head, you have a better chance at getting shit done and inspiring change. That made me understand why these girls, who weren’t all Kendall Jenner (I really wanted to say Cindy Crawford but … audience) thin, strutted out on the stage in a swimsuit, cellulite, curves, and all. 

At first I cringed for them and wanted to throw sharp objects at the people who still think it is okay to have a “swimsuit round” in a pageant. To be honest, I don’t support it. How a woman in a swimsuit makes a queen is beyond me. But it DOES show their confidence. 

I saw probably some of the most confident women in all shapes and sizes strut their stuff out there with a smile on their face. And THAT was amazing to me. Did I wish they didn’t have to do it? Yes … but unfortunately I don’t rule the world. 

So the next time you want to bash a beauty queen or a pageant, think about the girls participating and working their asses off for that crown. Because the crown is just something shiny that stands for scholarship money (the winner received a $10,000 scholarship … hello) for them to better themselves. An opportunity to stand on a platform and make a difference in the community. Something not everyone has a chance to because you can scream as loud as you want, but it’s really hard for people to hear you without the right platform.

So congrats to the new Miss Philadelphia 2016 and Miss Philadelphia’s Outstanding Teen. Kick ass this year, girls, and stick it to the man.

Me with the new Miss Philadelphia’s Outstanding Teen

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(wh)Y: Furry Nails

story_647_021916080356Have you ever played Would You Rather? Would you rather have Cheeto fingers for the rest of your life or have to wear a sweater made of your own pubes every day? 

I’m not 100% sure, but I can almost guarantee that is how this new furry nail trend was birthed. It’s like some poor bastard lost and the Would You Rather Fairy was like, “welp sorry … you’re the millionth player and now you have to rock this trend forever.” And somehow it stuck. 

Which leads me to say … WHAT IS WRONG WITH US AS A SOCIETY?! 

Good God. 

I entertained the whole Pinterest nail craze. I never participated and wanted it to die in a fiery crash after a while, but I acknowledged its existence. I even kept my mouth shut during Kylie Jenner’s “Coffin Nail” craze. Which, just so you know, makes it completely IMPOSSIBLE to human. Type, open cans, put on makeup, button your clothes … you can literally do nothing but sit there and slowly click through apps on your iPhone to look super important. 

But these furry nails look like someone got their nails did and then seconds later decided to furiously pet a cat that was hardcore shedding. The thought of it actually makes my skin crawl. Literally as I’m writing this I’m trying not to vomit. 

Once again, how do you human with furry nails? Think about trying to eat something like a sticky bun :::gags violently::: How do you get the stickiness out of your nail hair :::gagging over the word nail hair:::: 


And the crumbs … oh lord, the crumbs. And forget showering! Does this mean when they get wet I have to blow dry my fucking nails, too?! Are you ACTUALLY kidding me?

Designers everywhere, listen up. I think we’ve hit a wall. I think we are all bored and starting to create stupid shit to out do one another. And you know what? We are better than that. 

Quite frankly I would rather see styles from the stone ages where dirt under your finger nails was considered high fashion then rocking a teddy bear’s ear hair on my nails. 

Normal women who aren’t a Kardashian want chic simplicity. We want something cool, but we also don’t want it to interfere with us getting from A to B. For example, I don’t want to have to think about the infectious diseases my furry nails will carry from touching the hand rail in the subway during my commute. That’s how the movie Contagion starts, my friends. Nope … not participating. 

So while I appreciate the “out of the box” thinking and risk taking, I’m going to forever shame the person who invented this. And God help me, if I see any of you rocking this trend, I swear I will slap you in public.

There are SO many more productive ways to make your look “edgier.” Get a piercing, dye your hair, get a tattoo, shave your head. But know there is absolutely nothing wrong with a classic manicure. NOTHING. It’s like Chanel, it will never go out of style.

While these furry nails … well, I hope by the time I hit “publish” on this post someone will have already set fire to this trend. Tim Gunn, I’m looking at you, bro. 

So forever and always I will be saying WHY over these furry nails. 

Excuse me I have to go vomit for real now. 


Boring Is The New Black

Hillary-Bored-at-Benghazi-VictimsPREFACE: I’m going to make this clear off the jump … I’m not really into politics. Especially during this presidential race. Seeing people post their strong opinions and tear apart others for theirs is like nails on a chalkboard to me. 

But something that really ruffles my feathers during a presidential race is a candidate and their so-called “cool factor.” Hillary is a bitchy square who isn’t connecting with millennials and making them yawn, yet Bernie is SO RAD because he’s making everyone “feel the BERN!” Guess what fellow millennials? This is a perfect example of why everyone hates our guts.

Look, I didn’t vote for Barack Obama (or did I?! Staying politically ambiguous here) because he hangs out with Jayz and Beyonce, or because his wife wears designer clothes like a boss and mom dances with Jimmy Fallon. Those things don’t make a president. Those things make a reality star at best. 

I want my candidate just like I like my mom: smart, sharp, and someone I’m a little afraid of. While my mom wasn’t exactly terrifying (try the opposite), I always knew her bottom line, and never crossed it, simply because I knew my life would suck if I did. I also trusted that she would keep me alive. You know, food, water, clothes, roof over my head. But did I want her to hangout with my friends and I? NO. I’m 29 and still loathe the fact my mom follows me on Instagram.


But tell me, fellow millennials, what do we want Hillary to do to be “cool”? Sit front row at New York Fashion Week with Anna Wintour? Rock something from Yeezy Season 3? The woman took a selfie with Kim Kardashian, for the love of fuck, isn’t that enough?

Because if she did all that shit … she would be this: 


“I’m not a regular candidate, I’m a COOL candidate.” And all the millennials and young guns out there would be rolling their eyes like, “MOM … I mean Secretary Clinton, PLEASE STOP TALKING!” Regina George-style. 

Henceforth why I could give a shit if Hillary is cool or not. She’s being herself, and that is a respectable thing. Rock the hell out of grandma ROYGBIV pants suits is what I say. As long as she is focused on taking care of the important things like, oh I don’t know, making sure ISIS doesn’t murder all of our faces, she can make me yawn all she wants.

So look, vote for whomever the fuck you want. I really couldn’t care less. Seriously don’t even share with me who you are supporting. I’ll scream. But please don’t oogle the fact that hip designers like Marc Jacobs are backing a certain candidate and don’t get behind someone because your favorite celeb told you to. 

To the candidates out there: Be intelligent. Be focused. Be determined. And don’t give a fuck about being “cool.” Because look, future president, coming from an actual “millennial,” I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to hangout with you. I don’t want to follow you on Instagram or the SnapChats. I just want you to focus on keeping me employed, keeping my rights in tact, and stopping ISIS from murdering me. So nerd it up, is what I say. 


Okay guys, first (and probably last) semi-political post complete. Feel free to rip me apart now.  

Kardashian Konfessions

COS110115_174_175Every lady has a “Secret Single Behavior,” to quote Carrie Bradshaw. Some of us may read trash magazines. Others may soak in a bath and stalk people on social media. In a relationship or not, we all have our shit. 

Mine is … the Kardashians. And mind you I’m admitting this to you all with my head hanging down in shame. I wish I could be like, “my SSB is popping my zits in my bathroom while listening to hardcore rap,” but alas that is not the case. I’m just a girl, admitting to my readers that I’m a freak of nature who is obsessed with the Kardashians. 

I’ve pretty much seen every episode of their show … like 100 times. Because who can resist a good Kardashian’s marathon on E!? Even if I’m doing something else, it is just good background noise. Oh, and I also LOVE playing the game of figuring out what they have had done to themselves over the years. It’s torturously fun.


I have like serious, in depth conversations with my best friend about the Kardashians (sorry Nicole, I’m totally blowing up your spot), like they are my nearest and dearest friends. The words, “Kourtney has really been an inspiration to me lately,” have really come out of my mouth. 


By the way, please feel free to throw things are your screen.

I downloaded Kim’s app … on my birthday because I had been resisting for so long that I felt it wouldn’t be AS bad if I downloaded it on my birthday (does that even make sense? I’m going to say no). I gave that family $2.99 out of my pocket. Could I have do something more productive with the $2.99? Oh 100% … I’m no fool. But God dammit I was sick of her teasers on Instagram and needed more … I ALWAYS NEED MORE. 

Her app sucked, by the way. I only kept it for a month. The only good thing was that she showed you where to buy her looks for less. That was dope. (A word I pretty much picked up from Kylie Jenner. I’m 29 … I should not be saying the word “dope” for the love of fuck). 

When I’m on the train, about to go to bed, or just bored, I’m always on their Instagram accounts. Why? Because why not. It is like staring at a spinning disco ball. Shiny things.

I pretty much never wear color anymore, and that is partially due to Kim Kardashian (seriously, feel free to delete me from your life forever). But I will stand up proudly and say the girl has a sick sense of style. She looks constantly uncomfortable, but her outfits are on point. Hell, if I had every designer in Paris making me custom looks, so would I. 


I totally live streamed Yeezy Season 3 on Tidal and screenshot-ed the shit out of it (see below). In the same breath I signed up for Tidal, even though I already subscribe to Apple Music, so I could listen to The Life of Pablo. Look, I realize Kanye is a crazy mother fucker, but my GOD the album is brilliant.

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What other horrifying nonsense can I share with you? 

Oh! I’ve played Kim’s game before, although I never shelled out money to play it. If you need to put your brain on a shelf and just drool a little bit, it’s magical. 

But here’s what I HAVEN’T done. I have never adopted the word “Bible” into my lexicon, so I’m not THAT much of an asshole, right? RIGHT?!

I hope you haven’t lost TOO much faith in me. But I understand regardless.

Style Stud: Adrienne Volpetti, Owner of Baked Tanning

unnamed-5I’m pretty much the palest person in Philly … maybe the world. I’m like the close cousin of Casper the Friendly friken Ghost.

A few years back I wrote about my paleness, embracing it and making fun of it (per usual … do I ever take myself seriously)? And that is when my spray tan fairy God Mother walked into my life, Adrienne Volpetti of Baked Tanning in Queen Village.

I had only been spray tanned once before and I ended up looking like an Oompa Loompa for my best friend’s wedding … so I was hesitant to take her up on her tanning offer.

But she showed me the ways of Baked Tanning – which will be celebrating its FIFTH anniversary in June 2016. You not only feel completely pampered (she hooks it up with champagne and her space is so soothing and peaceful), but like a bronze goddess. Even me … the see-through lady.

So without further adieu, pour yourself a cocktail and get to know THE spray tan queen of Philly, Adrienne Volpetti.

Favorite item in your closet right now? Burberry Cape – who doesn’t want to be wrapped in essentially a blanket this time of year?

A perfect afternoon in Philly consists of BRUNCH! Walking around the city, shopping the Italian Market, and cooking the rest of the day, while having a glass of wine.

How did Baked come to be? I worked in UV tanning salons in College, so I was trained. I had been talking to my friends about [opening a business] for such a long time that it finally came to a head. I was 24, single, no kids, and figured if it failed I was only hurting me, no one else, SO I gave it a shot. My first year I was mobile, and then in June 2010 opened the Baked in Queen Village.

How did you learn how to spray tan and did you ever make someone orange when you were learning? Of course! Different companies will send complimentary products for you to try and some of them are awful. But my friends were really good sports and didn’t hold it against me.


What are three pieces of wisdom before getting a spray tan? 

  1. Exfoliate! Proper exfoliation will help the tan apply evenly, fade perfectly, and last longer.
  2. Have realistic expectations. To avoid looking fake, have a conversation with the person tanning you. Tell them what you’re looking for and ask their opinion. They should be experts on their product and should suggest the best tan/shade option for you.
  3. Moisturize! Hydrating and moisturizing the skin will help you extend the life of your tan.

What was the strangest spray tanning request you have ever received? Nope. Saving that for the book.

Do you ever get super uncomfortable when people get butt naked in front of you for tans? Not anymore. It’s quick and whomever is bronzing your bod should be more concerned with making sure your tan in applied perfectly.

Does Baked Tanning just offer tanning or are there other services? We offer teeth whitening (think heavy duty stain remover – two months of White Strips in 15 minutes), and a Diamond Dusting treatment. They are crushed diamonds we apply to the skin for some sparkle for a big event (I’m obsessed with them #sparkle).


In regards to spray tanning, are there trends? If so what is the trend right now? You will see a lot of different tan styles and techniques pop up around fashion week and with red carpets. Last year at London Fashion Week, a freckle tan trend was used. Recently, red carpet tans have been very natural (finally) adding just enough warmth to the client so they look sun-kissed.

There are so many spray tanning salons in the city. How do you differentiate yourself? Well I try and keep up with the latest products and education programs so we are constantly perfecting our technique. We understand that everyone’s skin is different, so we offer a number of different shades of tan so we customize the perfect tan for you. Customer service is HUGE to me. I want everyone relaxed, happy, and loving their tan.

Are spray tan abs a thing? And if so where could someone get them (totally asking for a friend … :::shifty eyes:::)? HA! Kind of? If you naturally have muscle definition then we can further extenuate that. We mostly stick to contouring, similar to makeup, which is a large part of getting that killer spray tan.


Life In A Sports Bra

Screen Shot 2016-02-16 at 4.14.53 PM“You should probably think about wearing a bra without underwire for a little bit,”
my chiropractor said to me after my exam. 

For most women, hearing this would be a God sent. Immediately they would begin imagining setting fire to their bras and doing a ritualistic dance around as they watched them burn. Think of the comfort. The sheer satisfaction of just letting it all hang out.

But the thing is … I’m not a normal woman. I love wearing bras. Don’t ask me why, but I just do. It’s not because they are pretty and feminine … in fact I hate purchasing bras, they are stupidly expensive. I believe it’s simply because they keep me secure. To the point where I don’t even need to think about the fact that I have taas that need to be supported. They just are.

I’m not that girl who gets home and pulls her bra through the arm hole of her shirt first thing. I take my bra off to shower, and that’s about it. I sleep with it. I work out with it (because I TOTALLY work out :::shifty eyes:::), I party with it. It’s like my best friend that I never have to think about. 

But being a woman sucks sometimes. Especially when you start getting a random burning pain in your right taa. Because when that happens you immediately think the worst and that you’re going to die. Which is exactly what happened to me last week. 

I Googled my symptoms like an idiot, which confirmed my fears I was dying, which then led me to a very uncomfortable breast exam from my Gynecologist (except my gyno wasn’t available, but I was so desperate so I was willing to go to anyone).

Let me tell you, it doesn’t get much worse then having a complete stranger who doesn’t know you feel you up and squeeze your nipples. It just doesn’t. 

Turns out I wasn’t dying, though. Whew. I know … you were all probably really concerned. No for real it was a huge relief. Never Google any symptoms EVER. WebMD should be burned at the stake. 

What happened was I apparently strained something in that area around my rib cage. Because you know, I work out SO much (see the shifty eyes comment above). So the only other option was I did something weird in my sleep. Sounds MUCH more realistic because I adore my bed AND sleeping. And because of that I have this random torturous pain in my right taa region that I just have to let “heal.” Cool. Did I mention being a woman is the worst? 

It wasn’t until I went to my chiropractor for a tune up that I realized this stupid burning pain in my taa, which I was 100% sure was cancer once upon a time (I’m so very thankful it wasn’t … you have no idea), was because my back was so effed up. Who knew.

And because the area around my right taa region was so inflamed, the underwire on my bra wasn’t helping the situation, making the inflammation worse. So when my chiropractor asked me if I could refrain from wearing underwire, what I really wanted to say was, “bitch do you KNOW what I would look like sans a bra?! NO ONE wants to see that.” But instead I just said, “sure? Ehhh?!” 

“You know … wear a bralette or a sports bra,” my chiropractor suggested. Umm okay … you have to be a tween or an A-cup to pull off a bralette. I have what my friends call, “secret bombs.” Huge taas, but you would never know because I never dress like a skank (man, I’m really opening up to you guys today). So a bralette would probably cover my nipple, and that just doesn’t do the body good.

My next option was a sports bra. And that is where I am at today. Rocking a sports bra at places other than the gym so my inflammation heals. I feel squished and smooshed. I feel like I have a uni-boob to be honest with you. The only thing that would make this situation better is if I could rip off my shirt and start singing Sporty Spices’ part in Wannabe … high kicks, flat abs and all. But alas that will never happen as I’m currently not in “Spice Girls shape” (you’re welcome in advance).

Now, for the first time in my life, I can’t wait to get home, rip my sports bra off and free ball it. Who knows? Maybe it will stick. 

But a little tiny part of me misses my underwire. Because all I keep saying to myself is, “you’re wearing a sports bra, you’re wearing a sports bra, you’re wearing a sports bra.” 

Now heal, body, HEAL. 

Style Stud: Tenaya Darlington

Screen Shot 2016-02-05 at 2.07.50 PMYou may know Tenaya Darlington as the brilliant author behind the book that will make you drool, DiBruno Bros. House of Cheese, or as Madame Fromage, a lady you just can’t help but want to have a dinner party with in the blogosphere.

But I know her as one of my most beloved professors in college at Saint Joseph’s University. She taught my first ever creative writing class, that I clawed my way into, and has remained a huge influence on my writing and someone I look up to.

So without futher adieu I give you the classy, eclectic, and potentially one of the biggest cheesemongers in Philly, Tenaya Darlington – my Style Stud of the week.

How did Madame Fromage come to life? And what do you think is the key to its success? 

I started blogging about cheese 8 years ago now! Hard to believe. At the time, I was new to Philadelphia and homesick for Wisconsin – so I channeled my dairy state and started eating my way through the cheeses at Di Bruno Bros. one hunk at a time. Luckily, artisan cheese in America was undergoing a renaissance – much like craft beer – and I found an interested (and hungry!) readership that has been with me ever since.

Where is your most favorite place to write and why? 

Third floor of my house, surrounded by cheese and drink books, with a sheepskin over my lap (it’s cold up there in winter).

What are 3 traits of a successful writer? 

Curiosity + Tenacity + Vocabulary.

The Earth is going to explode tomorrow, what cheese and wine pairing do you have?

Well, I’d want more than just wine! I’d fix a French 75 (gin, lemon, Champagne) and bite into a gooey French Coulommiers.

What is your favorite item in your closet right now?

A loud Italian print dress from my late Aunt Lynette’s closet in Italy.

I can only imagine your kitchen is glorious so same question … what is your most beloved item in your kitchen?

My Peg+Awl cheese board. It is made from a reclaimed school desk. It’s my Cadillac of cheese boards.

Define your style in 4 words. 

Long hair. Big earrings.

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Do you have a signature look that defines your style (ex. red nail polish, wing-tipped every liner, etc.)

I don’t feel dressed for the day unless I’m wearing big earrings, and I have a big blue ring made of jasper that I picked up at a second-hand store on Girard Ave. with my initials already engraved inside it, so I wear that pretty much every day.

Do you have a secret spot in the city to buy delectable cheeses that you can share? 

Now that Kensington Quarters carries cheese, that’s my quick relief. There’s usually a reliable stinker in the cooler, and I can grab a great cocktail for happy hour at the bar.

For a fromage neophyte, where do you start and what supplies should you have?

Start with your favorite sipper (wine, beer, spirits, tea, etc.) and ask a good cheesemonger to set you up with a pairing or two to go with it. The cheesemongers at Di Bruno Bros. and at Reading Terminal Market offer great pairing advice. Then, get a decent cheese board – wood or slate – and you’re golden. It’s nice to have a set of cheese knives, but they can come later – in a stocking, say.

Where can we find you on a Friday night?

I’m having a spontaneous dinner party (low lights, low maintenance) or I’m out for a cocktail, sometimes with my brother, André, who is my co-author on the next two books.

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Your cocktail of choice right now is … 

An Aviation – inspired by Amelia Earhart. It’s pale purple, like winter sky.

Can you tell us a little bit about your new book, The New Cocktail Hour? 

We want people to be able to make great craft cocktails in their kitchens – so my brother and I wrote The New Cocktail Hour to take the guesswork out of home entertaining. We offer tasting notes for each recipe, plus food pairing suggestions (we love cocktails with cheese boards, grilled foods, and Chinese takeout), and brand recommendations for every drink. As huge cocktail nerds, we wrote the book we could not find, essentially. It brings craft cocktails into everyday life. The book drops in April, but it’s available for pre-sales online.

As a successful author, teacher, blogger, writer, etc, what advice can you give to someone up and coming?

Pursue your passion with a vengeance. Seek out community and collaborators, in-person and online. Extend kindness and curiosity to each person you meet.

What is next for you? 

We’re writing a cookbook in partnership with Turner Classic Movies — we’re taking 30 classic movies and pairing them a cocktail and a meal inspired by or drawn from the film. It’s called Movie Night Menus, and it comes out in Fall 2016. It’s been so much fun! I just finished writing about Rita Hayworth in The Lady from Shanghai – some people think the Margarita was named after her. It’s a myth, but it’s still an interesting bit of cocktail trivia to explore. I love early Hollywood – the hats, the hair, the drinks!

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(wh)Y?!: Did I Wear That…

Bad-Fashion-Trends-We-Fell-VideoIf you can’t look back at your fashion choices and cringe, then you’re doing it wrong. 

We are women (and potential gay men). We see Kim Kardashian rocking braided pig tails and all of a sudden, we NEED to rock braided pig tails. We try things. We (potentially) fail, and we look back a decade later and laugh. Life. 

My list is … welp, rather interesting considering I grew up in a time when it was cool to rock jeans so low your vagina was basically hanging out (God bless Britney Spears).

So to make you feel better about all of the awful trend holes you fell into head first, here are some of mine that leave me wondering, (wh)Y?!!??!?!

Lime green tube top: I wore this beast under everything. It was like my weird safety blanket. In my defense, I have a stupidly long torso, and in the early 2000’s shirts just never covered all of it. So that was my solution? Nope … still awful. 

Yep that is me in all my glory with the lime green tube top. Sigh.

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Ties for belts: When I was a freshman in high school, I was pretty sure I invented this trend. And months later when J.Crew came out with tie belts, I was livid. Looking back, I’m MORE than happy to give J.Crew that credit. Take it all, bitch. Take it all. 


Speaking of belts, I once wore 5 belts at once: One was sparkly. One was a pink ribbon. One was electric orange and studded. And I can’t really recall the heinousness of the others … but I guarantee you they were awful. What can I say, I was REALLY trying to get voted “most fashionable” my senior year. Can you believe I lost?! 

Cutting the sides of my jeans for more flare: Apparently I felt my jeans didn’t have enough “flare” and didn’t “fit over my shoes well enough” so I cut them on the hem. My mother would spend her hard earned money on designer jeans for me, and I would cut them. I’m an asshole.


Juicy Sweatsuits: Yes … at one point or another I had the word “Juicy” slapped across my ass. You would think wearing sweats to school was awesome, but they were sheer torture. The pants came very close to exposing my vagina bone and my entire school probably saw my ass crack a dozen times a day. And the tops were made for toddlers who may or may not had aspirations to become strippers.  


Chinese Slippers: Okay, I thought I was the shit when I bought these at the Pearl Market in NYC one summer, and rocked them to school like a boss. “Oh where did I get these? Just some really cool boutique in NYC you’ve never heard of :::hair flip:::.” They were pink. And glittery. And I remember wearing them to a Sweet 16 party. Good God, self. 


Double Popped Collars: I had an identity crisis when I went to college, which was private, and super preppy. So yes, I made my mother take me to Hollister and Abercrombie, and I bought as many colorful Polos as I could find, and then proceeded to wear two at a time and pop both of the collars. My current self wants to take my 18-year-old self out back and beat her senseless. 


Manolo Timbs: Bahaha I WISH. But no, I never rocked these, it’s just a funny thing to say, am I right?


Fake handbags: My mom and I would go to NYC in the summertime and kill it on Canal Street. This was during the time when there were no rules and store after store would have spitting images of designer bags hanging on the wall. No weird fake walls to go through, no following a strange man down the street into an alleyway for fake Louis Vuitton. They were just there. And I bought a lot of them. And I wore them everyday to school. How anyone bought that my mom, who worked at Burlington Coat Factory at the time, could afford to buy me so many designer bags that I could rock a different one every day is beyond me. I fooled them, huh?! Right guys … 


Style Stud: Elena Brennan, Owner of BUS STOP

Screen Shot 2016-01-29 at 2.33.35 PMI have a few secret hiding spots in the city where I go for peace and serenity, or when I’m sad and need to buy myself a lil something somethin. And since I share pretty much everything with you people, I will let you in on one of my favorite places … BUS STOP Boutique in Queen Village.

You know me … I love out of the box fashion, and BUS STOP’s shoes are just that. There’s just something special about them.

And Philly wouldn’t have access to such glorious shoes if it wasn’t for BUS STOP owner, Elena Brennan. Why yes, getting to oogle the shoes ain’t too shabby, but getting to chat with Elena is a even better. She is so cultured, stylish, and personable that I just HAD to make her my Style Stud this week.

So go … take over one of my happy places in the city, and in the meantime, get to know Elena…

What would you say are your favorite shoes of all-time? My absolute favourite shoes of all-time are from two designers: Coclico, and Marcello Toshi

What did the beginning of your career look like? My background is advertising and marketing, a career I had for 27+ years, which started in London and spilled into Philly. I was ready for a career change after I moved to Philly, so I decided to open my very own shoe boutique (partly to satisfy my own craving) and to fill a need, as women in Philly have very few options for “good” shoe shopping.

In your opinion, where do you think is Philly’s most interesting/stylish neighborhood? I would say Queen Village is one of the most interesting and stylish neighborhoods, as I’ve seen so many brilliant changes since I first opened. My boutique is on historic Fabric Row in Queen Village. The street was famous for fabric shopping, but the street has evolved, mixing the old with the new. I like the eclectic mix. I love to shop local and I can buy anything from jewelry, to vintage finds, gifts, clothes, and books right on my doorstep. I do love Fishtown, too. It has a different feel (more gritty), but that’s what I love about Philly, every neighborhood has its own essence.

What is a signature part of your every day style? Building my wardrobe from my feet up and lots of accessories. I love jewelry, especially rings, and let’s not forget a statement handbag.

BUS STOP is such a stylish and interesting place to walk through. What inspired the design? I would say I was inspired by the art galleries in Manhattan. The shoes are treated like works of art, but with a reasonable price tag, and are showcased to spotlight the unique features of each shoe so they pop on the shoe gallery shelves.

Of course, I’ve also added my own personal touches with a few of my favourite bits and pieces from London, such as my random array of English tea cups and my book collection, which I could have sold over and over again to my customers who think they’re for sale.

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I adored the collection you did with Bela Shehu. Is there another collab in the works? The collaboration with Bela Shehu of NINObrand is launching early spring. Last year, I reached out to Bela to see if she was interested in designing one of the oxfords from the new collection launching this spring, and voila that’s how it happened. BUS STOP designed twelve and NINObrand one. I think you will love all 13 variations of the exclusive BusStopX oxford. I always to love to collaborate… you never know what’s next.

How do you feel about Ugg boots … be honestTo be brutally honest, I do not like Ugg boots at all!

What shoe should every girl in Philly be wearing in the spring? Why, a pair of BusStopX oxfords, of course! The collection is launching March 2016 and is a follow-up to my Classic capsule collection, which I launched last spring.

Favorite place to shop in Philly (besides BUS STOP)? Oh that’s a hard question as there are many places I love to shop, but here are a few of my faves – Sugarcube, Moon + Arrow, and NINObrand.

As a small successful business owner, what are 3 pieces of advice you can give? Have strong branding, stay true to your mission, be dedicated and focused. When facing any issues, “sleep on it.” That’s my mantra so you don’t rush into making the wrong decisions. As important as it is to sell a good product, excellent customer service goes a long.

