Outfit post: The care and feeding of a redhead

Let me share a wee little secret: I am not a natural redhead. (SHOCKING, I realize. And, in other news, water is wet.) My natural hair color falls somewhere between dishwater brown and Betty White's. I started going gray around my senior year of high school, when my heartthrob crush (we'll call him Marc) loudly and rather emphatically drew my attention to a thick gray hair peeking out from my angled bob. I was mortified, and spent the remainder of my high school career hiding from him and begging my mom for permission to color my hair.

My adventures as a redhead began in 1994, when I plunked down $7 of babysitting money for a box of Nice and Easy haircolor in natural light auburn. Yes, there were numerous mishaps in those early days of at-home hair color: stained fingers; a month of purplish-burgundy hair after accidentally leaving the color on longer than instructed; dye drips down the back of my neck; and an unfortunate attempt at coloring my eyebrows. I could describe these in further detail, but I prefer to leave them in the past. Because they're mortifying.

Eventually I got the hang of at-home color, and began to look forward to the nights I colored my hair. And I learned a few things about being a redhead: 

• As a redhead, men will like you. A lot. Probably because they fall victim to the cultural myth that redheads are fiery and saucy and highly sexed. Jonathon Swift satirized (and popularized) this redhead stereotype back in 1726, in the third chapter of Gulliver's Travels, when he wrote: "It is observed that the red-haired of both sexes are more libidinous and mischievous than the rest, whom yet they much exceed in strength and activity." Over time, you'll become proficient at ignoring (or telling off) the leeches who proclaim their love for your red hair.

• Everyone - and I mean everyone - will ask you if your hair is "natural." No matter whether your red hair is from a box or gifted from God. It's kind of like being pregnant with twins, and strangers question whether fertility drugs were the cause.

• Red hair color fades really quickly, and you'll be forced to become an expert on shampooing and styling techniques to prevent fade. For example, I only wash my hair every other day, and rely on a color-depositing shampoo like Bumble and Bumble's Color Support Shampoo in True Red. Devotees of red hair color should avoid frequent heat styling and chlorine, and shampoo with cool water.

• Finding the right shade of red hair color can be tricky. A very subtle red may not be noticeable in dark hair or against darker skin, while a brighter shade may stand out too much on those with fair skin. It's a good idea to try a temporary washout color treatment in the experimental stages. If you don't like the color, a few rinses in the shower should wash out the color.  

I absolutely love being a redhead. It suits my outgoing, extroverted personality and makes me feel a bit more unique. Some say blondes have more fun, but I beg to differ. In a world where blonde is the norm (and especially here in North Dallas) vibrant red heads stand out in the crowd. 

Would you ever consider going red? Or are you a redhead already? Do you have any tips for preventing color fade? 

Anthropologie tank; Gap Outlet cargos; Stuart Weitzman wedges; Forever 21 necklaces; Forever 21 bracelets; TIKKR watch

Outfit Post: Thank you for being a friend

Like most women, I have given thorough and serious thought to the state of my closet should I get killed during the day. Say some moron cuts me off on the George Bush Turnpike (this is Texas, people...be happy there's only one major roadway named after a member of the Bush family) and slams my truck into a guardrail, sending me flying through the windshield. Or I could get accidentally mowed over by a neighbor's hulking riding lawn mower, an instrument of noise so piercing I worry about both permanent hearing loss and carnage. Or a woman pushing a jogging stroller through the narrow aisles of Nordstrom runs over my big toe, causing me to back into a towering display of Gucci purses, which immediately topple and fall on my skull, crushing me with their heavy gold ostentatious hardware and fine Italian woven fabric, smothering me to death. What then? After the shocked states, the ambulance, the hospital, the funeral, the trays of casseroles and instant-diabetes desserts...

