Outfit Post: Oooh, Prado!

(If you can guess the movie this post title came from, you win...nada. Sorry. But I'll still think you're  amazing. And that counts for something, right?)

I am a born a raised New York City girl. I took my first subway ride as a toddler, know the best place to get a kosher sour garlic pickle, learned to drive on the Grand Central Expressway (also known as the North American Autobahn) and can hale a cab like no one's business. As a result, I have planned many a NYC getaway for friends. There are certain activities that are simply non-negotiable, such as eating a bagel with lox and a schmear, walking through Central Park, visiting Ground Zero and seeing the latest exhibits at the MOMA and Met. However, another activity often falls high on the list: Taking in the knock-off's on Canal Street.

The whole Canal Street experience is slightly surreal and completely sinister. Imagine an overcrowded city neighborhood, bustling almost to suffocation with pedestrians, businessmen, tourists and schoolchildren. Approximately 96% of these people are Chinese. The air is perfumed with the scent of urine, moo shu pork, and body odor. Streets are crammed with teeny tiny little shops covered with iron gates, seemingly out of business. Then, suddenly, a signal is given, and the gates swing open to reveal enormous displays of fake bags, knock-off jeans, rows of watches, and logo-ed scarves. It's an orgy of Gucci, Chanel, and Burberry. Oh my!

Personally, I've found trips to Canal Street a kind of depressing experience. It's hard not to feel sad for those fake bags, pretending to be something they're not. And, even worse, there's the fear that some are authentic, and might have "fallen" off the back of a truck. The last thing anyone needs is a midnight visit from the Chinese mafia. And yet, I kind of get the allure of a Canal Street trip. It's the possibility of what you might see. Maybe you'll spy a mirror knockoff of the Louis Vuitton Neverfull you've been lusting for since 2006. Perhaps a shiny "Rolex" watch will beckon. Maybe a scrawny Chinese fellow will lead you to a secret-y secret underground shop filled with enough Marc Jacobs to induce swooning.You never know.

Though I don't carry knockoffs, I always thought a fake Vuitton or Chanel bag was an easy way to stick it to those yachting, champagne-swilling LVMH moneymen (aside from being totally and completely illegal. Which they are.) However, Scientific American's study regarding faux bags makes me reconsider. Researchers at UNC Chapel Hill, Harvard Business School, and Duke conducted a series of experiments that showed that people who wear (or believe they are wearing) counterfeit goods are also significantly more likely to cheat and lie.

In one study, a large sample of women were given Chloé sunglasses. The glasses were real, but half the women were told they were fake. Researchers asked them to take a math quiz and grade themselves on the honor principle. The results?

The women who thought they were wearing the fake Chloé shades cheated more - considerably more. Fully 70 percent inflated their performance when they thought nobody was checking on them-and, in effect, stole cash from the coffer.

The scientists concluded that "faking it makes us feel like phonies and cheaters on the inside, and this alienated, counterfeit 'self' leads to cheating and cynicism in the real world." What I would take from this study is this - if you give women doing studies trash, they will act like trash. Ouch. Then again, maybe it's that they were forced to take a test wearing sunglasses and couldn't see what they were doing.

So here I am, with my completely authentic, ridiculously overpriced (and thankfully gifted) Louis Vuitton Speedy. And I don't have to worry about being a victim of the Chinese mafia, or my conscience.

How do you feel about knock-off merchandise? Be honest - would you ever carry a fake bag?

Loft cardigan; J Crew Outlet silk blouse; thrifted Seven For All Mankind jeans; Stuart Weitzman ballet flats; Louis Vuitton Speedy 30 bag

 

 

Suit yourself: How do you stay true to your personal sense of style?

Have you ever seen the TV show Dharma and Greg? It revolves around an extremely mismatched couple - quirky, free-spirited, yoga-teaching Dharma, and conservative, old-money, silver-spoon lawyer Greg. When my husband and I were dating, Dharma and Greg was one of the few shows we enjoyed watching together, primarily because we could relate to the lead characters so well. Like Dharma, I was eclectic, liberal, and Jewish. I came from a performing arts background and had wildly colored hair. My husband, meanwhile, was a young lawyer working at a midtown Manhattan boutique law firm. He wore lots of Ralph Lauren, read Wine Spectator Magazine, and was president of his college's Young Republicans club.

