Outfit post - Tattoos: Fashion statement or sexual device?

First it was Ari Marcopoulos’s short film “No Way Back” for Yves Saint Laurent men’s spring/summer ‘11 collection, featuring famed tattoo artist Mark Mahoney.  Then it was tattooist-to-the-fashion-elite Scott Campbell’s SS’11 collaboration with Louis Vuitton.

Tattoo art and fashion have never been more linked. Chanel – as well as Rodarte and John Paul Gaultier – sent models parading down their spring ‘10 runway adorned with delicate temporary tattoos; Chanel’s are now sold for $75.00 per sheet. Marc Jacobs enlisted Campbell again to apply temporary work on his models for the men’s SS’11 Louis Vuitton show. And mass retailers including Topshop have released temporary tattoos as well.

We all know that high fashion houses have done things like brand a trash bag, call it a trend, and have a waiting list before you say, “Omigod, that trash bag is $2,000?” For many aficionados, tattoos are not a passing trend, but high-end services like Jones’ have dragged tattooing out from under its slightly subversive rock and made it even more mainstream-friendly.

A few months ago, in the NY Times Opinion section, Steven D. Levitt at Freakonomics asked (and answers) the debate of why people get tattooed. He zeroed in on the one motivation he believes we possess to get inked (and do everything else): Sex. After rejecting the idea that "intrinsic beauty" isn't the reason most people get tattoos, Levitt suggests that it is the permanence itself which swayed 40% of people aged 26-40 to decorate their skin. The irreversibility of tattoos provides evidence of our commitment to a group, a person, or even an abstract concept. They are signals to the outside world - but, Levitt asks, "who are tattoo-getters trying to signal to?" His answer? Potential mates.

Levitt makes the assumption that tattoos are far more outwardly-directed than inward. He believes that, if it is visible to the public, it must be intended for public consumption. He seems to fall into the trap of equating tattoos with a specific attitude - one along the lines of the tattoo as a signal to the outside world that one is impulsive and likes risks. These are traits some consider attractive in the opposite sex.  He never uses the word slutty but the implication is there, especially when you consider his broader, sex-based argument.

Personally speaking, none of my 10 tattoos were birthed from a desire to attract men. I like the idea that tattoos are becoming more linked with fashion. I can't speak for every tattooed 26-40 year-old, but I can say this: Most of the people I know with tattoos get them for one of three reasons. Either A) They simply like how it looks; B) It is symbolic; and C) They want to be part of the inked tribe (and of course there is D: All of the above). For those of us with ink, it is usually more complicated than just signaling to the public that we are risk taking maverick-y oversexed types. And when a full 40% of American adults have submitted their skin to be permanently marked, maybe we need to stop thinking of tattoos as an outsider thing (or reduce them to base symbols of hypersexuality) and realize that they are really quite normal.

Do you have any tattoos? What was your motivation for getting them? What are your thoughts regarding Levitt's opinions regarding tattoos? And how do you feel about tattoos as fashion statements? Do you think they enhance or distract from a fashionable look?

Vintage thrifted sequin top; Current/Elliot tie-dye jeans; Jessica Simpson pumps; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets; Forever 21 cross earring; TIKKR watch; Frye clutch

Outfit Post: Will wearing designer labels make you rich and influential?

When I was in my very early twenties, I went through a phase where I became obsessed by designer labels. If it was recognizable, I wanted it. I scoured the internet for designer jeans; stalked logo-ed bags in department stores; and went to bed praying for a lottery win so I could afford the trendiest item from some expensive label. Rather than focusing on fit and whether the item was truly "me," I was much more concerned by who made it and what logo it displayed.

Perhaps not coincidentally, my label whore years coincided with a relocation to a high-income suburb, the birth of my daughter, and the changing role within my marriage. With the adoption of my new identity as a mother, I searched for legitimacy among the women I met in baby music classes and mom support groups. And the easiest way for me to do so was by wearing what I considered the "right" brands. On some level, I believed that if they saw the designer logo on my handbag, they'd be impressed. This would spark their interest and secure me an invitation into their social circle. And, sadly, it did.