Back in my room, right at this moment, my bed is being swallowed by a mountainous pile of clothing - potential outfits for my trip to the Texas Style Council Conference (TxSCC) this afternoon. Abandoned hangers lie tangled together on the floor. The day I plunge off an highway overpass will in all likelihood be a day when my room looks exactly like it does now. Or the day before I need to do the laundry or the day I decided to clean out my closet, got bored or distracted halfway through, and decided to watch reality TV in my thrifted red  shiny western button-down instead. I have pictured the potentially cold manner my husband would discard the clothing and accessories in my closet, failing to realize just how valuable and cherished these items are. Like this sparkly vintage Golden Girls-esque bed jacket I'm wearing today. In his eye, it's an old musty jacket with missing sequins and bits of unraveling thread. My soul heaves when daydreaming about the heartless way he's bag my clothes up, tossing them nonchalantly into black Hefty bags, and hurling them into the nearest Goodwill drop-off bin.

However, I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he'd be literally blinded by grief, choking back tears, too upset to go through the process of unloading my things. Or perhaps he's recognize their value and invite my friends to chose which items they'd take. "Packing up her closet is much too painful," he would tell them, courageously bearing the weight of his grief. "She'd want you to have that Forever 21 lace blouse, (sniff) those thrifted Paige jeans, (sob) and that 80's era prom dress." Surely they'd recognize the critical importance my wardrobe has on the world. 

And now I must banish these morbid thoughts from my head, and resume packing. If I'm going to plunge off a bridge in Austin, God knows I'll be the best-dressed accident victim out there. I'll be on break from blogging for the next few days, schmoozing with other fabulous fashion bloggers. Don't leave me, lovers...I'll be back with plenty of pics and gossip.

Vintage thrifted bed jacket; Forever 21 v-neck; Gap Outlet cargos; Stuart Weitzman wedges; Forever 21 feather rhinestone earrings

 

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

A Saturday spent with Dallas fashion bloggers? Yes please!

There are lots of adjectives I could use to describe myself: Eclectic. Introspective. Sarcastic. Scrappy. However, I do not consider myself a joiner. In high school I spent much of my time hiding in music practice rooms working on flute concertos, and exploring Manhattan with only my worn leather backpack and cup of coffee as accompaniment. While I cherish my time spent with friends, I'm not one of those women who needs to be with people all the time. I'm perfectly content shopping alone, or making a solo trip to a bar for a shot of whiskey (I must be the only person who nurses a drink while reading chick lit on their Kindle.) In addition, large group gatherings intimidate the crap out of me. Despite my tattoos, and bright red hair, I'm not as outgoing as you might think. I get crazy anxious before parties and events. I worry that I'm going to spill something in myself, be under-dressed, be over-dressed, talk too much, talk too little, or otherwise embarrass myself.

However, I squealed with delight when Kileen invited me to the DFW Blogger Meetup on Saturday. Despite my apparent social anxiety disorder, there was no way I was going to pass up the chance to socialize with other fashion and personal style bloggers in the Dallas area. I wasn't sure how many people were going to be there, but fifteen bloggers turned up! Thank God I changed 1423 times or I would indeed been painfully under-dressed.

Good lord is my hair red. I stuck out like a traffic light among all those gorgeous brunettes.

We began with brunch at Ristoranti Cibus in Northpark Center. Northpark is a fantastic place to spend a day, and even more so with fashion bloggers. Over brunch we introduced ourselves and described our bogs, exchanged business cards, discussed blogging techniques, and got to know one another over bottomless mimosas and bellinis. Brunch was absolutely delicious too - I dug into a plate of brioche with gravlox, capers and cream cheese. Yummo. As a relatively new blogger, it was really fun to be included in a group of such stylish, intelligent women. I learned so much and hopefully made friends I will keep in touch with for a long time.

I was too busy schmoozing to take many pictures, but here's a few from the day:

The epically stylish Angga of Reservade Fashion, wearing  a Forever 21 bag and spring's hottest color: coral! She drove all the way from Kansas to attend the meetup, and I was so excited to meet her.

Posting with Tina of T Minus T Plus, who gave me so many useful tips for promoting and tracking my blog. I really hope to stay in touch with her - she was so much fun to meet!