What’s next for BUS STOPLast spring, I launched my signature classic shoe collection of 12 oxfords in collaboration with All Black Footwear. The BUS STOP x All Black collection was my first ever shoe design. The shoes were named after Hollywood icon starlets and the campaign was, “Which Girl Are You?” This spring, I’m launching my second shoe collection, which is very exciting, so stay tuned for the launch in March.

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How I Wear All Black

44271cbd4d6003d7d150ef0f32387a20I get questioned a lot about why I wear so much black. Am I depressed? Am I worshipping Satan? Am I goth? All to which I respond with a blunt, “YES.” … in the most sarcastic way possible. 

For years I was the color queen. Ask my roommates in college. Pretty much every day I wore a lime green tube top underneath everything I owned. My closet looked like Crayola vomited all over it. I recall even owning a bright yellow tank top from the Paris Hilton collection that my mom got me at Burlington Coat Factory. It was a weird time in life, what can I say. 

But I found myself getting to a point where I was only wearing the two black shirts I owned, and wishing my ROYGBIV wardrobe was more like those two black shirts instead. Simply because it was A. more flattering, B. chic, C. ridiculously easy. So why fight what feels natural?

Do I think my color lacking look is a little severe? No. Am I comfortable with it? Yes. I find it absolutely absurd that people judge others based on what they are wearing or feel weird approaching them. Just because I’m in head-to-toe leather doesn’t mean I’m going to convert you to the book of Satan (that’s a thing, right?), or hate you for no reason, and/or haunt your dreams. Simmah. I’m still a clown. Once a clown, always a clown.

I do have a method to my all black madness, though. And it’s a little thing called texture. Yes, below are all my most beloved black pieces. 

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While staple black shirts are a must, having a closet full of them can get a little monotonous and boring. Adding texture will keep you from looking like an ex-cast member of the movie The Craft (although according to Instagram, I mine as well pretend I’m God damn Neve Campbell. Thanks followers). 

Leather. Faux fur. Lace. Sheer. Distressed pieces. And my current obsession, velvet. Throwing in these different textures and mixing and matching them can give an all black look a little more depth and dimension, especially if you layer them. It’s all about keeping things interesting, you know? 

I also don’t always stick to black. I’m not afraid to throw in some clean white pieces and some patterns … plaids, stripes. I’m really into keeping it minimal right now. Will that change? Probably. Who knows, in 10 years I could be in head-to-toe neon … WAIT … hold on … :::vomits after picturing self in 10 years:::: Someone please beat me back to 2016 if that happens? Kay, thanks. 

So to clarify I’m not a witch. Nor do I know Satan personally. And I definitely don’t play light as a feather, stiff as a board whenever an opportunity presents itself. For an on-the-go person such as myself, sticking to black keeps me feeling stylish and not wanting to pull my hair out whilst creating a look.

I’ve got it down to a science. It goes a little something like, “fuck I over slept. Okay, black fur vest, over silk plaid button down, black skinnies, over-the-knee boots, statement necklace … AND GO.” 

So don’t be a moron and discriminate or be frightened of people who wear all black. We’re mostly good witches, I promise. 

Cabin Fever Drives Organization


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When eating got old, and when drinking got old, and when watching every Chopped episode on the planet, followed by reruns of Keeping Up With The Kardashians I’ve seen 10,000 times got old … I resorted to tackling shit I’ve been putting off for millions of years. 

Organization. That’s what happens when you’re snowed in for over 48 hours.

I wasn’t incredibly smart when I bought my bed frame … meaning I bought it off of Craigslist because they discontinued it and I was stressed and losing my shit and NEEDED this damn bed frame … aaaand it was the only one of its kind I could find. But that’s neither here nor there. 

What I’m getting at is I don’t have under bed storage, which is idiotic considering I live in a small small space with ONE closet that a mouse couldn’t fit all their shit into.

So when I needed to put miscellaneous items … window fans, the box from my hair straightener I bought two years ago, my portfolio, seasonal gear, every birthday card I’ve ever received ever (why), I put it under my bed. Which then turned into a cluttered disaster area that was torturing my soul.

So I started there. Did I mention I also had a long flat piece of Tupperware under there that held the contents of my old desk? Uh huh.

It also held everything I ever acquired from all past jobs. Awards. Reviews. Inside jokes that are no longer relevant (but secretly warmed my cold heart), boxes of old business cards. WHY?! 

I also had a stupid amount of office supplies I bought whilst in college … because I felt a desk wasn’t complete without a stapler and a lifetime supply of paperclips in different colors (sigh)

At first glance I decided that I was 100% an emotional hoarder. Yep. That happened. 

So what do you keep? You definitely DON’T keep the “Third Place” flag from an Olympics your old job held. Nope. You absolutely don’t keep black and white quotes from a 2012 calendar. Absolutely not. And that awesome light up plastic pint glass a friend gave you as a joke? Yep … that’s not necessary. 

Three trash bags and a lot of dust later, I was cleansed. My under bed Tupperware now consists of all my writing from college, office supplies perfectly stored in a zip lock WITHIN the Tupperware (yeah I went there), and CDs … because what the eff do you do with those? 

Then it was over to the hole known as my closet. I use this closet to store non-seasonal appropriate clothing … and coats … and old bridesmaids dresses … and hangers I’m not using … and shoes I kind of love but kinda don’t, but can’t get rid of just yet. (SHUT UP … I’m working on my issues, okay?!)

But honestly, do I need to save those salt-destroyed over-the-knee Steve Madden leather boots from 2013 that look like they got run over by a truck? No. 

What about the myriad of purses I have that don’t fit on my closet shelf due to the fact I’m CERTAIN they will one day come back in style and I’ll be a hero when I can pass them down to friends and family? Yeah. No.

So I did it. I threw away five purses. FIVE. And don’t get all up-in-arms that I didn’t donate them, NO woman deserves a purse in that condition. It looked like I stored them in the cushions of my couch as a fat person sat on them. 

I was kidding … FOUR trash bags later, and I was cleansed. Underneath my bed is an organized masterpiece. What? I need my long leather gloves … BOOM in the hat box. Oh? You need to borrow my teddy bear that has a sweater on that says, “I’m Loved”? RIGHT NEXT TO MY SMALLER TUPPERWARE OF SMALLER PURSES. YEAH, SUCK IT, BITCH!

In all seriousness, I do feel like this imaginary weight has been lifted off of me. Just knowing that non-essential shit is no longer clogging my energy gives me this weird peaceful feeling. 

SO GO … organize and let go of your non-essential shit. And if anyone needs to come hug my, “I’m Loved” teddy bear, you know where to find me, and I know where to find it … a-thank you. 

(I wasn’t messing around)

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Reading For Your Jonas Woes

It was a hard decision, but … after much contemplation Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra decided to close today due to severe weather … aaaaand so I can ingest as many carbs and glasses of wine as possible. 

But being trapped inside of your house can get a little monotonous. Netflix and chill? Yawn. Baking? What? Why? Stop. Puzzle building? I can get down with that … but it can get a little frustrating after a while. 

You know what DOESN’T get old? Reading throwback posts from Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra. Yeah. You’re welcome. 

I choose at random, because, quite frankly there are just too many awesome ones to choose from :::hair flip::: 

But I hope I keep you entertained as you continue getting more and more intoxicated and your sidewalk gets more and more not shoveled. 

Stay safe. Stay warm. And God dammit keep your pets inside, for the love. 

Me Want Snacks


My Day With Ombre


Just Say No: Drunk Online Shopping

SEX & THE CITY, Sarah Jessica Parker, (Season 5), 1998-2004, © HBO/ Courtesy: Everett



I’m High On Fashion Week 


Today … A Fashion Blog Was Born Baby … 

(Awww … my very first post)

Style Stud: Emma From Philly Love Notes

Screen Shot 2016-01-22 at 9.51.59 AMEmma from Philly Love Notes has a huge crush on Philly … and I, in turn have an even bigger crush on her art work and Instagram account. 

Seriously, every single one of her posts makes my Instagram look like amateur hour and gives me this strong urge to up my Insta game HARD (yeah I just said that).

While you’re snowed in this weekend (or not … based on the track record of Philly meteorologists … I’m still skeptical), I demand you check her out. 

From her intricately designed and meticulously crafted maps (which my walls are crying out for right now), to her inspiring Instagram that makes Philly look more desirable and beautiful then ever … you too will fall in love with her work, if you haven’t already.

So behold, my Style Stud of the Week, Emma from Philly Love Notes. 

1. What inspired your intricate and beautiful maps? Like with all of my projects, it started on a whim. I had been practicing paper cutting, and decided that I should try and cut the entire city of Philly. I finished about 3 months after I started. A friend forced me to scan it to preserve it (thank God he did), and now I use that image to make my maps. 

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2. Describe your style in 4 words. clean, urban, comfortable, detail-oriented

3. What one thing excites you most in your closet? My new Madewell sweatpants for home and a beautiful Anthropologie dress that works for summer and winter

4. I see that you live in South Philly (not stalking you I swear). Where are some of your favorite places to shop there? Haha. I used to live in S. Philly, I’m in Callowhill now, so these are all over the map. Favorite spots: Fantes Kitchen Supply, Verde, Occasionette, and Vagabond (near work, so hopefully that counts)

5. Best place in Philly to take a pic for Instagram … GO! Race Street Pier and PSFS Building. No contest

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6. You have such a large presence on social media. What is a big social “no no” that would make you stop following someone? Posting too much. Also, if you’re a big account posting to the public and not just your friends, when it gets too personal, I unfollow. 

7. You’re hands down one of my favorite Philadelphians to follow on Instagram. Who is yours? @cbeatz852 (all things Philly) @meadowsweetmercantile (styling game on point) @nealsantos and @jasonvarney (for food porn)

8. A perfect day in Philly consists of … a chocolate croissant somewhere — currently trying to find the best, some time on the waterfront, hummus from Dizengeoff somewhere in there, and a walk around some part of the city I haven’t been to in awhile.

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9. Favorite restaurant/meal you are craving currently within city limits? Bud and Marilyn’s and Little Nonnas. Those ladies behind the 13th St corridor kick ass

10. What can we look forward to seeing next from you? I’m going to be changing jobs (still in the works) and having a little adventure. Also more maps. Always more maps.

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To purchase Emma’s custom woodcut and papercuts of Philly, click here

Things That Aren’t Sexy: Commuting In The Cold


Photo credit:–How-to-protect-yourself–pets–plants-and-more-from-the-hard-freeze/

Holy shit … it’s finally winter. And like I promised, I refuse to bitch, cry, or whine about the take your breath away temps. Because at least I’m not sweating through my bra anymore, right? Right. 

But as I dropped my last tissue on the disease-ridden ground on my way to the train platform, liquid from my nose streaming down my face … I realized something. I’m probably the least attractive person when it’s this bitterly cold out. And as I looked around, I realized no one is.

You think the cold would give your skin this beautiful rosy hue, something straight out of a rom com, right? The tip of your nose just a slight shade of pink. Hair perfectly curled under a flattering hat the actually covers your ears. A warm coat that keeps your feminine shape.

When it’s this cold, though, sometimes I wonder why I even bother putting on makeup in the morning. And it’s not because ol’ man winter pinched my cheeks, leaving them rosy, warm and glowing. No … instead he bitch slaps me leaving what I can only describe as a rosacea-like rash across my nose and cheeks for the rest of the day.

My lips are glued to my teeth because they are so chapped. And I most likely have tiny white saliva crusties (how about THAT visual) in the corners of my mouth from saying, “fuck, fuck, fuck” as the wind beats on my face as I walk. 

I look like a shapeless blob in my parka. No curves, no waist, no taas. Just a round shapeless, sexless blob. And the more layers I wear underneath said blob, the worse it gets. One oversized sweater later and you begin to resemble the Michelin Man’s sister. 

And my rather large head never fits any hats. I try … boy do I try. While I’m thankful they (kind of) cover my ears and stop them from freezing and falling off, is it worth the horrific hat hair for the rest of the day? Or the static electricity I get whilst trying to fix it that makes my hair stand up like a crazy person? I’ll never know. 

I’m beginning to contemplate investing in one of those cotton face masks. I saw a guy walking down the street the other day rocking one with sunglasses and I thought, “that guy has his shit together.” 

It’s not because I want to protect my skin or stay warm. No. It’s because I’m sick of people having to see me try to control my nose that is continuously running with one small used tissue I found at the bottom of my purse (I really have to invest in travel tissues) or … in dire situations … with my hand (I know … it’s foul, but what are my other options?!).

At this point, it’s best if people didn’t know if I was a human being or an alien when it’s this cold. A male or a female. An abominable snowman or the Michelin Man. 

But all of that imagery above is still probably sexier than thinking about me sweating through my bra … am I right?*

*Seriously … to all the boys … don’t ALL rush to my yard at once. 


(wh)Y?!: The Rise of JNCO Jeans From The Dead

It’s my pleasure to introduce my very first guest writer to Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra, Jenifer Reeves. She’s an up and coming writer in Philly and one of the very few I felt comfortable with handing over the reigns of my blog child to for a day. So show her some lerve, dammit.

Jenny is also kicking off my new series entitled, “(wh)Y…?” a spotlight on all the awful trends that have either been revived from the dead (where they belonged) or birthed out of what I can only assume is the horrifying loins of Satan.

jnco-jeans1The 90’s were certainly an interesting time for fashion. An eclectic mix of 80’s leftovers, the onset of the grunge revolution, and a bizarre year or so of drop crotch pants that were made popular by M.C. Hammer.

Perhaps these unfortunate trends were before your time; something you never had the pleasure of experiencing. I, however, entered into that decade as a brave and confused ten-year-old, willing to try out any and all fashion crazes, in hopes I would be asked to a school dance.

Mary Jane’s, shapeless dresses, thin cotton pants with an elastic waistband that resembled the “before” photo of a Jenny Craig commercial. Sadly … that was not the worst of it, though.

JNCO was a brand of jeans that became popular in the mid-to-late 90’s. They were no Levi’s, friends. Not even close. They were just yards and yards of endless denim with absurdly large pockets (over a foot deep), and leg openings up to 60 inches.

Let’s take a step back, though, and REALLY think about that. I have plenty of friends that are around five feet tall. Imagine one of them just curled up around your ankle, covering your shoes, and picking up litter and sidewalk gum with every step you take.

To be frank … JNCO’s are basically the world’s trashiest bridal train.

To top it all off, these gems were adorned with patterns such as tribal designs, graffiti lettering, and flames :::makes dry heaving noise:::.

My only theory was that someone may have taken a strong hit of acid, found themselves wrapped up in their grandmother’s drapery, sat in a corner doodling on the cloth that adorned them, and then listened to five-to-six hours of house music. And hence, JNCO was created.

Their giant back pockets were advertised as, “being able to fit a spray paint can.” They had secret “drug pockets.” JNCO had found their target audience and it worked. It almost makes sense when you think about how popular the “rave scene” was back then.

Look … it was a weird era. We’ve all made regrettable decisions as teenagers. But luckily, JNCO’s came and went, as all weird fashion does. They had a time and a place. And we moved on to more fantastic things in life like ball hugging skinny jeans.


Brace yourselves … they are making a comeback. Not merely the company name itself, but the same exact pattern. They didn’t switch it up or modernize it. Years later, someone decided that this could be “a thing” again.

Maybe wear some JNCO’s on a night out on the town? Lounging around at home for some “Netflix and chill”? I see it advertised on social media nearly every day. I find this confusing at best.

In a world where skinny jeans and leggings are flattering and fashionable, how can we possibly revert back to this? If only I had known bringing back JNCO’s was an option, I would have tried my luck at making holiday themed pajama pants an every day thing (God willing, it’s still a possibility).

I want answers. I want input. For now … I will simply ask the question: “WHY?!”


Style Stud: Juliet Sabella Of Wall Cycling Studio

Screen Shot 2016-01-15 at 2.38.45 PMMeet Juliet Sabella, owner of The Wall Cycling Studio with locations in Manayunk and a brand new location in Phoenixville, PA.

Listen, this chick is so inspiring it ALMOST made me want to try spinning again … but I say ALMOST because, no. I’m still out of breath from my last go at spinning.

At 18 years old, Sabella was 100 pounds over weight when she first fell in love with spinning. It wasn’t until she got laid off from her job as a full-time retail buyer that she realized she needed to chase her passion of opening up a spinning studio in the quaint town of Manayunk.

While I’m a full blown spinning reject, I can’t help but be in awe of her stamina and strength of not only getting healthy and fit, but starting from the bottom (no I refuse to break out in a Drake song) and building herself a flourishing fitness empire, which includes the addition of a new Barre Studio.

So I’m going to go back to sitting on my couch and eating carbs while you get to know this fashion-forward and fit lady, Juliet Sabella.

1. In 4 words, explain Wall Cycling Studio. Fun. Motivating. Community. Sweaty.

2. Finding a workout “style” can be tricky. What is your go-to outfit or brand that you love to rock? It depends. I love baggy tanks, but also have an obsession with graphic tees. My favorite pants to workout in are the Run Inspire Capri’s from Lululemon.

3. Okay let’s talk first time spinning. What do you wear and where can I get stylish versions of it? We want you to wear what you are comfortable in. If I could make a suggestion, it would be wear a tighter fitting pant (nothing made of cotton) and a tank top.

I say tighter pants because if your pants are too baggy or long, there is a potential of getting them caught in the pedals. I’ve had to cut a few people out of them before. I find almost everything I want/need in Marshalls. Go to Marshalls!

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 4. A little birdy told me you have some serious style outside of spin. Describe some of your favorite places to shop in Philly and describe your style for us. Oh wow, I love this compliment since 95% of the time I am in workout gear! My style is comfortable and cute. I love Nicole Miller and Lilly Pulitzer. I like for my shoes to add a pop to my outfits so I tend to wear a super bright colored high heel or a beautifully beaded open-toe strappy shoe. At the moment, I really like the jogger pants paired with a fitted top and heels.

5. Do you follow any strict diet regiments … vegan, vegetarian, carbetarian (like myself)? I love the name Carbatarian! I call it carbasarous rex (haha). Over the past couple years, I have been trying to switch my diet to more plant-based. I eat a lot of fish and meat. I’m hoping to make a full transition to plant-based later this year.

6. So many people are pledging to “lose weight” and “be healthy” in the New Year, and that rarely sticks. Since you are such a success story, losing over 100 pounds, give us 3 tips on how to keep our resolutions going strong.
1. Take it 1 day at a time.
2. Others will see results before you do, so do-not-stop.
3. Don’t beat yourself up if you have a bad day. This goes back to the first tip, take it one day at a time mentality.

7. What is your most beloved item in your closet right now and why? My Nike Dunk Sky Highs. They look good with everything! They also make me feel like I could break dance if I wanted to. I don’t know how to, but for some reason, I have always wanted to learn.

8. Time to spill the insider info … what is next for Wall Cycle Studio in 2016? Along with the new barre studio, a lot of other great stuff. My brain is always wandering, constantly thinking of exciting ways to enhance the studio. So you will just have to follow us on social media to find out.

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My Reads Of 2015

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At the beginning of 2015 I vowed to myself that I would read one book a month after remembering, first of all, how relaxing reading is, and second, as a writer, for the love of God this should be a priority. 

How did I pick my books? Well, I’m a huge fan of biographies and autobiographies, so sometimes I would take a stroll through a book store looking for something to catch my eye (yes, an ACTUAL bookstore … I don’t partake in this electronic crap when it comes to reading). And Instagram was another hot spot where I found a lot of great book recommendations, so shoutout to the kids I follow for that. 

While I didn’t quite make 12 books (I mean … life), I did read a lot of inspiring shit from some bad ass females that made me have this fiery desire to take over the world. 

And to pay homage to one of my biggest obsessions in life, I did a little photoshoot with my books in true the Coveteur style, pairing them with some of my favorite belongings. 

So behold, my reads of 2015. 

YES PLEASE – By Amy Poehler

Screen Shot 2016-01-14 at 11.36.05 AMAmy Poehler has been a comedy idol of mine and partially the reason why I (try) to be funny when I write. Her book is sassy and hilarious and really makes you want to shine in your own skin. And I read it in like a day over vacation. So YES PLEASE … read this. 

How to be a Parisian Wherever You Go, Love, Style, and Bad Habits – By Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline de Maigret, and Sophie Mas 

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This book made me want to straight up say, “fuck it, I’m moving to Paris.” Parisian girls are just effortlessly cool. It’s infuriating. But the way these Parisian girls described their lives and styles with such ease and humor, made me A. want to be their best friends, B. want me to not give such an eff about my hair, and C. want to be more bluntly funny in my writing. Again, I read this in like 2 days … do it. For cultures sake. 

To Kill A Mockingbird – By Harper Lee

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I mean … do I even need to explain why? The best part was I ordered this copy off Amazon for $2. TWO. DOLLARS. Go on Amazon, find your favorite classic for under $5 and read it. I challenge you all now.

GRACE – By Grace Coddington 

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Don’t be scared, but it’s like text book massive, but oh so glorious. Grace Coddington is an idol of mine, and reading the ups and downs of her life and career made me be all, “meh … I’m doing alright in life. If Grace can survive, so can I.” Also she includes some of her personal art work, and a lot of beautiful pictures from her life that entranced me. 

Isabella Blow: A life in fashion – By Lauren Goldstein Crowe 

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I’m going to be real with you. This book sucked … aaaaand I couldn’t get through the first 100 pages. It was a lot of names. A lot of interviews. A lot to keep up with. At one point I just wanted to scream, “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR FROM HER AUNT, JUST TELL ME ABOUT HER DAMN LIFE!” So yeah … just don’t. 

If You Have To Cry, Go Outside – By Kelly Cutrone

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The fact that it took me THIS long to read this book is a sin. Truly. I’m so ashamed. But just like every stylish girl from 2010 on, I couldn’t put it down and had this strong urge to email her and tell her to read my blog and give me harsh criticism so I could be better in life. 

Leave Your Mark – By Aliza Licht

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This was a book I found via Instagram, and I was so glad I did. Aliza gives a lot of great wisdom, and while it all resonated with me, I couldn’t help but wish I had this book when I graduated college, because I would have avoided SO many annoying and heartbreaking road bumps. For that reason, people who have been in their career five plus years, I would pass. But, for the girl/guy who just graduated, or the person who is lost in life … this book will take your soul, own it, and revamp it. 

I’ll Drink To That – By Betty Halbreich 

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By far, my favorite book of 2015. I found this when I was sad wandering through Barnes and Noble, and the cover just spoke to me. It’s everything: style, drama, iconic, powerful, sad, funny. I couldn’t put it down and almost cried when I finished it. I kid you not. I don’t cry, okay, I just don’t do such things. I also had this strong urge to visit Bergdorf Goodman, find her, and hug her after I read it. This is a must. 

Hi, I’m Anxious

Anxiety-is-my-friendI won’t sugar coat this and I’m not looking for “aww’s” or sympathy … I swear. I’ll smack you if I hear an, “aww.” But since as long as I can remember I’ve been dealing with pretty bad anxiety. It’s not constant, but when it shows its ugly fucking face, it’s just the worst. That is the only way I can describe it. 

Seriously, I see “aww’s” about to come out of your mouth, and I swear I will smack you.

I’m sharing this with you because I am currently infuriated by an article about Kourtney Kardashian (I know, I know … but I have a point AND she is clearly the best Kardashian, right?) and how she is dealing with her anxiety issues. Apparently, her working out and taking scantily clad selfies showing off her smokin’ bod, “may not be portraying the healthiest message to her fans and followers.” 

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There are a lot of awful symptoms that come along with anxiety and everyone deals with them differently. Sometimes I feel like I have an elephant sitting on my chest. Other times I have this insane urge to run for my bedroom as fast as I can and hide under the covers forever. How do I deal with all that? Well … sometimes, not always, like the other night when I was feeling exceptionally anxious, I ate shoe string fries in my pajamas while talking with my mother. While that isn’t my only solution for my anxiety, it sure was soothing (and delicious)

But another side effect is lack of appetite (this is not a problem I have, I luckily gorge myself on carbs), which Kourtney admitted that she had been dealing with, but is fully focused on staying healthy. So tell me how her throwing herself into her fitness and health and showing off her hot bod is “portraying an unhealthy image” for her fans? 

For anyone who deals with anxiety (which, it’s more than you think), no one would wish this shit on their worst enemy. So I highly doubt she’s like, “hey kids, start stressing yourself out and getting real nervous to the point where you want to cry every other second and not eat anything ever, and you TOO can have a hawt body like me!” I mean … come now. 

Whether you deal with your anxiety issues with medicine, working out, coloring, or eating delicious french fries whilst in your pajamas, like yours truly … at the end of the day it’s no ones damn business but your own. Know that. 

But in the same breath, be healthy about it. Who knows if what Kourtney is saying is complete and utter hogwash. Quite frankly it doesn’t matter. What matters is she is bringing a very important topic to the table by allowing anxiety sufferers to be open about their issues … and I think that is an awesome thing. Because sometimes it’s hard and doesn’t feel right to tell the ones around you what’s really happening inside. 

I will salute Kourtney Kardashian for making it okay to talk about the so-called,“elephant on my chest,” because sometimes just talking about it helps. So be proud of the things you’ve found to soothe your anxiety. Kourtney has her fitness. I have my shoe string french fries (did I mention I was dipping them in spicy hot mustard … because I was and it was glorious).

*From one anxiety sufferer to another, feel free to privately share your story with me or how you treat your moments of anxiety. 

Oprah Hypnotised Me

NEW YORK - JUNE 4: Television talk show host Oprah Winfrey poses inside during the 25th Anniversary of the Annual CFDA Fashion Awards held at the New York Public Library June 4, 2007 in New York City. (Photo by Evan Agostini/Getty Images for CFDA) *** Local Caption *** Oprah Winfrey

NEW YORK – JUNE 4: Oprah Winfrey poses inside during the 25th Anniversary of the Annual CFDA Fashion Awards

I was never a huge Oprah fan (please don’t throw things at me). Every time I tried to watch an episode, it was always ridiculously sad and turned me into a hysterical mess who all of a sudden felt really bad about everything in life. So yeah … no. 

But after the sheer madness that has been occurring over the past month (and by madness I mean not giving a fuck about dieting and ingesting as many carbs and glasses of alcohol as humanly possible), my body is politely like, “ummm … yeah if you don’t start giving me water and vegetables soon I’m going to straight up cut you.” 

So when I saw Oprah’s new commercial for Weight Watchers (ps. does the woman REALLY need more money, I mean come on?!) explaining how 2016 was going to be the “year of her best body,” I weirdly started drooling and was like, “okay, Oprah, I’ll do whatever you say.” 

Don’t get it twisted, I’m not rushing to join Weight Watchers or anything, because quite frankly I can talk myself out of anything, for example: “Kate, you can have this carb filled carb and NOT go to yoga if you go tomorrow and the next day.” And then I never end up going. So chances of me sticking to a Weight Watchers diet is slim to none. So again … no.

But I do want 2016 to be the year of my best body, dammit, and I think it is because Oprah hypnotised me. Want to know why I believe Oprah hypnotised me? Because last night I ordered a sandwich and took the top piece of bread off of it to reduce carb intake. I took bread off my plate. Do you understand how unnatural that is for me? BREAD WAS REMOVED FROM MY PLATE. Yeah.  

Look … I’m in my last year in my 20’s, I feel disgusting, and I would like to not walk past my mirror and feel the strong urge to kick it in. I’m not saying I want a Kardashian ass or a six pack. I just want Oprah to look at me at the end of 2016, grab both of my hands, lift them up, and start shaking them madly whilst saying, “GOOD FOR YOU, GOOD FOR YOU!” Is that too much to ask?