It came as no shock to me when I learned of a new study on The Economist illustrating just how powerful a designer label is on social acceptance. Rob Nelissen and Marijn Meijers of Tilburg University in the Netherlands examined people’s reactions to volunteers who wore clothes made by recognizable designers. In the first experiment, volunteers were shown pictures of a man wearing a polo shirt. The photo was digitally altered to include no logo, a designer logo (Lacoste or Hilfiger) or a logo generally regarded as non-luxury, Slazenger. When the designer logo appeared, the man in the picture was rated as of higher status (3.5 for Lacoste and 3.47 for Hilfiger, on a five-point scale, compared with 2.91 for no logo and 2.84 for Slazenger), and wealthier (3.4 and 3.94 versus 2.78 and 2.8, respectively).

To examine if this perception had an effect on actual behavior, researchers performed a number of other experiments. For instance, one female volunteer asked people in a shopping mall to stop and answer survey questions. One day she wore a sweater with a designer logo; the next, an identical sweater with no logo. Some 52% of people agreed to take the survey when faced with the Tommy Hilfiger label, compared with only 13% who saw no logo.

In another experiment, volunteers watched one of two videos of the same man being interviewed for a job. In one, his shirt had a logo; in the other, it did not. The logo led observers to rate the man as more suitable for the job, and even earned him a 9% higher salary recommendation.

According to Gawker, researchers found that logos act as a "status-boosting talisman." Those wearing logos were judged to be wealthier, more powerful, more intelligent, and more capable. The Economist reported that this effect can be attributed to the fact that designer labels are seen as symbols of quality, meaning only the best can pay for them. However, some might take this study as proof of how the fashion industry has turned us into a society of Pavlovian shoppers, drooling over logo bags and high-profile designers. We have become culturally wired to love logos, and have assigned an iconic quality to expensive things, treating them with a level of respect and power. This explains the billion dollar counterfeit industry that churns out knockoff handbags, jewelry, and even shoes. Knockoffs are used to gain the same illusion of power and wealth as the original. A fake LV bag might be made from faux leather in China, but it's message is the same as the genuine article.

I've largely abandoned my designer wardrobe in favor of vintage and thrifted pieces, though I'll forever be a fan of designer denim - it seems to hold up better, and I believe has a more flattering fit than less-expensive brands. And it's true that, in most cases, luxury and designer clothing is better made and longer-lasting than less-expensive pieces - I only have to compare Ralph Lauren polo to those I purchased from Old Navy as proof. But largely, what I wear has much more to do with whether it's an expression of who I am than who it is made by.

So what do you think of this survey? Have you ever purchased clothing and accessories from high-end designers to fit in and impress? Do you believe wearing logos makes you more influential? Do you think the fashion industry has brainwashed us into craving logos over quality and fit? Are we as shallow and easily manipulated as this study suggests?

Vintage thrifted J Crew denim shirt; Nordstrom Rack dress; Frye boots; thrifted Coach belt; American Apparel tights; Plato's Closet leather bracelet; World Market Catholic saints bracelet

Outfit Post: Anorexia, competition, and the quest for blogger win

As a card-carrying perfectionist, I have often viewed life as a competition. There is The Best, and there is everyone else. My lifelong goal has been to be The Best at whatever it was - not out of a healthy sense of competition, but more because I viewed myself as a failure if I wasn't The Best. My constant striving was fueled by a desire to finally feel like I could measure up to everyone else.

As a teenager, my quest towards being The Best was challenged daily by the extremely competitive environment I lived in - that of honors classes and music conservatory. I was a concert flutist, and attended a prestigious music conservatory while enrolled in a performing arts high school. Not only did I need to achieve perfect grades (which I nearly conquered, if not for my dammed music theory classes), but also achieve first chair status in orchestra, small wind ensemble and concert band. I was absolutely ruthless during those years. Actually, I had forgotten how awful I was until curiosity led me to flip through my high school yearbook. Most of the messages from my friends include some mention of how I "pushed them to work harder", "drove them crazy", and "made their life a living hell." Ouch. The process towards becoming The Best usually included alienating myself from my close friends, all of whom were flutists and strove towards the same goal as mine. It made for some tenuous, stressful times. As far as I was concerned, losing friends was just part of being The Best, and I accepted it as a mater of fact. The most important thing - indeed, the only important thing - was to win.

