I was doing my usual 4pm workday chi-aligning routine—popping barely unwrapped Dove chocolates and some dry-eyed unblinking browsing of cheap fast fashion websites while 5,000 different work-related gchats glimmered in the background—and I came across the most delightful curio:
A so-called “Foam Party Skirt” for $35 at Necessary Clothing that looks a lot like those gathered-waist crepe minis I’ve been seeing everywhere that I can’t stop thinking about (I don’t know what attracts me to the way a paper-bag waist looks on a lady but I fuckin’ love it, like on a borderline sexual level. An a-line skirt that comes in tight across the tiniest part of the waist and then flares back out under the ribcage a little oh my lord someone get me my smelling salts).
I also can’t stop thinking about how it’s called specifically a “Foam Party Skirt.” It says it’s made of cotton in the garment description (not that I’d be at all surprised/confused if it said it was made of 100% foam, because in this beautiful universe that is a complete, tantalizing possibility) so I guess here, “foam” is used as like, an illustrative adjective? The way there is a “Danger Zone” Romper and a “Space Cadet Bandage” Skirt (lol x2). In which case there’s some copywriter out there who, whilst, no doubt, sucking on a dick-shaped popsicle made of MD 20/20 in their lawn chair-cum-home office somewhere in Paramus, New Jersey, saw this skirt and said, “Why, this skirt shall be called “Foam Party!” Why not, why not? There must have been a Google search for “Closed-Cell Resin Celebration Jumper” and “Polybicarbonate Lazy Day Private-Part Covering Unit,” and, upon finding both of these clothing names already licensed to Express, the writer must have just simply taken a shot in the dark and gone with “Foam Party Skirt.” Why not? Why not.
I don’t know what a Foam Party is, even, but I sure hope I’m invited to one before I turn 30. And I hope the Foam Party someday takes Congress. And I hope someone throws me a surprise Foam Party for my birthday this coming year, which means probably that my entire birthday goes largely forgotten except that someone halfheartedly tosses a balled-up one of these skirts onto my doorstep with a note that reads simply, “Here.”
Is that photo shoot of Kate Upton boobing around in a zero-gravity simulator plane a Foam Party? Probably most definitely, yes.
I love this skirt. I want to wear it with a metallic spray-painted baseball helmet, a utility vest and a dream. It’s my Foam Party and I’ll whatever if I whatever.
Whoever named this skirt, thank you, thank you for your beautiful mind. Yes, I’m RSVPing. I’m here. I’m outside the door. I’ve got $35 and a zillion charmeuse blouses to shove into the waistband of this thing. Is this where I go for the Foam Party?
I’m not gonna do that bloggery thing where i’m like “sorry for my absence, guys, I’ve been so busy traveling across many Asian nations sampling local fare, shopping for new condos in desirable metropolitan neighborhoods, attending various fashion weeks, getting engaged and married, having 100 babies and working working working just totally hustling!” Because tbh—yes, I moved into a new place, yes, work has been busy, but also, mostly, I’ve been lazy, watching TV because I now have cable, and feeling general uninspired and malaise-y as this frigid winter crawls on and on and on like and endless snails’-pace flow of post-nasal drip.
What have I actually accomplished in my leave? I’ve gone to fuckin’ cute-ass apartment-envy toon-town with my Joe, that’s what! NSFW to follow, that is, if your work forbids cozy abodes that reek of love and IKEA an hand-me-downs!
The bones were there already—because we hit the fuckin’ jackpot with our new place and its renovated kitchenette, original clawfoot tub, stained glass-accented windows, cool SLIDE-OPEN WALL THAT DOUBLES AS A BEDROOM DOOR, and small “office” that we decided to dedicate to a life of walk-in-closetship. We spent a nauseating amount of money at target and ikea, which is so not ME (read: i never have nauseating amounts of money to begin with?) but it was 1) worth it because I haven’t felt this at-home in a home I’ve had since i lived with my parents and 2) good to get all the spend out of the way in the beginning, so now it’s over and done and I can focus on little fun things like, fuckin, trefoil-printed coasters.
At the risk of sounding like the narrator of a Canadian-based house hunting show, I have to say our apartment just has so much character, which is not totally uncommon in Brooklyn, but USUALLY comes at the expense of modern updates. Our place has both. The fireplace, prescribing to that golden rule of NYC lodging that ALL FIREPLACES MUST NEVER EVER BE FUNCTIONAL AT ALL, isn’t functional at all. So we shoved Joe’s little flatscreen into the fire part, and I went buckwild on the mantle.
The Fernet-Branca tin was a gift from a bartender friend, the flowers are plastic placeholders for the real flowers I keep forgetting to buy, and I solved the “are photographs from our real life tacky or endearing?” by blending in Joe’s and my favorite family pics with these letterpress postcards I got at IKEA years ago. Candles, for the first time in like, 7 years of my life, are used only for decoration and ambiance, rather than to mask an ever-present atmospheric haze of mad dank weed. The horse poster was only $12 at IKEA but I know will look way more luxe when framed and hung properly.
