So this is something I have thought of for weeks, so it is nothing new, and came to me after reading Man Repeller and seeing Leandra acknowledge that her uniform consists of denim hot pants, bare legs, and utility coats, and some great white t-shirt. And that got me to thinking – do I have a uniform?
Obviously as time goes on, our style develops into something that can continue to change, or become a general tendency to lean towards specific items. I feel like even though I have grown a bit more, and experimented a lot with my look, I was able to catch onto the pattern. The items I tend to reach for are tight pants, since I have accepted that wide leg pants are not petite friendly. High waisted things are a fixed item in my wardrobe, be they shorts or trousers, or even jumpsuits. Color-wise, the more neutral the items, the better. Black, grey, white, dark blues, greens, burgundies — those colors are the only ones I will look at anymore. It’s easiest when my entire wardrobe has a basic, duller color scheme, since the fabrics are what is nicest. I don’t really wear many t shirts and choose to wear blouse-y things and trousers, as I have realized that dressing down just does not exist for me. Sweats are seriously the antithesis of my existence. << I will trademark that phrase, so don’t take it. 😀
So if I had to coin a phrase to describe the style I have now, it would be
“Blair Waldorf and Serena Van der Woodsen’s lovechild with anyone from Mad Men.”
Note: when I say anyone from Mad Men, I really mean just Betty Draper or Megan Draper or Joan Harris.
I think the point of what I am trying to say here is that while trends come and go, I will probably always wear heels to inconvenient places, wear tighter high waisted pants, and hoops. And I finally am getting used to that and warming up to the idea.
It feels so odd to be saying that right now, as I scroll through my old posts and wonder where the time has gone. I feel as if I owe everyone an explanation for my absence here.
So while I know that you all are perfectly justified in being angry with me, here I go attempting an apology. Or at least presenting a solid alibi, whichever works better.
This will also probably become some sort of rant inevitably, so disclaimer – if you aren’t in for the long haul you might want to click away, haha.
First of all, I would like to point out how much work goes into each post. For a professional blogger who made this their full time job, there is a photographer required for every. Single. Shoot… And for every. Single. Post. And unfortunately, my younger brother a few months ago realized that photographing my outfits out of the “goodness of his heart” (my words, not his) was doing nothing for his wallet. To be fair, it was a crap deal we had going on, at least on his end. And I laughed it off. But then I realized I had no one to hold the camera and actually snap the photo, and then the laughing ended. So I hunted photographers, but no one was A) near enough to work with or B) was interested in working with a newer, less followed blogger. SEE everyone? THIS is why bloggers date people who are good with photography; they get free photos. Smart smart smart.
Another reason I was distanced from the blog was school. Always school. Courses got harder, my study breaks became smaller and less frequent, and thus became consumed with me slipping in clips of the show Victoria on PBS (I am a fangirl for that show I swear the costumes must be crafted out of angel hair and swan feathers or something) , or Mad Men (not surprising for me). I also became a bit of a vintage freak, stalking vintage accounts and sellers on Instagram, but never actually bidding on things due to sizing qualms.
So there are my two largest reasons. Another relevant reason was this fear that I was not living in the moment, but instead just thinking of when and what to post, and if I had enough clothing for posts. Which is not the point of ethical living — a goal I am actively pursuing. Shopping mindfully is something I try to do, and if my blog was standing in the way of that main goal, then it had to be put on hold.
BUT I won’t lie, I missed the mini platform I had to write and rant on that was in my control all the time. So here I am, again. It’s summer, and I am here, but I won’t guarantee how active I can be, since I will be a bit busy this summer (more on that another time). For now, I CAN guarantee an outfit MWAH HA HA. Someone’s brother was in a good mood and agreed to being a photographer for the day.
Downtown Houston, how I missed you. Suburbs….well, let’s just say I have a growing fiery pit of lava feeding on fervid hatred and swirling flames of discomfort and a mild allergic reaction when I think of you.
