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

Gwyneth Paltrow, motherhood, and Brenton stripes

There is absolutely nothing glamorous about being a full-time mom. Unless, of course, you are Gwyneth Paltrow, the world's most perfect person.

Gwyneth is one of those celebrities you either love or loathe. I have no idea why she gets under my skin so deeply. She can seem a little holier-than-thou, educating us about the benefits of kelp, eastern medicine and sugar-free coconut water.She's featured in Vogue in practically a monthly basis, where they rave about her cutting-edge style, all-white marble kitchen, organic garden and perfect perfect blondeness.

Perhaps it should not have surprised me when I came across her insightful account of life as a mom, gleamed from her newsletter, Goop. Behold this description Gwyneth's oh-so-stressful day of going to the gym, singing a country song, and doing a phone interview.

I went up to arouse the little man from slumber and he quite happily got up and crawled into my arms. We got downstairs and I made him a quick breakfast of eggs and toast followed by a spoonful of lemon flavored flax oil that I try to remember to give them both every morning.

On a less manic day, this would be my couple of hours in the office to work on GOOP, come up with ideas, write/edit and go over scheduling, travel, whatever else I have going but I have no time so I just pop the old cabeza in to see if there are any deadlines or fires that need putting out. When I am given the all clear I rush out the door, headed to rehearse with a band to prepare for the Country Music Awards which are just a week away. I've never performed live before so I'm preparing for this as if it were the Superbowl, which, in it's own way, it is. I've been having voice lessons with my teacher, Carrie Grant, every day and rehearsing with an amazing London-based band. This will be my fourth and shortest rehearsal of the week, as the day is so full, but I am excited to get in there and see everyone. Had to do my vocal exercises/warm-ups in the car, sooo not a good look. Fellow drivers looked on a bit bewildered. Rehearsed with the band from 11:30 to 12:30 and then scooted back out to the car and had kind of a big interview on the phone while trying to subtly check/reply to well-overdue email. Got home and had a fitting with super stylist Elizabeth Saltzman for the upcoming Nashville trip (what to wear, what to wear?) from 1-2. This is my 4th out of 5 fittings for this trip. We tried on a myriad of dresses and outfits, and I had b.o. by the end of it from wrestling with all of those dresses. I have six looks I need to choose for the trip; there's the radio press conference upon arrival, the red carpet for the Country Strong premier, press interviews, a Sony Music VIP dinner, the red carpet for the CMA's and the outfit for my performance! We manage to finalize all of the looks for the (very nerve wracking) trip. At 2 pm I head into my office with a nice cup of tea for two hours of phone interviews. I am doing lots of these this week, but today's session is only two hours. I call country radio station after country radio station speaking to some of the nicest and friendliest DJ's on the planet. Thursday is the one day of the week that I do not pick my kids up after school. They go straight to an activity and I am able to really maximize work stuff. I always feel a bit guilty (obviously) about it, but it means I can focus fully on them when they get home instead of trying to do two things at once.

The kids indulge in a super sugary cupcake before bed but I don't feel too bad because they had a brown rice stir fry for dinner with baked sweet potato on the side. It's all about balance! My night to lay with Mosey so I tuck Apple in, say a prayer and go into Mosey's room for a story, foot massage and quiet time. As soon as all was quiet, I rushed downstairs to grab a blazer and some blush and flung myself in the car for girls night. Lovely dinner and great conversation. 11:29 pm now, exhausted and ready to do it all again tomorrow!

So, lots of insight into the glamorous world of motherhood. Let's contrast this with my average day as a mom. Notice the similarities:

Awoke at 6 am with my makeup still on. Dragged myself into the shower, washed up with the sliver of Dove soap my husband so kindly left me. Applied my Cover-Girl foundation and picked out an outfit constructed of pieces dug up from the sale section at the Gap and Goodwill. Chiseled my kids out of bed and fed them a nutritious breakfast of chocolate and frosted Cheerios while Spongebob blared in the background. Got into an argument with my twins regarding why they could not wear their underwear to school and have three breakfasts, and with my daughter concerning the need to drag a brush through her hair because it resembles a rat's nest. Prepared bologna-and cheese sandwiches for their lunch. After driving them to school, I returned home for a cup of non-organic, non fair-trade coffee prepared with full-fat half-and-half. The I wrestled with chores: sweeping the floors, searching for errant Legos that hide under furniture; made the bed; ran and emptied the dishwasher; and folded a load of laundry that was eating my bed.

