Outfit Post: Miranda Kerr wants you to know about her underwear

Allow me to share a cringe-inducing little tidbit from a recent People Magazine:

Miranda Kerr’s flawless post-baby body has everyone a little jealous. The Victoria’s Secret Angel, mom to son Flynn, 4 months, with husband Orlando Bloom, bounced right back after giving birth, even hitting the runway in a Paris fashion show.  The model mom says she’s most comfortable when she’s “just in knickers,” hanging around the house with Bloom and Flynn. “People have come to the house and I’m just in my knickers,” she reveals. “[But] I feel like it’s more appropriate to have knickers on than being completely naked.”

If pressed, I'll admit that I've engaged in a few innocent dalliances with US Weekly and People. I have read more than my fair share of exposes on the size and incubation of one's baby bump; the botched plastic surgery attempt of certain b-list celebrities; and pages and pages of baby daddy gossip. I've taken those insipid little tests regarding what my perfume says about my personality, which real housewife I would be in real life, and which celebrity hot spot I should visit during my next luxury vacation (hello, Phuket.) I've examined photos to determine which starlet wore those hideous peach jeans the best. Apparently, this is a thing right now. Peach-colored jeans WILL BE the next blogger red pants. Put your money on it. I've studied Candy Spelling's floorplan and wept white hot tears over the breakups of Courtney Cox and David Arquette/Christina Aguilera and Jordan Brattman/Renee Zellweger and Bradley Cooper. Actually, that last one I'm not so torn up about. Because it means Bradley is available, and I have a shot. Bradley, call me.

Anywhoo. I have been there, people. So I suppose that's why I wasn't so shocked by Miranda Kerr's "I'm so squeally suuuuppppeeeeerrrr comfy in my knickers, teehee" comment. For one thing, once your eyes have been photo-raped by Britney Spears' c-section scar (hello, panty-less crotch shot summer of 2006) you've seen it all. For the time being, let's ignore the snarky, insulting message that Miranda lost her baby weight faster than you did, you fat cow, can't you get your lazy ass off the couch? It's the prancing around the house in her undies that I'd like to focus on. Ms. Kerr is a Victoria's Secret supermodel. Either she's totes getting paid to gush about wearing her undies around the house, or she's a devoted fan of underwear in general. I have no doubt that Miranda spends hours lounging around her immaculately decorated ocean-front limestone mansion in nothing more than a pair of lacy boyshorts and a boned corset three sizes too small for her heaving bosom. She and Orlando probably spend hours having sex on top of the changing table and heating up bottles and preparing homemade baby food in less clothing than their entire baby's layette. I suppose her friends should be happy she wears clothes at all. Naked time for everyone! Weeee!

Personally, when I think of a comfortable choice in clothing to wear hanging around the house, I do not think of my underwear. Underwear is designed to stay under clothes - whether they be leggings and tee shirts or sweatshorts or whatever. I did not grow up in a naked house. My parents were firm believers in sheathing our naked bits in layers of clothing, preferably made from wool. And even now, as a fully grown adult, I don't prance around the house in my skivvies. I can only imagine the horror this behavior would cause - the assault of a splash of hot oil against my uncovered stomach while cooking dinner; the giggling of my children as I emptied the dishwasher; the outright staring of the UPS man when accepting a package; the snickers from friends while serving up cocktails in a push-up bra and satin tap pants. Nope, when I want to be comfortable around the house, I dress in ancient pairs of Old Navy sweats and college tees and maybe, if I'm feeling risque, a Gap body tank.

I'm truly curious to find out if you hang around the house in your underwear. Is this something you're comfortable with? Do you enjoy being naked at home? Why or why not? What do you throw on at the end of the day?