My anorexia only amplified this thinking process. Losing weight, conquering my need for food, sleep, and affection, was the way I found to "win" the competition. Anorexia made me feel special. It was my trump card. Giving up my eating disorder meant giving up this one way I had of feeling special, of being The Best. As long as I ate less, and weighed less, then at least I could be The Best at that. Right? Too bad this contest is so tremendously self-destructive.

Although I've learned in the past few years that this is a very distorted and disordered way of thinking - a way of thinking that preceded the eating disorder - it's still very much there and very much present. Now, reading my high school's alumni magazine is an exercise in self-loathing. The accomplishments of my classmates make me almost feel ill when I look at my life. My therapist calls this "compare and despair." I have similar feelings when checking out the stats of some blogs I follow. I spend entirely too much time and energy trying to figure out what makes some so successful, how they have so many followers and sponsors and lead such gorgeous glamorous lives. Now, I can't even say "Well, at least I'm eating less then they are!" Because I'm in recovery, and almost certainly not.

Now, it seems I am hungry all the time. Like, ALL the time. I'm assuming it's due to the fact that I'm actually paying attention to hunger cues (which I used to do my best to ignore.) Giving in to my hunger would mean, in my head, that I'd be eating more than most women. I defined being The Best for so long as eating the least. Because of this, now, I seem to be The Worst, which is pretty much a living hell for someone who has perfectionism.

I don't always want to feel I need to participate in the contest but don't yet quite know how else to feel okay with myself without these concrete measures. I always have this profound sense of inadequacy, and this was mediated, temporarily, by the eating disorder. It quelled the anxieties of not measuring up, of not being good enough.

I know that I need to stop defining myself in relation to others. And not just any "others," but those who have achieved more and done more and make me feel like utter crap when I think about what my life is and what it has done. I know I need to compare me to, well, ME and to hell with everyone else.

Have you ever struggled with competition? Do you have trouble with perfectionism? How do you avoid the compare and despair trap that so many bloggers struggle with? Do you get caught up in comparing your stats with more successful bloggers?

Forever 21 silk top; thrifted Escada lace skirt; Jessica Simpson pumps; Frye clutch; Forever 21 rhinestone spike necklace; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets; Target rhinestone drop earrings

 

Outfit Post: Are you more likely to buy if the model looks like you?

A few months ago I went to fetch my mail and was delighted to find the new Urban Outfitters catalog peering at me from the box. While flipping though it, I spied these incredibly fantastic wood and leather platform booties on a pale-faced auburn-haired model. Despite the boot's obvious heft, she seemed to float weightlessly above the ground while staring wistfully off into the distance. The exaggerated platform accentuated her long legs and gave her a kind of elegant giraffe-like appearance. At five feet almost-four inches, I am magnetically attracted to any article of clothing that has the potential to make me look taller. Clearly, these booties needed to belong to me.

So I bought them. If this model, who so closely resembled me (aside from our considerable age difference) looked elegant and lengthy in those boots, surely I would as well. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that they did not mystically harness the power to turn me into a gangly long-limbed creature. It's true that the boots are unbelievably comfortable, stylish, and versatile, but in them I'm still, well, me. I still have short legs. I don't have time for wistful staring. And, frankly, I wouldn't know the first thing about modeling, or photographers, or posing for catalogs, despite my best efforts in these blog posts.

While clomping around in my new boots today, I started thinking about a recent study I read about in Glamour Magazine regarding the influence of models on consumer buying patterns. According to the study, women are more likely to make a purchase when they see a model who reflects their age, race, and size. Ben Barry, a Cambridge PhD student, surveyed 3,000 women in the US, UK, and Canada, according to The Guardian UK, and using mock advertisements, found that "the vast majority of women significantly increase purchase intentions when they see a model that reflects their age, size and race. If you speak to consumers on the street about my research, nobody is surprised - consumers are light years ahead of the fashion industry in that they want to see diversity."

He goes on to say, "The industry operates in its own bubble, but advertisers and magazine editors need to be mindful of who their target market is and how the models reflect that market, catch up and change."

Recently, designers and modeling agencies have been making more effort to include diversity, both in size and race, on the runways and in print advertising. During Betsey Johnson's fall 2011 runway show, traditional models shared the runway with Johnson's store employees. They included tattooed and plus-sized store managers, design assistants, knitwear designers, and even the VP of Retail Operations. One was pregnant (she looked adorable, by the way) while the last to to walk, a male store manager names Seth Lefkof, revealed his identity after tossing his wig into the audience.