** “The Tempest” Playbill not available for sale 😀
There you go! My latest outfits are mostly in grayscale, or at least in dark colors. In lieu of prints I lean towards textures and fabrics, which are more fun anyway. I saw the Houston Ballet’s version of “The Tempest” and was entranced, and stepped out for a second to get these photos of this outfit. My top was actually fished off a rack in Zara that was covered in those pseudo Johanna Ortiz tops. Even though I feel like a human doily, I can live with that. The ruffled shoulders are actually (oh good god I’m about to say it) fun?
Last thing I will say: those shoes. They are precious, and I love anything pointy-toed. If I see a pair of black shoes that threaten to mold my feet into triangles by the end of the day and have sandpaper for soles sign me up. I will gladly break in those death traps for you. Years of practice of wearing uncomfortable shoes left me numb anywhere below my mid calf area, so these were great. I realize now sitting at home with my feet propped up that the skin has been rubbed raw in a few places but THAT IS OKAY. All is fair in love and fashion.
I spent a quaint evening with my family, mostly frolicking with sparklers, dancing about in some fabulously over the top tights (I hate the word pantyhose, fun fact – once its said, nothing else can be said to make up for it), and hogging all of the brussels sprouts.
And here is my outfit, which is probably what everyone came here for:
I am very proud to say that my outfit was very sustainable, with an old dress I managed to make new again with funky tights that reminded me of Fran Drescher as the Nanny and basic booties.
None of what I wore was ‘current’. Isn’t that weird? This is where I will get all corny and reflect on unremarkable things yet explain how they truly mean something much deeper. This year I became much more aware of my impact on the world as a consumer. I learned that having a large closet does not immediately mean being stylish. Once this was presented to me, I was finally able to see the way social media accounts force shove a specific image into the spotlight, and set it as the example to follow. That revelation led to figuring out my style and has allowed me to pare down on unnecessary shopping and the constant need to fit what others think is correct.
Now I will be very cautious with the resolutions I leave here, since I feel uneasy when something is established as important and basically etched in stone (more like etched in pixels), but I do have a few goals for this year.
Obviously to get good grades in college, because law school, and law school… and law school.
Try to focus on writing more
Work on cooking skills
Get better at yoga
Do I need to say the obvious ones- like drinking more water?
Happy New Year, and wish us all luck with our resolutions, no matter how sustainable and realistic they are! **sips water, thinks again, gulps down a cup of water**
I am going to be honest. I’m listening to Michael Bublé’s Christmas album right now.
Today did not make it easy to find something to be grateful for (especially when your leggings are soaked and stuck to you and require surgical removal, or coaxing with paper towels). Nevertheless, I was struck by the amazing weather when I went out later after the rain had moved on. The sky was grey and melancholy, and the wind allowed me to pretend that I was in some moody old town in New England. Seeing the clouds drifting by reminded me that the weekend is coming. Well tomorrow is Friday, which is basically the weekend, right? And that means going home, which means family, which means happiness. And the renaissance festival in Houston!
So thanks rain. You reminded me that just like storms that tear through the area, there is still an ethereal beauty in nature.
That being said, I am still bitter about the fact that you ruined my Toms earlier.
Yay rain! Yay for fridays! I’ll even throw in an honorable mention to my wellies for pulling through.
top/ Zara // shorts/ H&M // sandals/ Nine West // earrings/gift
Hello everyone! Yes, we are back at it again with the brick wall. If you are an avid blog follower such as myself, you’ve probably noticed that some bloggers refer to their site and themselves as ‘we’ instead of ‘me’ or ‘I’. I don’t know if its done to make the reader feel as if they are an organization or some more elaborate event every time they post, but its always funny to me, especially when the blog is clearly run by one person alone.
Anyway, today I was feeling the long sleeves, and THEN I realized how hot it was outside and realized what a huge mistake I had made wearing this particular top-
Yeah wait, actually I don’t regret it. I went grocery shopping and I needed those sleeves to combat the annoying goosebumps I get in the freezer section.
Sometimes I prefer pulling out things to wear that aren’t necessarily in style at the moment or go with another season.
