New Outfit Post: In which I rationalize my shopping addiction

I have done many, many things to attempt to reduce stress. I spent years in yoga, twisting and contorting my body into unnatural forms and attempting to conquer positions called One Leg King Pigeon (yes, really.) I rode horses, desperately clinging to their backs like a spider monkey scampering up a swaying tree in a rainstorm. For a while, I attempted to teach myself to meditate, counting my breaths while trying to block out all those nagging worries like did I remember to sign my kid's homework binders and those checks really need to be deposited at the bank and I have got to remember to pay the gas bill and gosh, gas is getting so damm expensive and soon I'm going to be forced to ride my bike everywhere and by the way where the hell is my bike?

However, there's really only one thing that helps to reduce stress. And that's shopping. Oh, glorious shopping! As soon as I enter a store a wave of calm washes over me. I inhale the intoxicating scent of suede and leather and exotic perfumes and instantly feel my body relax. All those little stressful thoughts and fears fade away, overcome by the dizzying visual stimuli of leather wedges and printed maxi skirts and softly faded jeans. It's delightful, and mystifying, and never fails to elevate my mood. I wander down the aisles, meticulously examining new merchandise. I spend hours trying on shoes. Sometimes I take a few friends along, and we whittle away an afternoon hunting down the perfect pair of ballet flats. Shopping never fails to bring me out of whatever funk I was in before entering a store.

And, according to a study just out of Taiwan, shopping can actually be good for you. Scientists reported in the Journal of Epidemiology & Community Health that shopping may provide companionship, exercise, and an opportunity to maintain a healthy diet, and concluded that men and women who shop daily may live longer than those who avoid retail therapy.

In the study, researchers led by Dr Yu-Hung Chang of the Institute of Population Health Sciences, Taiwan, studied nearly 2,000 men and women aged 65 and over who lived in their own homes. They found those who shopped regularly lived longer than those who shopped just once a week or less, even after adjusting for factors such as physical limitations and cognitive decline. Those who shopped daily were 27% less likely to die than those who shopped infrequently, with the biggest effect seen in men

"Shopping is often for pleasure, with the potential to increase psychological well-being," they conclude. "Compared to other types of leisure-time physical activity, like formal exercise, which usually requires motivation and sometimes professional instruction, shopping is easier to undertake and maintain."

These finding make perfect sense. Shopping is physical and forces you to be active, though in a much more light-hearted manner than pounding away on a treadmill. It also forces you to be social - I've befriended many a salesgirl when in need of advice regarding a particular garment, and bonded with my friends.

Do you believe shopping is a good form of socialization and exercise? Do you find shopping exhilarating, or is the entire experience excruciating for you? Are you surprised at this study's findings? Discuss!

(As a little celebration for reaching 150 followers this week, I'm having a giveaway to one of my favorite vintage stores this week! This shop is a favorite of Jane Aldridge of Sea of Shoes, and is filled with pristine vintage from Christian Dior, Betsey Johnson, Prada, and Halston. Be sure to stop by and enter - its going to be fabulous.)

Thrifted Fossil dress; Nordstrom Rack necklace; Old Navy leather wedges; Marc Jacobs bag (from a consignment shop!); Betsey Johnson watch; eBay gold turquoise bracelet

Outfit Post: Tiptoe through the tulips

It has recently come to my attention that this blog has veered away from it's original intent. See, when I began blogging, I thought my posts would be based around daily outfits and include no further content. There'd be outfit pics, details concerning said outfit pics, and a few cutesy quirky sentences full of puns and humor and double ententes for entertainment. You know, just to break things up a little. However, after a few days of those type of posts, I tumbled down the rabbit hole and the real me spilled out.

The real me likes to talk. A lot. The real me also enjoys ranting. Blessedly, the two are easily combined into one snarky, sarcastic entity here on this blog. I have ranted against rompers, sleezy Valentine's Day lingerie, the weather, being sick, hoarding, working out, fake bags, people who wear pajamas in public, fashion-related ridiculous, and flash-sale sites. To be honest, exaggerated, unadulterated hatred expressed through blog rants is an exhilarating and liberating activity. Writing is a therapeutic outlet for frustration. And damm if there aren't a lot of things that frustrate the heck out of me.

But I'll admit that truly, deep down, I am a lover.

I love all sorts of things, and I love LOTS of stuff. I love dive bars, brunch, Modern Family, Morrissey, whiskey, the sounds of my kid's laughing, thrifting, New York City, Twitter, cowboy boots, new books, that epic moment when a song on the radio ends just as you're pulling into your destination, Greg Laswell, road trips, manicures, getting a package in the mail, singing the national anthem at a baseball game, spring, fishing, disaster movies, Fage yogurt, seeing a dog chasing it's own tail, vintage pickup trucks, old men who wear overalls, red wine, and even a certain handful of special people. (You know who you are. All of you. Duh.)

For today, let's put the ranting to the side and focus on a thing I really love - the Dallas Arboretum.