So if you are someone like me who thought they were safe from Oprah reeling them in to her favorite things, or doctors, or John TRAAAVOOLLLTTAAAA obsessions, you are terribly wrong, my friends, terribly wrong. But this time you aren’t going to want the softest socks in the world or the latest color of Ugg boots … you’re going to want to be your best self (I almost can say that without wanting to vomit).

All hail Queen Oprah. 


28 Lessons From Year 28

birthdya-hat-kittyTomorrow I start my crazy adventure through my last year in my 20’s. A lot of my friends are truly horrified about entering the scary and unknown grounds of their 30’s … but I’m fully prepared and over the moon about entering into a new decade. Simply because my 20’s were the worst. Lots of change. Lots of tears. Lots of growing up. It sucked.

So instead of feeling like tomorrow starts the ticking time bomb of 365 until I turn 30 :::cue stupid lightning bolds:::, I’m going to reflect on the 28 lessons I learned this year. Because it is important to reflect, you know? 

So 29 … let’s get these 365 days over with so I can start a new book in my series, shall we? 

1. I’m a proud cat lady and I likes it

2. Tina Fey is God and I strive every day to become her


3. Reading is my natural form of Xanax

4. Fear can make you do incredible things you never thought you would be able to do … (wow … how deep am I?! But yeah … it’s true)

5. Cooking shows are ALSO my natural form of Xanax (Chopped specifically is my jam)

6. Speaking of cooking, I’m kind of getting in to it and my picky eater ass is kind of expanding her palette (what? I know … right?)

7. That sometimes life can get so much better once you get laid off from a job

8. That social media gives me anxiety 

9. Hangovers truly get worse with age (I’ve always had bad hangovers, but my GAWD)

10. I have the patience of a golden God :::hair flip:::


11. I turn into a complete asshole at the grocery store, but so do you

12. The only way I can vacuum is if I’m blasting Missy Elliot 

13. That chopping your hair off can be horrific and scary, but so liberating

14. Speaking of hair, I’m totally going more and more blonde in year 29 (again … what?)

15. I loathe exclamation points and proudly take my red pen to them whenever I see an opportunity present itself. Because no one is ever THIS excited!!!!!!!!! No one. 

16. Oh yeah … I still hate people (that is probably a constant)


17. I love my cats more than I love you (in fact I just paused writing this post to snuggle her)

18. The only way you will ever get me to run, in a bathing suit, sans a cover up, is when a gigantic tarantula presents itself (happened this summer and I abandoned my mother, niece and nephew proudly)

19. I loathe sweating and have dreams of starting a one woman show called “Die, humidity, die … COLON … I just sweated through my bra”

20. That while I respect T. Swift … BAD BLOOD AND MAD LOVE DON’T RHYME. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, THEY JUST DON’T! And yes I used an exclamation point because that is just how much this shit infuriates me. 

21. I’m a spin class failure and I’m okay with it 

22. The older I get the more I’m turning into Dorothy Zbornak 


23. That Keeping up with the Kardashians is my secret addiction in life and every day I have to take deep soothing breaths from stopping myself from subscribing to their apps (DON’T LOOK AT ME!)

24. I still wish my job consisted of saying “HOT SHIT” or “NEW SHIT” in the beginning of rap songs

25. But, more than ever, I’m extremely thankful for my career and for all the fantastically smart and talented people I have the pleasure of working with

26. My mantra that got me through a huge portion of year 28 was, “I’M NOT REALLY HERE. I’M NOT REALLY HERE.” (credits from the Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt … by the way when is that coming back because my life is lost without it)

27. Don’t tell me to smile when I’m walking because I will burn your face off with my death glare (this is a constant for every year)

28. I love carbs … again … probably more than you

Farewell 2015

104fc6e02dc74b6769a6c1cd0a5e8505Welp … 2015 … how ’bout them … sports ball players?

Look, I’ve been going back and forth about this year. Apart of me wants to “Stella Got Her Groove Back”-style set fire to it and watch it burn to hell in a saucy outfit. Another part of me is like, “well, aww it’s kind of cute. Can’t we keep it just a little longer?”

2015 definitely tested me in more ways than one that made me question my sanity at some points … as well as my strength. But instead of slapping a big red stamp on the year deeming it either, “burn in hell. bitch” or “meh, I guess it was okay” … I’m just going to tip my cap to it and walk away feeling rather … lucky.

I won’t bore you with all the sapp-tastic details. I just want to share with you all that 365 days is an incredible amount of time. And good things will happen, and really fucked up things will happen, which makes it so hard to deem those 365 days good or bad. But with the good and the bad comes strength. Probably one of the most important lessons I’ve learned this year. 

But most importantly, the sunshine of my life, per usual, is this blog. It is my everything. I would buy it something from Kay Jewelers if it wouldn’t be weird, THAT is how much I adore it. But what is even sweeter is you, the person reading this nonsense. Yeah, you. The person who makes me keep on keepin’ on. I just … yeah I’m crying. Awesome. Stupid sappy thoughts. 

I’m beyond blessed to do what I love every single day of my life. And for that, I would like you to raise a glass of something (hopefully champagne, I mean it’s never too early to start) with me (yes, I’ve already started “Judgey McJudgerson”) and toast to a transformative 2015 and a happy, healthy, and always interesting 2016. 

Now I would like to reflect on my top 5 favorite blog posts of 2015 (see what I did there, that is why they pay me the big bucks). Which was REALLY hard, by the way … so I did one more for good luck. Click the image below to read on.

Dinner en Blah: because who likes wearing all white whilst lugging around basically a full dining room set en blanc to an unknown destination. I mean come now … 


Tough Love On Interning: because STOP SUEING YOUR EMPLOYERS, KIDS. YOU’RE MAKING THE OLDER MILLENNIALS (like yours truly) LOOK STUPID. STOP IT. “Wahhh I’m not getting paid and Michelle Tanner is making me work insane hours.” How else are you going to leave your mark, fools. Suck it up!


I Survived Fly Wheel Week One: (spoiler alert) remember the time I quit after week 2 because … yeah … I suck


People Still Can’t Handle Menstruation: but I definitely want to hear about a mans erectile dysfunction problems every 5 seconds on TV. A fun little splash from the hose from a creepy older gent to his wife in the garden (who is pretending to be 55 but is really like 40) and it’s ON.


A Tour Of My Boudoir: because I’m ridiculously proud of how I transformed my space and my cat kind of gave the tour so it is EXTRA adorable


Experiencing Miss Philadelphia 2015: because I got a behind the scenes look at a real life beauty pageant AND got to secretly try on the crown … which kind of made my life


Old Navy Stifles Creativity

Not a lot of things “ruffle my feathers.” I like to think of myself as a calm and zen (sarcastic) human being. Except when you try and stifle someone else’s creativity or try and tell them their dreams are “silly” or “unattainable.” Then steam comes out of my ears and it is ON.

Which is why I’m slighting mortified and, quite frankly, sad, that Old Navy has taken the role of the 1950’s Dad at the dinner table screaming and shaking his fists because his only daughter just shared that she didn’t want to get married, but instead would be enrolling in art school.

Here is the shirt Old Navy actually produced … for TODDLERS. 

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And here is my response:


I have wanted to be a writer since I was a really little. And :::muffles::: years later, it has been a really long and bumpy road for me to get there. I’ve had a lot of people along the way tell me it just wouldn’t happen for me. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far without the love and support of my family and friends over the years.

So for Old Navy to stifle the potential dreams of toddlers by saying, “you want to be a WHAT?! :::rich person cocky laugh::: No no, child … president looks much better on you :::smokes cigar:::.” My God, I don’t have words. What’s next, you’re going to produce a shirt in the spring that says, “Santa is real! (NOT!).” 

The greatest thing about being a kid is that any career is within reach. One day you want to be an artist, the next day you want to be a veterinarian. I remember for a VERY hot second that I wanted to be an actress (yikes). Whatever a child wants to be or is interested in, we should we encouraging that healthy exploration, NOT stifling it. 

I personally will be boycotting Old Navy for a while until a genuine apology is produced. And if you, my fellow fantastic artists (who don’t just include painters but writers, editors, designers, people in the tech industry, singers, actors, etc.) or enraged parents who want their children to have the opportunity to be whatever the hell they want, would like to join me, well, let’s do this.

I’m going to leave Old Navy with this one question, though: when you had the big idea of starting a fashion brand that makes affordable clothes for the entire family … who helped you get there? 

*I linked Old Navy to their Twitter handle so you can express your artistic freedom and share your dismay over that horrific design if you would like.

Exposing Skin During A Christmas Heatwave

article-2339291-1A3F441B000005DC-786_634x472Does anyone else think the rapture is coming or is it just me? It’s God damn Christmas in two days and I just walked outside without a coat on. What? And the meteorologists are all like, “::::nerd voice::: record shattering temperatures …. GLAVIN!” No. Let’s be real, it’s the end of days, right? Like this isn’t normal. 

Besides that, what the fuck do you wear to Christmas? Not that I like to get all fancy pants in front of my fam (sorry guys, you know I look like a gargoyle deep down, the gig is up). But a girl wants to look at least presentable, right?

I tried to stay festive on Thanksgiving with my brown cable knit, turtle neck sweater, and you know what? I was sweating my balls off the entire time to the point where my aunt was like, “for the love of God, go change,” and I refused because dammit I was being festive! 

But if you follow me on social channels, you know I loathe being hot and sweating and that I want to start a one woman show called, “Die, Humidity, Die … COLON … I just sweated through my bra.” So therefore I no longer give a shit about looking festive. As much as I want to wear my fur snood, tights, and festive sweater (that I don’t own), I’m saying to hell with it. 

Instead, and brace yourselves for this one, mama is exposing her legs on Christmas Eve by wearing an awesome skirt I own, SANS TIGHTS. Oh yeah. It’s happening. I’m giving everyone advanced notice to shield their eyes from the pale and probably rather hairy (shush, it’s winter, my razor goes into hibernation) mess that is about to come out of hiding. But don’t worry, I’ll shave prior, I’m not that much of a beast … simmah.

It truly disturbs me more than you know that I have to expose parts of my body this time of year that normally are in hiding under bulky sweaters and very focused on getting fat. It’s horrific. Like my arms. I haven’t looked at my arms in weeks. I have no idea what the hell is going on over there, besides lack of muscle definition and see-through paleness. So yeah … nothing great, kids. 

So if you are bummed out about not being able to be festively chic this Christmas, I’m with you, truly I am. It sucks. But hey, if the end of times are really upon us, mine as well be comfy. So I say whip out your maxi dresses and skirts. It’s totally unnatural (I know), but it is better than being a hot sweaty mess while you’re eating your weight in carbs and drinking your weight in wine. 

What can I say, this Christmas we are all going to get a lot views of very pale giggly bits … 


Fact: Perfume Commercials Are Odd

charlize-theron-600x450Only recently did I notice how bizarre perfume commercials are. I was sitting on my couch this weekend watching perfume commercial after perfume commercial scratching my head. Because honestly I’ve never seen one that made me go, “yes! I want a scent that is going to make me wiggle around like a sexy and seductive worm … to the perfume store!” 

My all time favorite perfume commercial is clearly White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor. It came out so so long ago and it’s still timeless. “These have always brought me luck.” Iconic. And quite frankly I still like whispering “white diamonds” in a creepy manner at random times. 

And Charlize Theron can basically do no wrong in a perfume commercial for Dior. Sure, it’s not completely normal to strut into a castle-like building and rip off all your clothes (by the way her strut is phenomenal). But at least I get the picture. I’ll feel better naked when I’m rocking Dior perfume. Side note: if I could get her to say “J’adore Dior” to me every night before I go to bed, I would be a happy human. 


Then you have the likes of Juicy Couture. I personally loathe Viva La Juicy. I don’t mean to offend anyone, but if a baby hooker had a scent, this is what it would be. The commercial is pretty spot on, though. When I smell it, I think of myself in a crowded pink box full of confetti and weird people grinding all up on me invading my personal space. It’s like a blond girl in a pink dress bitch slapping you. 


Back to Dior … good God, Natalie Portman for Miss Dior. What does you leaving your fiance at the alter so you can run away and climb a ladder onto a friken helicopter have anything to do with a scent?! Is this supposed to be symbolizing freedom or something? Because if I left my fiance at the alter, I would be all “FREEDOM!” and then you would find me chillin’ on the curb in my wedding dress waiting for my Uber to arrive.


Kendall Jenner for Estee Lauder. Shut up Kendall Jenner and Lady Marmalade. Just … shut up.


Marc Jacobs Decadence with Adriana Lima … well. Again … she is just writhing around on the floor like a worm who may or may not have just ingested some molly. Like should I be in a dirty motel room when I wear this perfume? Is that what you are trying to tell me, Marc Jacobs? I’m confused. 


And my most loathed perfume commercial has to be Lancome La Vie. Julia Roberts just looks completely uninterested in what is going on during the whole thing. I just want to kick my TV when she pathetically rips off the fake diamond puppet strings and stands at the top of the staircase smiling like, “I just got paid millions for doing nothing and giving you no clues as to what this shit smells like … so yeah … suck on that.” 

Lancome La Vie Est belle with Julia Roberts at Selfridges - YouT

So there you have it. Perfume commercials are just naturally weird, I guess. Do I know what scent I want to wear? Not even a little. But there is one thing I do know … 



The First Ever LSIASB 2015 Exhibit Of Gifts

While I usually do “Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra’s Favorite Things,” Oprah-style because … well … all hail Oprah, I decided to switch it up this year and offer more of a “gift guide.” 

There’s a little somethin-somethin’ for everyone. Even a few laughs for those of us who “ball on a budget” (I’ll give you a hint, it’s from Fendi). 

So I’ll shut up now while you indulge in the greatness of the very first EVER Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra 2015 Exhibit of Gifts. 

Jewelry Pouch: I don’t know about you, but when I travel my jewelry gets thrown into some random bag and ends up a tangled hot mess. So as a proclaimed jewelry whore, this is pure gold.

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Journal: Fun fact about me, I heart stationary. Even more fun fact, I love swearing. Combine the two and you have the most fucking brilliant journal ever. 

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Sticks + Stones necklace: I would sell my mother for this necklace. And I’ve said numerous times that if someone bought this for me (:::cough::: number 1 thing on my wish list :::cough:::), I would like to be buried in it (morbid, I know). AND Sticks + Stones is from Philly. Get on my neck, like NOW. 

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Faux Motif Scarf: You know … for those times when PETA mistakes you for someone famous and attempts to throw paint on you.

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Fendi Bag Charm: Alright everyone, let’s take a big ol’ cleansing laugh and publicly shame the idiots who would spend over $600 on a Fendi KEYCHAIN. A KEYCHAIN. I don’t care if Jesus blessed it … NO. But oh look, I found one for $10 WITH goggly eyes that looks exactly like the $640 Fendi one. Boom.

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Wand Salt & Pepper Shakers: Because could there possibly be a more fun way to season your food?! I think not. Salt for everyone!

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Zara heels: Yes I’m drooling … shut up … these heels are just that good. 

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Good reads: I realize biographies aren’t everyone’s jam, but they are mine (especially ones by inspiring women), and here are a few fantastic ones that I read in like a day (yes that addictively good).

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Erase Paste: I’ll say it again … this product is God’s gift to women. Now no one could ever tell you went on a bender last night! 

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Anthropologie Glassware: If you’re going to drink wine, it should be out of something fancy. (I hope to one day see that quote on a teabag or something)

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Christian Louboutin Lipstick: $90 is a little steep for lipstick, I know. But did you notice how insanely gorgeous the packaging is? And, if you can’t afford red Louboutin soles, red Loub lips are a great compromise.

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Bracelet Flask: Because sometimes people get thirsty AND want to look stylish … okay. I can feel you judging … 

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The Best Christmas Ever

4eafe419df7ec1ed566ab9a194f189ecI hate to say it, but I’ve turned into a little bit of a Scrooge when it comes to Christmas. Simply because I loathe running errands and interacting with psychotic holiday shoppers. 

But in an effort to not be such a crotchety ol’ bitch, I decided to reflect on my most favorite Christmas ever. Because nothing was more divine than Christmas as a kid, am I right?

While “Santa” brought me some rad gifts throughout my childhood, without even thinking about it, I know which one was my all-time favorite. And something I wish I still had today. 

Two words: Barbie. Car. And not just any Barbie car. A hot pink convertible Barbie car that I could drive at 5 years old. It was glorious. I mean it had a car phone … A CAR PHONE (it was the early 90s).

I was never one of those kids who woke up at 6am to open gifts (I know, I’m a freak). I don’t remember that exact Christmas morning, but they were all pretty much the same. I would wake up around 8am, patiently wait on the landing of my steps for my Aunt to arrive, and then walk into my living room where “Santa” had left all sorts of fun surprises and awesomely wrapped gifts.

But even when the presents had all been opened, and the stockings had been explored, there was always something else waiting to be found. It wasn’t under the tree, hell it usually wasn’t in the same room. But I could always count on the surprise finale. 

“I think I saw something in the den,” my Dad said to me with a ridiculous grin. “Maybe you should go check it out…”  as he winked and elbowed my brother. So I ran into the other room only to find a huge mass with a blanket covering it. I ripped it off to find my first set of wheels. I like to think this feeling I had when I saw it was equivalent to when Oprah told her whole audience, “YOU GET A CAR, AND YOU GET A CAR!” My head could have popped off I was so thrilled.

I drove that thing everywhere. From one side of the yard to the other. Around my house. On the sidewalk. Hell, even inside my house (which I still don’t know how I got away with that one … kind of insane behavior, parents). I was bad ass, what can I say.

Everyone loved this thing, including my Nana, who was barely five foot, and took it out for a spin when she came to visit. To this day it is one of my most pleasant and hilarious memories of my childhood. 

I would offer everyone to use it, including family members who happened to be having car trouble. I thought I was being super generous by offering them my fine set of wheels, and would secretly giggle over the idea of my Dad, in a suit, driving my pink ride down the highway. 

What happened to my Barbie car, you ask? I don’t really recall … I think my parents gave it to some ass clowns (I’m not bitter at all). Apparently it isn’t socially acceptable for a tween to be riding a Barbie convertible around. Whatever, society. I would still be riding that thing around today if I could … you know … for nostalgia purposes, of course :::shifty eyes:::

So there you have it. I don’t think a Christmas could be sweeter. To this day, even though I’m an adult who has lost a piece of her Christmas spirit (which totally sucks, I should work on getting that back), I still wake up and look for that surprise present. Even though I know it won’t be there, it still brings back awesome memories. 

Now tell me, what was your most beloved Christmas present? 


What Happens When We Get Bored


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We have so many fantastic and interesting ways to express ourselves. We can get tattoos, body piercings, write books, knit, paint. We can reinvent ourselves, Madonna-style. 

So you can imagine why I’m sitting here, scratching my head in confusion over the idea of people putting glitter, yes glitter, in their body hair. Go home, world, I think you’re bored.

Last year I tolerated men putting Christmas ornaments in their beards. It was slightly endearing, in a weird kind of way … when I was intoxicated, of course. But now we’ve moved on to putting glitter in beards. And if you weren’t turned off enough, women have been growing out their armpit hair :::gags::: and adding glitter to it. ARM PIT HAIR. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some glitter. I really do. I rocked glitter makeup like every normal teenage girl did. I had Steve Madden sneakers that were encased in glitter back in the day. I even wore gold glittery heels to my best friends wedding. To be clear, these are all appropriate uses of glitter. 

You know what isn’t? Glittery arm pit hair. Ladies who are doing this: why? Are these the lengths we have to go to receive male attention? “:::sips beer::: Hey guy, check out ma glitter pits. Go ahead, stare all you like. Yeaaaaahhh, you like that?” Because personally, if Justin Timberlake came up to me and insisted on showing me his glittery pits, I would probably back away slowly and run in the opposite direction. Justin. Timberlake. 


And gents, we love your hipster “Brawny-man” beard. We really do. You’re so cool. But it’s already the cave of wonders to us. Food, germs, toothpaste, a little gnome … who the eff knows what you got going on. So why, dear God why, do we have to add glitter to this cesspool of an equation? We already have to pretend your bread hair doesn’t irritate our sensitive skin. Now we have to pretend to be okay with looking like we just macked it with a unicorn?!

So while I appreciate the attempts at being festive, I feel like we’ve taken a turn down the scary road called “out Miley Cyrusing Miley Cyrus,” and I feel strongly that it needs to end before it gets REALLY out of hand. 

To the 1.5 men reading this, keep your beards clean and glitter-free. We will be more inclined to make out with you, I pinky promise. Ladies, shave your under arms, for the love of God, shave your under arms (I realize I sound like I’m 100, deal with it). And if you really feel the need to indulge in this glittery trend, revert back to your teenage years.

God, why can’t we all just be normal again get obnoxious tramp stamps?! (I kid … please don’t do this. Wait … you know what? I take it back. I prefer tramp stamps to glittery pits. So there.)

Why Holiday Sales Are The Absolute Worst

6a00e54efdf1128833014e88ff7927970dIf you’re anything like me you’re still in a food coma, craving a deliciously healthy salad for lunch, and have contemplated taking a long break from alcohol. Yep. The Monday following Thanksgiving is the worst. 

But you know what takes the cake for being the absolute worst, though? Black Friday. And not just Black Friday, but Black Friday weekend followed by “Cyber Monday.” I never partake in Black Friday shenanigans simply because seeing people lose their shit over 20% off sales makes me highly uncomfortable.

This year, though, I accidentally ventured out, and on my way to a relaxing pedicure thought to myself, “hmm why is Walnut Street in Philly so crowded?” And then my heart sank on the sidewalk as some sale hungry woman shoved me out of the way as I remembered, “IT’S. BLACK. FRIDAY.” 

Instead of going underground and seeking shelter, I had a “when in Rome,” moment, took a deep breath and entered H&M simply because I’m a jewelry whore and needed a new statement necklace. And guess what? I survived. 

So I took another deep breath and entered Zara … which looked like they had just made an announcement that in an hour there was going to be no more clothes available, ever, in the entire world. People were like hanging from the rafters. Well not really, but you get the picture. So I folded.

While I did not become a Black Friday convert, after spending some time out with the Black Friday shoppers, I believe I have pinpointed why it is the absolute worst … 

The heat: it’s funny, in casinos they pump in fresh, cold air to keep people awake and wanting to waste more of their hard earned money on slots. Yet, in the stores, even though it was a balmy 65 degrees out, it was like the tropics. Making me want to faint and vomit all at the same time.

The unnecessary attitudes: I witnessed an older woman bark at every person who walked past the line to check out that, “THERE WAS ONE LINE! ONE. LINE!” And God dammit it started back there! BACK THERE, I SAY! Of course, every time she did this, she felt the need to turn around to me and give me a look like, “can you believe these people?!” Why do these freaks always find me?

The careless shoppers: you know them. The ones at the register that are like, “this dress is only $10!? Shit, I’m going to go grab 10 more!” Leaves the cashier, takes 10 hours to grab 10 more, and holds the damn line up. And then comes back like, “oh well … didn’t have my size!” Meanwhile the line to checkout is now wrapped around the store five times. Cool. 

Unnecessary noise: why (:::cough:::, Mac cosmetics ::::cough:::) do you feel like hiring a DJ that plays loud, obnoxious rave music that is just different octaves of “UNTZ, UNTZ, UNTZ” is an effective way to bring in shoppers? Because this is always what happens…


Sales person: WHAT? :::untz … untz … untz:::


Sales person: HOLD.

:::Comes back with a red lipstick::::

Shopper: NO I SAID MATTE … YOU KNOW WHAT … fuck this I’m leaving.

I could go on but that would just be irritating for all parties involved. This holiday season, treat the people working at these stores like human beings. They don’t own the store you are shopping in. Nor do they have control over the fact that what you want is sold out. They are just trying to make a living so they too can enjoy their holidays. So stop being assholes. That’s all I ask. ‘Tis the season, right? 


Let’s Give Thanks, Shall We?

Screen Shot 2015-11-25 at 10.07.28 AMLast week I had a bit of a throwback moment where I got to color in a printed out piece of fruit and write what I’m thankful for inside of it … yes like we once did in preschool. Oddly enough it was insanely cathartic.

While I can’t supply you with printed out pieces of fruit due to the fact that I’m just not that tech savvy, I would like to bore you to death and share a few things that I’m thankful for since I’m feeling extra EXTRA thankful this year. No clue why, I just am. 

But don’t let my lack of tech knowledge stop you from getting creative and sharing what you’re thankful for, though. Put it out into the universe. Shout it from the social rooftops. Or just tell me, because I’m nosey and want to know, dammit. 

So with all of that being said, wishing all of my fantastic readers a very happy and carbolicious Thanksgiving.

1. Life Sucking In A Strapless Bra: if strapless bras weren’t the worst thing on the planet, I wouldn’t have so much joy in my life right now


2. My family: I mean … duh … 

3. My work family: they are awesome and I’m so lucky to be apart of such a supportive and caring bunch of weirdos.

4. My cats: I just couldn’t imagine my life without them. OMG am I crying?! 

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5. My friends: you know who you are, and as much as I want to go old school “AOL profile” and list the select few of you that I adore, I’m an adult and that is weird. So you know who you are and all I can say is I can’t live … if livin’ is without you.


6. Carbs and wine: Let’s make out later, kay?


7. My career: this past year, especially through all the bullshit and really tough ups and downs, at this moment I can’t help but say “pinch me.” I’m so blessed for all of my opportunities and the people who have helped me get to where I am today. For real … this one may make me shed a tear. 


8. My mom: I know, I know, I already said family, but I’m especially obsessed with my mother. She’s way more stylish than I will ever be and is pretty much the best human I know, inside and out. 

<This is the picture I would post of her if I knew she wouldn’t cut me>

9. My health: because I would feel like an asshole if I didn’t say that.

10. Tina Fey: … because she’s my spirit animal and mentor, except she doesn’t know it or know me. But it’s cool, Tina, we’ll catch up soon. You have my number, right? Cool? No? You don’t want it … aye yes. Right.

30 ROCK -- "The Beginning of the End" Episode 701 -- Pictured: Tina Fey as Liz Lemon -- (Photo by: Ali Goldstein/NBC/NBCU Photo Bank via Getty Images)

30 ROCK — “The Beginning of the End” Episode 701 — Pictured: Tina Fey as Liz Lemon — (Photo by: Ali Goldstein/NBC/NBCU Photo Bank via Getty Images)

Public Service Announcement: Don’t be a fucking idiot and drink and drive tonight. In fact stay home. It’s the amateur hour of drinking. So unless you want some poor bastard who never ever drinks, but decided to get his swerve on and down some kamikaze’s to end up vomiting all over you, I say stay home. 

Where Have Our Grocery Store Manners Gone?

loaf-sugar-1950sI came to the realization this past weekend that every person that enters a grocery store turns into a raging, ruthless asshole. It sounds harsh, and I bet you are all like, “What! Me?! NEVER.” But you do. I do. We all do. 

I realize this has nothing to do with fashion or lifestyle, or anything Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra stands for, but it does fall under the category of living your life in a stylish and classy manner. And if you’re in the confines of a grocery store, there’s a good chance you are not. 

But no matter what I do to get myself “hyped” to buy food, once I enter the grocery store, it is like the Old Orchard Mall from Mean Girls. Animals attacking one another. And by animals I mean women decked out in Lululemon eyeing up the bitch that just pushed her cart out of the way to get broccoli.


Look I hate getting “preachy,” but what I’m really here to do is remind you all during this hectic holiday season that you aren’t the only human being on this Earth. And that manners are actual things and you should use them. And when you find yourself being an asshole, take a step back and be like, “wow, I’m having an adult temper tantrum in public. In a grocery store. This is happening.” Shaming yourself is actually really effective. Trust me.

