Outfit Post: In which I wear a miniskirt, and commit a hideous fashion crime.

I am wearing a miniskirt today. I'm warning you at the beginning of this post in order to give you a moment to avert your eyes, and introduce the following: If you're over 35, a recent survey out of Britain reveals that no one wants to see you in a miniskirt. Period.

Yesterday my attention was directed towards a delightfully insane little survey regarding age-appropriate dressing, recently published in the Daily Mail (or the Daily Fail, as I prefer to call it.) If the results are to be believed, women over the age of 35 are committing fashion suicide if caught wearing a miniskirt. Quell horror! The study polled 2,000 women age 18 to 65 and found that "mini-skirts are a 'no-no' on anyone aged 35 or more," along with a slew of other cutoff dates, like no bikinis over 47 (unless you're Helen Mirren - when you look like this in a two-piece, you can do whatever the heck you please), no high heels over 51, and no leggings after 45. I might also mention that a similar study was covered by the Daily Mail back in 2007, though that study concurred that women over 28 are the perpetrators of fashion crimes. Apparently we've progressed a bit since then.

Caron Leckie, a nutritionist for Diet Chef (some sort of prepared-meals diet site, which sponsored the survey) told the Daily Mail, "It's up to individuals to choose when they should stop wearing certain items...Saying that, everyone wants to look the best they can and now is the prime time to get in shape for summer." Ugh. *eye roll* Leave it to a diet company to conduct a poll that has no other purpose than to make women feel worse about themselves.

Here's the full list of specific article of attire along with corresponding cut-off age:

* Bikini: 47
* Mini skirt: 35
* Stilettos: 51
* Belly button piercing: 35
* Knee high boots: 47
* Trainers: 44
* Leather trousers: 34
* Leggings: 45
* Ugg boots: 45
* Swimsuit: 61
* Tight vest: 44
* See-through chiffon blouse: 40
* Long hair: 53
* Ponytail: 51

Good lord. I audibly recoil at the mere thought of arbitrary rules restricting how women choose to dress and present themselves to the world. It's my belief that surveys like these play into the notion that women should cover up once they hit a certain number, as if a 34-year-old can rock a miniskirt like nobody's business, only to turn into a hideous freak the day she turns 35. They state nothing about the value individual choice plays into fashion; how a woman decides which silhouettes are flattering to her shape; and how fashion makes you feel.

Furthermore, these types of surveys reinforce the notion that women must have a mantra when deciding how to get dressed. The "no white after labor Day; no bared arms after forty" rules serve to limit and remind us that there are things we just shouldn't do. Women generations before us internalized these rules and bought clothes to abide by them. Dressing by the rules might have been an integral part of societal norms, but women may have missed out on wearing something they truly loved as a result.

Helen Mirren's famous bikini photos, and 47 year-old model Kristen McNemany's recent swimsuit shoot, demonstrate that the only thing that should influence a woman's choice in fashion is her self-esteem.When it comes to "age appropriate" clothing, perhaps it's not so much about numbers as it is about one's own confidence and ability to pull off trends and styles without looking like they are trying to be anything but themselves. This subject is so tricky that I actually tackled it before in a post back in March, though that was a more generalized discussion about dressing to stay young and not about avoiding specific articles of clothing. The Sartorialist blogger Scott Schuman once stated: "I don't believe in age-appropriate dressing. I believe in spirit-appropriate dressing."

What do you think? Any cut-off age that you particularly agree or disagree with? At what age will you stop wearing a miniskirt? Do you ever feel like your age prevents you from wearing something you want to? Discuss!

(Have you entered my giveaway for a gift bag and new bronzing products from The Body Shop? Enter here!)

Forever 21 striped tee; Anthropologie skirt; Gap sandals; TIKKR watch; Charming Charlie's rings

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: Abercrombie's tween bikini top controversy and me

When I was pregnant with my first child, my husband and I made a pact that we wouldn't learn the sex of our baby until he or she was born. Like many first time parents, we swore that we didn't care whether we were having a boy or a girl. "As long as it's a healthy baby, we'll be blessed!" we crowed.