In addition, modeling agencies are becoming more committed to hiring and finding jobs for plus-sized models. IPM Model Management, a premier plus-size agency located in NYC, is rewriting the rules for the plus-size modeling industry. Currently, the agency represents an impressive group of models from all backgrounds and ethnicities.The agency pairs models with fashion industry leaders like Michael Kors, Calvin Klein, Elena Miro, Lane Bryant, House of Dereon and Ashley Stewart, and also works with magazines such as O Magazine, Essence and Glamour, to name a few.

Raquel Boler, booking editor at Essence magazine, stated that “IPM Model Management is my go-to choice agency when I’m looking for beautiful professional, true-to-size, curvy models." This dynamic plus-size modeling agency has also landed talent contracts in films such as Bewitched, I Am Legend, Knowing and American Gangster. Television appearances are numerous and include: All My Children, The Today show, The View , Good Morning America, Ugly Betty, Mercy, Lipstick Jungle, Sex and the City and more.

What do you make of this recent study? Are you more likely to buy something if the model selling it looks like you? Have you ever decided against an item of clothing because you didn't feel like you could wear it the way the model did? Does the total package impact your purchases?

Thrifted J Crew button-down; Old Navy skirt; Old Navy belt; Old Navy tights; Urban Outfitters 6x6 booties; Frye clutch; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets

 

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

Outfit Post: Sentimental old sap or crazy crazy hoarder?

One of my favorite TV shows is Hoarders on A&E. If you've never seen it, you are missing out on one of the most fascinating sociological experiments of our time (aside from Jersey Shore, that is.) Hoarders documents the exploits of people who, for whatever reason, cannot throw things out. Whether it's a childhood stuffed animal collection, stacks of canned tomatoes, or rusting fetid beer cans, the items pile up to the point where they are literally eating the house. Though hoarding seemed to be the hot-button topic of 2010, it's hardly new. In 1947 Langley and Homer Collyer, two well-heeled New York City brothers, died after becoming trapped under 170 tons of debris. One suffocated after being crushed by a tower of baled newspapers. Clearly, these guys had issues.

I audibly cringe when watching Hoarders, mostly because I just cannot understand the thought process behind hoarding. I don't consider myself much of a sentimental person. I'm not one of those people who believes items have the magical ability to transport them back to the time of their origin. Back in high school, when my friends were saving the pens discarded by their crush and rereading notes passed between them from sixth grade, I was cleaning out my locker, gleefully tossing the previous week's notes. During cleaning spurts I am cold and ruthless when it comes to deciding what to keep and what to toss. If I don't need it, it goes. Period.

However, I will concede that there are a few things I will never, ever get rid of. And all of these items are clothes or accessories. Like the Santa outfits worn by my twins when they were newborns. Sure, they're covered in baby drool and smell a tiny bit like spit-up. Will they ever wear them again? No. Do they serve any purpose at all, aside from making my uterus weep? No. But...my boys wore them during their first Christmas photos. And they're awfully cute. The outfits I mean (though my boys are pretty darn cute too.) So they stay.

There's also my prom dress - a dress so horribly, spectacularly tragic that it makes me wonder if I suffered a mysterious head injury before purchasing it. It reminds me of a simpler time, a golden age when I sported a bad perm (which I sprayed into submission with Aussie Scrunch Spray) and did hard time in detention for talking in class (sadly, this happened a lot.) In addition, I've got a too-small leather bomber jacket I scored on eBay, ancient concert tee shirts, 107263 pairs of designer jeans, multiple pairs of black ballet flats, and a J Crew argyle sweater I purchased with money saved from babysitting. In high school. The dress I'm wearing today, picked up during a particularly fortuitous thrifting excursion back in 2006, is another one of my can't-let-go items too.

Many people create attachments to clothing for one reason or another. Over time, these clothes can take up too much space and create a cluttered closet. While I believe in sentimental value, there has to come a point where you have to differentiate the important things from the not-so-important stuff. There are certain things that I will never get rid of (see items above, though I could stand to pair down my denim collection.) And others, like those skinny aspirational-sized pants I hold onto to torture myself with, need to be donated immediately. The feeling of needing to keep everything is hard to get rid of. But the value of having less crap in your closet is priceless.