Say excuse me:

Say it with me now, “ex-cuse me.” Don’t yell it. Don’t say it in a sarcastic fashion that makes me want to smush your face. Say it so the person you need to move hears it, nod your head, perhaps crack a smile if you feel up to it, and move on with your day. It’s that simple.

When someone says excuse me to you:

Don’t eye roll. Don’t pretend you didn’t hear them. Don’t say, “1 sec, sorry” and then take an extra 55,000 secs. Don’t give them a death stare like, “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME, PHEASANT!?” Acknowledge, move your cart over a smidge, and continue on picking out that perfect bushel of broccoli for another 55,000 secs. 

Keep your kids in check:

I’m here to buy my food for the week, not to give you a pass for taking up 90% of the aisle just because you decided to reproduce. I sound like a total bitch I know and “omg I don’t have kids, I’ll never understand.” Right. All I’m asking is to get from A to broccoli (man I must be craving broccoli) without hitting road blocks like your kids screaming bloody murder because you won’t buy them Cocoa Puffs (hey, we’ve all been there … Cocoa Puffs rule … I used to get super pissed when my mom wouldn’t buy them for me).

Speaking of annoying things …:

What is UP with the car-designed carts for kids that take up WAY too much room. When I was a kid my mom handed me a box of circus animal crackers, sat me in the cart, and told me to shut the fuck up. Now we need to give these kids like Benz’ to roll around the grocery store in to keep them “entertained.” Do you REALLY think these cesspools you’re putting your kids in are effective? 

Meanwhile, when you’re off barking at the deli guy to cut your deli meats SUPER THIN, do you hear me I said, SUPER THIN, as your kids nosh on their free cookie in their faux cart car monstrosity, I can’t get by. Just remember, when your off ensuring the correctness of your deli meats, some normal woman is stupid behind your stupid obnoxious cart quietly losing her shit.

Slow walkers of America:

Unless you have a disability, FUCKING. MOVE. That’s all I have to say about that.

Space hogs:

I know you REALLY need to check every single apple to make sure it’s up to your household standards, but you REALLY need to understand that you are not the only living soul that needs apples for the week. So be aware of your surroundings, and like move over a smidge. Share the space. And again, don’t eye roll when I say “excuse me,” or call me a bitch under your breath. I can hear it. It isn’t nice. 

Refrain from cart wars:

We all know how to drive (kinda). We all know hitting another car is bad, right? Yet, while using a shopping cart it’s like the God damn wild wild west. I’ve seen stand-offs. I’ve seen the dripping in sarcasm, “NO NO, PLLEEEASSSE AFTER YOU.” Guess what? Those rules you learned when you got your drivers license apply to shopping cart usage. Right side of the aisle is one way. Left side of the aisle is another. Need something? Pull over. And quite frankly people with “cart rage” (it’s a thing) should go in a designated grocery store time-out corner or something and get their life in check. The 2 for $4 Diet Coke sale will still be there when you calm the hell down. 



10919341_898499173515793_2013780022_nThis post is dedicated to the city of Paris, and for all of those affected by the terror attacks last Friday. My heart is with you.

I wanted to be snarky this morning. I wanted to wake up and post a picture on Instagram about how I can hear Monday whispering, “go fuck yourself,” in my ear already. I wanted to post on Facebook how in love I was with Aziz Ansari’s new Netflix show and if I could just keep him in my pocket and take him out when I needed a laugh, I would be the happiest person in the world. But I couldn’t. It didn’t seem right.

I was 14 when 9/11 happened, and the first thought I had was, “hmmm I wonder if TRL will still be on.” My young brain clearly had no fucking idea what just had happened and how the world would never be the same.

And here I am, 28 years old, glued to the TV watching these horrific events unfold in Paris, and I can only imagine this feeling that I can’t quite describe that is consuming me is what adults felt during 9/11. 

I have no connection to Paris. My family is not from there. I did not study abroad there. I’ve never even been to Europe. In fact I was really hesitant to post the Eiffel Tower peace sign across Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra social channels, because I so desperately didn’t want it to look like I was joining the “bandwagon,” since I didn’t have a solid connection.

But I posted it because truly my heart hurt for the people of Paris. Simply because what happened to them could happen anywhere. Literally anywhere. They went out on a Friday evening to unwind, relax, enjoy the city. Something I do every weekend. Something many of us do every weekend. And several lost their lives for that for no reason.

While I know my snark will not be on hiatus forever, in fact I’m sure within the next 12 hours something will piss me off, or my cat will do something ridiculous and I’ll feel the need to Instagram it, but for now I want to focus on being positive. I know this sounds totally fucking weird coming from me, but it’s worth it since we all have so many reasons to be. Really … think about it. 

I hope you’ll join me. It won’t be easy (especially on a Monday when everything hurts and my bed is like a super comfortable vice). And I’m not saying smile all day until your cheeks burn, skipping and handing flowers to strangers. Gross. But it a little something we can do to pay homage to the brave people of Paris. 

UPDATE: my cat DID do something ridiculous and I DID Instagram it. Stella’s getting her snark back. 

The Black Turtleneck Saga

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Photo credit:

Last week I took a trip to Uniqlo because I needed a simple black turtleneck, and didn’t want to pay millions of dollars for it. And well, when I think affordable basics, I think Uniqlo. 

Why did I need a black turtleneck? Well, I believe you need to start with the basics before you can ultimately build a proper wardrobe. A black turtleneck goes under the category of the crisp white button down, the crew neck you adore so much you buy it in 10 different colors, and the perfect white T. All things every lady needs. 

This happened to be a lackluster shopping experience for me, though, which is the absolutely worst. A simple black turtleneck? Yawn. I was secretly hoping something shiny and fantastic would catch my eye once I entered Uniqlo so I could buy my necessary garment and then treat myself to something cool for being so pragmatic. 

A pair of sweats with a cool design caught my eye and I immediately pictured myself being able to go out in public with them instead of looking like my normal slobbish self in sweats. But “meh” … I passed. Instead I decided just to “get er done,” so I tracked down the black turtlenecks for $20 a pop, found my size, and took it into the fitting room.

I slipped it on, starred at myself in the mirror wearing it and decided I “nothing-ed it.” The fit was fine. The fabric was fine. I knew I needed it, but did I want it, per-say? Negative. But it worked and didn’t make my eyes burn, so sold, I guess …?

I got in line to pay, so bored, so unamused when this wave of empowerment took over me. To hell with it! I put down the black turtleneck and walked out of the store. True, I needed it. But dammit clothes should give you SOME sort of reaction for fucks sake. You shouldn’t “nothing” an item you are spending your hard earned money on for the sake of looking stylish. 

Even though I didn’t want to spend a bazillion dollars on a black turtleneck, I was now looking for one to spark an emotion out of me, so I took my ass to Nordstrom.

Immediately I found one with fabric I can only describe as delicious. It was so soft and lovely … to this day it makes my heart skip a beat. Too bad it was just a little too unforgiving around my jiggly bit region (I’m hibernating, fuck off) … so I passed. But the fabric … OH the fabric!

I tried on another that had an interesting design, and was a bit more baggy, which, hello, I thoroughly appreciate. The fabric was incredibly snuggly, and after quickly deciding I could live in said garment, I was sold. True, it was a little more than I was looking to spend, sure (details), but comfort has no dollar sign in my eyes. With a little more money, I didn’t have to give up style for the sake of a staple.

My love affair with turtlenecks is rather new, as I swore I would never wear them after years of rocking ones with seasonally appropriate symbols embroidered all over them (snowmen, leaves, pumpkins … thanks, Mom). But they really should be a staple in every woman’s closet. Like I said, if I could live in my new one, and it wouldn’t be gross or weird, I would. 

Here are some of my favorite turtleneck looks…


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Style Stud And Giveaway: LashBee

i-h5kVKWZ-LThey say that your eyes are the windows into your soul. So that would mean your eyelashes are your blinds (or drapes for you fancy, folk), so they mine as well look fantastic, right? 

Meet Anjali and Erin, the owners of LashBee, a lash extension company focused on giving the ladies of Philadelphia gorgeously natural looking extensions that aren’t damaging.

And did I mention they are giving away a $100 gift certificate to one lucky Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra reader? Because they are. I will be drawing a rando winner on Friday, November 13!

Click this link to enter to win a $100 gift certificate to LashBee: a Rafflecopter giveaway

 Now let’s get to know LashBee a little better, shall we? 

I see you and your co-founder Erin just graduated from Wharton’s MBA program. What made you decide to open a lash extension service? What was your inspiration? 

Erin and I had worked together on Wharton’s Entrepreneurship Club and both wanted to start a company. We brainstormed all sorts of ideas but kept coming back to lash extensions, since we knew that women would love them if it became more accessible with higher quality. We tested out the concept in the Wharton community and had overwhelmingly positive results.


What makes LashBee different?

We are committed to offering the highest quality extensions. We have analyzed every step of the eyelash extension process and have innovated ways to make it faster and safer.

We rigorously tested products for over a year before launching LashBee. We used a number of analytics to figure out ways to make the extensions last longer, considering factors such as humidity and different skin and eye types. We also have a product engineer on our team who is helping us develop new tools that will make the extension process more ergonomic for the lash stylist.

Since we partner with existing spas and salons, we can be in more locations that are convenient for our client.  Whether someone is getting their eyebrows done or a skin facial, they can easily add their eyelash fill onto the treatment.


For a newbie to the world of eyelash extensions, what service would you suggest?

Our signature style is the LashBee and it where we put a lash on every healthy lash.  Since it is so full, it replaces the need for eyeliner and mascara.

What should a person know before getting lashes if they never have?

It is such a relaxing process! Over 80% of our clients fall asleep. Think of it as a little nap where you wake up looking gorgeous.

Also, eyelash extensions are unregulated in PA so it is very important to go to a reputable place that will not damage your lashes. Not all eyelash extensions are the same. We do recommend consultations since we are significantly different in our approach compared to most spots.

I have really long eyelashes (:::hair flip:::). Why would someone like me get my eyelash extensions done?

We love long, healthy lashes! No matter the size of your natural lashes, we can always make thicker, longer and darker. Our clients are often surprised how much less dark their under eyes are when they don’t have to deal with mascara or eyeliner.  Extensions make you look more awake, younger and they draw attention to your eyes.


What is next for you ladies? Will it always be lash-focused, or do you have plans down the road to expand?

We are currently in two locations in Philadelphia (About Face and ANJUthreads) and hope to continue adding partners in different geographic areas in and around Philly.  We hope to then expand to other major cities; we are predominately eyeing NYC, DC and SF

Meeting Garance Dore

Screen Shot 2015-11-04 at 3.47.40 PMI personally thrive off inspiring women. I read their words. I stalk them on social. I feed off of their awesomeness in order to better myself and this blog. So when I heard, via Instagram, that Garance Dore was in Philly doing a book signing at Club Monaco, all of my bullshit reasons of why I never attend events dissipated. I would move mountains to meet this woman. She is my blogging shaman. 

With Garance Dore, you read her blog and immediately feel like you’re sitting at a cafe having a casual chat with her over coffee and a scone. That is what blogging, well, at least good blogging, is all about, right? She’s real, honest, and smart … if I could bow down to her and it wouldn’t be creepy, I would

I hesitantly approached Club Monaco in hopes a vicious line wouldn’t be out the door. To my surprise, things looked rather calm. I bought her book, LoveXStyleXLife (still out of breath), and got into the long, but not insane, line winding through the store. 

As I stopped perspiring (damn you, restrictive leather jacket) and my mind slowed down a bit, I began to wonder, why the eff was this line not moving (and, on a side note, why did I never know Club Monaco had such cute stuff)?

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After 15 minutes, I moved up a literal inch and saw a woman walking away from just meeting Garance beaming with a smile from ear-to-ear and carrying a beautiful bouquet of flowers wrapped in black paper. “You sit down with her and chat for a little! It’s marvelous,” she told the entire line.

Hold up … you get to talk with her AND she gives you flowers?! Did I fall into Parisian heaven? My heart began to race. I have SO much to say to her, but where do I begin? And why didn’t I know about this sooner. And why am I wearing a $10 Cheap Monday shirt with a cat shooting laser beams out of its eyes! BLAST! 

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All the women waiting in line looked so crisp and chic. I looked like I had crawled out of a punk rock cellar after a long day of commuting and working, with no makeup for touchups in sight. Thank Jesus for my arsenal of lipstick I carry around with me.

I wish I could tell you what happened when I met her. I really do. But I blacked out. Just like when I accepted my college diploma. Just like when I have to speak in public. I black out. 

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All I remember is her being so beautiful, smart and lovely in person, me telling her the name of my blog, and her loving it and asking me to write it down for her. Then, with a shaky hand, I wrote “” on a post it for her. I hope to dear sweet Jesus I spelled it correctly. 

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I was in such awe and amazement that she actually liked my blog title and perhaps will read it, I almost left without retrieving my cellphone from the woman who took my picture with Garance. Awesome. 

It’s SO important to have smart people in your life, whether you know them or not, to look up to and learn from. Seeing Garance in person and learning about all of her success only makes me daydream even harder of one day being at my book signing, and meeting awkward bloggers who are too nervous to form together sentences. Except instead of flowers I would probably give them carbs and wine or something.

And P.S. Garance, if you’re reading this, next time you are in Philly, let’s grab coffee. I promise to not be such an awkward hot mess this time. 

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The Evolution Of A Forever 21 Shopper

When I first met Forever 21, I had just graduated high school and was transforming from an Abercrombie gal to something more “edgy” (whatever the eff that meant). I remember purchasing a tube top dress that had apples all over it thinking it was quirky and “out there.” See below? Yeah … I don’t know what I was thinking either.

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F21 was there for me when I needed something spectacular to wear for my 21st birthday and had little to no money to my name. The dress I bought I deemed “F21 couture” simply because it cost more than $30 and was sparkly.

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And below, yep, this is basically what I wore every night out in college. A sultry “going out” top from Forever 21, boot cut jeans, no coat in the middle of the winter, and heels. Uh huh … I bet you’re enjoying this.

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When I graduated college, I moved back home and was completely lost in life. I was making money, but thought luxury was being able to buy everything and anything at F21 since for so long I had to make $20 go far. I also did NOT take care of my clothing (it literally all lived on my bedroom floor). Oh yeah … and I also wanted to be Lady Gaga … desperately. You can tell by the sunglasses I bought at … you guessed it … F21, duck face, and sparkly shirt I’m wearing below (I actually still have that top). (Good God, self). 

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For the past two years or so, I’ve taken a break from Forever 21, simply because there wasn’t one close to me, leading me to explore other stores and my sense of style. Not to mention Philly has really upped its shopping game adding a Century 21, which, quite frankly, made me the happiest person on the planet. 

I started investing in “pieces” and better brands. I became friends with dry cleaners and cobblers, and started to take an interest in my closet organization. Never again did a piece of my hard earned clothing ever take refuge on my bedroom floor (unless I was hungover)

But this past weekend I went back to my old stomping grounds of F21. It was kind of like visiting my alma-mater. The familiar overwhelming feeling of being faced with racks and racks stuffed with too many clothes warmed my soul. 

Instead of collecting everything and anything that caught my eye to try on like I did once upon a time, I found myself feeling the fabric, looking at the quality, and seeing if the piece was “timeless” instead of “trendy.” 

A camel-colored coat caught my eye, so I tried it on. Me five years ago would have purchased it and thought she resembled Kim Kardashian. But modern day me was too caught up in how the fabric looked wrinkled and cheap, something a camel coat should never be, regardless if it was $60, so I passed. 

After trying on 14 items, I walked away with one. One. A plain jane sweater that was snuggly and something I needed to go with a dress I already owned. What had happened to me and F21?

I was certain that when I turned 30, 40, even 50, I would still be shopping at Forever 21. But as I walked out of the store, I kind of felt like I was turning around and saying, “it’s me … not you!” I knew we were breaking up … and it made me incredibly sad. 

People like to hate on Forever 21 and say it’s cheap and silly. I know for a fact without it existing, I could have never explored and found my personal style so easily. And I’m not saying we broke up because I’m so fancy now and only shop at Saks Fifth Avenue and wear Manolo Blaniks and turn my nose up at it :::hair flip:::. Hell no. I have the highest respect for F21. I just think my taste has grown-up a bit. I’m 28, for crying out loud, it happens.

With all of this being said, would I re-think the apple tube dress? Meeeeeh probably.

This Just In: It’s Not Christmas Time

Screen Shot 2015-11-02 at 2.12.18 PMOf course, typical me, Ms. “I’m not dressing up this year,” got the itch to turn herself into the devil early Saturday. With my fingers crossed, I walked into Rite Aid thinking there had to be SOMETHING devilish still available … right? 

Instead, I walked through the Halloween aisle to not find any goblins, ghouls, or ghosts … but instead … Santa Claus? Effing Santa Claus?! It was 1 p.m. on Halloween and kids hadn’t even started trick-or-treating. Yet I’m face-to-face with an arsenal of wrapping paper. 

Look, I love me some Christmas, I really do. You would have to be a cold-hearted snake not to want to get down with some Christmas. But when people talk about it starting in October, it makes me want to kick them … hard.

I get it, the Christmas season is a hectic time. But that doesn’t mean we get to extend its shelf life in order to make our lives “easier.” That’s just not real life. “Oooh, I don’t feel like making this deadline work. Let me bitch about it for another month just because I can.” Yeah. No. 

K-Mart commercials in October that play Christmas carols, telling me to put shit on layaway just because I can … again, makes me want to kick people … hard. Same with you, Starbucks. I still haven’t recovered from your Pumpkin Spiced bitch slap. Now you want me to indulge in “holiday flavors?” Can’t a girl OD on bite-sized candy in peace?!


Instead of viewing Christmas as this war zone of hell where you are either battling crowds at the mall whilst sweating to death, or getting hammered with every person you have ever met in your life whilst eating an unimaginable amount of carbs, why don’t we all just take Christmas in stride. Shall we? 

We had a rule in my house growing up that we weren’t allowed to talk about Christmas until the day after Thanksgiving. It sucked as a kid, because all I wanted to do was skim through the Sears catalog and make a rad red and green Christmas list. 

But it was my parents way of saving themselves from the stress of having to review my obscene Christmas list too early (not my fault, I was under the impression Santa handled these tasks). And also, giving me something to look forward to. 

So people, what I’m saying is, let the months be what they are. October for scary shit. November for turkey and food comas. And December. The month of December. December 1-31, all about the holidays. Until then, put your ear muffs on and tune out the premature holiday nonsense. 

Because I don’t want to think about decking the halls, watching Home Alone (my favorite holiday film), or the stress of figuring out what Great Aunt Susie wants until my food coma and leftovers have dissipated after Thanksgiving. Got it?

Be in the now, people, be in the now. Keep your eye on the turkey for the next 30 days. Otherwise, prepare to be kicked … hard. 


Style Stud: Morticia And Wednesday Addams

1a4a1cb98af400d1ae22212b46d60b64First of all, Happy Halloween, kids. I adore it. Mostly because I love witches. And darkness. And evil. (I kid :::shifty eyes:::) No in all seriousness, give me an excuse to dress ridiculous and eat a plethora of bite-sized chocolates whilst watching Hocus Pocus and I’m a happy girl. 

If you hadn’t noticed by my Instagram this week (you stalk me on Instagram, right? RIGHT?!), I’ve been paying homage to some bad ass Halloween-inspired ladies, myself included when me and one of my best friends dressed up as the twins for the Shining. It ruled.

While I was never a huge fan of the Addams Family show or movies (although I recently saw a handbag that resembled Cousin It and needed it in my life), I pretty much bow down to Morticia and Wednesday. They like … get me


A random guy at a bar one time told me I looked like Morticia Addams, probably because I was wearing all black and suffering from hardcore resting bitch face, and I was over the moon. I believe it was a sad attempt at flirting, or perhaps he was trying to insult me, who the eff knows slash cares. See! That is such a Morticia thing to say. 


Don’t worry, I’m not going to be like one of those crazytown people who get plastic surgery to look like the star they are obsessed with and turn myself into extra creepy and plastic-ey version of Morticia Addams. BUT … I will deem the rad mother and daughter duo, Morticia and Wednesday as my Style Stud of the week. Because they keep it real, loathe people, and are incredibly stylish (call it goth … but an all-black wardrobe is forever)


Now insert my speech about not dressing like a whorey Donald Trump and not drinking and driving dressed as whorey Donald Trump … or in general … like a moron. 


Giving In To Slutty Halloween Costume Peer Pressure

372013_1265401407739_fullI remember like it was yesterday, starting my freshman year of college and vowing to myself, “self, you will never dress like a slut for Halloween.” I never did it in high school, so why start now (seriously, one year I was the sailor from the Village People … and the non-sexy version, mind you).

Flash forward to a few months later and there I was in a pirates hat, bra poking out of some Joyce Leslie nightmare, fish nets, hooker heels, and a whip walking to the closest party, cheap vodka in hand. Sigh. To be clear, I’m NOT proud of this moment. 

I walked into college with such good intentions. Me and a bunch of my new friends will be the cast of Anchorman (it was 2005). We’ll go to Good Will and get silly suits. I’ll wear a mustache. Everyone will laugh. I’ll be comfortable. All the guys will LOVE it!

But when you’re sitting around your dorm’s common area, hearing your size 2, gorgeous hallmates describe how they are Mean Girls-style turning their lacy bras into bunny costumes … all of a sudden, your “funny” idea doesn’t seem that awesome, and you get this like super human need to out-slut all of these bitches. I blame male attention. 

I hauled ass to the nearest Halloween store to piece together a costume that screamed “slut.” Mind you, I barely had enough money to eat, but at this moment in time, a $15 pirate hat, and a $10 whip took precedence. And with my food money, I turned myself into the lamest “pirate hooker” (I still don’t even know if that is really a thing) of all time. 

Walking around half naked and half drunk, I felt the opposite of “sexy.” My knee-high fishnets (because why would I buy full fishnets like a normal human being) were falling down, my red lipstick was a granny shade of red instead of a sultry one, I was effing freezing (because pirate hookers don’t wear coats no matter what), and my bra I strategically had slightly sticking out wasn’t even lacy. I failed at slutty Halloween.

I cringe when I think about these moments. Truly I do. Sure, it’s a totally normal “right of passage” to dress like a skank for Halloween in college. I get it. I’m not a prude. I gave in to slutty peer pressue. I cringe, though, because it was, and is, SO not me.

Listen, what I’m trying to get at is, if all of your friends are dressing like the slutty version of something stupid, and it REALLY isn’t your style, like it wasn’t for me, do you. “Slut” isn’t a costume. Be the funny guy and get some laughs. Because let me tell you, there will be so much T&A walking around that night, no one will even notice if your taa was full blown sticking out. 

Oh yeah … and if a guy who never talks to you all of a sudden does because you slutted it up, pirate hooker-style, on Halloween … run, don’t walk. Well, kick him in the balls THEN run. 

K … bye. 


People Still Can’t Handle Menstruation

21-thinx-ad-2.w529.h352When I first came across the brand THINX, I was in love. A pair of underpants (yes, “underpants” because “panties” is a foul word) strictly for when you have your period? Uhh … BRILLIANT. 

Nothing is more irritating in life then ruining a good pair of underpants during that time of the month, am I right? Leak protection my ass, tampon/pad brands, leak protection MY ASS. 

So you can understand my frustration when reading an article about how one of THINX’s ads on the New York City subway system were “offending” people and deemed “inappropriate.” 

Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about where the line in the sand would be drawn for “shock value.” Clearly it isn’t Miley Cyrus spouting out her love for drugs every time a camera is in her face. And obviously it isn’t a bloody, murderous four-way on American Horror Story (and that wasn’t even the most shocking part). But an ad with the words, “shedding of the uterine lining,” which, PS, is medical terminology, well, by golly, SHUT IT DOWN. AVERT YOUR EYES. LOCK YOUR KIDS IN THEIR ROOMS. Men are fainting. Women are gasping. Holy shit it is 1950 again! 

Good God. 

Here’s the thing. You want to “free the nipple” and have your rights to go full frontal on Instagram (which, quite frankly, I will never understand). Yet these ads from THINX are deemed to have “too much skin,” and may lead to kids asking their parents what “periods” are. Heavens!


Kids SHOULD know what periods are. With the hormones, and the pollution, and the nonsense, girls are getting their periods at like birth now. They should know what’s up sooner so they aren’t that asshole in math class bleeding all over their chair leading them to get made fun of for the rest of time. 

I’m not trying to preach how to parent, because God knows I have zero experience, but it’s not like you’re teaching them where the P goes in the V and how to put said P in V successfully (see, I’m a toddler). You’re teaching them about the human body, and a bodily function all women, unfortunately, suffer through. It shouldn’t be something cringeworthy. It should be more like getting inducted into a sisterhood, a horrible, horrible, rage-filled sisterhood. 

In the world we live in today, there are no boundaries. And for some folks to get offended by this advertisement (which, I’m going to assume, were mostly men … and if not I’m even more insulted), is not only incredibly sexist, but shameful. We can have commercials run during all hours of the day spouting out medical information for dudes who can’t get it up, yet we can’t talk about periods on a subway ad …  understood. 

Because guess what world? Once a month, my uterus DOES indeed shed its lining, which then comes out of my vagina and on to an absorbent something or other so I can stay so fresh and so clean clean during this heinous event we (women) have to endure to carry your babies. And if a company like THINX wants to create a product that makes that time of the month just a little more tolerable and decides to represent my uterine lining in a creative and interesting way … then amen. 

Good advertising is eye-catching, different, and sometimes controversial. I applaud this campaign since clearly, after centuries of women bleeding from their vaginas, people (men) still get skeeved out by them. Sigh. 

Well done, THINX, well done. 


Balmain For H&M … Do You Dare?

Screen Shot 2015-10-16 at 2.37.47 PMI like to think you all know me by now. I pretty much wear all black. I’m a hop, skip, and a jump away from being a cat lady (and I’m totally cool with that). And I loathe when designers partner with retailers like Target. Simply because I believe designer clothes are something you have to work for, and not something you should be allowed to pick up on your way to get laundry detergent. 

But people can change … right? 

I gotta say … the Balmain for H&M collection is pretty dreamy. So dreamy that I’ve considered even being one of “those” people who get up crazy early, wait outside in a line full of freaks for the doors of the store to open, and throw bows to get my prized item. Yep. It has happened. What can I say … a good collection can have that affect on even the snarkiest of folk. 

Yet all I see are all the insanely rad fashion bloggers out there like, “Ew. Why. Stop. My eyes. :::Yawn::: :::Hair flip::: :::Sip latte::: :::Instagram lipstick left on latte cup:::” 

But personally … I could give a shit. Simply because A. the collection looks decent and I’m a fan of the designer (and not because of the Kardashians, okay :::shifty eyes:::) and B. more importantly … I’m terribly curious to witness the launch of one of these designer meets retailer collections go down. 

I’ve never had the balls, simply because seeing women go insane and lose their shit and all of their manners just to score some piece of clothing with a designer label on it for H&M prices (which, hi, makes absolutely no sense) makes me wildly uncomfortable. Like palms sweaty, anxiety-ridden uncomfortable. 

Unfortunately, and sadly … really, really sadly, it has been on my fashion bucket list to witness an event as such. I have no idea why. Maybe I think it will be funny. Maybe I’m slightly addicted to the drama of it all. Maybe I’m a writer and this is the kind of crazed shit writers enjoy. Who the eff knows. 