Well, I was lying. Kinda. I really, really wanted a girl. I wanted a girl to dress in pink frilly clothes and coddle in a pink frilly nursery. I wanted to grow her hair out into teeny pigtails that would curl adorably at the ends. I wanted a girl to buy dolls for, to read Babysitter Club books with, to spoil with Barbies and stickers and a pink bicycle and Bonnie Bell lip gloss. I imagined afternoons shopping together, accompanying her during mommy-daughter manicures, and giggling with her over pre-teen crushes. My daughter and I would bond over such activities, and be best friends for life.

Imagine my delight when I did have a daughter. And imagine my shock when she turned out to be the consummate tomboy. Becky is ten years old and couldn't care less about Barbies and shopping and make-up. Her favorite books are those in the Captain Underpants series. And forget about make-up and manicures - she has to be nagged to brush her teeth.

However, the closer she gets to becoming a teenager, the more concerned I become about the pressure girls feel to mature before they're developmentally and emotionally ready. We live in a world where the rush to grow begins shortly after birth. You only have to glance at clothing and beauty products marketed to children to see proof. Pole-dancing kits have been available in the toy section of stores, Hooters Girl in Training t-shirts can be purchased for toddlers, and sequined bras and spa treatments are advertised at shops like Libby Lu.

However, products marketed to pre-adolescents can still shock. Abercrombie and Fitch Kids recently introduced padded bikini tops for children as young as eight, igniting controversy among parents and the media. Originally called the 'Ashley Push-Up Triangle Top' (the term push-up has since been dropped) the nylon and spandex garment features padded cups and a string-tied top. Part of the Abercrombie Kids summer collection, it retails for $19.50 and is sold separately from the matching bottoms.

When reading about this late last week, I immediately wondered how these tops made it into stores in the first place. The very idea of a padded swimsuit for tweens is disturbing in and of itself. Sadly, this is not the first time Abercrombie has marketed a controversial article of clothing targeted at pre-adolescents. A range of thongs bearing the words 'wink wink' and 'eye candy' sold by the retailer for the same age group in 2002 sparked a debate, but Abercrombie Kids refused to recall the line. The company said at the time: "The underwear for young girls was created with the intent to be lighthearted and cute. Any misrepresentation of that is purely in the eye of the beholder."

Not surprisingly, consumers and bloggers have had mixed reactions to what some consider a blatant attempt to sexualize young customers. Parents have flooded the ABC Facebook page with comments after a segment regarding the bikini aired on Good Morning America. Babble.com bloggers posted that the push up bra is, effectively, a sex tool, designed to push the breasts up and out, putting them front and center where they’re more accessible to the eye. In an interview with the UK publication The Daily Mail, parenting expert Dr. Janet Rose said "If we continue to try to make our children value 'sexy', I shudder to think what damage we are doing to their future self-concepts and adult values."

However, a minority of parents are arguing that padded bikini tops are functional and far from titillating. One commenter on Jezebel mentioned that lightly padded swimsuit tops encouraged her to be more comfortable with her own developing body when she was a pre-teen. Others added that extra padding provides more coverage and helps prevent the see-though effect some swimsuits have. Argued a commenter, "Padding does not necessarily mean push up, and it also does not mean sexualization. Padding means that your nipples will not show through."

Having not seen the actual swimsuit in question, I am hesitant to offer an opinion regarding it. I have no idea whether the top is lightly padded for coverage, or heavily padded to enhance developing breasts. However, as a parent, I am aware of the need to distinguish the difference between healthy sexuality and sexualization. I talk to my daughter about what's appropriate to wear and what's not. And I try to set a healthy example of what appropriate dressing means. I believe it is my responsibility to monitor and discuss age-appropriate milestones, such as padded bikinis (and bras, for that matter) with Becky. I never want her to feel inadequate or ashamed of her body, and I hope frequent discussion between us will help her foster a healthy body image.

Now I put this to you: What do you think of retailers marketing padded bikinis and bras to tweens? Do you think tween padded tops are scintillating or vulgar, or do you see them as a innocent and functional tool for body acceptance? Do you believe it is solely the parents’ responsibility to monitor age-appropriate milestones, or does the retailer have a moral obligation to do so as well? 

Thrifted J Crew velvet blazer; thrifted gray Gap sweater; thrifted Loft shorts; Hue tights; thrifted Cole Hann booties; Forever 21 necklace; Anthropologie bag

And here's one of my beautiful girl before the daddy-daughter. That bow in her hair is an anomaly.