Finding good decor that isn’t too femme or masc is something I was kind of stressed about. I didn’t want Joe to feel like he was living inside a tampon garden, but I also wanted to flex the design muscle I’ve been pumping full of juice since I watched my first episode of Trading Spaces at age, like, 10. Horse print was the first thing we both were like ~yes!!~ and every time I look at it, I feel inspired to find more good-lookin’ stuff that toes the line between gally and boy-ey.
Another first for me—a room where the bed is the centerpiece, not smooshed against a corner in an effort to max-out every possible unused square inch of hang-out floorspace. Now we have a living room that is OURS, so the bedroom can be for the bed, and a few dressers. Symmetry is mine! The quilt was a housewarming gift from my mom, and I think that, like the horse poster, it’s stylish and unique without being ultra-girly (although Joe shocked me and earned like 10 bonus love points when he said he’d be cool with a paisley print here and there).
Quilts are flatter than comforters and duvets—an observation that you don’t think will be that noticeable until it, like, is. And I’m someone who’s all about over-the-top texturey fluff-ness when it comes to beds. To add some dimension to the bed in where the quilt FELL FLAT GET IT, I’m mainlining throw pillows in competing patterns. This is another way I’ve reached a compromise between feminine and masculine design—for every flowery pillow, there’s a BOAT ONE.
The Ladies Home Journal print is actually the cover of a 1956 issue I scored at an antiques market in Maine over the holidays. I bought two for $5 each, sliced off the covers and framed ‘em in $15 Home Goods frames. This one fell off the wall and its frame broke, so it’s posing here for now. My plan is to scour etsy or whatever for some mid-century dude magazine covers, and do something collage-y on a living room wall.
Our dining corner is moonlighting as a bookshelf for now as we 1) lock down a new bookshelf since we ~couldn’t carry home the one we wanted from IKEA~ and since we ~don’t have dining chairs~. The photos are Joe’s. They’re of Naperville, Illinois, which is important to him for I don’t know why, but I love they way they vibe with our old-timey-witch-doctor-sketches-of-flora-and-fauna curtain panels. The table looks like it has all this rubbed-off-white vintage charm but surprise, it’s just filthy and was very poorly spray-painted by URZ TRULY in 2011. Someday soon, I’d like to have four mismatched chairs around this sucker, and I’d like to re-paint it, and I’d like to eat real food at it. For now, it’s Seamlessing tikka masala on the couch, and tossing all my whatevers on the half-table.
Not a terrible life.
… we’ve been moving, work has been wacky, and my clothes just fully emerged from boxes like, yesterday. Stay tuned for more from meeee!
I have plenty of crazy piled up to share with you.
In the meantime, a photo of some photographer Alfred Stieglitz, who was married to artist Georgia O’Keefe, and looks EXACTLY LIKE MY BOYFRIEND BUT WITH A MUSTACHE!
Anonymous asked: What you do with hair tutorials I do with makeup tutorials.. "Just prime your eyes with something from MAC which costs more than my rent" yeah sure I have $50 to spend on thing I put on my eyes before the $60 eyeshadow...eat a dick.
Anonymous asked: Been a fan for a long time, I really love the blog! I figured you'd be the one to ask for cool leather jackets that won't be 100% plastic & won't require that I sell a kidney. Are they even a thing??? Thanks and congrats again, you're great!
Hello my dear little fawn! Thank you infinitely for reading.
You’re touching upon one of my ~~Fashion Pressure Points~~ with this question, so that’s great! I’m a huge advocate for holding out for leather at all times, even though faux is cheaper. There are a zillion reasons I feel this way, one of which is that I think I’m genetically coded to be phobic to all things leatherette. My mom made me this way—her credo has always been, never skimp on shoes and jackets. Namaste, mama. Other main reasons to go leather include:
1. Lasts forever. Leather jackets as a style are totally timeless—you’ll never find a time in your life when you’re like, ugh, time to throw this thing in the trash, what a waste of money! NEVER! I’ve had the same leather moto jacket since 2007, and it’s only gotten better looking over time.
2. Warmer and more breathable. Besides looking way too glossy to be natural, PU is super unbreathable. That’s why Payless-brand ballet flats make your feet smell like wet death. Faux leather jackets are useless in all weather—too cold for fall, and way too hot for spring/summer. You might as well be wearing a plastic bag.
3. Wears better. As I mentioned, I’ve had the same jacket for 7 years strong—by now, it’s super buttery, worn out in all the right places, nicely creased and still a compliment magnet. Ever seen a pair of year-old faux-leather shoes? Yeah, they tend to like, molt. And flake apart. Yuck.
The biggest sin of faux leather, though, is that brands nowadays somehow get away with charging over $100 for pleather jackets—AND IDIOTS LIKE, GO FOR THAT. Looking @ you, Free People, which somehow has turned the oxymoron “vegan leather” into an expensive and sought-after textile. It gets my goatskin gloves, it really does.