Posing In Northpark's courtyard in a thrifted J Crew blazer, Forever 21 top, thrifted J Brand jeans; Stuart Weitzman wedges, Forever black pyramid bracelet, and thrifted vintage bag

After brunch we attended a cosmetics consultation courtesy of Dior and Allure magazine. I was drooling over the color-rich, luxurious makeup available for us to try. We broke up into two groups and received lessons regarding moisturizers, primers and foundation, followed by instruction on eyeshadow blending and liner application. I'm a total make-up junkie - though most of my cosmetics come from Target (Loreal shadows are the bomb) - so this was a pretty amazing experience. It was like Christmas morning, my birthday, and a sorority road trip all mashed into one. But with better clothes.

Irene of Pink Hearted Princess served as the perfect model, though she was perfectly gorgeous before getting made up!

I had an absolutely fantastic time, and I'm really hopeful the other bloggers and I can organize regular monthly gatherings. It was a blast.

Would you ever attend a blogger meetup? Have you made any personal connections with other bloggers outside the internet?

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

 

 

Androgyny, Prada and Taylor Swift: My relationship with perfume

Do you wear perfume? In my extensive, scientifically conducted research (wave to the five friends I consulted as my subjects) it appears women either love perfume, or avoid it like the plague. I'll admit that I haven't always been a fan. In high school I went through a phase where the only scent I was attracted to was that of Johnson and Johnson's baby powder. Which is comforting and soothing in a way similar to fluffy down pillows, Grandma's hugs, and chamomile tea.

I was first introduced to fragrance in junior high during a clandestine meeting in the girls room. A friend passed me a can of Love's Baby Soft, which she aggressively applied in a noxious cloud. Love's Baby Soft was the must-have scent among those of the junior high set in the 70's and 80's. Featuring top notes of talcum powder, babies, innocence, and light-heartedness, Love's was simple. Basic. It was a pastel angora-blend sweater, the kind that shed little bits of material all over your corduroy skirt but you didn't really care.


I left the Baby Soft behind when I entered high school, and stuck to my Johnson and Johnson's powder. After I graduated, Calvin Klein introduced a revolutionary fragrance meant for both men and women that spread like herpes - CK One. Everything about this scent screams 1994. The packaging was made from 100% recycled materials, and the bottle is sleek and austere, a nod to the 90's minimalism trend that dominated runways. CK One smelled clean and crisp. It was reminiscent of sleek, unsmiling women who flat ironed their center-parted hair, and carried Prada nylon backpacks.


My brush with CK One was short-lived, probably because I'm uncomfortable embracing androgyny. Next came Clinique's Happy, a fruity, citrusy scent. If Happy were a person, she’d be The Girl Next Door. A particularly perky one. She’s young, easygoing, carefree, friendly to everyone, and she smiles a lot. For awhile I alternated between Happy and Juicy Couture, a sickeningly sweet scent with notes of watermelon, apple, pink passion fruit and lilies. Juicy is something Barbie would wear. Or Taylor Swift. I was a fan of these scents when I was a new mom, and I craved a simpler, sweeter time, absent of four a.m feedings and shirts accessorized by spit-up.

As of this moment, my favorite perfume is A Scent by Issey Miyake (which I'm dangerously low on.) It's a warm, delicate, feminine scent with hints of jasmine, hyacinth and cedar - very sophisticated, romantic and quiet. I like to wear it with cozy materials, like soft sweaters and velvet slippers, such as the items I chose today:

Thrifted Marc by Marc Jacobs cardigan; thrifted J Jill white shirt; thrifted Seven For All Mankind button-fly jeans; Stuart Weitzman velvet flats; Nordstrom rack necklace

If you wear perfume, what's your favorite scent?

(Like this post? Check out my thrifting 101 series, my thoughts on staying true to your personal sense of style, and my internal debate over a velveteen blazer. And consider becoming a follower. I LOVE my readers!)