Valentine's Day lingerie: Take the sexy back

So Valentine's Day is upon us. I know this because every commercial on TV seems to be  1) advertising sparkly sparkly jewelery for that "special lady", 2) a food porn montage of chocolate indulgences, and 3) a creepy KY 30 second spot of a pasty English couple winking suggestively over breakfast. Not to mention the grotesque displays of cards, flowers, stuffed animals, and heart-printed crap dominating store windows.

But I have to admit that I love the holiday. I adore any excuse to be wined and dined and receive extravagant floral displays. I love hearing Valentine's day engagement stories, and catching a Lifetime Move Network marathon of cheesy romantic movie, and helping my kids construct cards out of stickers and Elmer's Glue. I even love those chalky conversation hearts.

Unfortunately, Valentine's day is also marketed as an occasion for us to dress like underage sex-workers. The holiday brings about an overabundance of polyester-blend, satiny, scratchy-lace embellished lingerie to department stores, discount stores, mall stores and catalogs. Seemingly every day for the last month, my inbox (and mailbox) has been flooded with lurid images of lingerie - pink French Maid's outfits, red and black teddy sets, and see-through negligees. There are "outfits" so complicated they practically require a master's degree in engineering just to put on, with open backs, halter tops, satin ties and wrist cuffs.

Let's take a closer look at some of these fetching ensembles:

This cut-out teddy is a study in geometry, perfect for that architecture or graphic design major.

Truss both yourself and that cornish game hen in this little concoction. Non-functional apron included.

This one is just plain confusing. What are we supposed to do with that continuous line from cleavage to crotch? Is it some kind of instructional device for men who cannot otherwise find their way to a lady's bits?

I understand that, for some of us, Valentine's is merely a day we're supposed to get laid. Pre-fornication trinkets in the way of perfume and candy and lacy strips of material are purchased specifically for this reason. I'm not opposed to spending money on a pretty bra and panties for the occasion. But when I do, I am clear that my comfort and taste comes first. Personally, I hate the idea that women are supposed to dress solely for the pleasure of men, in a uniform of black and red, sheer and lacy. I am sure men are as susceptible to social pressures as anyone, but, in my opinion, it's basically useless to consider what a man's lingerie preferences are. Mostly they just don't care, unless they're entertaining an adolescent fantasy inspired by late-night programming on Cinemax.

Here's my proposal: This Valentine's Day, wear what you want and makes you feel best. Maybe you prefer cotton boy-shorts and a white tank. Or perhaps you're more into silk negligees and thigh-highs. Whatever your taste, wear what makes you feel good - whether that means sexy, or comfortable, or ultra-feminine. Let's dress for ourselves first. Call it empowerment, or self-love. While it's good to pay attention to your partner's needs, it's even more important to incorporate your own. Because when you feel confident and beautiful, everyone wins.

You know what makes me feel my best? Not having plastic/metal/other stiff things poking me in weird places. Not having straps digging into my shoulders. Not having red marks on my skin from elastic bands. And feminine, soft, pretty outfits like today's. What I'm wearing underneath is for only me and my husband to know.

One Girl Who cashmere sweater; Gap camisole; Anthropologie skirt; Target belt; thrifted vintage boots; Nordstrom necklace

Getting over it.

So I have this coat.

This coat doesn't makes much sense in the context of the rest of my wardrobe. I own very few things with similar bold prints. The last time I wore something so vibrant was back in 1987 when neon and obnoxious floral prints were in fashion, Can't Buy Me Love was playing in theaters (the original, Patrick Dempsey version), and I stored my homework in a Trapper Keeper. I also had a rather unfortunate perm, watched Growing Pains, and read Teen Beat. A lot.

I was introduced to this coat during a random visit to a thrift store. It was in perfect condition, in my size, and the material felt lush and luxurious. I admired the piping along the hems, the bold colors, the silver embossed buttons, and the fully lined interior. It was gorgeous. And yet I wasn't convinced it was for me. Mostly because I knew wearing this coat would garner quite a few looks from the general public. Looks of the evil side eye what-was-she-thinking variety. So I decided to leave the coat on the rack and continue browsing.