The Dallas Arboretum makes me happy, in a little girl squealy sort of way. Being outdoors, walking through the trails of the Arboretum, with fields and trees and flowers on one side of me and White Rock lake on the other, satisfies something deep in my soul. I believe it's the best place to be in Dallas on a pretty day. Go ahead, try to come up with another one.  Well, a restaurant patio complete with ice cold beer, good friends and basket of fried pickles comes close. But the Arboretum still wins.

Every year in March the Arboretum hosts an event called Dallas Blooms. Thousands of spring flowers are on display in an almost overwhelming burst of color. On a warm early afternoon it seems like the entire city fills the Arboretum, taking photos and picnicking and posing their tiny adorable children in their pretty pastel Easter dresses in the middle of a flower field. School buses drop off children for field trips, and carloads of senior citizens arrive in white sneakers and sandals with socks. 

Tulips, azaleas, hyacinth, poppies, and daffodils made for the perfect backdrop for outfit pics taken by completely random strangers. Thank you, random strangers, for allowing me to pretend I am zee world famous model. I appreciate it.

Thrifted Fossil dress; Old Navy tights; thrifted boots; Plato's Closet leather bracelet

What are some things that you love? What random things make you squeally happy?

Outfit Post: Is women's fashion man-repelling or merely absurd?

What is the point of fashion? Self-expression? Creativity? Individuality? According to one blogger, fashion is about repelling men. Oh. Okay. Darn.

The blogger in question is named Leandra Medine. Here is her fashion "thing", as described by the New York Times:

Since April 2010, Ms. Medine, 21, has been publishing photos of herself on her blog, the Man Repeller, as well as shots of similarly challenging recent runway looks: fashions that, though promoted by designers and adored by women, most likely confuse - or worse, repulse - the average straight man. These include turbans, harem pants, jewelry that looks like a torture instrument, jumpsuits, ponchos, furry garments resembling large unidentified animals, boyfriend jeans, clogs and formal sweatpants.

Medine's blog is a tongue-in-cheek chronicle of her adventures in these bewildering articles of clothing. A quick examination shows her in suspenders, argyle socks with pony hair sandals, and drop-crotch pants, posing for photographers with other slovenly-chic high-profile fashion bloggers. She argues that now, more than ever, designers are producing clothes which push the boundaries of fashion so far that they turn off (and repel) the average man.

The fashion world has taken notice. Medine's blog won top honors in last month's Bloglovin' Awards. And fans have begun to use her blog name as a verb, as in, “I am totally man-repelling today.” (Warning: This might have to become part of my vernacular from now on. I think I'll start today. My belt is totes man-repelling. Uh, yeah.)

On first glance, The Man Repeller seems very similar to other blogs I read: a young, coltish woman mixes thrift, discount and runway pieces in a haphazard way that somehow looks chic in the end (while these pieces would transform me into a schizophrenic hobo.) However, I truly believe that this girl doesn't understand men. On average, men do not care what you wear. If you're that concerned about repelling men with your outfit, ask yourself these questions first:

1. Have you showered in the last 24 hours?
2. Do you have a vagina?
3. Are you single?

If you can answer yes to any or all 3 of these questions you will fail to repel men. An outfit composed of six types of material might confuse them, sure. Bizarre as they might be, most of the clothes Medine wears only underscores that she is slim and elegant, albeit in a quirky, offbeat sort of way. Even in a homemade dress constructed from office supply paper and a body stocking, Medine looks charming and sort of cute.

Furthermore, I don't believe women's fashion is about attracting men. As far as I'm concerned, fashion is about self-expression. There's freedom in being creatively attired and wearing pieces that communicate your individual sense of style. Shopping for the perfect heels, the sharpest tailored blazer, and the ultimate red lipstick is a uniquely individual, personally rewarding experience. Choosing an outfit is even more so. When I get dressed in the morning, it's always from the perspective of what I want to wear, what I find comfortable and appealing, and what message I want to send to the world. I really could care less about what men think.

Despite its name and the running joke Medine has about not getting action because of the ridiculous things she wears, The Man Repeller isn't really about men. It's about the absurdity of 'high' fashion - stuff that is just plain ugly and confusing. Medine is funny, and her advice regarding how to be featured on fashion blogs like The Sartorialist was totally accurate and literally made me chortle out loud. Hint: wear as many different types of fabric as possible in multiple clashing pieces. Add heinous lipstick, an affected snarl, sky-high clogs, and you're in.

According to my husband, I am not man-repelling in this outfit today at all. Actually, he described it as "hot". So I suppose I need to work on my skills a little bit more. Maybe if I added a turban, leg warmers and suspenders I'd make the cut.

Thrifted Gap sweater; thrifted Loft skirt; Target belt; We Love Colors tights; Kate Spade boots; thrifted vintage crocodile bag; Fossil earrings

Laura Ingalls, fashion icon and bad ass

When I was seven, there were only three things I wanted in this world:

1. Long, wavy, glossy blonde hair, like the girl in the Johnson and Johnson's Baby Shampoo commercial,
2. A pony, preferably white, whom I would name Candy, and
3. To be a rough and tumble prairie woman in a faded floral dress, crossing the country in a covered wagon.