In the afternoon I ran chores, including grocery shopping at the Wal-Mart. I  grab coffee or lunch with one of my non-celebrity mom friends, where we gripe about how to deal with toddler tantrums, the lack of a sex drive, and the latest Oprah-recommended novel. Then I picked up the kids from school where I learned that Jake got in trouble for dancing in class and Josh had a breakdown because some kid ripped the pom-pom off the top of his winter hat. We got home and I tried to catch up on blogging while attempting to shut out the bleep-bleep-bleep of Super Mario Brothers blaring on the Wii. I paid some bills, writing checks for the electric bill, our credit cards, and the late payment to the landscape guy who ripped us off. Then came dinner. I whipped up nuclear-orange boxed mac and cheese for the kids, and chicken enchiladas constructed from canned sauce, store-brand cheese and a pre-cooked, pre-seasoned, antibiotic-plumped chicken. The kids struggled through their homework - no private tutors for us! I always feel a bit guilty, obviously, but that's how we roll. Then I tried not to fall asleep while catching up on episodes of The Real Housewives of Whatever City They're Filming In. I'm busy, is what I'm saying. I'm no movie star. I'm just me.

So you can understand the need for me to forgo couture evening gowns and designer pieces gifted from Stella McCartney for Brenton stripes and thrifted cords.

Ann Taylor Loft denim shirt; American eagle striped shirt; thrifted J Crew cords; Bruno Magli booties; Forever 21 coat; Forever 21 studded belt, Forever 21 rhinestone earrings.

Some kind of wonderful

One of my earliest memories is of the backyard birthday party my parents gave me when I was five. We lived in a two family house in a crowded neighborhood of Queens, and were extremely fortunate to have possession of the backyard. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can remember almost every single detail of that precious outdoor space.  In the summer I'd emerge from our side door, walk through a rose covered trellis, and enter a private, sweet-smelling world. Shaded by a gigantic crab apple tree, and protected from intruders by a chain link fence, the backyard would bloom with orange day lilies in summer. My family spent many afternoons picnicking, playing, and barbecuing in that backyard. We also hosted quite a few parties, my birthday being one of them.


I'm amazed at how much I remember from that day. My dad fired up the grill and made hot dogs and burgers. We ate ice cream cake from Carvel (if you grew up or live in the Northeast, you'll understand the thrill a trip to Carvel incites. Their soft serve is legendary.) Records by Carol King, Blondie, and Simon and Garfunkel spun on the stereo. My grandfather stretched out on a lounge chair, smoked his pipe and worked on his tan. At the urging of my cousins and friends, my dad plucked an apple from the tree, sliced it in half with his pen knife, and revealed a fat, dissected, still squirming worm, which both horrified and fascinated me.


However, when I flash back to that day, the first thing that comes to mind is the dress I wore to the party. Oh, how I loved that dress. It was white, with a full pink and white striped underskirt and puffed white sleeves. The front of the dress was adorned with a pink, yellow and green floral applique (it was 1979, after all.) I felt amazing in that dress. I spent hours twirling in front of the mirror, watching the skirt swish around me. That dress made me feel sweet, girly, confident and joyful.


The outfit I wore to dinner last night incited the same feelings. What article of clothing makes you feel great? Do you have any special memories attached to an outfit?

Forever 21 denim jacket, Muise ikiat dress, American Eagle black tee, J Crew tights; Kate Spade boots; Frye clutch; Forever 21 necklace; Forever 21 bracelets; Target pyramid studs

The prep step

If you are a child of the eighties, as I am, you might remember a hugely successful, tongue-in-cheek tome called The Preppy Handbook. On the North Shore of Long Island, where I spent much of my childhood, this book was studied as closely as the Bible. Although it was written as a parody, it served as an accurate "field guide" to the dress and lifestyle of the New England prepster. Indeed, what made The Preppy Handbook so successful in the eighties was that it is simultaneously a satire, for those in the know, and an actual handbook, for those hoping to pass as socially upwardly mobile.  