While walking through the aisles, I thought about a recent conversation I had with my hairdresser. You should know that I hate making small talk while getting my hair cut. I want to relax, enjoy my scalp massage, and avoid awkward chatter about the weather and celebrities and other trivial crap. On this visit my usually quiet hairdresser shared some trouble she's having with her boyfriend. She's an unusually mature 21 year-old, and has dated a slackerish younger guy for three years. She's outgrown her relationship and wants to settle down with someone more serious and stable. But she hasn't broken up with him, largely because she's afraid of what her friends will think. She confessed that they think she's too serious. They tease her for being responsible and focused while they do beer bongs and stay up all night watching Gossip Girl on DVD. She worries there's something wrong with her because she's so different from her friends. Their judgment causes her to question her feelings, and to doubt what she really wants.

I could really relate to her. I spent years second-guessing my personal style, tailoring my appearance to better fit in with my friends and family. It's hard to be true to yourself when everyone around you seems to be in opposition. When I was younger, I often felt different and unusual when I compared myself to my friends. I put a lot of energy into oppressing who I was in order to please those around me and avoid rocking the boat.

Oppression is defined as "something that oppresses, especially in being an unjust or excessive exercise of power." It is also "a sense of being weighed down in body or mind." Psychology Today recently posted an article called The Oppressor In The Mirror, addressing the link between the power given to weight and self-loathing. But I can easily see a connection between dressing for the comfort of others and overwhelming self-doubt. The feeling that you're being controlled by the wishes of other people can lead to some pretty severe self-doubt and loathing. When you prioritize being liked over accepting who you really are, that's oppressive. When you spend more time worrying about protecting the feelings of someone else rather than making yourself happy, that's oppressive. And when you feel forced to wear argyle and oxfords instead of your Doc Martens and miniskirts, that's oppressive.

It takes a pretty brave and courageous person to go against the grain, whether it be through relationships or body acceptance or clothes. It took me a long time to understand that there is nothing wrong with putting my own happiness first. If people don't accept me as I am, they're just going to have to get over it. How I express myself through what I wear is my choice. Clothing (and cosmetics, hair color, and body modification) is an wonderful venue for self-expression. I like my unique look. I feel happy in bright colors and thrifted pieces. And I love my tattoos. So I'm proud that I bought this coat. And even prouder that I wore it in public.

Evil side-eye be dammed.

Have you ever felt the need to oppress your personal style to appease others? Have you made adjustments to your wardrobe in order to make others more comfortable?

Thrifted Sigrid Olsen coat; J Crew sweater; thrifted white cotton-down tunic; Gap Outlet jeggings; Kate Spade boots; Anthropologie necklace

The True Grit silhouette: Not just for badass 14 year-olds

Roseanne Morrison, who predicts fashion trends for The Doneger Group, says spring fashion will be inspired by True Grit. Morrison confesses that she isn't quite sure how it'll "play out, whether it's with gingham or denim," but agreed that the predominant look will be worn-in denim and florals, fringe, and gingham prints, with a distinctively western touch. Talking about the movie's influence, Morisson said: "The whole western, open-range denim story has legs. I think it's going to be impactful to the consumer, because they're still into a very strong casual lifestyle business. And(...)I think it resonates with the consumer."

I'll admit that I haven't seen True Grit. I'm not a huge fan of westerns, though I've managed to catch a few on AMC during commercial breaks of The Real Housewives of Whatever City They're Filming In. Westerns feature sideburned, dusty, leather-faced men who ride around on horses, get into gunfights at the saloon, and lustily kiss worn-out womenfolk. They're tough talking and broad shouldered, the kind of men who build their own furniture and drink whiskey and skin deer with bowie knives. Sometimes they're nomadic wanders, usually gunfighters or cowboys fighting to defend their own innate sense of honor. And they always manage to look devastatingly handsome in snap button shirts and buckskins.

But it is the women in Westerns that are the unsung fashion heroes. They are earnest and stoic in full skirts, faded florals, and lace-up boots; or rough and tumble in beat-up pants, worn down boots and long braids. Such is the look of the female lead of True Grit, Hallie Steinfeld. In the trailers, she glowers at her male counterparts in wide brimmed hats and canvas coats. Reviewers describe her character as tough, capable, and sometimes deadly, rivaling any man in the ability to shoot, ride, play cards and talk trash.

But enough about that. Yes to gingham! And prairie dresses! And plaid! And denim! Haters gonna hate, but I am all over that stuff. I scour thrift stores for old Gunne Sax dresses. Cowboy boots make me squeal. Grant me with silver belt buckles and tooled leather bags and I'll be a very happy girl. I felt like I was channeling some True Grit spirit in today's outfit. Hand me a six shooter and double of whiskey, and I'd fit in just fine. We'll overlook the tattoos for now.