Do you have things in your closet you could never get rid of? How do you determine what to keep and what to donate/throw out?

Thrifted Loft denim shirt; thrifted Forever 21 dress; Anthropologie lace camisole; thrifted Coach belt; thrifted vintage Coach satchel; Frye boots; Target socks; Plato's Closet leather bracelet; Betsey Johnson gold watch

Outfit post: A snow-related freak out and a pretty little dress

Holy crap is it cold this morning. The weather forecast is predicting temperatures in the teens. I can feel cold air creeping under our doors, frigid fingers pulling at my wool socks. But it's the icy glare of wind-blown snow that makes me realize just how friggin' cold it really is.

Snow happens every damm winter, even here in Texas, and despite the efforts of the mighty news wanting to make it into a scary terrifying thing, it's not. Trust me. For days, the news has excitedly been airing footage of snow plows being driven into the city in preparation for today's three-inch snow fall. The snow will make for treacherous driving, and an ugly commute, but I assure you that this is not the pre-apocalyptic event sages have been warning us about. 

I love how people stock up for snow as if they're preparing to hunker down in an underground bunker to save themselves from a nuclear attack. People, this is not a Cormac McCarthy novel. Even if you are trapped in your house, you'll only be in there for a couple of days max. And even then, you can trudge out if you really need to. Unless you're living Ted Kazinski-style in a remote cabin in the woods without access to roads or transportation or electricity, you'll be fine. There is no need to bum rush the supermarket and empty its shelves of water and milk and toilet paper (what's up with people hoarding toilet paper before a storm? Is it that bad to wipe your ass of with Kleenex or paper towels for a day?) You know what you should stock up on? Booze, coffee, junk food, cigarettes (if you smoke) and a few frozen dinners in case you need actual nourishment.

Better yet, let me freak out for you, just so you're covered for the rest of winter:

AHHH! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? AHHHH! HOW WILL YOU CONTINUE TO LIVE??? YOUR COZY LITTLE HOMES ARE NO MATCH FOR THE APOCALYPTIC FROZEN PRECIPITATION ABOUT TO GENTLY DUST THE EARTH!!!!

I like to sit back and watch all the weather-people slowly go from cautiously restrained, to slightly optimistic, to mostly excited, to overwhelmed with snow-loving glee. Yes, yes, this is their moment. The rare time when you, and you, and you, are hanging onto their every word. You want to know...how much, and for how long, and how bad the snow will be. They'll be out in parkas, and galoshes, amidst all the snow drifts regaling us with stories and tales of snow-related nonsense. They will excitedly show you the meteorological storm guidance tracks. All the "snow bands" and "arctic blasts" flowing in from the West, the North. They will twitch and snicker and make snow jokes. They will feel so important. So very, very important. It is their moment in the sun. The one thing they live for, short of a tsunami hitting Florida. Yes, friends, this is their nirvana.

So yeah, I am a little testy with being stuck in the house with my kids while getting over a sinus infection. Luckily I have a favorite dress to cheer me up, which I strategically layered to keep warm.

Forever 21 denim jacket; hand-me-down See by Chloe dress; Michael Stars long sleeved tee; Hue tights; Frye boots; Nordstrom necklace; Betsey Johnson watch

 

If I were a rich girl, na-na-na-na-na-na (etc.)

First things first: I am not a rich lady. I realize that some of my previous outfit posts have included luxury handbags (the Louis Vuitton here, and my Marc Jacobs bags here and here...clearly I have a problem with high-end accessories, but the rest of my wardrobe comes from the Goodwill.) Believe me, I am far from a rich lady. Rich ladies have drivers and personal jewelers at Fred Leighton and private yoga instructors. They summer in sprawling estates on East Hampton and Bermuda. Rich ladies are frenemies with other rich ladies, whom they battle with on charity boards and lunch with at restaurants that serve $55 teeny tiny appetizers on huge white plates. They are Botoxed and face-lifted and silicone-filled, and have their plastic surgeons on speed-dial.  Nannies care for their children, yappy little dogs are toted around in monogrammed Goyard bags, and personal chefs whip up their organic macrobiotic meals. They are pampered, luxuriant, and deeply, disgustingly wealthy.