I’m also really scared. Scared of what the sight of cheap designer goods does to the women of the world. Scared that I will literally get punched in the face by an insane women reaching for the same thing as me. Scared that I will get tripped and fall on my face, breaking all of my teeth, only to be left on the floor of H&M bleeding with not a care in sight. And scared I won’t get anything. Dammit, if I’m waiting to get into H&M for crying out loud, mama wants some cheap Balmain

So November 5, if anyone is feeling crazy and wants to wake up super early with me, I’ll be waiting in line at some H&M trying not to get murdered. I’ll buy the donuts, you bring the mace. Let’s do this. 

Until then, let’s drool over all the insane looks, shall we? 

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Style Stud Of The Week: Tom Ford 2016 Spring/Summer Collection

Lady-Gaga-Tom-Ford-I-Want-Your-Love-9I’ve become obsessed with a music video, kids … which hasn’t happened since pre-Britney shaving her head. And for the infants reading this post, music videos once lived on a magical thing called MTV, before it was filled with idiots thinking they are “dating” Leonardo DiCaprio, but really are getting intimate over the phone with an overweight 15-year-old girl with self esteem problems who want to stick it to all her “haters”. I digress though. 

Tom Ford, instead of having a tradition runway show to introduce his 2016 spring/summer collection, decided to showcase it in an out-of-the-box fashion with Lady Gaga, who did a re-make of Chic’s “I Want Your Love.” Before I go on, if you don’t know the original version, please take a few minutes out of your day to watch this. I demand it. It’s disco genius (yes, I was clearly born in the wrong decade)


This video with Lady Gaga, though … gives me chills. Soul train lines, stunning models (like 90’s-style gorgeous models … not “squad” members that I want to secretly kick), beautiful fashion, and Gaga. It’s … I mean … :::drooling::: I’ve not ashamed to say I’ve watched it like 45,000 times and don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

The thing I love most about it is Lady Gaga. She’s no model, happens to be short, and in fact was made fun of as a teen for her appearance (girls suck). It just goes to show that with an excessive amount of confidence, a good strut, and a pure unadulterated love for fashion … (and great hair and makeup artists) … anyone can rub shoulders with the most beautiful people in the world. 

Hey … it kind of makes me feel like I could even get up there and join their soul train line (although to be honest I would probably pee myself in fear).

So I’ll shut the hell up now so you can indulge in my Style Stud of the week … Tom Ford’s 2016 spring/summer collection, starring Lady Gaga. Swoon.

(click the image)


Ey, Yo, Neckerchief, Where Do You Live?

dolce-gabbana-wisteria-print-scarfThanks to the four hours it took to put a little blonde into my hair a few weekends ago (and when I say a little, I mean a little), I got to read the September issues of Harpers and Vogue cover-to-cover … something I normally just wouldn’t have the time for because, well, I like to sleep.

And that is when I came face-to-face with my newest fall obsession: neckerchiefs. I know, I know, “neckerchiefs” what does it mean? Do I want to wear men’s ties as belts again like I did back in 2003 (yeah … that happened)

Well … to be crystal clear, THIS is my jam (yes Man Repeller AND her neckerchief)


Not this :::chills::: … 


Now consider this an insane brag when I say I have a pretty impressive collection of silk scarves that my Nana left me. I remember playing dress up with them when I was little, to using them as cool room decor as a teenager, to waiting patiently to style them with the right outfit as an adult. See below. They’re good, right? And yes, that is Hermes, what WHAT :::raises roof::: (yes, I know CLEARLY a person who still “raises the roof” shouldn’t own Hermes … I get it). 

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And now here is my moment! They are in! They are hot! I see all these rad fashion bloggers on my Instagram feed pairing neck ties with beautiful statement jewelry and making the trend look purely delicious. It’s easy, right? Just pick out one of my insanely large statement necklaces, wrap scarf around neck … and … I ended up looking and feeling like this:


Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh. Cue the Price Is Right Fail horn

Every different way I tried to wear it was horrific. At one point I felt like I was being strangled by the fabric. Then after trying it a different way, my neck looked like it had been swallowed up by a mass of fancy fabric. And finally when I thought I had it, I looked in the mirror and decided I resembled a teenager poorly trying to cover up a myriad of hickies. That is when I said, “SCREW IT, I DON’T NEED YOU, NECKERCHIEF JERK!” 

While I wanted to walk away from the trend and be all, “you’re not THAT cool,” I had all of these beautiful designer scarves pathetically starring at me like, “I’m dusty … wear me, wear me! I’m vintage. I’m hip. I’m with it.” 

And then I realized, God dammit, I’m going to resort to YouTube to learn how to style this properly, aren’t I? And there it was. All the biggest and baddest fashion bloggers and pubs explaining how to make the “neckerchief work.” Apparently I wasn’t the only one who wanted to set fire to the trend.

To be clear, I LOATHE YouTubing shit. I once did it to learn how to contour my face (blog post to follow) and ended up looking like Frankenstein. Not to mention, I always feel like the broads on the video are mocking me, like “see ladies, look how easy that was … any trained moron can do it!”, while I’m sitting there with gross brown eyeshadow lining my face screaming, “this is NOT how the Kardashians look, you bastard!” 

Eh well, you live and you learn a few new tricks every day. I won’t slash will not give up on this neckerchief trend because I DO happen to think it is an innovative new way to kick up your statement jewels.

Now behold, the neckerchief that is currently on its way to me from ASOS that I’m sure will continue to torture my life until I get it right. Yeah, lady below, it’s just so “simple” isn’t it? “Look at me, I’m so cool in my perfectly folded neckerchief.” We’ll see about that, model, we’ll see.

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The Similarities Between Dating And Shopping

Screen Shot 2015-10-07 at 4.29.32 PMI’m not sure if I believe in love at first sight with human beings, but I absolutely believe in love at first sight with inanimate objects. Like this delicious handbag to the left. It’s good, right? The minute it and myself locked eyes, it was over. We had to be with one another … or … I had to be with it. 

And that’s when I decided there really isn’t THAT much difference between finding a really great guy and a really great handbag (Jesus do I sound like Carrie Bradshaw up in this bitch or what). 

The emotions I felt today before purchasing this magnificent beast were all too familiar. The racing heart, the drooling (just a little … :::shifty eyes:::), the feeling of just wanting to hold it and caress it. Video montages of us strolling down the street on a beautiful fall day together playing in my head. You know the drill.  

For example, if I locked eyes with a swoon-worthy dude, I would probably escape as quickly as I could to stalk him on the interwebs to make sure he wasn’t wanted for murder (oh shush, you do it, too). And … you know … just to stare at him a little more. But handbags don’t have Facebook pages. They have product pages on store websites. So I kept a secret tab open all day so I could keep taking small ganders at it.

When you leave a guy after a first date and are in the “flirting stage” of your relationship, there is always a fear that someone better will come along and distract your prey (or am I just a freak?). You’re completely blinded by all these crazy emotions, and find yourself constantly on edge like, “what the eff is happening!?”

In a similar state of fear, I found myself carrying on with my day, forgetting the handbag existed, only to get a moment to myself and think, “wonder if some other bitch scooped up my bag?!” I frantically clicked the tab, and with a sigh of relief saw it was still available. BUT … I placed one carefully in my “shopping cart” just to be safe. On a different note, if only dating was this easy, right? You like a guy, lift him into your imaginary “dating cart”, and boom … you’ve found eternal happiness. (Seriously what is WITH my Carrie Bradshaw vibes today?!)

Then there is that feeling like you’re going to vom. Like his sheer presence in front of you makes you so weak in the knees, you could literally hurl all over him and yourself (hot, right?). Turns out shopper’s remorse has the same effect. I wanted this bag. I NEEDED this bag. It was me in every sense of my being. But it was a little expensive. JUST a little. I believe a purchase over $50 is something you should think about. But much like seeing a crush, the shopper’s remorse was making me want to hurl all over my MacBook. 

And just like making your relationship “Facebook official” or accepting that marriage proposal and gorgeous ring, getting that email that says “your purchase is being processed” after pulling the trigger … well … there is nothing more satisfying in the world. Now all I can do is wait patiently for my love to show up at my door step so I can twirl in circles as I hug it, and Instagram the shit out of it (seriously, I need a therapist), because much like your engagement ring, clearly all anyone cares about is my handbag.

So while I’m clearly no expert on dudes or relationships (really … the Carrie Bradshaw vibes are giving me the heebie geebies), I AM an expert on a good handbag. And while I would say, yeah totally, go out and get it, too. It’s such a good handbag that EVERY woman should have it. I can only say in the nicest way possible, “LAY OFF, LADY, IT’S TAKEN!” 

Buy Yourself Something Shiny – Rainy Week Edition

Screen Shot 2015-10-02 at 1.41.32 PMIf you live on the East Coast, it is probably raining … and cold. And it has probably been raining for sometime now. And if you are anything like me, you just want to order Chinese food, crawl under your covers, live in pajamas, and watch Netflix until it’s time for you to crawl downstairs and pour yourself a glass of wine. 

For a lot of us (myself included) … that just isn’t in the cards (God damn “adult” things :::shakes fist:::). But what can we do to make up for this. What can we do to heal our chilled bones, our heinous hair days, and our drenched selves? 


Yep. You guessed it. Prepare yourselves for another edition of “Buy yourselves something shiny.” Why? Because I said so. It’s Friday, the weather blows, we are all exhausted, blah blah blah … DO IT. 

So I’ll shut the hell up now while you whip out your credit cards and get your online shop on. 

Happy Friday, freaks. 


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OPI Big Apple Red Nail Polish

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Beautiful bracelet

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Boyfriend button down

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Skull decor … because


Statement necklace to end all statement necklaces

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Rebecca Minkoff iPhone 6 Case 

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Your Homework: Support Philly Small Businesses

Small-business-webWhile I love me some department stores and mall favorites like H&M and Zara, I swoon for a good small business. Mostly because I love talking to the owners, seeing their inspiration, and wandering through their ornately designed space. And also, walking away with something really unique ain’t too shabby. 

While I want to raise the roof (do people still do that?) and start a slow clap for all the people who made this Pope weekend in our city seamlessly glorious, I can’t help but feel a little bit bad for the small businesses in our city.

Marc Vetri had an interesting post on his Facebook page this weekend that read, “instead of engaging the citizens and businesses around this great city in welcoming the Pope, they have instead decided to roll out the red carpet for everyone making the pilgrimage, and roll us up in the carpet to place in storage until Monday.” 

I don’t want to discount what a fantastic weekend this was for our city and all the hard work that went into making it such a success, I really don’t. I think now we will been seen as more than fat, cheesesteak loving, snowball throwing, battery whipping assholes (suck on that, Jim Gaffigan). But I can’t help but feel a little remorse that these “Pope Pilgrims” didn’t get to take advantage of all that our city has to offer, outside of the Parkway. 

So, my dear sweet muffins, I am encouraging … NEY … demanding you show extra love to your local small businesses. I want you to go to a restaurant, get drunk off some good wine, maybe have a citywide special, order apps, then happily shop through your favorite local haunts. That is your homework for the week. I think we are all capable of doing this, correct? Yeah, that’s what I thought :::shakes fist in a threatening manner:::

And if you’re at a loss as to where to go because you forgot life exists outside of the Pope’s visit (I know I have), here are some suggestions on where to spend your hard earned money to support our local retailers to make up for their shitastic weekend.

These are just a few of my faves, but please, show some love to all of the others, too.

Get drunk, eat well: 


4th and Cross


Royal Tavern

Now drunkenly buy yourself something shiny:


Bus Stop Boutique



Smak Parlour

Open House

The Strange and Unusual 

A Closet Full Of Bad Vibes

14-homeowner-hauntedThe chill crisp in the air that is making me want to do a Breakfast Club-style freeze frame fist pump, is also giving me insane anxiety. And no, it’s not the oh so familiar, “back-to-school anxiety” that looms every September, even though I’ve been out of school for six years now (I’m beginning to feel like this will forever exist in my life). 

Instead I’m staring at my closet door (where I store my off-season clothing), in fear and loathing. All of my summer clothes are hanging pleasantly on my clothing rack, yet I know any day now, I will have to open that closet door filled with my fall/winter clothing from last season and transition them back into my life. And dear good … I mine as well be in the Delorean gunning it back to a time I just want to forget.

I know I probably sound like a lunatic right now (when do I not), but when you had some pretty bad shit happen in the past season, your clothes from back then are stained with those memories.

“Ohh hey, shirt I got dumped in.”

“Wow … long slouchy sweater, I haven’t thought about the day I got laid off whilst wearing you in a few weeks. Thanks for the reminder, dick.”

Yeah. Hence why that closet door stays CLOSED. TIGHTLY. 

The problem is, I adore a lot of my clothes from last winter. They are good. REAL good. There is nothing wrong with them besides my emotional issues (perhaps I should go talk to someone about this … hmm). Yet every time I pick them up, I get awful, soap opera-style flashbacks from all the bad nonsense that happened during that season. And that is when I put them back on the rack, back away slowly, and remind myself, “self, you need new clothes.” 

So as much as it hurts me to part with these pieces (because like I said, they are GOOD), I must. Figurative emotional stains are just as hard to get out as real life mustard stains. And who knows, maybe someone, a person who needs them much more than I, will shake out the good times in these pieces. 

I bet you’re wondering, why don’t you keep them? Well … I usually do. In the past I would keep them and just let them hang, lifelessly in my closet … and every time I would reach for the piece I would be all, “hmm yeah … I want to have a good day today … soooo you’re going to stay here.” That’s not normal, kids. I don’t have a Kardashian closet to be this silly with space, okay. Mama needs the space.

Look, you shouldn’t need a box of tissues, a bottle of wine, and a Xanex to go through your closet. Your closet should be your sanctuary, no matter how small or unorganized. While we cannot erase the bad shit that happened in the past, we can remove the reminders, even if they happen to be fantastic pieces you collected over the previous season. Sigh. 

But hey, I’m looking at it like a new blank canvas to fill with awesome, more positive pieces. And more glorious space.

What I’m saying is, I can’t wait to buy more black clothes. I just can’t wait. 


Be Kind To Pope People

sister-act:::Your regular snarky fashion and lifestyle commentary will be briefly interrupted for the following message:::

Today I experienced my first moment of “Popemaggedon”. My train was not only late, but canceled, and the train that followed it was significantly late and so crowded that I had to sit next to a smelly man who was showing no signs of life, and happened to be taking up 84.7% of the seat. Ahhh Septa. 

By the time I arrived at Market East (it will always and forever be Market East to me … so suck it), I was full of rage … mostly due to my smelly unconscious neighbor who was making me incredibly nauseous. And it didn’t help that I was confronted with a platform full of out-of-towners who didn’t know if the sky was up or down, clogging up every inch of walking space, and not moving … all smiling and carrying on, when I had six minutes to catch my next train to get the eff HOME

My eyes were rolling, my scowl was in place, but my manners did not take a backseat (hello … I’m a lady), as I angrily pushed through the crowd of see-through backpacks whilst saying, “excuse me,” in the most nicely annoyed fashion. No one seemed to care, though. All the see-through backpack owners looked like they were so pleasantly consumed with why they were visiting to even try to care about my miserable ass. 

It wasn’t until I walked up the steps to a sea of priests and nuns that reality REALLY bitch slapped me across the face. It was startling and yet so pleasant. Immediately I slowed my roll and started to feel calm, incredibly silly for being so frustrated, and oddly enough like I was in the presence of true rock stars. 

I know I’m not the only one who has been viewing this event like a “Made in America” nightmare on steroids that is a total inconvenience to every aspect of our lives, but it’s oh so different. Teenagers won’t be in “festival gear” getting drunk off $16 Bud Light cans (I mean, I hope not … come on, people). Those idiots are being replaced with old school nuns (rowdy and rude festival morons < nuns). This is a huge deal, and sometimes you just need to bask in the chaos a little because it (sometimes) is kind of incredible.

So if you are like me and want to punt your commute and hide under your bed than deal with these shenanigans, take a deep breath, prepare for the worst, and be kind. For the love of Godbe kind. No matter what is happening, if you are stuck in a sea of clear backpacks that won’t move, slow down and be cordial. Shoot these people a smile. Direct them to a good bar. Show them where the rad shops are. Give solid directions (except no one ask me, I have a foul sense of direction), and welcome them. Here is a solid opportunity for the world to not see us as a bunch of fat assholes.

I realize almost all of the people attending the World Meeting of Families, especially Pope Frank, reads Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra religiously (I couldn’t resist), so welcome and enjoy our lovely city. And if you want a divine cheesesteak, visit Sonny’s on 2nd and Market.

To my real reader(s) of the Philly area, it will be over soon. I promise. Just smile and nod. Smile and nod.

:::Now back to our regularly scheduled program of snarky fashion and lifestyle commentary:::

Stop Asking Stupid Questions

lemon-nerd-rageThis week there has been a lot of talk about famous women (Tyra Banks) dealing with infertility issues. While I cannot relate, I found it mind boggling that people … strangers in fact … were commenting on her social media channels asking her, “Tyra, when are you going to have kids!” “Tyra, why don’t you have kids?!” Uhh really? Yes, because the first thing I think to do when I wake up is harass my favorite celebrity about why they haven’t procreated (What. Is. Wrong. With. People).

Besides the famous folks, I’ve witnessed so many people I’m close to get asked obnoxious questions. Questions that may have been appropriate to ask in 1955, but are no longer on the table. Myself in fact, have been victim to the heinous questions of …

“Why aren’t you married?”

“Why don’t you own a home?”

“Wait … you don’t have a boyfriend … why?!” 

I usually turn bright red in those situations, uncomfortably giggle, and say something awkward like, “UHHHH …” and shrug my shoulders whilst trying to change the topic as fast as possible. But what I REALLY wanted to say to these people is …

“Well, I don’t own a home because I witnessed the economic collapse of the housing market first hand, and quite frankly want nothing to do with it. Also, I don’t have the money. I’m not married because I don’t settle for stupidity. And I don’t have a boyfriend because well … I don’t. It’s not that I don’t want one. I’m just too busy with my career to give any idiot a chance to waste my time :::Drops mic:::” 

Guys, no longer is it okay to ask people who JUST got married or have been married for more than a second …

“Sooo when are you guys having kids?”

“You’ve been married for 2.5 seconds, why don’t you have kids!?”

“Sooo … you guys TRYING?!” 

You have NO idea what people are going through. Those people could be dealing with infertility issues, or maybe cannot conceive (and ps. think of it this way … you are basically asking your friends if and how often they are boning … it’s weird. “Trying” means boning. Remember that.). Or maybe … GASP … they don’t want any damn children. Instead, perhaps, they are enjoying their time together alone, or I don’t know, saving up money so they don’t end up living in a very crowded van down by the river. 

You just never know. And in these situations, when it comes to forcefully stepping your foot inside the private lives of your loved ones or strangers (for you extra annoying humans) … I say don’t. AND the only caveat to this rule is if you are over 75. You truly cannot control those broads … nor should you. 

I’m sure most of these questions aren’t asked out of malice, and are just asked out of, well, the sake of pure conversation. But there are far more interesting things to fill a conversation with. News. Pop culture. Climate change. Unicorns. Kardashians. Cats. I mean … you get the point … I hope. 

So I’m filing all of those foul questions outlined above under “word vomit”. Because if you are going to ask someone why they haven’t fertilized their eggs yet or basically, why no one loves them, you mine as well go the distance and ask how much they make a year, and if they got a raise, and how much that was. And, why the hell not, ask how many people they have slept with.

In the meantime … leave our personal shit where it belongs. In the privacy of our own chaotic brains.

But don’t worry … I’ll be sure to alert all of you when I settle down, get knocked up, and buy a perfect pink hour with 2.5 baths. But because you didn’t ask this one question, I’m KILLING it in my career.


I Non-basically Adore Fall

tumblr_lxdm5eTF7E1qlxupro1_500I find it thoroughly entertaining that now being “basic” and boasting about “basic things” is en vogue. Good for you, Ugg boot wearer who showers in pumpkin spice everything. If you like that shit and can’t wait to post a pic of you, “pumpkin picking with your bae,” good for you for owning it, finally, and not letting the haters kill your vibe. You know what I mean? 

And while I would rather be tickled to death until I peed my pants than go pumpkin picking, and, honestly, loathe all things pumpkin-related (unless it is a sugar cookie in the shape of a pumpkin … then we’ll talk), I do love me some fall. 

But for the non-basic girl, we’re kind of exiled from the season. Just because I don’t want to drink pumpkin beer with you and have a pumpkin carving contest whilst watching football doesn’t mean there aren’t aspects of the season that I effing die for. 

So to make a fair representation of all who love the fall season, basic or non-basic, here are some reasons why I’m more than happy to tip my cap to the humid and swamp-ass-filled months of summer. 

Horror Flicks: Do you know what I call a good time? My couch, blankets, snacks, my cat, and a good horror flick. Most are ridiculously bad. The others will keep you awake at night (for example the Human Centipede … good GOD). But I can’t think of a better time in the fall than getting the pants scared off of yourself in the comfort of your own home. 

Leathah: (Oh yeah, I said leathah) I bought a pair of leather leggings at the Nordstrom Anniversary sale back in July, and have been counting down the days until I can wear them without melting. So far, still a no go. But the idea of incorporating leathah back into my life from skirts, to pants, to shoes is making me want to squeal.

Halloween candy: It’s glorious. Instead of committing to one full-sized candy bar, you can sample a few bite-sized ones all at one time. (And all together they DEFINITELY do NOT make up more than one full-sized candy bar … :::shifty eyes:::)

Skulls: Okay some people go pumpkin crazed during the fall, I go skull crazed. I literally just spent a stupid amount of time looking for the perfect skull decor at Home Goods. While some may put them up only during Halloween, I found one that can and will stick around all day err day. 

Fashion is ACTUALLY a thing again: The name of the game this summer was, “wear as little clothing as possible so you don’t sweat to death/at the same time don’t look like a complete whore.” I believe I won said game. But fall fashion is where the real style comes out to play. The layers, and fabrics, and textures. While throwing on a maxi and a statement necklace is great and all, there is nothing like putting together a thoughtful and complex fall look. 

Stud pumpkins: I meant it when I said I will NEVER carve pumpkins with you. BUT, if you wanted to paint some pumpkins black and insert silver tacts into them to make cool designs … THEN we can talk. (Yeah … I made those below … jealous?)

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Pho Real: I’ve been craving Pho Ha since March. It has been torturous. But, then again, it’s been far too hot to even consider anything of the sort. And now that the air is a bit crisper, mama needs it. SHE NEEDS HER PHO. It’s so comforting and everything I love in life when it comes to food (yes … noodles and chicken … I’m SUCH a foodie). So if you ever want to go on a Pho date … I’m game. 

Less sweat, more snuggles: I’m not a heartless beast, I fucking LOVE to snuggle (mostly with my cat). Especially when it’s cold (see basic B’s … we have more in common than you think). But if you try to snuggle me during a heatwave, you will get the back of my hand. So the idea of coming home to snuggle and NOT having to immediately jump in the shower simply due to the fact that I sweated so much my bra is soaked (how about THAT visual boys … ooooh yeaaaahhhh), kind of makes me want to do a happy dance. 

So there you have it, kids. We can all love fall for our own reasons. But if I see one more meme or one more post about how the world is made from pumpkin spice tear drops, I may cut someone.

How Much My Face Costs

Screen Shot 2015-09-10 at 2.25.19 PMI hate to admit this. In fact, I’m typing with one hand and covering my face in shame with the other. But I’m slightly mystified with the Kardashians. I’m not proud of it. But after a long day, it’s something I can turn my brain off and be entertained by, much like staring at something shiny, ya know?

Therefore when I see an article that says something like, oh I don’t know … “This is How Much Kylie Jenner Spends On Her Face,” I click on it. (Oh shut it, you probably did, too) 

I was expecting thousands and thousands of dollars would be spent, between the lip fillers and her star-studded cast of hair stylists and makeup artists. But the youngest of the Kardashian clan spends around a little over $3,000 for the whole sha-bang. While for me, that price is shocking and a bit appalling, for her it’s kind of like, “really? That’s all?” 

Which made me want to evaluate my own beauty regiment, because I don’t know about you, but I wake up looking like a gargoyle. So I need a LOT of help de-gargoyling myself before I can show my face in public without scaring small children. 

While I was a little nervous, yet 110% positive I wouldn’t come close to Kylie’s over $3,000 beauty budget, I decided to crunch the numbers and see how much I actually spend to fake dance around people and be all, “I WOKE UP LIKE DIS,” but in reality I woke up super early and applied X amount of dollars worth of shit to my body so I didn’t frighten you. 

So here it is … 


Aveeno Positively Radiant Brightening Face Cleanser: $7.99

Aveeno Daily Moisturizing Lotion: $11.99

Kiehls Facial Fuel Eye De-puffer: $20.00

Miss Spa Brightening Facial Sheet Mask: $3.99 (only once in a blue moon, though)

Rubbing Alcohol: $3.29 (this is my solution to all breakouts … it’s glorious)


Smashbox Photo Finish Foundation: $36 (I still don’t know if this shit ACTUALLY does anything)

Benefit Erase Paste: $26 (the cream of the Gods)

Laura Mercier Foundation: $48

Mac Bronzing Power: $26

Benefit Sugarbomb Box O’ Powder: $28 (I randomly found this stuffed in the back of my makeup drawer, and now I’m obsessed)

Benefit They’re Real Mascara: $24

Sephora Collection Long-lasting 12-hour liquid eyewear: $12

Sephora Collection Retractable Eyebrow Pencil: $13

Rimmel Lasting Finish By Kate Moss Lipstick: $5.79 (my current lip jam)


TRESeme Color Revitalize Protection Shampoo: $4.99

Conditioner from a hair dye box (depends): $6.99 (yes, I buy the box hair dye, and only use the conditioner because it rocks that hard)

Keratin shit from my salon: $20 (it has my salon’s logo on it, so I don’t know exactly where you could get it.  What up, Verde Salon)

Not Your Mother’s Clean Freak Dry Shampoo: $5.99 (only when I’m super lazy and don’t want to wash my hair, which is constantly)

Grand total to NOT look like a gargoyle: $304.02 

I mean it isn’t TERRIBLE, right? RIGHT?! GOOD GOD, TELL ME I DON’T HAVE ISSUES! Sigh. I blame Sephora. Damn you, Sephora and all of your shiny goodness, DAMN YOU! :::shakes fist::: (just kidding, love you, mean it)


You Know What Keeps Me Cool? Shoes.

Screen Shot 2015-09-09 at 3.31.07 PMTo all of you lovely people posting nostalgic pictures of summertime and weeping that it is over, I kind of want to smack you. Hard. Because according to my sweat-soaked bra (how about that visual) and makeup melting off of my face, it’s still breathing its heavy, humid breath all over us.

And you know what? I’ve had enough. I’m at my breaking point. In fact, as I was walking home from the train, I just wanted to throw in the towel, fall into a heap of sweat on the street corner and wale, “WHEN WILL IT END … DEAR GOD WHEN WILL IT END … AND WILL SOMEONE CALL ME AN UBER, FOR THE LOVE!” 

So to be less overdramatic, I’ve been thinking about what could immediately solve this problem. Creating an air conditioned ball I could roll to and fro in, perhaps? Never leaving my air conditioned home? And then it came to me. Fall shoes. Fall shoes cure EVERYTHING :::jumps in mid-air with excitement:::

While I know fall shoes can’t help me from sweating through my bra and getting in fits of rage as I suffer through the heatwaves and humidity, they can reassure me there is a light at the end of this stifling tunnel. 

I’m not going to lie to any of you, the fall shoe game this season is swoon-worthy, and I may or may not have been caught drooling over them at my computer, but that is neither here nor there. 