Vintage thrifted blazer; Anthropologie skirt; thrifted Gap denim shirt; Gap tights; vintage thrifted boots

Catalogs: Living the dream

Vintage cars draped in Pendleton blankets. Sandy beaches with hammocks swaying in the breeze. A quick flip through a catalog encourages daydreams of living in these fantasy worlds. I squeal with glee at the the sight of a freshly printed catalog in my mailbox. I love them - the way sweaters and tees are stacked enticingly by color; the creative names for colors (beige becomes "beechwood;") the perfectly styled models gazing thoughtfully into the distance. I am not the only one in love with catalogs: James Stegall once wrote a sad missive to the ladies of Lands End. Each catalog has it's own distinctive style, marketed to a specific customer.

Victoria's Secret: Your apartment is so warm you don't need clothes, and every room includes a plush chaise lounge for napping and sexy time. Despite a closet overfilling with silk chemises and cotton boy-shorts, you choose to wear a boned periwinkle corset that is slightly too small for your heaving bosom. You like the feel of sand on your ass. I mean REALLY like it. Also, you have no nipples.

Williams-Sonoma: There is nothing you will not infuse in olive oil.

L.L. Bean: You live just outside of somewhere named Portland (Oregon, Maine, whatever.) You love wearing high-performance outerwear on your day hikes with your golden retriever. In the evenings, you curl up with the New York Times on your enormous red couch, wearing slippers made of boiled wool.

Urban Outfitters: You go to rock shows in your romper. Your apartment is full of sarcastic coffee table books and repurposed window frames , but you don't care because you are always a little drunk, and you look beautiful all the time even though you never wash your hair. Your boyfriend's t-shirt has a Midwestern state on it, and yours has a bird turning into a roller skate, and sometimes you trade and nobody notices.

Brooks Brothers: You are rich, Republican and possibly a little bit evil.
 
Anthropologie: You have a collection of first-edition Jane Austin novels. Your job involves traveling to Prague and being pensive in rooms. You have a wrought-iron bed. You know how to applique. You buy your art from Etsy. You own a cedar chest filled with heirloom lace. You wear a plumed fascinator constructed of netting and Victoria daydreams to dinner, and no one notices.

J Crew: Your luggage has been lost on your way to East Hampton or Côte d'Azur or wherever you are vacationing that weekend. You are left with only the contents of your carry-on bag: a few silk chemises, a bathing suit, 5 necklaces, a pashmina, two skirts, a cardigan, a pair of socks. In an attempt to make the best of the situation, you wear everything at once and belt it together. It inexplicably looks amazing. Also, you have lots and lots of money. 

Here is my mostly-cataloged outfit from today. I would fit in perfectly in Anthropologie's romantic, muted world, where models gaze wistfully from frosted glass windows and jewelry is glistening dewdrops of wonder. And I thought this blazer would be perfect for the latest challenge on Everybody, Everywhere.

Juicy Couture velveteen blazer; Velvet ruffled top, Anthropologie rufled denim skirt; Anthropologie tights; vintage thrifted boots; vintage thrifted Coach satchel.

Bargain shopping: Where do you draw the line?

I am one of those people who loves a bargain. Time spent digging through the racks of a discount or consignment store is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make. Unearthing a bargain causes the sort of high I imagine career drug users experience (not that I would know. The strongest drug I've ever used was nicotine.) I love informing someone that my Joe's Jeans were purchased during a particularly fruitful dig at the Salvation Army. I adore the look of respect, gleamed from a stylish friend, when I educate her on the origin and price ($10!) of my embroidered Anthropologie sweater (see below.)  I am almost haughty when examining someone's designer purchase, knowing that I would have paid much, much less for it than the wearer. Indeed, if discount shopping were an Olympic sport, I am absolutely certain I would earn a gold medal.

While I am proud of my ability to score a bargain, this knowledge often gets me in trouble. I have a really really hard time passing something up when I know it's a great deal. This might explain why my closet is crammed beyond capacity. Clothes are spilling out of drawers, shoved into storage containers, lurking underneath my bed. My skirts share hangers.  Belts are sexually tangled together in a hulking lump. 

I have a teensy bit of a problem.