I am most emphatically not a rich lady. I sit in carpool bitching at the distracted mom ahead of me who refuses to pull up the three inches necessary to get me out of the crosswalk. I feed my kids corn dogs for dinner - frozen, full-fat corn dogs, stuffed full of delicious things like nitrates and food coloring and preservatives I can't even begin to pronounce. I mop the floors, make the beds, clean the toilets and whine about the mountain of laundry that I can never, ever seem to catch up on.

If I were a rich lady, though, the first thing I'd do is change out of my thrifted (insert random article of clothing here) and into any of the following from Dior's Spring 2011 collection. Seeing these clothes makes my insides curdle with desire and my hands curl into grabby gimme-gimme ineffectual fists. I wish I had the occasion and money to dress myself in such a fantastically dramatic, feminine way. But mostly, though, these outfits induce fantasies of how I'd pull them off in real life.

This one would be perfect for viewings of horribly tedious (though deeply adorable) first grade school plays.

Photos via Style.com

I'd wear this delicious pastel number while pumping gas and smoking a cigarette through a vintage Art Deco cigarette holder (which I imagine is included with the dress.) I'm not sure that voluminous skirt would fit in my car, though. And it's probably illegal to smoke while in a gas station, come to think of it.

I can only imagine the ruckus that would result if I wore this towering plume of a hat to Despicable Me (or whatever kid-friendly movie is playing at the moment.) I'd probably get pelted with kettle corn.

I can see how sitting in carpool is these gowns might be a tad bit...uncomfortable. Wiggle skirts and cloud-like layers of tulle are practical for one thing, and one thing only: wearing to the Oscars. Or making Rachel Zoe say ba-nanas over and over and over and over again until her head spins and lifts her into the air like a helicopter.


I am forced to admit that there are no frothy Dior concoctions in my future. So here's what I wore today. My outfit might be missing red lipstick and stiff-shouldered swagger, but, alas, but it will have to do.

Vintage thifted sweater tunic; Michael Stars long-sleeved tee; Gap belt; Gap Outlet jeggings; Frye boots; Plato's Closet leather bracelet

Thrifting 101: Tips for newbies, and dealing with the squick facor

When I was a little girl, one of favorite activities was making mud pies in my front yard. My mother would send me out in my oldest, grungiest clothes with a wooden spoon and some warped Tupperware containers, and I'd go to town creating elaborate concoctions made out of dirt, leaves and basically whatever detritus I could find on our property. Getting nice and dirty never bothered me, and it took a lot to gross me out. Most little girls my own age were repelled by worms, and bugs, and blood, but I was fascinated. Sure, I loved my frilly dresses and hair ribbons. But they were always accompanied by dirt under my fingernails.

I suppose this is why I am unafraid of thrift stores. Thrift store excursions put one face-to-face with musty odors, dust, and dirt. There's a guaranteed ewww factor. Some consider the idea of rummaging through racks of use clothing distasteful, and I've received more than a few raised brows and scrunched noses after confessing my love for thrifting (you can see evidence of this passion here, and here, and here.) But I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon.

Jentine of My Edit recently discussed this very topic in her Thrift Friday series. I was impressed by her tips for those who find thrifting intriguing, yet struggle with getting past what she calls the ick factor. However, I think there's another group of potential thrifters who could use some advice: those who have never, ever been thrifting, and are simply intimidated to enter the store in the first place. I thought I'd add my own tips to both groups. 

• First of all, ask yourself if you are the type of person who can physically handle thrifting. If you have allergies, asthma, a super strong aversion to germs, or are unable to spend much time on your feet, thrifting is probably not for you. Also, you won't always find an item in your size. You won't always find something you like, either. If you are someone who loves to rummage, would sacrifice a half day in pursuit of a bargain, can thrift without triggering allergies, and enjoys the thrill of the hunt, then thrift store shopping is for you.
   
• Decide what time to shop is best for you. You'll need at least a spare hour. Since rummaging requires energy, choose the time of day when you feel most energetic. Some stores are open at night or weekends, and I've found that fewer people visit thrift stores at night. Weekends are likely to be busier, and sales days are by far the busiest. Most thrift stores post hours and information regarding sales on their website; definitely take the time to check before planning an outing.
   
• Leave your purse in the trunk of the car (or at home.) Carrying cash in your pocket frees up your hands for sorting/digging/browsing. And avoid wearing your coat into the store for the same reason.
   