Vintage thrifted silk shirt; vintage Ann Taylor silk skirt; Old Navy belt; vintage thrifted Coach satchel; White Mountain clogs; thrifted (St. Vincent de Paul) Michael Korrs watch; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelet

Outfit Post: Patricia Field and Kotex want to celebrate your magical lady bits

Earlier this month, U by Kotex launched a collaborative contest with costume designer Patricia Field, inviting people to redesign the maxi pad. "Girls have choices in all aspects of their lives, so why should they settle for boring and institutional feminine care products?" said the company in a statement. For every design submitted, Kotex will donate $1 to Girls For A Change—a non-profit organization empowering girls to create and lead social change within their communities. According to Ad Age, contest winners will work with Field to design new and wild maxi pads, and attend Fashion Week in New York City in September.

Confession: Other than the word panties, my least-favorite word in the English language is vagina. I don't know why - I have one, so therefore shouldn't I be comfortable with the word for it? My issues with the vagina probably have to do with the general discomfort I have regarding my body, femininity and related sexuality. Thankfully, I do realize that I'm far from the only person on this planet with issues regarding the word vagina, which probably explains why there are so many alternatives to it, raunchy as they might be.

It might also explain why commercials and print advertising for products related to female anatomy, and that time of the month, are so archaic. Traditional ads are rich in mysterious ecstasy - women in flouncy skirts, twirling in fields or riding carefree on bicycles; clusters of attractive, young women bonding over their brand of tampon. It's absurd, especially considering that ads describing erectile dysfunction are shown during the five o'clock news. If we can talk so openly and frankly about the penis, why can't we do so about the va-jayjay?

Menstruation has always been marketed as a very personal thing, a magical moment when a woman's uterus whispers sweet nothings captured by a special, pillowy product. (My uterus has never whispered anything to me. It yells and then shanks me with a rusty blade.) Or so the average period-products commercial would have you believe. Which is why I just about lost it after seeing Kotex's newest ad campaign. The first ads were meta-parodies of traditional campaigns for female products, similar to those hilarious Old Spice ads. The more recent ones, which rely on hidden camera, man-on-the-street encounters, indicate that there is plenty of cultural taboo and awkwardness regarding lady bits. In one, a girl stands outside a drugstore and asks random guys to buy tampons for her. In another clip, a guy shops for tampons for his girlfriend, eliciting the all-too-apt response, "It's a man's world" (this time in reference to cardboard applicators.)

Kotex Rorschach test
Lady bits; hole; hoo-hah; down-there...anything but vagina.

Kotex man on the street
(IS SHE TALL?!? Love it. Get that man a cigar.)

As Adweek columnist Barbara Lippert writes with reference to the campaign,

"It's interesting that in our hyper-sexualized, girls-gone-wild culture, where characters on sitcoms like Two and a Half Men joke about "nailing" women and commercials airing during the family hour regularly mention four-hour erections, there's still one backwater of weird prudery: the subject of menstruation and the vaginal healthcare that goes with it.

Who knew that you could talk about vaginas and be funny and not insulting? Now we need even more honesty and directness. Women's bodies and sexuality do not have to be embarrassing or *hidden.* (Or talked about in titillating, colloquial terms for the benefit of men.) Though Kotex is surely motivated by a desire to sell more products, I really like that they're encouraging women like me to become more comfortable with their bodies, especially the magical lady parts. Yay vagina!

What do you think of the Patricia Field and Kotex collaboration? Would pretty pads and honest talk about the vagina help you feel more comfortable about your body, and about that time of the month? Would you consider purchasing Patricia Field's redesigned pads? And am I the only one with issues about the vagina?

Forever 21 lace jacket; thrifted Ann Taylor chambray shirt; thrifted Old Navy striped tee; thrifted Talbots skirt; Miz Mooz wedges; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelet and earrings

Pattern Mixing: Everyone's a critic

There are a lot of things I love about blogging. I love drumming up topics to write about and doing research for a post. I love sharing tips regarding thrifting and shopping for vintage. I love networking with other fashion bloggers through my own blog, IFB, Twitter, and Facebook. And I love reading other blogs and learning all I can about the ever-changing world of fashion and personal style.

