How Weird Can You Go?


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

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

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


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


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


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

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

That is all.

If Looks Could Kill …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Holiday Shoppers,

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

Please stop:

- Being assholes, in general

- Cursing each other out

- Stealing one another’s parking spots

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kay thanks … byeeeeeeee.

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Lesson Learned: Stop Hitting Snooze

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers, Curls and a Fear of Jeans

Screen shot 2013-03-23 at 9.18.34 PMMy blogging soul sister down in Washington, D.C., Meaghan from District Sparkle, has pinged me to reveal five random things about myself … and quite frankly I couldn’t resist. Sometimes it feels good to let out the deep dark and embarrassing secrets of your past. And sometimes, like in this case, it is just good to reflect, laugh and embrace the fact that you were once, and most likely still are, a raging dork.

So if you didn’t think you knew me well enough … behold my five random facts:

1. Crazed Curls: It is true, I’ve been living a big ol’ lie. The minute I hit puberty, my hair turned into this thick, kinky curly disaster area that I loathed. I luckily stumbled upon a genius stylist who, in his words, taught me how to make my hair “Asian straight.” What once took me 2 1/2 hours to straighten my hair now only takes me 30 minutes, so thank Jesus for really expensive straighteners and conditioning creams.

2. Jeans Didn’t Exist In My Wardrobe Until I was 11: Until I was in 5th grade, stretchy pants and overalls were the only two things I would put on my body. Yea … I was hawt. Before I started 5th grade, my sister drug me to Old Navy and insisted I purchased a pair of jeans … normal, old school … jeans. But seriously … jeans freaked me out when I was little. I was scared I was going to get trapped in them and like pee my pants or something (yeah … I was a slightly odd child). But let’s be real here, my fears held me back from adopting really heinous jeans from the 90′s … in a way I did myself a favor.

3. No Piercings For This Guy: It’s true, I do not have one piercing on my body, including my ears. I have a tattoo, but no piercings. Never did and probably never will. When I was younger it was the fear of pain that held me back from getting pierced. But the older I got, the more I decided it was an economical move, meaning one less accessory I had to invest in. When I turned 25 I was going to give myself the quarter century gift of getting my ears pierced, but instead ended up getting my first and only migraine I’ve ever had. I saw that as an omen to stay piercing-free.

4. R-O-W-D-I-E: Yep kids … I was a cheerleader. Ugh. Listen, I wanted to be Britney Spears. I loathed competition and the idea of “trying out” for anything mortified me. So when they made cheerleading in 8th grade “no cuts” I said, “why not … that has to be just like dancing, right?” So on top of having to wear pleather pants and bandana tops whilst rocking out to techno music for my dance recitals, I had to stand in front of packed bleachers in an ugly cheer uniform making up cheers for wrestling matches because, “Dribble it. Pass it. We. Want. A basket,” didn’t seem appropriate. Hmmm … Ps. I don’t got spirit, no I don’t.

5. First Published in Third Grade: Excuse me while I remove the excess dirt from my shoulder. Listen, I just told you all about how I wanted to be Britney Spears and how I thought I was going to get trapped in my blue jeans and pee my pants. I deserve to gloat a little. So yeah, I wrote a poem about my mommy and it got published in some kids journal and won a prize. It absolutely terrified me at the time, but looking back was the start of my writing career. I always knew I wanted to be a writer, and this was a huge defining moment for me. Well … except for those few years during puberty when I was certain I was going to move to New York City and become the next Britney Spears. Psh … idiot.

I now challenge all of my fellow Philly fashion bloggers to reveal five random things about themselves! If I can reveal to the world my fears of peeing my pants, you can, too. Get um, ladies.