As our marriage has evolved, we've both somehow managed to retain our individuality. I've gotten tattooed, remain fiercely independent, and spend at least two days a week digging through the dollar bin at the Goodwill. My husband, meanwhile, is employed at a large, extremely conservative insurance company, where he sports expensive cuff links and rep striped ties and enjoys conversations about residuary charitable bequests.

Yesterday afternoon I met him for lunch at R&D Kitchen, near his office in University Park. R&D is the kind of place visited by old-money Dallasites who wear couture purchased at Stanley Korchack and own private yachts. It is also where you dine on food like this:

That's my $16 rainbow sushi roll, and my husband's sea salt and parsley french fries.

Visiting a restaurant like this always causes a bit of a crisis concerning the need to dress appropriately, and my desire to remain true to myself. I am extremely hesitate to sacrifice my personal style in order to appease those around me. It has taken me a good long time to fully accept who I am, and embrace all the qualities that make me unique. That includes my weight, my nose, my proclivity towards vintage clothing, and my loud girlish laugh. I truly appreciate who I am, and am proud that I don't blend in with the crowd. Furthermore, due to the large tattoo on my neck and my red hair, I am undeniably noticeable and unique. I couldn't blend in if I tried. And that's perfectly fine with me. Life is too short to be anyone other than who I am.

Yves Saint Laurent said, “Fashion fades but style is eternal.”  My personal style is here to stay. It is forever. I believe that too often women downplay their personal style because they are either too busy to refine it, lack the confidence to reflect it, or fall into the trap of dressing as they believe they're "supposed to." It isn't easy to be courageous and embrace who you are. You have to be brave and authentic, and take risks. That's what dressing with courage is all about. I realized years ago that I was never going to be the glamazon my mother wanted me to be, or the romantic woman dolled up in ruffles and lace. I am only comfortable dressing as me.

However, there are occasions where it becomes necessary to reign in my personal style in order to be respectful. Dressing respectfully often means "doing as the Romans do." In an establishment like the one I visited, that translates to subtle jewelry, covered shoulders and subdued make-up. I personally have no problem trading in my 1970's beaded sheer blouse for a simple crewneck sweater, if that's what the occasion merits. Furthermore, I understand that my value as an individual is not defined by what I do or do not wear. Just because I outfit myself in long-sleeves and simpler styles does not mean that I have abandoned my own beliefs to take on that of those surrounding me.

Respecting other people's beliefs does not mean you have to give up your own. It also does not change who you are.

This morning, I actually found it rather easy to dress respectfully while remaining true to myself. My entire outfit is thrifted aside from my accessories. I'm covered up, yet fully comfortable, and feel my personal sense of style is well represented.

And my lunch was delicious.

Vintage thrifted mink cape; thrifted Gap black sweater; thrifted Urban Renewel faux leather skirt; Forever21 belt; Target tights; Kate Spade boots; Louis Vuiton Speedy bag; Betsey Johnson gold watch

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Californication: A bit of Rachel Zoe

I have an unfortunate obsession with Rachel Zoe. A high-profile Hollywood stylist, Zoe is credited with reintroducing the world to seventies influenced fashion. Her signature style can be defined as boho-chic, a term that came to be when, in 2003, Nicole Richie went to Zoe for help in 2003 for help and was photographed in oversized jewelry, flowing blouses, gigantic sunglasses and platform heels. Other celebrities took notice, and Zoe became a household name.

A doe-eyed, darkly tanned, pin-thin creature, Rachel Zoe is often seen wafting through racks of vintage Missoni with celebrity friends on her hit Bravo reality show. She teeters on gravity-defying heels, travels with 20 assistants, and air-kisses the likes of Kate Hudson, Karl Lagerfeld, and Jennifer Gardner. I imagine she smells like a combination of Starbucks non-fat lattes, the ocean, suede, and gardenias. Her masses of jewelry and outsized sunglasses add up to a theatrical, exaggerated, ostentatious sense of glamor, and at times she resembles a dizzying character from a madcap musical. 