• Understand that the types of people who visit thrift stores are not necessarily the same as in your neighborhood or at church. Thrift stores attract all walks of life. This means that you may be chatted up by lonely souls seeking comfort, confronted by people with intellectual disabilities, or brush shoulders with those down on their luck. All of them have their reasons for being there; just be polite and move on to the next rack.

• If the idea of the Goodwill or the Salvation Army squicks you out, try consignment stores instead. Consignment stores hand-select their items, and some even clean clothing before making it available to customers. They usually sell higher-label merchandise too. They're a nice steps towards becoming comfortable with the idea of wearing previously worn clothing.
   
• Be honest with yourself even before trying on the item (if that's possible - many thrift stores don't include dressing rooms.) Do you really like the style overall - the arms shape, the leg flare, the neck plunge etc? Is it really your color? Don't buy clothes that you don't absolutely love, or don't quite fit, or are otherwise substandard - even if they are a bargain. It's tempting to purchase something because it's so inexpensive, but it's a waste of time, money, and space to buy something that's not quite right.
   
• Check closely for stains, tears, mended parts, stretched stitching (often hard to repair) and marks. Do pants have a shiny seat, are beads or buttons missing, is stitching coming loose? If you see these, ask yourself if they're reparable or so damaged that they're better left behind. Only get items in good condition or capable of an easy repair. Buttons, zippers, and small holes can be replaced or mended by a tailor. Perspiration stains, fade marks, and large moth holes are beyond repair.
   
• And finally, my most-important piece of advice (and I can't state this emphatically enough): Do not feel ashamed or embarrassed to be shopping second-hand. It's practical, smart, and financially sensible. And thrifting makes it possible to find some really unique, vintage pieces that no one else has. Anyone who would put you down for doing it only makes themselves look bad (and shallow.)

Now I ask you: Does any part of thrifting squick you out? Do you avoid thrift stores entirely because of the squick factor? And please share your tips for newbie thrifters!

Thrifted Kimchi Blue cardigan; thrifted Michael Stars henley; thrifted Seven For All Mankind bootcut jeans; thrifted Frye boots; thrifted vintage Whiting and Davis clutch; Betsey Johnson gold watch

 

(Thanks for the positive responses, everyone! I think I'm going to start a Thrifting Thursday series now. It's nice to see that so many people share my passion for thrift stores!)

Someone had a case of the Mondays

I am not a morning person. When my alarm clock goes off it induces a state of pouting, whining and depression akin to a five year-old's failed attempts to get candy. I snuggle deeper into my blankets, attempting in vain to pretend I have hours available for blissful slumber. I engage in luxuriant fantasies of having the kind of life where a staff of nannies is on hand to wake my kids, get them dressed and fed, and drive them to school. Like I am certain my arch nemesis, Gywneth Paltrow employs (read my rant against her here.)

Monday mornings are especially difficult. On Monday mornings, accomplishing my usual tasks feels like swimming through cement. And something always, always goes wrong. Monday mornings are when I discover we're out of coffee and that my daughter neglected to do her homework over the weekend. Mondays are learning it's 21 degrees out and forgetting to warm up the truck (leading my youngest son to declare that his bottom has turned into a butt-sicle.) Mondays are misplaced car keys and leaving the house without mascara and lipstick and sitting in an hour of traffic and not being able to find even one decent song on the radio. Mondays also involve stifling urges to bitch-slap that annoyingly chipper barista at Starbucks. I don't care if it's her job to be friendly towards customers, or that she's ingested enough caffeine to fuel the Space Shuttle. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE THAT HAPPY FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, IT GOES AGAINST NATURE. Mondays are going to the supermarket and forgetting to buy the most important thing on my list, like toilet paper. And coffee. And, worst of all, Mondays are always the days I bump into someone I haven't seen in three years and, of course, I look like crap.

So, on this Monday, I decided to dress simply. This vibrant red sweater dress is uncomplicated, comfortable and cheery. I love the quilting at the neckline, and it coordinates nicely with my freshly-colored red hair. (I also have the same sweater dress in cream - see it here.) Wearing this red dress makes me feel good, even without lipstick, coffee, and a warm butt.

Free People sweater dress; Michael Stars long-sleeves tee; Joe's Jeans jeggings; Frye boots; Via Spiga bag; Lucky Brand 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