As a young girl, my all-time favorite books were those from the Little House On The Prairie series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Did you ever read them? Little House follows the adventures of the Ingalls family - Ma Caroline, Pa Charles, Mary, Laura, Carrie, and baby Grace - as they travel through the Midwest during the nineteenth century, searching for a hospitable place to settle. The books are told from Laura's perspective, and they do a beautiful job describing the rigors of life in the nineteenth century; specifically, the struggles the family faced against disease, frigid cold, governmental regulations, and Native Americans competing for the same land and food. 

Although I loved everything about the books, Laura was what drew me in so deeply. I desperately, desperately wanted to be Laura. Because, let's face, Laura was kind of a bad ass, and she led a suitably bad ass adventuresome life. I wanted to call my father Pa, and help him build a dugout house from the side of a hill, and listen to him trill out a hillbilly folk song on his violin. I wanted to wear faded floral dresses and pinafores with petticoats peeking out.  I wanted a dog named Jack to scamper next to me while I chased frogs out of the pond.  I wanted an older sister to squabble with (no offense to my younger brother, with whom I shared many legendary battles.)  I wanted a mother as sweet as Caroline, who wore a bucolic smile while darning homespun dresses. But, mostly, I wanted to challenge that mean, nasty Nellie Oleson in an epic mudfight, just like Laura did. Laura was loving and affectionate, but also mischievous and scrappy. I wanted to be the same. Hell, I still want to be her.

I was thinking about Laura when I plucked this dress out of my closet. In another form or color, the floral print might be dainty. But here it kind of smacks you in the face. It's feisty and still kind of sweet. If Laura was around today, it's something I imagine she might pick out, now that she can shop beyond the mercantile.

Forever 21 denim jacket; Forever 21 dress; thrifted Gap turtleneck; American Apparel tights; Target socks; Frye boots; Plato's Closet leather bracelet; Fossil hoops.

 

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

The Trojan woman

I was always kind of a quirky kid. Unlike most other little girls my age, I had no interest in participating in ballet or gymnastics. Instead of planning tea parties with the neighborhood children, I created fantastical worlds out of leaves and acorns and played in the dirt. When I got a bit older, I skipped right over the fluttery teenage crush phase most girls go through. My friend covered their walls in glittery, sticker-adorned posters of Andrew McCarthy, Tom Cruise and Johnny Depp. I couldn't understand the practice of taping a magazine cutout of your teen dream to your bedroom closet door; the idea of waking up to some picture of a celebrity staring at me gave me the creeps. Instead, the focal point of my room was a gigantic bulletin board, on which I tacked vintage postcards, bits of fabric, vintage school jacket pins, a NYC subway map and old ticket stubs.

To be honest, I really didn't care much for the popular movies of my schoolgirl years. I preferred to spend my weekends watching old black and white films from the nineteen forties and fifties.Those actors had style. The spoke with affected accents, smoked through jewel-encrusted cigarette holders, and moved snake-like through Art Deco rooms. The men wore hats, the women fur-trimmed capes and New Look dresses with nipped-in waists. They didn't need computer-generated special affects or lighting technicians to look fantastic.

One of my all-time favorite film actresses of that time is Katharine Hepburn. Why her? Well, her background is fascinating: she was the descendant of King Louis IX and daughter of a suffragette. After an early spell of box-office success she endured a series of flops, leading critics to call her "box office poison." She had extremely progressive social views, giving fuel  to rumors that she was a Communist. In addition she possessed an extremely unconventional attitude as an actress of her time. Unlike other starlets, she was prickly with the press and often refused to grant interviews or be photographed, and denied requests for autographs. As my grandfather said, she had moxie.

In regards to fashion, Hepburn preferred a more androgynous, modern style that was a clear contrast to the cleavage and curves of her co-stars. She remains famous for introducing women to wide-leg, high-waisted pants, which she often paired with sharply tailored blazers, flat loafers or sneakers. Once, when RKO executives took away her slacks (to force her to wear a skirt), she walked around the lot in her underwear until they returned them. Kate’s pants became a symbol of independence for women, liberating them to be more active and have more choices.

I suppose I was channeling a bit of her when I dressed this morning. If she moved from Hollywood to Santa Fe, that is.

Thrifted Blues Heroes leather jacket; J Jill white shirt; Paige wide-leg denim pants; thrifted Fossil belt; Frye Billy cowboy boots; Lucky turquoise blossom studs.

My favorite part of this outfit has to be the boots. I've been searching for a pair of cowboy boots forever, and as luck would have came upon these during a spontaneous trip to a new consignment shop.

Maybe they're not perfectly suited to wear with such wide-leg pants. Other bloggers might showcase them with short skirts, or skinny jeans. But as Hepburn said, if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.