However, the thing I adore most about blogging is the wealth of learning opportunities, both within and outside of fashion. Because, truth be told, I'm a gigantic nerd. I was one of those people who cried at their high school and college graduations not because I was afraid to enter the "real world," but because it meant I would no longer be in class. Whether it's statistics, html code, or the proper way of blending eye shadows, I'm that hand-waving, brown-nosing, front row student bursting with enthusiasm. I take copious notes. I watch how-to clips on YouTube. I make magazine pages hemorrhage with fluorescent yellow highlighter. I am a certifiable dork.

This week one of my goals was to try my hand at pattern-mixing. In case you've been living under a rock, forming an ensemble around mixed patterns (and textures) has been a hot fashion trend since, well, Marc Jacob's plaid-heavy grunge collection back in 1992. Naturally, I planned my attack carefully. I methodically researched pattern-mixing on Google, bringing up tips from a encyclopedic collection of different sources. Glamour suggested working around a base color. Academichic recommended allowing one pattern be the dominant player over another, such as a tweed skirt with a striped sweater. Suzy of Miss Vinyl Ahoy advised me to think of one pattern as a solid, such as a blouse with small polka dots or a tiny print, and pair a bolder item with it. On Kelinda.KELINDA, I also learned to pair loud patterns with more subtle ones, while Pixie In Pumps' style inspiration folder gave me a glimpse into pattern-mixing on the runway. And no one does pattern mixing as well as my style guru Erin of Work With What You've Got.

This morning I woke up feeling refreshed and confident, armed with pages of research and closet full of patterned separates. I would so rock this, I decided. My gold cable-knit sweater, striped long-sleeved tee, and floaty floral skirt seemed perfect for my debut into pattern-mixing. Carefully I put the pieces on, sauntered out my bedroom, and left the house for a day of errands and thrifting.

Either I failed miserably at pattern mixing, or the public isn't quite ready for this clearly adventurous look, because I received many quizzical looks during the day. Some women outright stared. Teenagers elbowed each other, encouraging closer examination of my ensemble. The check-out woman at Kroger informed me that I looked"...interesting" (insert sneer.) However, the harshest criticism originated from my own family, when my youngest child coldly announced that I looked "like a crazy hobo." Harsh. Then again, this is how he prefers to dress:

Foam Mario Bros. hat, white shorts, and a blankie. It's what all the hip people are wearing this season, apparently.

So I'm not that worried. I'll admit that mixing patterns was definitely out of my comfort zone. My particular combination took some getting used to. And I felt kind of rebellious all day...which was sort of fun.

Have you tried mixing patterns? Or do you shy away from this trend? Why or why not? And did I indeed fail miserably?

Thrifted Loft cardigan; thrifted J Crew long-sleeved tee; thrifted vintage Ann Taylor silk skirt; Gap Outlet tights; Nine West oxfords, Target belt

Outfit Post: A dissertation of denim

Ah, jeans. It's easy to forget that they began as utilitarian clothing, evolved to rebel-wear (see: James Dean,) and finally moved into everyday wear. Practical, simple, and easily dressed up or down, jeans are an integral part of any woman's wardrobe. Yves Saint Laurent said the only piece of clothing he wished he could have invented was blue jeans. Nobody knows exactly when the practice of dying cotton with indigo and sewing it into pants began, but a bit of research reveals some possibilities.

The word denim originates from the French term serge de Nîmes, deriving from the name of a bolt of fabric called a serge, originally made in Nimes, France. Originally called serge de Nîmes, the name was soon shortened to denim. The fabric is marked by its use of a single weft thread passing through two or more warp threads creating a specific type of sturdy twill material. The diagonal twill pattern created in this process can be seen on the inside of a pair of jeans either running from right to left or left to right. Denim is always made from cotton and is typically marked by a colored warp yarn (most often indigo blue) and a white weft yarn.

The word jeans derives from the phrase bleu de Gênes, literally the blue of Genoa.  While serge de Nimes was being produced in Nimes, denim trousers were being sold through the harbor of Genoa, long an important naval and trading power. The Genoese Navy required all-purpose trousers for its sailors that could be worn while working on ships. Denim material met this need. These trousers were laundered by dragging them in nets behind the ship, and the sea water and sun would gradually bleach them to white.