So while I try to control throwing shit at my television when the weather person says the words “heatwave” and “lasting several days” … I’m going to dazzle you with some of my favorite fall shoes that are not only heavenly … but affordable (sort of, kind of). How ’bout that?!

*Click on images to make your shoe dreams come true.

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Style Stud: The Strange and Unusual Philadelphia

Screen Shot 2015-09-04 at 9.53.37 AMIf you hadn’t noticed, I’m a big supporter of the arts :::hair flip:::. And to be well-rounded, and a real life art nerd, you need to indulge in it all. If you’re going to check out the Barnes, you gotta hit up the PMA. And if you’re going to hit up the PMA, you have to visit the Mutter Museum (I remember the first time going there and actually getting PRETTY nauseous, but I was also hungover so the cause is debatable).

Nothing excites me more than when a new store opens in Philly, especially one that will knock the vintage, oddities, and antique scene on its head. The Strange and Unusual Philadelphia, opening September 12, 2015 to the public at 3 p.m. will do just that, and according to one of the masterminds behind the store, is a mixture of “weird and pretty” … which quite frankly made me swoon … just a little

I had the pleasure of chatting with good friend and renowned taxidermist in the Philly art scene, Kristie Matt, who is part owner of the Strange and Unusual Philadelphia with her husband, Steve Matt, along with Josh Balz and Ryan Malarky. 

Oddities lovers. Vintage collectors. Antique animals. Taxidermy enthusiasts. Abstract jewelry hounds (myself included). And the lover of the arts. There is truly something for everyone at the Strange and Unusual. Please join me on September 12 at 3 p.m., 523 S. 4th St at their grand opening and check out their beautifully curated collections for yourselves.

How was the Strange and Unusual born?

The Strange and Unusual was conceived as a brick and mortar location to house the growing collection of our business partners, Josh Balz and Ryan Malarky. Their ever expanding collection of oddities and antiques had outgrown their living space and they decided they wanted a retail location to share their collection with the world. So a couple of years ago, they opened the flagship Strange and Unusual store in Kingston, PA. 

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What is your background and how did you get started with the Strange and Unusual?

I am a self taught taxidermist with a background in Fine Art. A few years ago my royal rodent taxidermy caught the eye of Ryan, and she contacted me requesting that I consign my work at her Kingston store. Following the store’s Instagram account led me to realize that the way their shop was curated was completely in line with my own personal aesthetic. So basically, I chose the Strange and Unusual because it was in my native state of PA, and because it was just really beautiful to me. Weird and pretty. My favorite combination.

What made you open this store in Philly?

Steve and I had known for several years that we wanted to open a retail business of our own, preferably an oddities/antique business. We have been collecting taxidermy and oddities together for over a decade. Our house is overflowing! At some point I mentioned to Ryan that Philly was sorely lacking a business like hers, and offered to pool our resources and team up. Thus the Strange and Unusual Philadelphia partnership was born.

We chose the South Street area because it has a tradition of being offbeat and fun. Plus, someone has to bring the weird back! I grew up hanging out on South Street and I am very proud to become a member of the business community there. I hope we can contribute to making it the destination that it was when I was growing up.

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What sets the Strange and Unusual apart from other vintage/oddity stores in Philly?

The Strange and Unusual Philadelphia is not your grandmothers antique store and it is not a college kids thrift store. It is a meticulously curated, macabre lifestyle boutique featuring unique items both new and old, with an emphasis on the dark, mysterious, and beautiful.

Will you be hosting any events at the store?

We hope to host many, many special events that will bind our community together. Taxidermy contests, tutorials, pop-up artist shops, and much more. Stay tuned. 

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What kind of brands do you carry?

Most of the items we carry are vintage, antique, or are ethically sourced new taxidermy specimens. The one brand that we are very proud to offer, though, is Black Craft Cult.

We are also very proud of the cross promotion that we will be doing with Philadelphia’s own Mutter Museum. There is a great deal of overlap between those who visit the medical oddity museum and those who we hope will come to visit our store. We intend to carry some of the museum’s t-shirts and books. Additionally, we will be offering reciprocal discount on museum admission and our merchandise. 

When will you be open to the public? What are your hours?

The Strange and Unusual Philadelphia will open its doors to the public on Saturday, September 12 at 3 p.m. Our hours most likely will be Tuesday-Sunday from noon-8 p.m.

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What are some items you will be carrying that you are most excited about?

I am most excited to be able to feature my own taxidermy designs. My company is called Cloven Hoof and I’m thrilled to have a permanent, year-round, brick and mortar location where one can find it. 

Are you showcasing any local designers/artists?

Yes we are! Myself, as mentioned, and other cosigners are in the works. When the ink is dry, I will be able to disclose exactly whom. We will always try to support local artists.

For people who may not be comfortable with taxidermy, what other cool things can they find at the store? 

Many items. Antique medical instruments, inspired vanity items, jewelry both new and old, books on witchcraft and the occult, tarot decks, vintage Ouija boards, amazing gothic-style furniture. There’s a lot more to our store than death. Though to us, death is only the beginning! 

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The Death Rattle Of Shock Value

1882309I’m having a serious issue with society right now. And I know, I know I probably sound like I’m 1,000 years old, but I have no qualms shaking my cane in the air, Sophia Petrillo-style, over how foul entertainment has become. Exhibit A: the VMAs (and yes, any good blogger knows not to discuss a topic that is three days old, but I was on vacation during this time, so suck it, we are talking about it).

I just feel like we have completely stretched the envelope when it comes to “shock value.” The envelope has stretch marks, it’s dirty, and nothing fits in it anymore. It lives in a trashcan and has a drug problem. Nothing is shocking anymore, which kind of sucks and makes for really bad and irritating TV. All we have now are poptarts desperately trying to get one more stretch out of that destroyed envelope. “LOOK AT ME, I HAVE NIPPLES AND I DO DRUGS AND I’M WEARING NEON AND I’M SO EFFING COOL” …


The intentional nip slips. Outfits that have the word “fuck” blasted across them. Blatantly smoking weed on camera. Kanye running for president?!? Listen, after Kanye makes an announcement like that and the first thing you think is, “hmmm can a First Lady have a sex tape?” instead of, “HOLY HELL, KANYE IS RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT, this is BONKERS!,” there is something seriously wrong with the world. 

Remember the days when men with long hair who played music on live TV were considered scandalous? Or when a pop star sang about her virginity and rolled around a stage in a wedding dress and everyone lost their damn minds? 

We now have poptarts, dressed in shower curtains with circles strategically placed over their lady bits pushing their weed agenda on all of America. Listen, if that is your thing, awesome. Go for it. Get high as balls all day err day (responsibly, of course). I just don’t need to hear you exclaim every five seconds how high you are or how much you love weed. I really don’t. I don’t tell you every five seconds how much I love cats, now do I? No. 

And because nudity and drugs aren’t good enough, we then have to resort to making fun of pregnant ladies. I literally saw Kim Kardashian get compared to a baked potato. A BAKED. POTATO. Come ON, guys. We really can’t think of ANYTHING else funny? I don’t care how overexposed she is, the woman is nurturing a living thing inside her uterus. If she wants to go to town on a dozen Krispy Kremes … let the woman do her thang. If you can’t come up with anything funnier than saying a pregnant woman looks fat, well then call Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, I’m sure they can help you out, ass clowns.

All of this shit makes me want to cancel my cable and resort to reading novels by candlelight. Honestly. We gotta go back to the drawing board, kids. Because if I have to hear ONE more time that Taylor Swift MAYBE passed gas on live television, I may or may not cut someone.

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in that edit room with the genius who was so desperate to add some life to the show that he’s all, “WAIT, PAUSE THE TAPE! Did you hear that?! It totally sounds like a fart. It totally isn’t but … YES! Let’s say Taylor Swift farted! CLASSIC TV, BROSEPH :::high five:::!” Hmm … didn’t realize 5th grade humor made a comeback. Sigh.

What happened to bad ass talent? Amazing fashions that had all of us drooling? Nipples that lived behind fabric. Drugs that were exposed only at after parties? Idiots not running for president … waaaaiiitt(and that right there is for my first and only political pun, a-thank you :::Takes bow:::) What I’m saying is, less trying to shock the universe, and more trying to put on entertaining shows so we have something decent to gab about with our co-workers and friends. I don’t need body parts and sex and drugs and straight up nonsense (I know, again, I sound like I’m 1 million years old … I get it). You know what I DO need more of, though? TINA. FEY.

Let’s let her run all of TV, kay thanks, byeeeeeeeee. 

My Summer Vacation

xagadadyWhile I want to be one of those people crying and bitching that I’m no longer floating on an inflatable alligator with a cocktail in my hand … I just can’t. I missed all you bastards WAY too much. I’m refreshed, I’m feeling alive (not really I’m actually exhausted and probably still a little hungover), and I’m ready to PAAARRTTTAAYYYY … well, by “party” I mean get back to the grind. 

While I know you are all DYING to see my vacation pictures and view how fantastic I look in a bathing suit whilst eating BBQ chips … I decided I will share with you a few tidbits that occurred over the past week. Okay I will share one picture with you because I just wouldn’t be a good blogger without investing in some really awesome Instagram-worthy inflatable devices … right? Boom … 

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So here it is … what is equivalent to my vacation slide show: 

1. I HATE bathing suits. Call me self conscious. Call me out of shape. Call me a hot, bloated PMS-ing mess who is a carboholic (which I TOTALLY was) … whatever, I loathe their existence and they killed my vibe all week. In between writing this post I’m ceremoniously burning them all. BURN THEM. 

2. My email overwhelmed me the entire time I was away until I realized 82.5% of it was bullshit from ASOS and Forever 21, and then I was reminded that I’m not a super duper high powered boss (YET) and should shut the fuck up. 

3. I sprayed so much SPF 50 on my body all week it started to cake on my skin (how about that visual) and I swear I feel like some of it is still on there after numerous showers. And the entire time I was secretly praying I would turn into a bronze goddess with SPF 50 on without aging and getting skin cancer (spoiler alert: I’m still pale).

4. If you get me drunk enough before I shower, you WILL see my hair curly. 

5. I get insanely competitive and turn into Rambo when water gun fights break out in the pool. 

6. Speaking of pools, when there is one at the house I’m staying at, I will NEVER go to the beach … ever. Which worked in my favor because … hello … sharks. 

7. Speaking of the beach, I didn’t get eaten by a shark nor did I get stung by one of those super natural sting ray things … so that’s cool.

8. I ate like shit on vacation and my body hates my guts right now. And whilst eating like shit and drinking too much, I spent a lot of time asking my mother, “OMG AM I FAT?!” “DID I GAIN WEIGHT TODAY!?” “STOP LYING TO ME, WOMAN, I’M SO FAT!” until I think she contemplated stabbing me. True life, when all you do is eat carbs and drink vodka … you’re going to gain some weight, self. Deal with it. 

9. My family secretly hates me because I don’t eat pork. Or they were secretly pissed at me because I got to eat shrimp most dinners because I DO NOT eat pork. Either or. That’s my family … I could join a gang and decide I’m giving up my career to become a gypsy, but if I don’t eat pork or support the Eagles … I’m dead to them (love you … mean it).

10. I will leave everyone and everything I care about in the dust when a massive, ungodly spider presents itself. I also will run in a bathing suit with no cover-up on when this happens. My neighbors got a GREAT show. I’m praying a slow motion video of this event doesn’t live on the interwebs somewhere. “Weird, pale girl runs in bathing suit screaming ‘SAVE YOURSELVES’ as ass giggles up the stairs” … the next YouTube sensation. 

And there you have it. I really am super pumped Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Rerun week is over and I can get back to dazzling you with my nonsensical thoughts. And I hope you are, too, kids, I hope you are, too. 

Rerun Week On Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra

liz_lemon_season_5_finale_nbc.8dxud5etvuo040kw04cc88sss.4seibt8chw6ck04c0484s0wk4.thWelp … it’s about that time of year kids. When I drive miles and miles to spend the week getting drunk enough to wear a bikini. AKA … I’m getting the eff outta dodge.

I’m completely addicted to technology … like every other jag in the world. I’m constantly tweeting, Instagraming, Facebooking, Google chatting, emailing across three different email accounts, writing, and thinking. And this is my week to gingerly place my brain on the shelf with my social media channels to collect some healthy dust while I “relax” (which PS I SUCK at relaxing)

So while I say I’m going to take a break from tweeting and shit and you know, “completely disconnect from the world,” you’ll most likely see some of my antics here and there … especially on Instagram. So be sure to follow along. I AM going to take a break from nurturing this beast, though … just for the week. But don’t cry too hard, five people who read, I’ve deemed next week the reruns of Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra. What whaaaaaaaaa.

That means everyday I will be posting old school content from back in the day (hey, remember 2011)?! So it’s like I’m here, but really, again, I’ll probably be tipsy pretending I didn’t just eat a pizza whilst wearing a bathing suit poolside. 

So I hope all of you have a lovely week and enjoy going back in time with me to some Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra classics. 

You’ll see a more refreshed, hopefully a more sunkissed, Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra starting on August 31. Just kidding, we all know I can’t get tan. 


Choppin’ It Off:


Satan-filled Weekend:


Did You Just Tell Me to Smile?:


Target and Neiman Marcus Send Up A Piece of Flair:


Why I Would Be The Worst Victoria’s Secret Model:

Dinner En Blah

wine-shirt-resizedOh swell … tomorrow marks the time of year when a gaggle of people dressed in all white take their entire kitchens to a specific part of the city and clogs up my social media channels … also known as “Dinner en Blanc.”

This event has never sparked my interest. Mostly because when I pay to go out to dinner, I expect, you know, the dinner, table, chairs, ambience, to be there when I get there. Not have to lug it all there myself to an unknown location. I’m lazy. What can I say. Also, have you felt the humidity out there this week? It should be called, “Dinner en OMG I have swamp ass.” Quick! Someone Google the French word for “swamp ass” to make it sound fancy!

I have a lot of weird and unpleasant connotations with a lot of white items from makeup to accessories to … well … everything. If there are other color options then white, I will probably choose that. For instance I want to punch people with white Chanel bags. It’s like STOP you’re ruining it! Oh and, remember the time I bought white jeans and was certain I kept getting my period out of nowhere the entire first day I wore them? Yeah. That happened. Annnnd $100 later I rarely wear them.

Hence why me and Dinner en Blanc would not agree. It would be a lot of me being all … 

“Uhhh how much farther do I have to carry this shit :::sweating profusely:::!?”

“Why do so many asshats own white picnic baskets :::as plastic half torn Shop Rite bags full of crap dangle from my arms::::?”

“:::spills wine on self::: I guess we can call this event dinner en stains, right?! Am I right?! :::crickets:::”

“Wait … :::checks back::: did I just get my period … EN BLANC?!” 

Give me wine, Chinese food, sweats, air conditioning, Bravo TV, and my cat any day of the week over this event. But by all means, people who are looking forward to tomorrow, enjoy and make our city a beautiful Instagramable moment. 

For now, let me give you a glimpse inside of my head when I think of certain items in a white shade:

White shoes: Will forever and always remind me of scuffed patent leather Easter shoes my mom used to make me wear.


White dresses: If you are trying to make me look washed out and insanely pale as possible … put me in a white dress. It really accentuates my veins. 


White pants: OMG do I have my period?!


White tights: No, I’m not currently at Sears taking my Christmas picture in my pretty holiday dress with, you got it, white tights and saddle shoes on.


White scrunchie: Stephanie Judith Tanner called, she wants her white scrunchie back from the 1990’s so she can put her hair in a high pony tail.


White gloves: Umm … wonder if I wanted to bring Cheetos to Dinner en Blanc (because I TOTALLY would). This would make Cheeto eating completely impossible!


White purse: Reminds me of ugly accessories you can buy at bridal shops, like tiny satin white purses with delicate pearls in intricate designs that serve no purpose and couldn’t hold a damn iPhone.


White hat: We aren’t in London. Stop it.


White nails: Look, I’m 8 years old and being a cat for Halloween!


Would You Wear The Same Thing Every Day?

IMG_8386I remember the word “uniform” would once upon a time send me running for the hills. In fact, it happens to be a word that deterred me from attending prep school instead of public school … like a damn fool. (P.S. after living through it and surviving, I’m TOTALLY for uniforms in public schools … one hundo percent … but that is neither here nor there)

You rarely hear the word “uniform” in adult life, though. At least I don’t. But now, I’m hearing women talking about a thing called “uniforming,” also known as wearing the same thing everyday. Uhhhh …. :::drooling:::

At first I perked up. Anything that can give me an extra time in bed in the morning is a-okay with me. Think of how beautifully mindless uniforming is. How much money I would save and be able to invest in other glorious things like accessories, makeup, and cool hair styles. That Celine bag could finally be mine, I say, MINE! 

When I get sad or bored, I would no longer need to wander around my favorite stores aimless buying things I don’t need to make me happy or smile. My clothing rack would stop collapsing from too many clothes living on it. And let’s be honest, I wear pretty much all black anyways. I’m basically half way down the uniforming rabbit hole … why not take the rest of the plunge? 

And then I thought, AGAIN, about when I get sad or bored, I will not longer have anything to buy to make me happy or smile. And I think about these 5 lonely black dresses, my “uniform” so to speak, hanging perfectly spaced out, on my clothing rack that now has tumble weeds rolling underneath it. Instead of an object to hold clothes, it now looks like a weird piece of art. And all of a sudden … I get really bummed out. 

I get it … being a lady is tough. The style, the hair, the makeup, keeping up with the trends, the endless amounts of shit we have to buy. It can get overwhelming. Is wearing the same thing every day the answer? HELL no. :::yawns:::

But in the same breath, being a lady fucking rules. One day you could wake up feeling super goth and the next day you could wake up wanting to look like a damn Powder Puff Girl (are those things still relevant) vomited all over you. It’s a beautiful thing that we can express ourselves like this.

If you’re bored and hate the idea of “getting dressed” in the morning, than that means you just need to spice up your style. Go experiment. Try shit on that you normally wouldn’t. Go a little bit outside of your budget and splurge on something that makes you shine inside and out. Rev your style engines, ladies. But don’t … I repeat … do not buy the same black dress in bulk. It’s weird. 

Uniforms should stay in high school (or in an industry where you are required to wear one), not in the wonderful world of expressing your style. Nice try, lazy pants, nice try.

Back-To-School Embarrassment

33-clueless-references-you-missed-as-a-kid-1-19630-1389658992-21_bigI found myself strolling through the “back-to-school” section of Walgreens the other day, wistfully thinking about how satisfying a fresh notebook is, and how nothing in life is better than brand spanking new office supplies (do I have issues?). Which made good ol’ back-to-school memories flood my brain. 

I spent a painful amount of time on my back-to-school outfits starting in middle school. Before that I think my mom just put me in a vest and a turtle neck on the first day … and on picture day. A vest. (Why, woman, why!?) But after that, painful amounts of time were spent trying to look like Britney Spears on the first day of school. Sigh. The early 2000’s … am I right? 

I really don’t know what the balls I thought was going to happen if I wore the “end all, be all outfit” to school on the first day. I clearly watched waaaay too many teen movies and was expecting all of the cute boys and popular girls to be all, “wow … who’s that girl? Oh wait! It’s Kate! No way! But she’s so cool now! Let’s be friends forever!” That never happened. Instead I sit here years later thoroughly mortified for making my mother buy me such expensive jeans to impress such clowns.  

I’m sure we all have our favorite back-to-school outfits and memories, but I thought I would share a few of my faves with you in hopes you will share with me yours so I feel less shitty about myself. 

1. Tweezing my brows: Yep. That happened a few days before 8th grade started. I had bushy ass eyebrows that were so bad, people, including my hair dresser at the time, wanted to tackle me to the ground and wax them. But no, I wouldn’t let them, for I didn’t want to grow up. That’s until I started thinking my life was a teen movie, and thought my crush would only like me if my eyebrows were perfect. 

After I removed 95% of them, yes … 95% … making them skinny and uneven, my mother asked me what had I done? I said nothing. Nothing was different. My eyebrows did not get smaller. And I walked away … mortified that I had destroyed my face. And wanting her to hold me. 

2. Wear a bra, Kate: I mean I knew life sucked in a strapless bra even before I wore one. Because my mother walked into my room the day 7th grade started and insisted I wore a sports bra to school. I was mortified. I literally just wanted to cry. And for the rest of that first week of school … and probably the next month or so, I would go into her room in the morning and ask her if I had to wear a bra, praying she would say, “no, Kate … your taas aren’t growing at all. I was just kidding. Free ball for the rest of your life.” Yep. I was a freak.

3. How low can you go: Fast forward to high school, when Britney Spears made it super cool for your jeans to rest right above where your vagina started. AKA sitting and bending down was impossible. I, again, made my mom buy me these amazingly expensive jeans from Lucky that had faded pockets on the ass and said “lucky you” when you pulled down the zipper. Looking back … it was a little whorey. But that is neither here nor there. I wore them on the first day, and when I sat down in my homeroom, realized my entire ass crack was out. Not just the tip of the crack. I mean FULL. CRACK. Say crack again. CRACK.

I remember slouching so badly in my seat that I mine as well have been horizontal. I seriously still have lower back problems because of those damn jeans. Did I stop wearing them after that? Uhh … did I mention Britney Spears deemed uber low risers super cool? With that being said, all of my high school saw my ass crack every day from 2001-2005. You’re welcome, world. 

So there are my embarrassing tid-bits for the day. Now whatchu got? 


Some Tough Love On Interning

Screen Shot 2015-08-12 at 12.14.24 PMThere is absolutely nothing glamorous about interning. I don’t care if you are in a plush, trendy Google-esque office, working for an awesome start-up, or in a shack down by the river, it’s tough. If anyone tells you otherwise, they are, well, a dirty liar. 

Hence why my mind is being boggled that interns are actually “raging against the machine,” so to speak, and suing their employers for wrongful treatment. Uhhh what? I thought interning was about gaining experience and working your ass off until your boss decides you are awesome enough to cut you a paycheck? No? Now all of a sudden college kids have money to hire lawyers to take down the Olsen twins? Good God, I barely had money for a Diet Coke whilst interning.

I interned at a magazine in college, unpaid (although I believe I received college credit), and would have done ANYTHING for them to hire me. If my boss wanted me to run up and down Broad Street in a chicken suit squawking, I probably would have. That is how hungry I was. While no, I didn’t have to work crazy hours, I know for a fact I would have if they asked … because you want to know why? I didn’t want to graduate without a job and I loved what I was doing (although … spoiler alert … I totally didn’t have a job when I graduated … whomp whomp). 

While I’m not for brands and companies abusing “free labor” and taking advantage of college kids, I’m also not really down with interns suing their employer for things like “working crazy hours,” and “exhaustion.” Because that just isn’t real life. If you’re burnt out, you take a mental health day, shut the hell up, and get back to the grind. Or … drink wine. Lots of it. We all have our ways of coping. A law suit is not one of them, at least not for me.

So future interns of America, I feel like I’ve been around the block once or twice interning and being in the “business rhelm” of life that I can offer up some advice that will lead you to NOT, one day, sue your employer. Behold …

1. Check your passions: I worked my face off to get the internship of my dreams. And getting the call that I got the position is still, to this day, one of the most blissful moments in my existence so far (wait … is that sad?). Interning is about figuring out what the hell you want to do with your life. If you’re just applying for the internship because you feel like you have to, or because Mommy and Daddy are forcing you to, it most likely won’t end well slash it will be just a line item on your resume that will, overtime, dissolve. Don’t waste your time.

2. Know your limits: If your internship is making your grades slip and you feel yourself going insane because of all the work and long hours… maybe it’s time to bow out early. Not everyone is a super human beast who can run on caffeine, fear, and adrenaline (myself included). After a few weeks, there is NOTHING wrong with being like, “meh this isn’t for me,” and gracefully resigning. They will respect you for your honesty and not wasting their time. Know there are bazillions of internships out there. It just takes some time to find the right one for you (like literally everything else in life). 

3. Know your role: You’re an intern. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to write a 250 word blurb in the magazine, or get to attend a cool event … maybe. Mostly you are there to pick up the slack that the big wigs can’t handle or don’t have time for. Edits, mind-numbing research, highlighting shit, faxing shit, running around the city like a mad man (I used to have to call restaurants and have the hostess spell out the restaurant’s name for me so I had proof it was correct). If you go in thinking you’re Anna Wintour status, you will fail. Walk in like a soldier unable to bitch or eye roll, ready to take your bosses dog to the fucking groomers like a BOSS. The more you are open to, the more success you will have. Head nod and smile. I repeat. Head nod and smile. 

So there you have it. If you get to the point where you’re dehydrated and have to be put in one of those “Lindsay Lohan spas” for exhaustion because of an internship, well, I don’t feel bad for you. This is your time to get some experience. Don’t waste it with a bunch of asshats who think they can take advantage of you because you’re young. But at the same time, don’t sue them. For the love. From me to you: NO ONE will want ANYTHING to do with you EVER if your name is all over the interwebs as that person who sued the Olsen twins. 

Interning is about hard work, sacrifice, and gaining some skills that will help you down the road (umm again, like everything else in life). They don’t call it “paying your dues” for nothing. But let me tell you something, if you’re exhausted and overworked in the real world, no law suit can save you. 

Man up, kids. You got this. 


Buy Something Shiny, Dammit

pretty-woman_l_1You guys … it’s Friday. We made it. We did it. We KILLED this week. Shall we do a joint jump in mid-air freeze frame sesh? 

I’m a huge supporter of treating yourself. Not just buying yourself a nice dinner or pouring yourself that extra glass of wine. I’m talking about something shiny. Something fun. Something you normally would just drool over and never pull the trigger on buying.

That pair of shoes you would sell your significant other for on the black market? Even if you have no where to wear them, buy them, put them on a self and oogle them. I did it … and let me tell you, so satisfying. Sometimes, between you and I, I will vacuum in them or something. I know … I’m a freak.

So because I adore all of you, my fine sassy readers, I did the heavy lifting for you. Below are some fun items to spoil yourself with. It’s Friday. This week blew. And for fucks sake, you deserve something shiny. And if anyone asks why, tell them because Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra says so, and to stop being such a pain in the ass. 


Sassy Pair of Shades: Look we all have different face shapes, sizes, colors, complexions. I get it. But these make my heart skip a beat. 

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Ripped jeans: Black jeans are a necessary staple in every woman’s closet. Ripped black jeans are a necessary staple in every bad ass woman’s closet. They go with ev-er-y-thing. You could wear them everyday of the week, and no one would notice. And if they do, well … they have enough edge for you to tell them to fuck off.

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A Great Red Lipstick: If I have to explain why red lipstick is important for all women … well, can you come closer to me so I can smack you? Kay, thanks.

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Sassy coin purse: I can’t explain to you how much I adore this. If I could squeeze it until it popped, I would. It makes me want to scream, “EEEEEEE” at such a high pitch, all dogs would flee.

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Great pair of booties:  BUS STOP Boutique is one of my absolute favorites in Philly. I literally have to have someone restrain my credit cards whilst shopping there. But I’ve been swooning over these booties for a long time. They are great with summer dresses, skinny jeans, tights in the fall. I mean … adopt them immediately.


Skull shall save your pennies:  If you’re anything like me, you unfortunately die for all the finer things in life, yet cannot really rationalize being the woman living out of her designer bags on the streets when you cannot afford to pay your rent. So, this gorgeous skull money bank is not only a swoon-worthy piece of decor for your home, but the perfect place to store that pesky change at the bottom of your bag to save up and make your Stella McCartney dreams come true one day.


A great bag: I have big amazing plans to purchase this bag and make sweet sweet love to it in the fall. That is all.