So good on you for seeking out the real deal. Now let me help.
1. Leather Biker Jacket, ASOS, $166
Damn this is nice. It’s 100% genuine leather, has that great ribbed detailing on the arms and back panel, and is under $200. I love the asymmetrical zip, and that it seems to be a perfect length—one gripe about my moto jacket is it’s slightly cropped, and depending on what I wear with it, I risk looking like a punk rock jellyfish or something if I zip it up, with my shirttails flapping all about. I kinda want this??? Also—black. You know what faux-leather is good for? Trendy colored pieces you’ll only wear for a season or two. If you’re getting a leather jacket, get black. MOREOVER, a friend of mine has an ASOS-brand leather jacket, and it’s great quality. Check here every season—they’re always upping their leather collection.
2. Stand-up Collar Leather Jacket, Billy Austins, $175
Dunno who the F Billy Austins is, but he knows how to make a nice leather jackie for cheap! Billy Austins for president! Billy2016! This jacket has a lot of character—some really cool seaming around the shoulders and bust, a cut-out collar that would look great layered under your wool coat for a super-textury blast of xtra warmth, and a clever little snap at the neck (IT’S DA LIDDLE TINGS!!!!). Shopping brands that sell exclusively leather is a good bet for when you’re looking for leather deals—they have sales too, after all, and when they do, THE SALE IS ON LEATHER JACKETS.
3. Vintage Biker Jacket, eBay, $50
This jacket? Is fucking? Cool as shit? Buying your leather vintage can get you a REAL slick deal, and if you’re the type of person who gets sad about slaughtering animals to wear their skin as your own, buying a jacket that was pre-owned and has existed on this planet long after the soul of its murdered animal counterpart has wafted into heaven is a feel-good way to circumvent pleather. You also get authenticity—A REAL 80S BIKER JACKET RATHER THAN WHAT SOME 26 YR OLD BUYER AT URBAN OUTFITTERS THINKS A REAL 80S BIKER JACKET SHOULD LOOK LIKE!!!—and the perfect degree of worn-inness. I’d suggest shopping IRL at thrift shops, consignment stores and flea markets rather than buying online, though. Vintage items can fit differently than modern-day stuff (read: bulky as shit) and vintage leather tends to smell totally INSANE, so it’s best to see it, try it on and sniff it before you buy.
Helpful? Hope so! All I want for this world is for every young woman to have one really cool, super rock-n-roll yet totally wearable 100% genuine leather moto jacket. Is that so much to ask? Oh and also no more street harassment. But if you get street harassed while wearing a leather jacket, well, that motherfucker better prepare to die.
Fashion tips? Shoe gripes? Biscuit trivia? Hate me? Ask me. Tell me.
Silk blouse, Joe Fresh Spring 2013, $20. Printed jeans, Gap Summer 2013, $40, Pink plastic necklace, Forever 21, $6. Green plastic necklace, JCrew Factory, gift from boyfrand, Booties, H&M Fall 2011, $40. Bag, Michael Kors Winter 2012, gift from mama.
Have I told you my thoughts on this winter? It’s ruining me. But I think I’ve conveyed this already. A writer knows when she’s gone too far.
The great thing about living in New York, though, is that seasons are a suggestion when it comes to dressing. I mean, every fuckin’ Februrary, they show the fall collections. WHERE’S THE LOGIC IN THAT AM I RIGHT (I’M A MIDWESTERN DAD). I saw a woman trudging in beige stilettos through today’s weather (someone put God’s slushie machine into a microwave and then threw a titanic spit ball on top and then put it in a nuclear reactor and then gave that whole thing to NYC). No stockings! Women wear crop tops to work here. There are no rules. There is one rule: if you don’t walk outside and immediately burst into flames, what you’re wearing is fine.
This means that I’m allowed to channel some of my spring things a little early, right? It’s that or I become a cutter. Your call, universe.
When I got these pants this summer (mom had them and I copied her—this is my struggle) I couldn’t stop imagining them with printed tops. There’s something so ice-creamy-good-yummy about putting print on top of print, especially with the colors of this crisp-nod-to-Lisa Frank silk blouse. It’s very I don’t care I love it crashed my car whatever. And I give myself extra points for pairing something with these pants that my mama would never do. #teens
None! Prob best compliment I’ve ever received tho, even though I owe it all to lighting, weird low-quality tumblr gif color distortion and the natural flush of a gal who was, moments earlier, sloshing her way to work through an NYC ice storm after a 7:30 am appointment with her gastroenterologist.
So I guess that’s the name of the color?
Anyway thanks girl. <3
The Netherlands Team Uniform for Sochi 2014
wait is this some kind of olympic inside joke? this looks like a stock photo for the search term “connecticut boarding school night classes for adults 2002” are you playing a sport or taking your night calculus exam and is this an international display of athleticism or the teaser for New York and Company’s fall 2014 line