Today’s look is brought to you by a mix of desperation to wear something that wasn’t open in the sides or was a boring t-shirt to deal with the heat, and a bit of “Well, this looks relatively unwrinkled and hasn’t been worn in so long that it looks lonely” – now seeing these pictures I am intrigued to see what else I can come up with since the hottest part of the summer is yet to come!
Also, yes- I DID cut my hair recently. Those dead ends had to disappear somehow. I forgot how it feels to have a light ponytail again, and what it was like to not stretch out hair bands whenever I made a bun.
In an effort to create space on my phone, I decided to go through my photos and make some necessary cuts to my collection. Now, I’m a firm believer that phones say a lot about their owners; being overly observant and nosy has its perks (for once). Whether the owner has a really old case (either too lazy to change it or very practical and doesn’t see the importance of having a ‘pretty’ case), or a flamboyant fluorescent object that just happens to also function as a case on the side of having credit card slots/ a pocket for change/ a compact mirror/a gum dispenser/a gps/ spare kleenex (the girl who is always behind in her daily life because she is too busy living it up on Twitter *cough* Tumblr) — the point is- I notice these things.
Items as personal as phones reflect us in some way. But the interior- the junk that appears once you unlock the phone- that is as intriguing as the latest Stella McCartney runway show. Apps aside, I am referring directly to the photos on our phones. Not necessarily because I care to see the selfies I imagine people take of themselves, because the selfies are no way as near as interesting as the photos we take of things we like or that make us think. When we photograph things, we want to remember them so we can later go back and go back to the train of thought we had when we first saw the item.
ANYWAY, I was reminded of some thoughts I had when I went to the Met in New York recently. After looking at sculpture after sculpture, I noted a trend in the profiles of their faces, and I had to take pictures so I could compare with others. Now looking back on them, I strangely feel like I should justify to people why they are on my phone and make sure I’m not the only person who find this funny (I need to make sure that I’m not weird).
Behold, a peek at things I find weird/thought provoking:
Alright. This will sound either stupid, or like I’m reading too deep into the situation.
I consider the photos above reason to believe that Voldemort is very much alive and was angry that artists back in the day did not pay homage to his gloriously flat face (no offense to Ray Fiennes) and thus invaded the Met at some point in time and yelled some sort of spell that severed the noses of every ancient bust on display.
Here’s a more plausible and boring conclusion: maybe the employees at the Met don’t get paid enough and instead of going on strike, they figured they’d attack the artwork since that would express their invisible anger towards their bosses.
And here’s what I REALLY think happened : A pretentious curator at the Met calmly perused the sculptures before they went up and found all their noses to be ugly, and instead of wasting money on a sculpture surgeon (okay I obviously know that is not a profession, I just liked the way that sounded in my head), he was Mr. Do-It-Yourself and took out his trusty chisel and mallet and screwed it up thinking he had better taste in noses than the Greeks and Romans. By then, he was frantic- he had to do something. He probably trembled, thinking to himself, Julius and Augustus are turning in their coffins as I operate on their cultural treasures WITHOUT EVEN A DEGREE IN MEDICINE. So then, he pulled out the next best thing, which was his daughter’s silly putty that he accidentally brought with him, and he smacked that on the noses, but that slid off of the noses to his dismay. As he felt the end of his career approaching, he fell feebly to his knees and begged the Roman and Greek gods to show him the path to artistic enlightenment. He smacked his forehead, chastising himself for thinking like Narcissus, and curled into the fetal position next to a statue of a chubby cherub (I am killing it with these alliterations!) and waited to be found and fired.
But then, out of nowhere, a light shone from above. The now dusty curator looked up, suddenly blinded by a white light. He meekly asked, “Zeus?” A voice came out of the intercom instead, announcing that any damaged sculptures would soon be seen by a visiting specialist in refurbishing pieces. The light went off. Hmm. The man might refurbish their noses. But the continuity- it would only work if I were consistent! The curator looked up again, slyly. He pocketed the chisel and mallet and whipped out a much heavier hammer that he didn’t remember having before, and he sprinted through the entire backroom, smashing every. Single. Nose. Not one statue was left untouched. The man had no time to admire his work, so he fled the scene.
And that is how the noses of so many statues now look flat. You’re welcome.