Why Are Menstrual Cups A Thing?!

Belle-Teacups2Warning: this post is about periods. So for the .05% of men who read and the women who don’t like to acknowledge the fact that they bleed once a month from their nether regions … things are about to get weird

Periods. I’m pretty sure there is nothing anyone can do to make them suck less. Yet we try. We try so damn hard. And when I thought the mind-numbing cramps and insane hormone rages couldn’t get worse … then a thing called “menstrual cups” came into existence. 

Okay … first of all, I can barely say … hold on … :::gags violently::: menstrual :::gagging gagging::: (sorry, guys) cups without wanting to vomit. Who thought that name was a good idea?! Do you know what kind of insanely graphic and disgusting visuals it creates?! Make it stop! 

It’s also made by a brand called “Diva Cup.” Okay people, we need to stop making our feminine products look like really cool accessories we all just HAVE to have. A neon pink pad wrapper doesn’t make the situation any cooler. It really doesn’t. Periods will never … EVER be cool. 

Even though the idea disgusts me thoroughly, for you all, my dear sweet readers, I did a little digging to find out why this shit is an actual “thing” woman are using … 

1. You can use one cup all year.

My response: :::gagging, gagging, gagging:::


2. They are insanely good for the environment.

My response: I’m bleeding from my damn vagina, have horrific cramps, and want to murder the world whilst eating a fist full of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups all at the same time … and now you want me to go “green?” Uh huh …. 


3. Less chances of Toxic Shock Syndrome.

My response: I’ve never understood how Toxic Shock Syndrome is a thing. You start getting your period, what … when you’re 12? 13? Right … so if you can’t remember to change your tampon as an adult every few hours, I seriously think you need to go see a professional. And if you SERIOUSLY cannot remember (which … honestly boggles my mind), switch to pads! Because of you be incapable of “adulting”, now look what we have to deal with … MENSTRUAL CUPS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ::::gagging and crying::::


4. Less to carry around.

My response: Right, because those tampons and pads are just SO cumbersome. Seriously. My back from carrying around my pads. Jesus Christ. Make it STOP. Why does God hate women SO much that he makes us lug these paper thin feminine products around for a week once a month. It just ISN’T fair. Fucking men.


5. Don’t have to awkwardly carry your feminine products to the bathroom.

My response: True … it’s slightly awkward carrying a tampon from your desk to the bathroom. Someone stopped to talk to me on the way one time, and I crushed that thing with super human strength to the point where it was not usable. But why should we give a shit if someone sees us carrying around tampons and pads? Periods are a thing. And if the sight of my tampon skeeves you out, then so be it, dammit. I’m not rubbing it on your face, I’m walking it to the bathroom. Chill the fuck out. 


I’m going to be real with you. As a 28-year-old woman, I barely know if I’m using tampons correctly. So why in sheer holy hell would I find the idea of shoving some weird plastic device up “there” from “Diva Cup” :::gagging::: to be the solution to all my period issues?

In fact, I don’t have any period issues! I’m a-okay with the products that are available to me. Wings, no wings, tampons the size of Tic-tacs, super absorbent … I love it all. So, “Diva Cup”, you really created a solution to a problem I didn’t have. Now if you can make periods not a thing anymore … THEN we can chat. 

Whew okay … got through writing this post without actually vomiting. Snaps for me.


My Quest For The Perfect Tote

Shopping-Tote-BagsYou would think finding a new tote bag would be a non-issue? Right? When I noticed my tote from Zara was coming apart at the seams simply because I carry my entire life in it all day, err day … I was like okay, time to find another tote. Easy. Not something I’m going to have to pop a Xanax over. 

Wrong, sir … you are wrong. 

Over the past few weeks, I’ve spent a stupid amount of time scouring the interwebs in search of my perfect tote. Like a STUPID, idiotic amount of time. Time I should have spent on the Internet researching articles on global warming, or other important world news topics, not for some device to hold everything I need to exist as a person on the daily. 

I also found out A LOT about myself on my search for the perfect tote. Number 1: I am gifted with extraordinarily expensive taste (thanks, mom). And no, I’m not hair flipping and being all cocky over that fact. It sucks. Every bag I liked was $500 or more. That isn’t normal. Nor doable. Why do these expensive bags even exist?! All they do is torture my soul. 

If I ever were to invest in a $1,000 tote bag I would probably turn into a complete psychopath, reserving extra chairs for said bag at restaurants, and buying it a booster seat for the train so it didn’t have to rest on the disgusting floor. To be honest, I would probably not put anything in it. I would just stare at it and stroke it creepily and scream at randos to, “NOT TOUCH MY TOTE, YA JAG!”

The reason I am immediately drawn to these expensive bags, though, is they have originality … something a lot of tote bags you can find at any “normal person store” lacks. Seriously, if I see this bag one more time I’m going to explode out of boredom:

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Sure … it’s just a tote bag. It’s a wide open space for busy ladies to throw their laptops, journals, makeup bags, different clothing to go from AM to PM, and snacks … lots and lots of snacks. But that doesn’t mean it needs to be yawn-worthy. And yet in the same breath, it doesn’t need to say something ridiculous on it like, “meow at me if you like cats as much as I do.” Like I adore cats … but not that much … dag.

I want my tote bag to have some flair, ya know? I want it to look expensive, but not have the price tag that will turn me into a lunatic. I want this Stella McCartney bag, but not pay over $1,000 for it … and yet in the same breath, not have to buy the bootleg Steve Madden version of it either. Is that too much to ask?! 

It’s scary when you walk down the street and every female you pass has the same tote as you in a different color. It’s weird. Think outside of the box, tote bag makers. Or hi, Fendi … make a tote bag that doesn’t mean I have to not pay my rent one month to buy it and there for live out of … kay?

At the end of my stupid amount of time searching … South Moon Under won me over. I’m like 74% okay with it … only because I’m scared it’s going to look cheap and probably going to get dirty as hell. But hey, it was 50% off with free shipping … and my Zara tote is REALLY falling apart. It’s getting embarrassing. 

But I’m still not impressed. For shame, tote bags of America, for shame.

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Why I Broke Up With Spinning

sporty-spiceYou’ve obviously been on my wild ride of joining the ranks of bad ass women who get their spin on. I was thrilled when Flywheel approached me to join their Summer Tune-up Challenge. An excuse to get into shape and try something new? Umm sign me the eff up. 

But at the end of this two-week wild ride, I found myself having to write a really hard email to the ladies over at Flywheel and be all, “it’s not you, it’s me.” Yes, I threw in my towel that normally would collect my sweat whilst spinning early, because, well, sometimes you have to listen to your body. 

I unfortunately suffer from an pretty bad anxiety disorder, and the intensity, music, and speed just was not agreeing with me. The entire two weeks I had awful anxiety … crippling at some points. In times like these, you really have to take a step back and reevaluate what the hell is going on in your life. And the only thing I could pinpoint, the only major change in my life, were these intense classes I had adopted. 

Pathetically exclaiming to a friend how defeated and fucking weak I felt, she told me she could easily go around to a group of women and pinpoint what their exercise of choice would be just by looking at them and maybe chatting for a few minutes. And she looked at me and said, “never in a million years would I take you for a spinner … and that doesn’t mean shit.” 

And she was right. Spinning isn’t my jam and that doesn’t make me weak or a wuss. It doesn’t mean I don’t excel at other forms of exercise (I mean I make warrior 4 my bitch, what is UP). It just means its not for me. We broke up, okay, leave it alone.

I cannot express enough how fantastic the instructors over at Flywheel are, though. Throughout my entire experience they were nothing but encouraging, supportive, and smart, never pressuring me to go harder than I could handle. If you’ve ever wanted to take a spinning class at Flywheel, I say go for it. Throw yourself in the deep end of the exercise pool, because you’ll find your regiment faster that way. At least I did. 

I’m happy to report I’m still on my exercise kick and have some yoga classes scheduled AND I’m still on track with my healthy eating (because … I know you all REALLY care about all these details, right?)

So a big thanks to Flywheel for giving me that extra hard kick in the ass to start getting into shape. You ladies rock! 

Sporty Spice out :::Drops mic:::

28 Going On 13

Bra-fittingWhen you go bra shopping with your mom, no matter what age, it’s like you’re suddenly transported back to that awkward time in life when you first became a “woman.” Ugh. I, fortunately, don’t have an awkward “first bra shopping experience” story, though. My mom just suddenly starting putting sports bras in my stocking on Christmas morning and in my room randomly, and I would turn purple and pretend they didn’t exist. Totally normal.

Luckily my need for new bras and to be fitted again aligned perfectly with the Nordstrom Anniversary sale, because I HATE how expensive good bras are. It isn’t fair and I’ll never understand it. Hence why I wear them out to the point of my underwire stabbing me on my side. 

As a 28-year-old broad, I know what I likes in a bra. Black or nude, lacy, no padding … boom, I’m supported. But when it comes to getting fitted and having a stranger get all up in yo bid-ness … well I’m immediately transported back to being and awkward teenager. I stand there topless, fidgeting, crossing my arms over my taas, then changing it up and just putting my hands over my taas to not feel so exposed.

Bra Fitter: So have you ever been fitted before? 

I don’t know if this lady thought I was younger than I was because I was there with my mother, or if she thought I was an incompetent idiot, but I’m 28. If I hadn’t been fitted before, I would have had a serious issue in life. 

And then there was my mom …

Mom: Kate are you in here?

Me: Yes. (I was topless and getting felt up by a stranger)

Bra Fitter: We are over here, Mom! 

Mom: Can I come in? :::opens door::

Me: :::Still topless, getting felt up by a stranger, and now turning purple:::

Mom: Can I leave my purse in here with you? It’s heavy. 

Me: Mom … yes, BYE.

After my size was determined (no I won’t share that info with you, ya pervs), the bra fitter went out in search of bras I would like. She returned with a plethora of … well … ugly. Leopard print, sparkle … and color. I felt my 28-year-old self returning. 

Me: I’m going to be up front with you … I only really wear black and nude bras.

Bra Fitter: Well that’s boring.

Me (in my head): Uhhhhh…

Mom: How’s it going in here?!?

Me: All good, Mom. :::Sigh::: All good.

Okay, what is boring about black and nude lingerie? If I’m buying an $80 bra, I want to be able to wear that shit with ev-er-y-thing. Not some cheetah print nightmare with a blue lace border that I could only whip out for nights out at “da club” which ps. NEVER happen anymore. 

For the love of Jesus, I’ve been around the block with bras. I’ve been fitted by the best of the best. Literally, and I’m bragging here on purpose, I’ve had a woman who people refer to as the “bra whisperer” feel me up. It was glorious. I just needed to know my damn bra size since it had been about a year since my last fitting and then I could figure it out from there. Feel me up, give me a number, and I’ll take care of the rest. 

I wish getting fitted for bras was less awkward, I really do. And I wish bra fitters when they sense the topless woman in front of them is uncomfortable would stop highlighting the face. “Relax, hun, it will be over soon.” I’m not at the gyno getting a pap-smear, you are just wrapping a tape measure around my body. I’m uncomfortable because I’m topless and I don’t know you and my mother is standing on the other side of the dressing room door like I’m trying on prom dresses. 

Sigh … some things never change. If you ever, for some strange and bazaar reason, want to re-live your teenage years … go bra shopping with your mother or other woman-figure in your life. It makes for some funny and awkward situations, I’ll tell you that much. 

Ahhh memories … 


I Survived Flywheel Week One

bicycle-cats-j-p-coats-threadYou guys … I completed week one of my Flywheel Summer Tune-up challenge. :::Sigh::: I’m proud. I want to cry a little. Maybe eat a side of extra large fries? I don’t know … so much emotion. But I can literally feel various systems in my body start to go into shock and be all, “what the eff are you DOING, WOMAN?!”

I’ve been thinking a lot about how to explain my first week of spinning to you guys. Do I tell you I was the idiot that signed up for a 60-minute spin class for her first class EVER and when people in class found out acted like I was attempting to tightrope walk across two skyscrapers sans a harness? 

Or do I underline the fact that I was on a waitlist for my first class, because I foolishly didn’t sign up in time, finally got assigned a bike that was in a decent part of the room (unfortunately not in a dark corner like I had planned), only to find out when I arrived that the bike was broken and now I was on bike one. One. ONE. Front row. First class. 60 minutes. Yeah. I still don’t have words.

But, after much thought, I decided to share some lessons with you that I learned after three grueling spinning classes (I know, I know, I was supposed to do 5 … I mean life, kill me). Because if the girl who loves carbs, chocolate and vodka can survive these crazytown classes that make you feel like you’re in the pit of a crazy European techno concert on acid … anything is possible. I mean … really. 

1. You will want to vomit: Everyone told me I was going to get sick to my stomach. Umm … I will do anything not to vom. Unfortunately it just got so damn hot in there and we were moving so fast that my body was just like, “you know what? No. If you’re going to make me do this … I’m going to make you do THISSSS :::stomach flips:::” (my body is an asshole). 

2. Remember, this is your ride: In the words of a very wise instructor at Flywheel named Nicole (hi Nicole, you rule), “if anyone is looking at your resistance numbers or how fast you are going, they can go fuck themselves.” Being front row for my first class was mor-ti-fying. I couldn’t help but think all of the other riders were looking and judging at how fantastically out of shape I was (because you know, they had nothing else to do, right?). I couldn’t keep up or do the different positions. I was told to just focus on “making it to the finish line.” 

And only after my third class did I realize, so what if I can’t keep up? I’m a newbie. And to me, it isn’t worth harming myself just to prove to these ass clowns, whom I don’t even know, that I’m an exercising “beast” … because I’m not. So if you don’t like me pedaling like I’m on my way to a picnic in a field of daisies, then you can suck it my friend. AYE AYE AYE AYE. THAT is the mindset you have to have to survive. Do what is comfortable for you and only you. Screw the rest of ‘um.

3. Become one with your anxiety: I loathe stepping outside of my comfort zone. But this … well … was on another level of being uncomfortable. All the people waiting outside for the class to start looked like they were ready for battle, where I looked like I was … ready for the bar. Not to mention the pounding music, the heat, and just the insane intensity flying through the room … you’re going to think escaping quietly, popping a Xanax and taking a long nap sounds like heaven.

My first instinct was to freak, and then want to cry, and then want to flee. But I just chose a point of focus, and started breathing yoga-style. I would take a sip of water, and keep breathing and focusing and moving. By the end of class, I resisted temptation to stand on my bike and be all, “BOO YAH, look who made it to the finish line, bitches!?!?! :::inappropriate arm gestures::::”

4. Pain: Nope, not your muscles … your ass and your va-jay jay. Guess what? The bike seat isn’t comfortable. Shocking! But no … seriously … I was expecting not to be able to walk the next day, turns out I was fine. Instead, every time I attempted to sit down at work or on the train, I wanted to cry because my ass was THAT sore. I needed one of those pathetic donut things to sit on. I mean, not the sexiest problem in the world, right? Also insane wedgies … they are a real thing, and hurt. Bad. 

Look, for my first three classes, I’ve wanted to cry and I’ve desperately wanted to quit (you have no idea how many times I strategically planned my escape route mid-spin). But I’ve never escaped. Because when I’m sitting on the train home after class, a hot sweaty bootleg version of Sporty Spice, still catching my breath and feeling like I’m going to die, I feel this insane sense of accomplishment. It rules and is kind of addictive. I feel like a real life athlete (yeah … no … I would be the worst athlete on the planet unless there was a french fry eating competition).

One more week to go. I’m already feeling better, stronger and way more healthy. Thanks to all the amazing instructors over at Flywheel Center City for all the encouragement and support and listen to me bitch about how scared I am. Let’s see how I feel after seven more days of these shenanigans … 

Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra Turns 4!

Birthday-Wishes-for-a-Four-Year-OldSo this day, four glorious years ago … I was 24, sitting on my twin-sized bed in my childhood home, freaking the hell out about hitting the “Publish” button that would make Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra come to life. A simple act of hovering my mouse over a damn button was turning yours truly into a psychotic disaster area. 

Wonder if nobody reads it? Wonder if I run out of shit to write about? Wonder if I don’t become the most famous blogger in the entire world? Wonder if people realize I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing?

When I finally got my balls together and hit “Publish” … my entire life changed in a way I could have never imagine. (This is totally going to get super sapp-tacular, so I apologize in advance). To wake up today knowing my blog child is turning 4 and flourishing? Well … give me a sec because I’m getting verklempt. 


It can be so intimidating being a blogger, especially when you compare yourself to blogging beasts like Man Repeller, who mine as well be the Pope of blogging. But you can’t compare yourself, you just have to find your voice and be who you are. But the best piece of advice I have ever received is to never stop. No matter what. Even if what you are writing is complete rubbish (and trust me a LOT of it has been) … hit publish and send it out to the world.

I cannot thank you enough, sincerely, friends, family, co-workers past and present, random people out there in the world, for all your support for Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra over these 4 years. Wow. It’s just … yeah … wow. Something I could truly have never dreamt up. :::wipes tear:::

So yeah … so sappy, right? Gross. 

I would say I’m going to celebrate with champagne and chocolate tonight … but alas, if you haven’t heard … I’m dieting. Sigh. But I hope, dear God I hope, you will celebrate along with me and drink the cocktails I cannot and indulge in the chocolates I’m avoiding. Please? Pretty please? With a chocolate covered caramel on top with a side of fries? 

So year 4 … here we are. God only knows what it shall bring …

My Adventures Through The Activewear Department

5566aec53eca91d50892fdc973d0bde1It’s a big deal when I actually drag my ass out to buy workout clothes. That MEANS something. Usually I’ll see something way better than a boring pair of bike shorts, get completely distracted, and come home with a myriad of new outfits, and nothing to wear to the gym … and then the idea of going to the gym fizzles. 

New to the world of workout clothes, I decided to make my first stop at Burlington Coat Factory because A. the prices are right and I knew I didn’t want to spend that much on “gear” B. I don’t know that much about workout clothing labels to be a snob C. Lululemon, from what I hear, makes me want to head butt people and things. 

My first experience stepping into an “activewear” section of a store was … interesting. I’m going to compare it to attempting to dive into an ice cold pool. You stick your pinky toe in first. You put you hand in, swirl around the water. Maybe coat your body with the ice cold water to acclimate yourself, whilst making a cringe-like face. Contemplate going back to the comfort of your lounge chair, aka the shoe department. But then say, “the hell with it,” and dive right in. 

My thoughts?

1. Why in the name of sweet Jesus is everything so colorful? Am I working out or crossing the street when it is pitch black outside? Like do people need to see me miles away whilst working out in my neon gear? Or can a sister get some black tanks and yoga pants so my fellow gym-goers don’t see me dying with exhaustion and hate for my out-of-shape self? What is UP with that?

2. Dear Nike, Puma, Champion, and any other brand that thinks it is totally cool to plaster your brand name across my chest. In the words of my Nana, you aren’t paying me to be your walking billboard, therefore I refuse to be your device for free advertising. A little swoosh here and there is peachy, but NIKE in big bold letters across my taas? Stop it.

3. Do I really need to accentuate my breasts whilst working out? A lot of sports bras/tops had built in cups in the bra area. Really? Cups? Do we need to give the illusion that we are a cup size bigger than we actually are whilst working out? Is that a thing? Because look, I’m just trying to get my taas to disappear with some rather comfortable contraption so I can workout in peace without causing a show. 

4. Sheer workout tops? Really? Really?! REALLY?

5. Why after five minutes of browsing through workout clothes did I get this weird desire to go to Lululemon. I hate that store and I’ve never even stepped foot in there. Anyone who is charging over $80 for yoga pants is no friend of mine. But this insane fear overcame me that my “workout style” wouldn’t be cool enough. Do ladies even judge workout styles? Wonder if I don’t fit it?! Wonder if everyone DOES wear neon and I’ll just be like a girl from the Craft who works out in the corner all lonesome like a freak? And then I found really cool dark gray yoga pants for $12 and was all, “Lulu … what now?”

I got my outfit. I got my hair did (wait … what), I have my plethora of organic veggies for the week (what a productive Sunday … am I right?). Flywheel Summer Tune-up Challenge, it has been broughten (yeah … you heard me correctly).

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:::GASP::: … You Want To Show WHAT On Instagram!?

$_32Okay, so I’m sitting here scratching my head, thinking to myself we have so many horrific things in this world to deal with … yet celebrities are currently OBSESSED with “freeing the nipple.” Really? Don’t mind the inequality, or sharknado freaking coming to life, oh yeah, and that little nuisance we like to call ISIS. No no … we need our rights to show our nipples on social media, dammit! Enough is enough!

What?! Seriously. What?!

It’s always been a little bothersome to me (and by a little I mean .1% in the big grand scheme of things) the inequality of genders being able to show their nasty bits on television … and now, on social media. Again, this shit doesn’t keep me up at night. I just never got why girls were allowed to let their ladies roam free, yet dudes had to keep their man parts bundled up. It’s weird. Parts are parts. Why is the penis so scandalous yet taas aren’t? 

And now … nipples. Guys … really? First of all, and I don’t mean to sound like an old bag banging her cane on the ground in her mumu, but why the balls do you need to show your nipple on Instagram? I get it, Chrissy Teigan, you’re a model and what you do is “art” … but let that art live on the pages of W Magazine, not Instagram. Because when you, a public figure, post your nips and other lady parts on Instagram … it shows innocent kids/teens that, “hey! That must mean it’s totally cool for me to do it, too!” And then their life is ruined. I mean probably not really, but I imagine some evil backlash would take place because kids these days are evil a-holes :::shakes cane again:::

It’s like Instagram took away our rights to show our entire bodies and everyone went insane. What is the big deal with nipples anyways? They do nothing for me. I mean we all have them and some are larger then others. Cool? The word itself kind of skeeves me out, though (don’t ask me why). But do I feel stifled because I can’t show them anywhere and everywhere? That’s a big ol’ fashioned NO. I don’t need to see what my nipples look like with the Lo-Fi filter over them, kay?

Listen, I’m not a prude, but I just don’t think social media is a place for nipples to live. In fact, I cannot even believe I just wrote that previous sentence. :::Sigh::: Can you imagine what will happen if you can start showing your nips on Instagram? “I love that skirt :::scroll scroll::: OMG that cat is so cute :::scroll scroll::: aaaaaand there is some random broads nipple :::shuts off App and hits delete:::” Yeah … no. 

I’m completely okay with Instagram banning us from showing our nipples, as long as it is ALL nipples … chicks, dudes, animals … all of it. A nipple is a nipple is a nipple. One gender’s is just more productive than anothers. Because honestly, what’s next? Va-jays? Wangs?! (I really need to start using the correct terminology for body parts, don’t I?) 

Let’s keep Instagram for what it is meant to be: a place to post your cat pics. Yeah Miley Cyrus, you heard me … stop trying to make “nipples” happen, they aren’t going to happen!

Things I Can’t Be: Vegan

hbz-august-2012-vegan-vanity-de1I’m not going to say I’m not a healthy person, because I am. I crave veggies constantly. Drink a shit ton of water. Stay away from fried foods. I’m conscious of calories. And if I do get a craving for something not-so-healthy (i.e. my dictator of a sweet tooth), I eat everything in moderation. 

But I’m still not Kate Moss thin. What gives? Oh that’s right, I love carbs. And wine. Like the idea of not having carbs and wine in my life makes me want to check myself into an insane asylum because there is no reason to go on. Bread. Potatoes in any way shape or form. Pretzels. I LAHVE IT. 


So that’s when I thought to myself, self? Wonder if you went Vegan? If you’re going to spin for Flywheel’s Summer Tune-up Challenege like an insane person for the next 2 weeks out of your life, why can’t you go Vegan for those 2 weeks, too?

Oh that’s right, Vegan food is disgusting. Simmer down, Vegans, let me make my point. A few weekends back, I was tipsy at a beer garden craving a little nosh when I made my friend go get me some fries (I’m awesome). Instead he returned with some sort of Vegan wrap. What?! After resisting the urge to flip our table and shame him, I was actually hungry, and tipsy, enough to take a bite out of this “Vegan wrap.” So I did. It looked great with lots of fresh veggies and such (actually I really didn’t want to make eye contact with it).

So I took a bite. And you know what? All of these fantastic flavors started to swirl around in my mouth. Some fresh veggies. A mysterious sauce that didn’t taste half that bad. The actual wrap itself filling my void of carbs. I took another big bite when …

it hit. The aftertaste. The unnatural, weird, rough, bland, and a little sour, aftertaste. Since I was mid-bite I couldn’t do anything but chew and swallow (I’m a lady). But don’t you worry, after chugging the rest of my cocktail, I carried on pretty drastically about how fucking heinous that wrap was. “I WANTED FRIES, YOU BASTARD!” I exclaimed like a mad person (did I mention I had just chugged the rest of my vodka cocktail … yeah #drunk).

I love the idea of being Vegan, I really do. It’s so good for your body and I respect the people who really dive in and keep with the lifestyle … I swear I’m not hating on it. But it just seems like it takes a lot of work and effort and funds to get this shit tasting delicious to that point where you crave it. 

Which brings me to my next point: Beyonce. That bitch looks so fantastic because she has a Vegan chef making her all these meals … not overpriced frozen meals. Sure, they may be made from sticks and leaf particles, but her chef knows how to make it taste like freaking filet mignon. If I had Beyonce cash, I would be Vegan, too.

I guarantee you her 22-Day Vegan diet meals that get delivered to your home for around $600 (if you opt to have 3 meals a day … good God) aren’t that fantastic. What frozen meal, Vegan or not, was EVER fantastic? It’s quick. That’s. About. It. And chances are, you’re just getting them delivered in an effort to lose weight. Not to enjoy or really embrace the Vegan lifestyle. No. The people ordering these meals just want to look like Beyonce.


Life should be enjoyed … in moderation, of course. Not to have to shove foul tasting food down your throat for the sake of looking like Bey Bey. While I know for a solid fact, even though I’ve only stuck my pinky toe in the Vegan waters, that I couldn’t do it, there are other healthy ways to lose weight and still be super pumped about coming home and grilling up some amazingly delicious veggies and chicken (okay MAYBE I’ll cut back the olive oil and cheese … gosh)

Going Vegan isn’t just about the meals you eat, it is a full lifestyle change. Think before you brand yourself something in an effort to look “cool” … even if Beyonce deemed it so. 


Humidity: The Unsolvable Problem

isithumidDon’t throw shit at me when I proclaim this, but I’m WAY more of a winter person. Hands down. The summer is lovely and all. Don’t get me wrong, maxi dresses are my world. Except for the fact that the bane of my existence rears its ugly head: humidity. 

If you are a fan of humid weather, I’m sorry, but you’re a freak of nature and we can’t be friends. How can anyone in their right mind be a fan of this shit? It’s heavy, gross, depletes my energy, and one of my least favorite words in the English language, “dewy”:::chills::: 

I’ve given this a lot of thought, probably too much, but if the Michelin Man, Big Foot and a storm cloud had an orgy together and reproduced, they would end up with a baby named Humidity. This big, puffy, evil cloud of awkwardness walks the Earth ruining everything it comes across. It just floats up to people and breathes really heavily in their faces, making everything in its path sweaty and wilted (hey … how about THAT visual). 

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Forget about trying to look nice or together or not like a complete and utter hot mess, that is unless you live in an air conditioned bubble. For me, a commuter who doesn’t have the luxury of jumping from my air conditioned house, to air conditioned car, to air conditioned office … finds myself getting the brunt of the humid wrath, and quite frankly, I’m sick of it. 