Today I had a few hours to fill, so I tripped off to a newly discovered consignment store near my house. I was lazily thumbing through the racks when I uncovered a new with tags J. Crew Collection 3/4 sleeve gold waxed linen belted jacket (whew.) As an avid fan of J. Crew, I knew exactly what this jacket was worth: $275.oo. Price at the consignment store: $45. Score, right? Well, the jacket was a size large. I am not a size large. Moreover, I have absolutely no need for a 3/4 sleeve gold waxed linen jacket. I can't even imagine how I'd wear it, or where I'd wear it to. I imagine women who wear $275 gold waxed linen jackets pair them with diamonds and Louboutin heels and drink dirty martinis with blue cheese-stuffed olives and live in homes decorated by snooty men of questionable sexuality. But it was such a good deal. I'd be crazy to pass it up.

I spent a good twenty minutes examining the jacket. I unbelted it, tried it on, took it off, put it on again, preened at myself in front of the mirror. I examined the lining, the collar, the strength of the stitching holding the buttons. I could feel the salespeople looking at me, questioning my sanity. 

In the end, I decided that despite the bargain price, the jacket was not a financially reasonable purchase. Because I really had no need for such an opulent piece that wasn't even my size. My most expensive heels are from Marshall's. I hate blue cheese. And so my forty-five dollars would have been wasted. (If you're in the Dallas area and want to know the name of the store I was in, shoot me an email.) Will I regret passing the jacket up? Maybe. But I'm not sweating it.

This outfit? All thrifted. Damn proud of it. And much, much more me.

Are you a devoted bargain-hunter? If so, where do you set your limits?

Thrifted Blues Heroes leather jacket; thrifted Sleeping on Snow flutter-sleeve cardigan; thrifted Michael Stars henley; thrifted Seven For All Mankind jeans; thrifted Doc Martens; Urban Outfitters flower studs.

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

Childhood dreams, or why I dressed like an 80's power bitch

It’s difficult to remember my thought processes back from when I was a young girl. My loftiest dreams involved how many times I could swivel a hoola hoop around my hips, and little else held much importance. Times have changed, but it’s fun to recollect some of the simple things that I hoped for as a child.

1. A pantry stocked with sugary cereal.
2. A pony, preferably white.
3. A backyard.
4. A pink Powerwheels car.
5. A tree house.
6. A younger sister.
7. More Cabbage Patch and Barbie dolls.
8. Curly blonde hair.
9. A doll house.
10. Lisa Frank stickers.
11. Cable TV.
12. To have magical powers, i.e that I could fly and make myself invisible.
13. To grow up and move out of my parents house.
14. To live in California (I have no idea why.)
15. To be as stylish as my mom.

In my eyes, my mother's beauty was akin to Joan Collins and Debbie Harry. She was almost aggressively glamorous, and took trends seriously. She had trademark long burgundy nails, with lipstick to match, and wore eighties power suits with dangerous-looking shoulder pads, and straight high-waisted leather skirts. God, I remember those skirts - she owned them in red, cream, purple, and black, made from buttery soft leather, with a long back zipper and small kick pleat. Every morning, after getting dressed, I would perch on the edge of our bathroom sink and watch her carefully apply her make-up. I was fascinated just by the abundance of products - concealer, foundation, powder, liquid eyeliner, multiple eyeshadows blended to the brow, lipstick liner and lipstick applied with a tiny little brush. When she was done, she practically looked embalmed. But I suppose that was fashionable back in 1987.

I suppose I was channeling a bit of her in this outfit. My skirt and red lipstick are very 198o's woman :


Ann Taylor cardigan; Anthropologie ikiat sleeveless swing top; J Crew turtleneck, vintage thrifted leather skirt; Target tights; Justin boots; Hype bag, Forever 21 long rhinestone earrings.



What were your childhood dreams?

(And, can anyone tell me where I can get black opaque tights that are not shiny? I have tights from J Crew, The Gap and Target, and they all photograph with a shiny gleam. Help!)

My fashion f-it list

I always tend to engage in deep self-examination during the beginning of the year. In 2010 I accomplished more in terms of identity development and personal "work" than I ever thought possible. I feel stronger, and more self-confident. I fulfilled goals I never thought I would. If my life-spanning bucket list contained categories for personal development, I feel fairly confident crossing them off.

