Choppin’ It Off!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned for the aftermath!

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

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USA?

600Dear Ralph Lauren,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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When Fashion No Longer Matters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Behold: Coat Porn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be still my heart.

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

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Mmmmm … strut your stuff, coat …

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

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Okay maybe don’t make that face …

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That’s it … that’s what mama likes …

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

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My Suitcase Tortures Me

Day three of being home and yeah … I’m still staring at a half unpacked suitcase. In fact, it is lying in my hallway and has become this stationary beast that will probably cause me to one day break my face. Don’t worry, I made the effort to at least wash the worn clothes in the said suitcase, but besides that I just don’t have time for it and all the nonsense it comes with. Instead, I lie in bed, like I am right now, resenting the fact that I probably only wore 25% of the shit I packed, which leads me to this question … why am I the worst packer in the ENTIRE universe?

I wish it was like the old days where it was a natural thing for women to carry like 25 really fantastic suitcases with them while they traveled. Instead, you tell people you are checking ONE bag and you mine as well have told them that you spit on kittens, hate beer and don’t break for squirrels. My God. “Don’t you know the risks you take by checking a bag? And thinking of TSA scumbags fondling my intimates, ICK.” Really? Sure I hate paying that idiotic fee, but mama likes her options whilst traveling, so lay off, man.

In fact, with all of the dumb “As Seen on TV” shit that is out there, why hasn’t anyone found a contraption that could take your entire closet, suck it into a black hole-type device that would make it all fit in a normal size suitcase? Hmm? Again, as hard as I try, I can’t really anticipate what I’m going to wear three days from now, therefore I need options. Why? Because I wear things based on my mood. I could be feeling fat, bloated, skinny, happy, sad, angry, sassy … who the hell knows! I could potentially want to wear a muumuu or perhaps a skanky tight Herve Leger dress. Who the hell knows. Hence why I need my ENTIRE closet. But is that feasible? NOPE.

It is the “what ifs” that kill me. What if we go out to dinner? I’ll need a dress. What if I don’t like that dress and wish I had the other dress? I’ll bring the other dress, too. Wonder if we go swimming? I’ll need a bathing suit. Wonder if we go to a black tie affair? Fine, I’ll bring my ball gown skirt and elbow length gloves. I mean, what? My mind goes to crazytown places because I’m desperate to be prepared.

Whilst packing for the trip I went on last week, I went back and edited a lot of stuff out of my suitcase to make it all fit. Did I say to myself while on my trip, “man … do I wish I didn’t take out [fill in the blank]? You are sure as shit I did … and I kicked myself for it. I would have rather packed a bigger suitcase and brought my whole life than had to sit in a foreign place without the proper clothing options. Instead I had to repurpose numerous looks, mixing and matching, praying the people I was with wouldn’t realize I had been pulling a clothing Groundhog’s Day.

Really, the only time you are safe when packing is if you are going to a tropical place. Why? Because A. Resort wear is FOUL … no need to bother yourself with it. B. You are in a bathing suit the whole time. C. If you aren’t in a bathing suit, you are in a dress that should be sassy and small … therefore not taking much thought or room in your suitcase D. If you don’t think you will wear your bathing suit the whole time you are a damn fool … seriously. But if you are going to a place where the temperature is iffy (like where I went), then that is where the closet suck black hole-type contraption would come in real handy.

So my thoughts on packing for a non-tropical trip … ahem:

1. Bring a lot of neutrals that you can mix and match. This saved my ass. Because the temperature was so up and down, I was able to repurpose a lot of items with different pants or skirts without people thinking I was a dirty hot mess.

2. Plan your outfits … if you can. I personally can’t do this, but you can at least guesstimate how many outfits you will need during each day. And edit, edit, edit. Did you bring five white T-shirts? Seriously … remove four. One is more than enough. Do you really need seven tank tops in different colors? Try to plan for each mood … if possible. A little conservative, a little sassy, a little skanky, a little profesh (depending on what kind of trip it is, of course).

3. Don’t let the “what ifs” get to you. Take a deep breath and think realistically. Will you potentially go to dinner at night? Will you frequent the beach? How drunk will you be getting? Will there be any potential suitors to impress? Check the normal temperatures (during the day and at night). Keep your audience and atmosphere in mind. If you aren’t going to P.Diddy’s White Party … then don’t pack the skanky all-white dress. If Prince William didn’t invite you to the grand ball … nix the ball gown jazz. Seriously, I know … I get the last-minute … “BUT I NEED TO BRING THIS … spazz out. But get yourself under control. Slap yourself across the face or something … get it together, man!

4. Bigger IS better. I’m all for checking bags. Why? Because I hate bastards that bring suitcases on a plane then take FOR-EV-AH to put the damn thing in the overhead compartment. Shit man, it’s hot, my bag is heavy, I just want to get to my seat and start drinking (you know … because flying scares me), and because then I don’t have size constraints. I can bring as much stuff as I want and therefore will let the “what ifs” haunt some other poor soul.

So there you have it, folks. Take it from me, packing is not an easy thing. I’m tortured by thoughts of forgetting something, missing something, taking too much or not enough. At the end of the day, I pray someone invents the closet black-hole so I can just suck it up, put it in my suitcase and have everything I need … and potentially someone to carry it for me as well … because that thing would be heavy, and I’m straight up lazy.

Word.