In the 20th century, the denim center of production crossed the Atlantic to the U.S. by way of shopkeeper Levi Strauss and his customer and tailor Jacob Davis. Davis suggested adding copper rivets to the jeans, as a way of reinforcing points where the material suffered wear and tear. In the 1850's denim was marketed to the mining communities of California, where it was purchased by Gold Rush participants.

A pair of Levis from 1880, pictured with a wearer of that era

In 1901 the US Navy issued boot-cut denim pants to sailors as replacement for their traditional uniforms.

Photo from Haberdash.com

From there the popularity of denim spread outward, later adopted by cowboys and James Dean and Marlon Brando and Gloria Vanderbilt and Guess and a number of other unfortunate 1980's clothing designers who failed to understand just how unflattering small back pockets are. Eleven years ago we reached the age of premium denim with the debut of Seven For All Mankind, ushering in the cultural zeitgeist of jeans as designer pieces.  The market for high-end designer denim has ballooned since 7 For All Mankind first hit the scene in 2000. In 2006, jeans sales totaled $15.8 billion, up from $15.2 billion a year earlier and $14 billion in 2004, according to market research firm NPD Group Inc. Currently, the average price of a pair of Seven jeans is $165.00. As a contrast, in 1885 jeans could be bought for $1.50 (approximately $37 today.)

The perfect jeans are incredibly subjective, as everyone's body and tastes are different, and what works for me might not work for someone else. What I want in a pair of jeans is relatively simple: a moderately low rise and cut that's as tight as possible in the hips and thighs, but falls straight through the knee and lower leg. (The puddle of fabric that some skinny jeans deposit around their wearer's ankles has never been my thing. It's just not flattering to a petite woman.) I want a bit of stretch, which makes jeans fit better feel more comfortable, though too much stretch results in bagginess in high-traffic areas such as knees and the seat. When I'm wiggling into a pair of Joe's Jeans in the Nordstrom Rack dressing room, I'm not looking to be intrigued by a unique cut or an unusual silhouette. I want to pull them on and think nothing but these jeans make my ass look smokin'.

I happen to be a rabid fan of designer denim. I believe they fit better, last longer, and have superior back pocket placement.  My thighs look slimmer, butt magically higher, and legs longer. I'm extremely loyal to the brands I buy, though I adamantly refuse to pay full price, scooping them up on eBay, at Buffalo Exchange or Plato's Closet.

What do you look for in a pair of jeans? What are your favorite brands? How much are you willing to pay for a great pair of jeans?

Thrifted Ann Taylor blazer; thrifted J Crew blouse; thrifted Paige jeans; Frye clutch; Stuart Weitzman wedges; Forever 21 necklace; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelet

Pajamas in public: The end of civilization as we know it

This weekend I've attended to my usual activities: Listening to my children fight over the Wii controller, catching up on my favorite blogs, and doing my grocery shopping for the week. I was reviewing my shopping list in Wal-Mart when I nearly smacked into a fellow shopper. On first glance, she seemed a lot like me: A suburban housewife-type, counting her coupons and pushing a cart loaded with sugary cereals and juice boxes. However, that's where the similarities ended. Because this middle-aged, harried woman was wearing pajamas and slippers. In public.

I was thinking about this woman when I watched an infomercial for what might be the most terrifying, visionary product of our time. I am referring to Pajama Jeans. I was introduced to these specimens through this purely professional, highly polished, not at all cheesy video. In short, Pajama Jeans are $40 sweatpants masquerading as jeans. According to their website, they have "high contrast stitching, brass rivets and an unbeatable fit" and they're made of "dormisoft fabric (95% cotton, 5% spandex) that doesn't tug or bind" and "is as soft as cotton." They also feature "real designer details...like pockets!" (When are pockets "designer details"?) Watching the infomercial, we are to believe that Pajama Jeans can take us from slumber to "lunch with the girls" with nary a glance (unlike traditional pajama bottoms, which would cause social rejection and desperate phone calls to Clinton Kelly of What Not To Wear.) 