Oddly enough, in a reversal of the now increasingly common bucket list formula, one blogger has created "Things I would like to do, that I probably could do, but never will do." An f-it list, if you will. Because sometimes it's nice to say never.

Jill of Feministe's anti-bucket list includes such items as "be an urban bee-keeper" and "make my own ricotta." As Katy points out, many of these seem inspired by the "new domestic goddess/locovore/food blogger phenomenon" which can make one feel inadequate. So while one can admire these feats, sometimes it's a relief to just throw up your hands and say you'll never raise your own chickens.

It's actually a little hard for me to say "never". But there are a few things I'd be fine with not doing in my life. Into this category fall baking pies (it looks hard, and I think I'm just going to keep buying them); driving stick (these are on the way out, right?); and meditating (for me it always feels like scheduled worrying). I will also never swim with sharks and sting rays, and
never do anything EXTREME! like you see in Mountain Dew commercials such as jumping out of an airplane or mountain-climb or white water river rafting. Because I'm a chicken,

So, here's my fashion related f-it list. Feel free to judge away.

I will never:
- Get a Brazilian wax
- Own/wear sweatpants or booty shorts that 'say' anything across the butt (you know, like 'Juicy', 'hottie', or 'Pink'). My ass does not need a voice, but if it had one, the vocabulary would be much more impressive.
-  Stop wearing my Uggs (I don't care, they're comfy).
- Wear lingerie as outerwear. I'll save that for my husband, thankyouverymuch.
- I will never wear the suburban Mommy uniform of khaki capri pants with a floral empire-waist top and faux leather sandals or boots. Last year I attended every one of my kids's parent-teacher conferences, concerts, plays and art shows. Every time I was the only mom there not in this uniform. It was like being in some sort of Laura Ashley nightmare. They all looked at me funny. I've been a stay-at-home mom for over ten years and have never felt like I'm dressed properly for the job.
- Wear jeans so low that the straps of my g-string hang out. Ewww.
- Stop wearing skirt and dresses again.

 What's on your fashion f-it list?

Old Navy cardigan; thrifted Gap button-down; Old Navy skirt; Hue tights; Hue tights; Frye cowboy books; Target belt; Juicy Couture school ring necklace; Anthropologie flower studs.



Fashion-related ridiculousness, or why I forgo pantyhose

Back in August, The Atlantic's "Daily Dish" reader-question was, "What widely accepted practice, custom or societal norm do you regard as irrational, absurd, offensive, silly, nonsensical, counterproductive, or morally wrong?"


Writes Conor Friedersdorf,

Perhaps 200 people responded, and the most frequent answer was that it makes no sense to say "God bless you" after someone sneezes. Lots of readers also lodged complaints against eating meat, mistreating animals, believing in God, practicing organized religion, driving SUVs, and the societal practice of pairing off in monogamous relationships.

I love questions like this. They provoke me to engage in my favorite pastime - makings lists of things that irritate and antagonize me. Here my top five fashion-related things that I consider ridiculous, completely illogical, and just plain wrong:

1. High heels. Yes, I understands they make your legs look fabulous. But they shorten your achilles tendon, prevent you from moving as quickly and efficiently as we were born to, and HURT. No to high heels! (This largely comes from the fact that I can't even look at a pair of high heels without spontaneously blistering.)

2. I'll say it: female beauty standards are whack. The practice of shaving one's legs (and in recent years, the va-jayjay) started because the male facial razor industry wanted to expand its market. It's screwed up that society expects women to rid of naturally-occurring body hair, and considers them disgusting if they don't. To do this, most women take knives and tweezers to their skin several times a week. I dutifully get rid of my hair, too, and like the appearance of stubble-free legs, but that's one of the things that has always struck me as really weird when you think about it.

3. Bikinis. Not because I think they're morally wrong. It just baffles me that just because it's a different material, it's completely fine for women to walk around in public in what's basically underwear. But don't you dare show your lacy bra! Slut!


4. Pantyhose. Worst. Mechanisms. Of. Torture. Ever. Invented.


5. Thongs. If your pants are so tight that flashing the outline of your underwear though them is a genuine concern, then your pants are too freaking tight.


Today I went with a pantyhose-free, high heel-less, thong absent outfit. I did shave my legs, though. I might be bucking society, but at least I'm comfortable.

Anthropologie button-down; Gap camisole (underneath); Gap Out cargos; Forever 21 oxfords; Forever 21 necklace and bracelet