“OMG I’m having such a good hair day,” I say to myself rarely as I give one last look in the mirror before walking out the door. Then the second my heel hits the pavement, BAM. Humidity bitch slaps me across my face, leaving my hair puffy and curling in all the wrong places, and my makeup melting off my face. All I want is to turn around and feel the cool embrace of sweet sweet AC, but alas, I must forge forward. 

By the time I make it to the train, the idea of walking down the street in my underpants sounds like heaven compared to dealing with the clinging, uncomfortable, suffocating nightmare that my skinny jeans have turned into. I mean THAT is saying something considering I don’t even let my cats see me in my underpants. 

Maxi skirts are too hot. Jeans are too hot. Short shorts are too hot. My hair always looks like shit. I’m continuously a hot, shiny, sweaty mess, I don’t even know why I bother putting on my “face” in the morning. And yet, I don’t believe it is socially acceptable to walk around with my hair in a high bun, butt ass naked, right? Right. So what is the solution to fight humidity? How can we live our every day lives without looking like a wilted, exhausted, sweaty mess by the time we get from A to B?

Well kids, the solution is there is no solution. Hate to break it to you. Those people who say, “every problem has a solution,” should be smacked because that statement is a bunch of hogwash. Dealing with humidity has no solution unless an air conditioned bubble is invented for people who live in the city and/or commute. For those of you who, again, go from one air conditioned space to another pleasantly all day, well, aren’t you just so put together. Hey, guess what else? I hate your face.

If you can’t tell … humidity turns me into an angry, tired beast. So until the rare day in life comes around when it’s like 73 and sunny sans humidity in Philly, I will continue being a sour broad who shakes her fist at the inanimate humidity like a crazy person with puffy hair and sweat stains. 

Look At Me! I’m Spinning!

Screen Shot 2015-07-06 at 10.26.47 AMNothing in life is worse than when you wake up after a long holiday weekend and think, “dear God … what did I do to myself?!” If you’re anything like me, you were all, “it’s the 4th of July! That means I can eat and drink and carb up as much as I want without feeling guilty at all! People don’t gain weight on ‘Murica’s birthday!” 

Wrong. When you find yourself on your couch the day after spooning a bottle of Pedialyte dying … you know something is very very off about your lifestyle choices. 

That is why I’m so excited (and by excited I mean scared shitless) to announce to you all, that I, Kate, Editor-in-Chief of Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra, have become a brand ambassador for Flywheel’s Summer Tune-up Challenge. Did I mention I’ve never spun before?

I’m excited because from what I’ve heard from my newly adopted “Fly fam” is that spinning is basically a dance party on a bike … and who could resist a dance party? Not this guy. AND it’s apparently dark as shit in there so no one can see me struggle and cry and get all “Odd Mom Out” as I fight awkwardly to keep up with the fabulous Flywheel girls. 

I’m terrified because I’m probably the most out-of-shape individual on the planet. I have big dreams of making it to yoga after work, but I am a master of talking myself out of it. “I know I already paid for the class, but Chinese food and Real Housewives on my couch is a priority and I PROMISE I’ll go tomorrow.” Flash forward to tomorrow and I’m back on my couch drooling on myself. 

So why did I decide to do this Brand Ambassadorship for Flywheel’s The Summer Tune-up Challenge? Well … 

1. It’s only 2 weeks of my life (I think I can survive that, right?)

2. Things are starting to jiggle on my body that have never jiggled before and I won’t stand for that shit

3. The Flywheel girls are cool as hell (even though we are just Twitter friends currently … but I’m thoroughly pumped to become real life friends with these ladies)

4. Did I mention I need some tough love to get my ass in shape because I’m a master at talking myself out of things I don’t necessarily NEED to do (AKA I’m a flake … I’ll make sure my coach is aware of this)

5. SELF Magazine is hooking me up with a 14-day meal plan to follow as well as access to conference calls with nutritionists (I imagine I will be on these calls like, “So I’m starring down a chocolate chip cookie … what do I do? TELL ME HOW TO NOT EAT THE COOKIE, DAMMIT!)

So yeah … Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra is about to get a little more sporty starting July 13 – July 26 as I’m taking you all on this insane ride with me (and by sporty I mean documenting all of the embarrassing things that happen to me as I get my tush in shape). For example my family has been non-stop making fun of me (no no you didn’t read that wrong, making fun of me … not encouraging me), claiming I will show up wearing a helmet to my first spinning class and are 100% certain I will never lift my ass off the bike seat.

Well I’ll show them! Right? RIGHT?! 

Big thanks to Flywheel for inviting me on this Summer Tune-up Challenge journey with them. I was sure to warn them in advance that I love carbs, am completely out of shape, terrified of the idea of spinning, and don’t want to get yelled at by a crazed instructor. It’s best to put that kind of stuff out into the universe before making a big lifestyle change.

Now let’s rock this bitch. 

Stop Bringing Hosts Food & Booze On The 4th

will-ferrell-usaI can confidently say most ‘Muricans are about to throw their diets to the wind and get their BBQ on this weekend. I know I am. I am ready to eat … and drink. And drink some more. Mmmm tasty cocktails. But I digress … 

While I have attended a myriad of BBQs in my day, figuring out what to bring the “host and or hostess” is a tricky one. Sure you can make something off Pinterest and have it turn into a hot mess disaster. Sure you can bring a bottle of wine. Sure you can just bring yourself if you think you are Gods gift to the world … but I gotta say, aren’t all those things a little …I don’t know, tired? 

Most likely the person throwing the BBQ has a ton of food and drink waiting for you … hence why they invited you over (and if they don’t … leave immediately). And while I don’t think your presence is enough of a gift, I just don’t think “making something” or hitting up the liquor store is doing the trick anymore either. 

“Cool … a bottle of wine I don’t like and will probably regift and yay more food we don’t need.” 

I’m saying we think out of the box when bringing your host/hostess a gift during this fest of BBQs for the 4th. Hosting people sucks. It’s a ton of work. But showering your friends and loved ones with food and drink until they are drunk and in a food coma is a pretty good pay-off … especially if they end up doing something drunkenly ridiculous … am I right? 

Listen know your audience and get them something they wouldn’t get themselves. Make them laugh. Make them smile. Make them not be all, “shit how am I going to fit this in my fridge.” I’m telling you, you’ll be the life of the party. If not … well, then, I NEVER GAVE YOU THIS ADVICE!

So Happy 4th to all. Drink responsibly … or don’t, just don’t be a fucking idiot and drive. Get it together, people. Make good life decisions. Bomb pops for all! 

1. Cards Against Humanity: If you have friends throwing a BBQ that wouldn’t appreciate this game, I say don’t go. It’s classic. It’s hilarious. I seriously pee myself laughing every time I play (although don’t play with any older family members you’ll be uncomfortable around talking about sex and other awkward topics).

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2. Popsicles: Because you aren’t ‘MURICAN if you don’t like popsicles. 

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3. Wine Glass Sippy Cup: While I’m sure they have a bunch of these (again if they don’t, leave … drinking wine out of a solo cup is never okay), do they have a wine glass sippy cup?! I think not. Same amounts of fun and less of the spills. 

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4. Candle: I know a little yawn-worthy, but who couldn’t use a fabulous smelling candle that makes your home smell like something out of an Anthro catalog (you know … if Anthro catalogs were scratch and sniff).

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5. Gilded Pretzel Bottle Opener: Again … they probably have one already. But do they have one in the shape of a gold pretzel!? I think not, kids, I think not. If you score this, you’ve officially won the title of best guest EV-AH title.

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6. Cool Tote Bag: Everyone needs one, even dudes. Eventually we all have to carry shit somewhere, and we mine as well do it in a cool tote that makes people laugh … or offended. Either or, either or. 

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7. Glitter Cake Server: Because glitter. And cake.

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Style Stud Of The Week: Jill Kargman

4ffc3f405ab1e2d6ddccdb4321531270I never understood the people who would roll their eyes at the Real Housewives franchise and be all, “how can you watch this rubbish?!” To me it was an excuse to put my brain on the shelf and drool as I watch these fantastically rich women shop, eat, and bicker over meaningless drama. After a long annoying day, nothing is better than a little escape, am I right?

But it happened. Recently I had to turn off a Real Housewives of NY episode mid-way through because I couldn’t take it. I just can’t deal with eight women screaming at each other for a solid hour. When you feel like you need to pop a Xanax whilst watching a reality show … it means it is time to shut it down. 

So when my best friend mentioned to me how “Odd Mom Out“, a scripted show by Bravo, was actually entertaining, I had no other option than to give it a whirl. While I may have given up on the RHONY, I wasn’t about to give up on Bravo as whole. That is just crazy talk.

And that is when I met my new best friend (sorry current best friend), Jill Kargman. I want to shop with her. I want to drink with her. I want to make fun of people with her. I want to eat a whole baguette with her. I want to braid her hair (wait … what?). I didn’t even know there was this massive void in my life until I became one with this amazing show (by the way how creepy do I sound right now?).

As someone who loathes snobby people, is an eye rolling perfectionist, loves carbs, and wears all black all day errday … Jill Kargman, the star of Odd Mom Out, is now my soul sister. I’ve declared it. Anyone who has their outfit complimented by a gay man as, “it’s like Marc Jacobs had a threesome with Morticia Adams and Karl Lagerfeld’s angrogenous sister,” is destined to be my soul sister.

Not to mention her catchphrases are brilliant … some of which I’m working overtime trying to incorporate into my every day lexicon. I’ll only dazzle you with a few as I could go on forevski (stolen from Jill Kargman).

“Let’s get the check-oslovakia.”

“Thigh plus ass equals thass” 

“Donuts are just gay bagels.”

Listen … I know I usually premiere “Style Stud” of the week on Friday, but this is a “holiday” week and I make the rules up in this bitch, so I’m breaking them. Jill Kargman of Odd Mom Out, you are the Style Stud of the week on Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra, because you’re smart, stylish, bad ass, sarcastic, extraordinarily witty, and show women you don’t need to turn into a robot freak of nature only focused on kids and kid-related topics once you procreate. 

Cheers and let’s get cocktails, kay? 

Do Blondes Have More Fun?

Blondie-x-Los-Rakas-I-Screwed-UpI believe it is a bad thing when you look at your senior portrait from high school, 10 years later, and your hair looks exactly the same. Same color. Same cut. It’s like no time has passed (especially if you graduated high school in the 80’s … get that shit fixed, there is no excuse). 

I’ve been yawning at my hair for a while now. It isn’t the cut, as I adore my stylist (hi Jenna!) She literally is the only human being capable of working a pair of scissors that I let do whatever she wants to me … and it is ALWAYS pure genius.

The color is what really has been boring me to pieces. I’ve been dark brown for a good amount of years now. I’ve had a few highlights added in here and there. I almost went black for a period of time (but since my wardrobe keeps getting less and less colorful I really had to pull back on that). I had that heinous red period that my friends and family now tell me, billions of years later, was a heinous mistake (thanks for the honesty, guys). And I was like a purple-ish red in college due to lack of funds and my obsession with the Feria box hair dye “chocolate cherry” (my 21st birthday pictures are a sheer disaster). 

And now I’m wondering … do blondes have more fun? I’m not saying I want to go Paris Hilton platinum blonde … nothing like that as I know first hand how fucking horrific it is to get your hair bleached. And even now, as an “adult” I don’t have the funds to keep up with that maintenance. 

Really my spirit animal throughout my blonde thought process has been Rachel McAdams’ hair in the new True Detective. For the past three years, I have been sitting by my window, creepily starring at ombre hair singing softly to myself, “hello … is it me you’re looking for?! I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your smile. You’re all I ever wanted. And my arms are open wide. ‘Cause you know just what to say. And you know just what to do. And I want to tell you so much. I love you.” (I’m well aware that I’m a freak)


It comes down to the fact that I don’t have the balls. Ombre hair mine as well be the hottest guy in school you never make eye contact with because you know your face will turn bright red and explode out of too many emotions swirling together. You want ombre. You’ve basically planned your wedding with ombre. But when push comes to shove and ombre comes over to ask you what time it is … you freeze up and pee yourself a little. 

Oh hair dye, why can’t you be easier to play with? Why can’t you be more like nail polish. If you hate the color, a little nail polish remover fixes everything. Whereas if you get your hair dyed something outside of your comfort zone (ombre), and it looks like shit you: A. have to spend a ton of money getting it fixed on top of the money you already spent. B. Risk insulting the hair stylist who just dyed your hair. and C. Damage the HELL out of your hair. Is it worth it? 

My fear is that another 10 years will pass, and the younger generation will look at me and be all, “wow she is so stuck in 2005.” I mean that statement alone makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and cry a little. I guess until I get my balls together, I will just continue staring out my window at ombre hair color, singing sad songs to myself. 

Sigh. Also, DAMN YOU, KARDASHIANS will your endless amounts of money and “glam squads” who can change up their hair every damn day. Damn you. Dammit! Damn. Damn. Damn.

The Spawn of Satan: SPANX

spanx-spnx01-990-gvzOn the hottest day of the year, I decided it would be a fun little experiment to take my new SPANX slip out for a test drive … like a moron. In my head I was like, “this will be amazing. I’ll get some great blog content from it. I can live tweet whilst wearing SPANX. It will be hilarious … Etc. Etc.” 

Welp … if anyone stalks me via social media (which if you do I’m thoroughly flattered), you will know how much of a miserable human being I was. Probably the most miserable I’ve been in a while, strictly because I was so violently uncomfortable. I’m really not exaggerating. I almost got to work, which is an hour away from where I live, and turned right back around because I couldn’t take it. 

I’m pretty sure SPANX has blocked me from Twitter, but you know what? I could careless. You would think wearing SPANX should make you feel thin, vivacious, and Kim Kardashian-curvy. Well, I felt like a stuffed disgusting sausage. I felt fat. I felt BAD about myself, using my laptop and notebook as devices to cover up my stomach. I felt like I had fat rolls in places where normally … I do not. I was fidgeting and pulling parts of my outfit up and down, just to find an inch of comfort. And I was hot. God dammit I was so hot. 

While yes, my mother DID teach me if I had nothing nice to say to say nothing at all … I can’t help but feel really pissed off for the entire lady population. We are basically force fed images of stick figure models with amazing bodies on the reg, making us feel the need to shove our bodies in these constricting devices just to give off the illusion that we are JUST like them, meanwhile our organs are being unnaturally smushed together (ick).

But guess what? We are NOT. We shouldn’t feel bummed out that we love carbs and want to vomit at the sight of any sort of green juice. We should bask in that, instead of walking around all day, so insanely uncomfortable in SPANX that fiery explosions are going off in our brains and we just want to punch everything and anything. 

Needless to say, I went home, almost dislocated my shoulder getting the damn SPANX off my body because it was clinging so tightly to my skin, and threw it straight in the trash. So yeah, I basically threw $50 in the trash. Awesome. Because if I’m not comfortable with the way I look, then I need to work on that with some good ol’ fashion exercise and healthy eating … not by pulling magic tricks out of my ass. BEHOLD! I’m a size 10, and once I shove myself into this corset-like contraption :::awkwardly shoves body into heinous restricting material::: … TA DA I’m a size 6. Again … bullshit. 

I’ll never wear SPANX again. Mark my words. The concept is great if you want a quick fix, and if you are standing stationary on a red carpet for hours. But if that quick fix means being so uncomfortable you can’t concentrate at work, end up feeling insanely bad about yourself, and just want to cry and vomit and sacrifice walking around in a see-through dress all day JUST to relieve yourself isn’t worth it. I honestly don’t know how women like Kim Kardashian do it, as she claims she never leaves home without them. Shit … the things we do to look amazing. But this is where I draw the line, kids.

Be comfortable in your own skin. Down with SPANX, I say, down with them.

The First Time I Let The Ladies Out

Screen Shot 2015-06-22 at 4.45.10 PMI’m a freak among women when it comes to bra wearing. While some may count down the hours of the day they can bust open their front door, unclasp their bra and pull it through their shirt arm hole (it’s a talent). Me? Well … I sleep in the thing. I don’t even let myself air dry after the shower. It is dry off, and bra on. 

I wear it when I’m sick. I wear it when I’m just laying around the house. I’m basically 100% bra-ed up. Because without it, I feel strange. Like REALLY strange. Which is interesting because I remember thinking the minute I put one on for the first time, “this is so weird, Mom how long do I have to wear this thing?!” 

I’ve even avoided backless dresses/shirts (which are my favorite … I adore my back) for this reason because “free-ballin'” was never an option for me, as, well … God gave me parts that need some :::cough::: support (that’s a nice way of saying I have big taas). Yes, I tried the backless bra, but you know that feeling of falling when you aren’t really falling? It’s basically the same thing, except you’re constantly thinking your bra is going to come flying off since it is hanging on to your skin by tape. Which is unnatural. 

I can’t say I’ve ever gone out in public bra-less until recently. And guess what made me do it? Shocking … a strapless bra. I won’t name brand names as this specific brand was nice enough to send me a free trial of their bra … but I’ll honestly say the thing is made from the fabric of Satan. If I wasn’t throwing a party at my home that day, and if I hadn’t bought a halter maxi dress that required me to wear a strapless bra, I probably would have burned it. 

Getting the thing on alone was a workout, and I almost injured myself pretty badly trying to shimmy it up. Lots of grunting was happening, maybe a few “F bombs” were dropped … I don’t know, I kind of blacked out. 

After a really awkward and unsexy dance of getting my taas in said strapless bra, I was basically being smothered and stabbed from every angle (clearly it didn’t fit well, but when you don’t have any other options … because why would I own a plethora of strapless bras … you gotta work with what you have).

I was uncomfortable all day, walking around the party I was hosting making it look like I was pulling my dress up, but really I had the sides of my strapless bra in a death grip, trying desperately to slide it up even a centimeter so it would stop stabbing me. 

I was a trooper. I wore the thing all day. All. Damn. Day. In fact when people would ask me, “GASP … Kate are you wearing a strapless bra!?” I would say, “yes and LIFE SUCKS IN IT :::shameless self promotion, fist to chin, wink … and walk away cursing under my breath::: 

But we all hit a wall eventually. It happened to me right at the end of the party. I may or may not have had a couple of cocktails (I was drunk), and I just HAD it. No one was around except for my sister, so after a few failed attempts at doing it myself, I had my sister unhook my strapless bra (because that is normal) when no one was looking. I ripped it off, threw it in the corner of my living room (that happened … in all seriousness) … and basked in the glory of my new found freedom. And okay, maybe ONE person was around. But I looked them dead in the eyes and said, “YOU SAW NOTHING!” 

And that, my friends, was the first time I “free-balled” it (I’m sure that isn’t the right term and I’m sure my aunt is mortified reading this right now … Hi Aunt Pat). And I gotta say … it was GLORIOUS. How relaxing. How non-restrictive. How … satisfying! Although I did turn into a paranoid mess asking all of my female relatives for the remainder of the evening, “CAN YOU TELL I’M NOT WEARING A BRA!?!” They think I’m nuts in general for being so “supported” ALL of the time anyways. 

Yeah … so strapless bras still fucking suck. Forever and always. But at least this extraordinary evil one made me step outside of my comfort zone and go a little au natural. But no … don’t get excited (or freaked out … either or) … I’m not about to strut around the streets bra-less in a tight tank top. Nope. Not up in here. 

I like me some support … just not in the strapless form. 

What’s Up With My Face?

d-6829Can I just say one of the most overwhelming things in life happens to be figuring out what kind of skincare regiment you should use on your face? Dear. God. Do you have oily skin? Dry skin? A combination perhaps? Is your skin overly red? Having breakouts? Are your eyes puffy? What about your jawline? I mean …

Because it would be far too expensive and time consuming to try out all these different, insane options for every centimeter of my skin, I rely heavily on major fashion publications to tell me the best skincare products to use. But even then, the options make me dizzy. 

Maybe it is life in general or added stress … but my face has been a hot mess as of late. Breakouts, redness, dry patches … I mean the works. And for a girl who NEVER had acne problems before in her LIFE to start having them at age 28 is a cruel, cruel joke, God. Seriously. Like we don’t have enough to deal with. Now I’m rubbing shoulders with 15-year-old nerds in the acne cream aisle. 

That’s when I realized I don’t really have a “skincare regiment” and dear God, my makeup brushes haven’t been washed in months, and holy shit, maybe the body wash I use in the shower shouldn’t be the only thing I use to wash my face (I know, I’m awful). I mean … no wonder I look like a pubescent teen. Yes, stress is probably a HUGE factor and maybe the fact that I had my period that week had something to do with it as well (hi gents reading this), but this is when it hit me: Just because I moisturize my face after I wash it doesn’t mean I’m “taking care of it.” Oh yeah … and I’m a lazy, lazy bitch.

So I started doing my research. Best moisturizers. Best face cleansers. Best way to clear up irritated skin. And guess what? I was overwhelmed. My heart was pounding, I got dizzy, I had to take a timeout for snacks and water. So instead I started searching through my favorite brands (all found at Ulta or drug stores because ain’t nobody got time to play around with $300 moisturizers from the tears of angels). Aveeno. Garnier. Neutrogena. Kiehls (okay maybe not a drugstore brand, but God I die for one of their products). Brands that I’ve relied on and grown old-ish with. And you know what? I actually found products that I adore. 

So while I’m well aware that we all have different skin types and different budgets, here are a few of my favorite products that have been a life changer for my hot mess face. 

1. Garnier Moisture Rescue Refreshing Gel Cream for Dry Skin: This stuff not only makes you look hydrated and glorious, it also feels amazing when you apply it. Nice and cold. Perfect if you are a little hungover, especially under the eyes. I can’t get enough of this shit, and always put too much on because I lerve it.

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2. Aveeno Positively Radiant Brightening Cleanser: No more using my body wash to clean my face in the shower for this guy. Nope. I now feel like I’ve officially become an adult. Anyways … I’ve been using this jazz for about a week and already my skin looks less red, has less blemishes, and just looks … well … radiant. At least I think so :::flips hair:::

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3. Facial Fuel Eye De-puffer: Okay, this isn’t found in a drugstore, but I mean a girl is allowed to splurge, back off. I gotta say this is one of my most favorite products for my face. And if you put it on before bed, you will wake up and your eyes WILL NOT be puffy. Amazing, right? Allergies, hangovers, crying over idiots and stupid situations, life in general? No remanence of that shit will be left under your eyes after using this stuff.

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4. Miss Spa Brightening Facial Mask: Because my skin turned into such a disaster area, I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to use a face mask once a month or every two weeks. And Ulta has a brand called “Miss Spa” that has a ton of options for different types of skin. I was a little hesitant since they were kind of cheap … but the end result was fantastic. My skin felt clean and refreshed … just like I had gone to an actual spa … but really was Instagramming funny pics of me wearing said face mask in my bedroom.

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5. Neutrogena Makeup Remover Cleansing Towelettes: But I thought you already washed your face? Well, if you’re anything like me, your towels are covered in mascara and eyeliner stains from your actual face cleanser failing to remove it all. Hence why a backup is necessary to tackle those waterproof bastards covering your eyes. Sometimes you’ll do anything and everything to go back to looking like a gargoyle after a long day simply to reapply it the next day. Sigh. 

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No Pain. No Gain: Breaking In Sandals

summer-beauty-bummers-02I’ve become a little sandal crazed this season. Usually I’ll invest in one or two pairs, and truly get the most out of sandals from seasons past. But this year, for some reason, sandals are my jam. I’ve literally scoured the interwebs for cool and interesting ones to invest in (seriously, if you’re looking for a specific sandal, I probably know where to find it). 

But with new sandals comes the ordeal of having to work them in. No matter what, with any new sandal I purchase, they could be made from the tears of Jesus himself, I will still get a horrific blister. And probably a scar. And people will look at my feet and be all, “what the hell happened to you?!” But when you love something so much, you’ll do anything to make it work, right? 

Last season I was lusting after the high gladiator sandals that go up to your knee. After much contemplation, I threw in the towel and invested in this great pair that was made out of tan leather. They were delicious. I wore them the first chance I got, which was out to dinner one evening. Let’s just say by the time I had made it into the restaurant, I was close to tears. The blisters that these bad boys had caused sent me writhing in pain. Even the idea of vacating the restaurant made me cringe. I begged my friend to carry me out of said restaurant “Bodyguard-style” … but alas that didn’t go over too well. So I hobbled my ass out of the restaurant in the most awkward fashion humanly possible, and vowed to burn said sandals as I lathered up in Neosporin and soaked my aching feet. 

Once the blisters healed, and the pain subsided … I gave my ritualistic burning of my gladiators another thought. I loved them. I would have kissed them, if that wouldn’t be so strange. How could I part with them?! And that’s when it hit me. Just like with pretty much EVERYTHING in life, no pain … no gain. I had to dedicate myself and my body and my pain tolerance to breaking these gladiators in. And if that meant my feet would get some scars, and I would have to invest in a lifetime supply of blister bandaids … then so be it. 

Flash forward to present day, and I can now wear my high gladiator sandals everywhere and anywhere without any tears. I suppose this feeling is comparable to Rocky running up the Art Museum steps … you know, jumping up and down, arms up like … “I’m the MAN!” Right? Okay maybe not THAT dramatic. But still … 

So when I came face-to-face with a similar situation with a pair of sandals I recently purchased that gave me 5 blisters in less than an hour and left my feet rather scarred, I had to tell myself the same thing. No pain no gain when it comes to cute sandals. You either suck it up and forge through, so you can arrive on the outside of breaking in a pair of sandals like a boss … or you could be a wuss who gives up and has to stare jealously at all the cool girls in their bad ass sandals that you cannot wear … because … well … you’re a wuss. 

So ladies … if you have a pair of sandals that you adore, but cannot stand the pain … forge forward. Keep your eye on the prize and work them in a little bit each day, even if that means doing a lap around your house and taking them off. The end result is worth all the blisters in the world, trust. 

Wait … WHAT’S In My Beach Bag!?

mary-poppins-bagLike an idiot, I scheduled my vacation for the end of August. It’s June 12. Sigh … (I know, I know seriously … play the smallest violin in the world for me … I get it). But hey, we are human beings and sometimes, we need a break. And while I adore my career and find myself very thankful for it and could kiss it … I sometimes would prefer to be chillin’ poolside with a margarita. I mean who in their right mind wouldn’t?! Come now …

So when Naja, who sells beautiful and affordable lingerie (if you haven’t checked them out yet … do it), reached out to me asking what I would put in my beach bag, I found this the perfect opportunity to do what I do best: daydream. 

I’m a firm believer that style doesn’t end when sand hits your toes. So behold as in my head I turn my desk to sand, my heels to flip flops, my maxi skirt to a one-piece bathing suit (because a one piece is the new bikini, you heard it here first … trust), my laptop into a frozen cocktail, and my office into an oceanfront view. Join me … won’t you? 

1. You can’t do anything without a great beach bag: Again … style doesn’t end on the beach. A beach bag should be equivalent to your everyday tote … expressive of your personal style and willing and able to hold all of your goods, Mary Poppins-style. And here is one of my faves … boom: 

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2. Hardcore SPF: I don’t fucks with the sun. You know that guy on the beach that has a big hat on under an umbrella with white shit all over his/her nose? Yep, that’s me. It’s not worth it, kids. There are far too many fantastic lotions to give you that sun-kissed look then risk getting skin cancer and or wrinkles laying out in the sun. SPF 50 is my jam. Get on it. 


3. Ear buds: Sure, nothing is like listening to your favorite tunes on the beach … but more importantly, they are for drowning out the potentially annoying people around you. Loud families … kids … teenagers. Woof. Ear buds allow you to escape to your happy place quietly without any irritating background noise. 

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4. Oversized hat: I told you, I don’t play around with the sun anymore. And big, floppy hats are not only great for protecting your face from the harmful rays of the sun … they are also classically stylish. That’s Audrey Hepburn shit right there.