Listen up, people: It's time to put down our sleepwear and start wearing real clothes in public. I believe that the type of people who buy Pajama Jeans are those who find it too challenging to wear regular old jeans (or even jeggings, which feature actual zippers, functional pockets and belt loops.) This perplexes me, because jeans are what most people wear when everything else seems too complicated. And why do our clothes need to be so soothing that, if we were to suddenly become narcoleptic, we could fall asleep in them without nary a pinch or zipper getting in the way? Are we that lazy that we can't button on some damm pants in the morning? From sweatpants to the Snuggie to footed pajamas, does America really need another piece of clothing to seduce us into spending more time on the couch? I understand that feeling of warmth and security you had when you would wake up on a Saturday morning in your footy pj's and sit in front of Tom and Jerry cartoons while your mother poured you a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and catered to your every whim. No responsibility, no ambition, just the pure, mindless pursuit of pleasure.

But, in my opinion, if you can't get out of your pajamas to go out of the house, and have to buy pajamas that look like jeans, then don't leave the house. But that's just me. I spent the day catching up on Hoarders and playing Mousetrap with my kids, but even I managed to coordinate my tights with my thermal.

What do you think about Pajama Jeans?  Am I nuts for finding them...questionable?

Thrifted Ann Taylor chambray shirt; American Eagle thermal, thrifted Old Navy corduroy skirt; J Crew tights; Target socks; Frye boots; thrifted Fossil belt; Plato's Closet leather bracelet

Not a girl, not yet a woman

This summer I met a neighbor of mine while accompanying our children to our community pool. At one point we became entranced by an infant splashing in the water, and she mentioned that she was having baby pangs. "I'm too old to have a baby", she mentioned, "but you're young. You should absolutely have another."

Okay, first of all, this woman could not have possibly been younger than me. If I had to guess-timate her age, I'd say she was around the same as me - upper 30's, perhaps a couple of years older. On the way home, I started giving the subject of pregnancy more thought. Truthfully, and especially since my 36th birthday, I think of myself as too old for most things. Too old to wear vinyl leggings, too old to go to clubs, and certainly too old to have another baby. However, much of the time I feel like a kid playing house. I feel a lot younger than 36.  I toy around with the idea of coloring my hair pink. And my love affair with tattoos (I have ten) has only increased since getting my first one three years ago. I'm a married mom to three children and yet most of the time I feel about fourteen years old. I'm not a girl, but I sure as hell don't feel like a woman. What gives?

Perhaps my problem is that I rely on very specific, somewhat stereotypical ideas of girl and woman. Girls are innocent and fearless. They are encouraged to experiment and try new things, whether it's sports, clothing, or hair color. Girls go on road trips, where they take photos with Holga cameras and manage to look gorgeous without washing their hair for three days. Girls shop at Urban Outfitters and American Apparel and Forever 21. They are creative, free-spirited and fun.

Women, on the other hand, are hardened and self-serving. They take pilates and daydream about vaginal reconstruction and vacations in St. Barts. Women shop at places like Nordstroms and Ann Taylor. Tattoos, piercings, and wildly colored hair are frowned upon. They balance their checkbooks and pay the mortgage and cook a balanced meal for their family every night.

I think I encompass qualities of both girls and women. I have multiple tattoos. I adore Forever 21. I'm a bit naive and have an overly active imagination. I also have a mortgage and stretch marks. I feel old when I see clusters of teenagers emerge from some mall store like Abercrombie and Finch or American Eagle, giggling and texting. At 36, I definitely don't think hanging out at the mall is fun anymore, but I did catch myself a few months ago feeling really proud that I'd managed to go to the dentist. At some point in my life, I'll probably stop patting myself on the back for "adult" things like that, and then maybe I'll really be a woman.

I think this outfit embodies both girlish and womanly components. The twirly skirt and tied shirt  makes me feel young and light-hearted, but those heels are sturdy and serious. And those are definitely not the legs of a girl.

Thrifted Ann Taylor chambray shirt; vintage gray tee shirt (underneath); Forever 21 skirt; J Crew tights; Jessica Simpson booties; Forever 21 necklace; Frye clutch.