While reading the Handbook, you learn immediately that being a prepster goes well beyond attendance at a private boarding school. You learn about their cars, colleges, clothes, food, jobs, music, pets, what they read and how they decorate their houses. (FYI: Prepster cars include BMWs, Saabs, Volvos, Land Rovers, and Jeep SUVs; pets are retrievers and spaniels.) Written in 1980, this work help launch the preppy craze of that decade and gave birth to the current preppy style among which many have chosen to emulate. No socks? Classic. LL Bean Rubber Mocs? Always, even in temperate weather. Lacoste, and turned-up collars, and madras shorts? All accounted for.

The Preppy Handbook is timeless. According to Wikipedia, its musings on young urban professional culture served as an inspiration to the founder of the J. Crew clothing line, Arthur Cinader. Cinader hoped to capitalize on the success of the book through the development of a retail empire based on argyle sweaters, chinos, and oxford shirts. The book also represented a resurgence of interest in 'preppy' culture that aided the growth of retailer L.L. Bean.

I did not go to boarding school, or an elite day school, but I was able to bs my way into Hobart and William Smith Colleges (one of the exceptional schools for demonstrations of prep-dom). The lifestyle depicted in the book was as true in the late 1990's as it was when it was written. As a person who can admit to wearing topsiders to class, ordering chinos from the J Crew catalog, and going for a sail on lake Seneca, my college experience seemed modeled according to The Preppy Handbook word-for-word.


I don't consider myself a preppy anymore. I do own a few pieces relevant to that style, and it's fun to throw them on and pretend I have the sort of life where I summer in the Hamptons, drink Bloody Mary's, and play lacrosse in my downtime.

J Crew sweater; American Eagle oxford shirt; Gap pants; Gucci loafers; World Market pearl studs

Maximum in cozy

Between the impending holidays, and housework, and screeching at boy B to for God's sake put some damm clothes on people can see you naked through our living room windows, things have been hectic. Sometimes I hate having adult responsibilities. There's nothing glamorous or carefree about making sure there's enough toilet paper and juice boxes in the house to coraling those evasive dust bunnies hiding underneath the hutch to worrying about whether the world will really end on 2012  (which might be why the hoarding of toilet paper is tops among my priorities.) Also added to my busy-list has been delving into my previously untapped energy source for exploring new thrift and consignment stores, and shopping like a maniac (sorry husband...it's for research purposes only; I can't exactly look slovenly and unfashionable in the pics I put up here on this blog now can I. My non-existent readers are relying on me.)

I'm sure everyone around me is plenty busy as well, what with their own errands and housecleaning and naked child-chasing and planning for the end of the world in 2012. That's why I'm to thankful for the blogsphere, since everybody can share and understand how stressful it can be just getting through the holidays without losing one's mind.

Yesterday I put the finishing touches on our holiday decor. There's still a towering mass of unpacked boxes in our storage facility (a.k.a garage) and wouldn't you know it, most of our crap was buried somewhere among the muck. I approached the mountain of boxes courageously, determined to emulate my idol Edmund Hilary. That bitch was gonna get owned. But after four boxes in and I slunk off, defeated. It was just too much. I did find most of our things and the house looks so pretty and festive. And I feel festive, imaginary readers! I want to sing (which I did in Wal-Mart this morning at Becky, that welcome Christmas song from How the Grinch Stole Christmas) and dance (badly) and throw snowballs (like a girl and miss). And eat lots of sugar cookies and get drunk on New Year's Eve. 

It was kind of nice to dress in something uncomplicated that didn't require much thought.

H&M poncho (Plat's Closet); American Eagle long-sleeve thermal; Gap gray jeggings; Justin vintage riding boots; ancient Gap belt

This poncho makes me so, so happy. It's warm. It's colorful. It can be belted in the most sloppy, haphazard way and still look great. It cost me $10. And it goes with practically anything - black jeans, gray jeans, blue jeans (can you tell I'm deeply missing my beloved jeans?), even a gray straight skirt (which is what I had on before the jeggings, but I decided it was a bit much for hanging around the house all day.)