Perhaps that's what I love most about her. Zoe is the perfect example of a more-is-more approach. In her world, there is no such thing as too much costume jewelry, too many artfully-placed highlights, too dark of a tan, too many feathers, too high heels or too much fur. She changes her sunglasses depending on the light, has professed a hatred towards condensation (in a NY Times interview - seriously, look it up) and her Blackberry ring tone is "Riders of the Storm" by the Doors. She spends an afternoon at home with her husband attired in a white cashmere bathrobe, high-heeled espadrilles and full photo-ready hair and make-up. She is a grand gesture. Indeed, she is the complete and total opposite of me.

I adore how deeply Rachel Zoe embraces Californian style and culture. From her accent to her laid-back glamorous style, she exemplifies the Malibu bohemian who eats organically, drives a massive hybrid SUV and has her facialist on speed dial. She's someone I'd love to grab an iced green tea with and gossip about vintage stores, where to get the best manicure, and the benefits of cleansing oils. I wouldn't want to work with her, though - listening to her utter "I die" and "Ba-nanas" repeatedly might induce me to shank her with a rusty blade.

Yesterday I was tempted to pull out all the stops and dress a la Rachel Zoe, complete with platforms, chunky gold watch, sequined beret and fur vest. Alas, I am not in possession of any of those items. I recently acquired a vintage oversized blazer I am certain Rachel would approve of, so that had to do.

Vintage thrifted Christian Dior blazer; Anthropologie burgundy tunic dress, Gap turtleneck; American Apparel leggings; Louis Vuitton Speedy 30 bag; Juicy Couture class ring necklace; Forever 21 chain necklace; ancient gold huggie earrings; Coach ballet flats

My battle against rainy day gloom

Today dawned chilly and overcast. It is the perfect day for old movies, new books, and mugs of herbal tea while snuggling under an old quilt.

Truthfully, I am a girl that thrives in sunshine. Dreary days make me feel, well, dreary. I easily sink into a depression. I get antsy and itchy and morose. While some people might find an endless stretch of sunshiney weather monotonous, I can't imagine living in a climate without it, which is why I'm so grateful to be living in Texas.

Perhaps I'd be more well-rounded if I learned to embrace rainy days. Days like today seem perfectly tailored for poets, artists and other creative types. They hang out in coffee shops scribling into notebooks and pasting things into scrapbooks. They are the kind of people who drink whiskey in dive bars in the middle of the afternoon, and drive rusting old pickup trucks or vintage motorcycles. They engage in long, esoteric conversations with strangers they've just met. Bright sunny days dry up their talent and put them on edge. Chipper people make them bristle.

I imagine the slightly shabby, somewhat glamorous life rainy day people live. Their homes are cave-like and decorated in Gothic splendor, with heavy dark furniture, floor-grazing damask drapes, and light fixtures made from iron. Stacks of dusty books line their hallways. There is always a roaring fire in the fireplace, and a fully stocked bar with absinthe and red wine. Rainy day types listen to Classical music from the Romantic period and experimental jazz. They light incense, collect Art Deco jewelry, and shuffle around in vintage embroidered capes and slippers made from crushed velvet. They somehow manage to look deranged and gorgeous all at the same time.

While I indulge in the occasional glass of whiskey, I could never be a rainy day person. For one, my home features ground-in Cheerios in the carpet and smells of Eau de Playdoh. Most poetry makes me cry. Overcast days don't encourage my creativity; instead, they make me practically suicidal.


I decided to fight today's creeping rainy day depression with a cheerfully colorful outfit. 

Thrifted vintage 1950's embroidered cardigan; thrifted J Crew silk blouse; thrifted Gap pants; Vince Camuto ballet flats; Louis Vuitton pochette; Nordstrom Rack dragonfly necklace; Marc Jacobs watch; vintage diamond tennis bracelet; Betsey Johnson daisy studs