{Almost daily outfit of the day} Pose 1.25.12

Hunt. Gather. Style vintage Jordache blazer; thrifted J Crew blouse; thrifted J Brand jeans; Old Navy belt; Dolce Vita wedges; vintage thrifted Coach satchel (win its twin in  my giveaway!)

I can't recall the names of the first personal style blogs I ever read. I don't remember the first posts I skimmed, or what the outfits contained within them looked like (though I am almost certain they involved Jeffrey Campbell shoes.) But I very vividly remember the bewilderment I felt. Who were these women with their penchant for posing in public? What made them drag their cameras and tripods or boyfriends or best friends out into the woods or parking lots or alleyways or abandoned warehouses to take pictures of themselves? What motivated them to do so? Was this vapid narcissism run amok or a new, revolutionary art form? What the heck was going on, anyway???

Yesterday I became one of those women. For the first time in the history of my blog, I left the safely guarded confines of my backyard for an alley with an even more interesting brick wall than I usually pose in front of. I ignored the curious looks of passerby. I gathered my strength, smiled widely, posed, and got the hell out of there. It felt curiously great.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Ode to a vintage sequin jacket 1.16.12

Buffalo Exchange vintage sequin jacket: thrifted J Brand jeans; thrifted Gap long-sleeved tee; Dolce Vita ankle boots; Bloom clutch

Dear vintage sequin jacket,

We met innocently enough. It was an unusually warm January day, leading a girl to dream of picnics and leisurely strolls through the park. I was wandering through Buffalo Exchange, browsing through racks of mini dresses, sheer metallic blouses, silk tunics, plush vintage furs and crushed velvet overalls when my hand brushed against your embellished sleeve. You winked at me knowingly, sequins reflecting the bright overhead light.You knew I would have a difficult time resisting you. I examined your rows of white bugle beads and tiny embroidered sequin flowers. I was entranced by your delicate lavender and pale green beading against white silk. We considered each other. I asked myself if I really needed another vintage sequin jacket. Were you worth $16? Did I even have room for you in my nearly overflowing closet? And what in the world was I going to wear you with?

So here we are together, vintage sequin jacket. I'm pleased with how you elevate an ordinary Gap long sleeved tee to something special. I'm glad you are in my life. I can't quit you, vintage sequin jacket. We were meant to be.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} English heart 1.9.12

Vintage thrifted blazer; thrifted cashmere sweater; thrifted J Brand jeans; vintage mink stole; Dolce Vita wedges; Rebecca Minkoff crossbody bag

I've never been to London. I've never explored an English castle or climbed into a crumbling 16th century turret. I've never ridden through the countryside on horseback, wind whipping my hair. I haven't taken afternoon tea in  Kensington's Milestone Hotel. I've never sat in a dark pub drinking Guinness (or whatever the English like to drink) while watching a rousing football match on the telly. I've yet to slink through London's snug streets at night, feet striding on weathered cobblestone. I've never caught a bus in Trafalger Square.  And I've never, ever eaten fish and chips wrapped in newspaper and doused in vinegar - the proper English way. Not even once. 

But I did borrow a bit of dress from the English today with my tweed blazer and elbow patches. My outfit might be accessorized by a New York accent, but my inner Londoner is quite happy, mates.

Almost daily outfit of the day: Post-cataclysmic dress 12.5.11

Lucky Brand jacket; thrifted Gap blouse; thrifted Joe's Jeans; Dolce Vita suede ankle boots; Old Navy belt;  Forever 21 and Charming Charlie bracelets

It's been raining for three days straight, the kind of cold, piercing rain that stabs straight into your bones and makes you want to hide at home in your sweatpants watching Anne of Green Gables all day. I am not one for rainy days. I think it takes a certain kind of person to thrive in them. These people embrace melancholy and live in houses with dark, heavy furniture. They drink a lot of whiskey, and listen to opera, and journal morose poetry about a post-apocalyptic world reminiscent of a Cormac McCarthy novel.

The same kind of cataclysmic, grim landscape that pervades this poetry is exactly what the view outside my window reminds me of right now. McCarthy's characters battle starvation and desperate, hopeless situations. They face cannibalistic hoards of nomads, electrical storms, and brutal weather. Stormy days aside,  I'm thankful to avoid such lyrical horror and cocoon myself at home on the couch, huddled in layers, glaring at the clouds rushing by. 

Almost daily outfit of the day: Southwestern drama 11.12.11

Vintage thrifted Wrangler shirt; Gap Outlet cargos; Dolce Vita suede wedges

November 10, 2011 6:10 am

A brief conversation with The Husband

Elissa is in the process of getting dressed. She walks into the closet off her bathroom and carefully chooses a recently thrifted blouse that reminds her of a Southwestern sunset. She smiles to herself, celebrating this recent thrifting score and imagining how the blouse with pair with her skinny cargos.

Husband sleepily enters the bathroom. His face is bewildered.

Husband: That's an...interesting shirt.

Elissa: What do you mean? You don't like it?

Husband: I didn't say that. (Uncomfortable pause) It's just interesting.

Elissa: (Slightly exasperated) You don't like it. Well, I DO.

Husband: Whatever. I've just never seen anything like that. It's vintage?

Elissa: (Defensively) YES.

Husband: I figured. (Gesturing wildly). Time out. Tap the breaks. It's a nice shirt.

Elissa blinks. One can feel the tension in the room, the physical reaction of Elissa as she stares at Husband pointedly. Husband observes insightfully that this exact conversation could have been had over any one of a thousand outfits over the years. The stare at one another, contemplating their next move.
 
END SCENE.

Yes, this shirt is the spirit animal of Wrangler and every horrifying 1980's trend. But I love it.

Almost daily outfit of the day: I'm back, y'all. 10.31.11

Thrifted J Crew denim jacket; Gap Outlet cargos; thrifted Gap Kids button-down; Dolce Vita suede wedges

DUDES. This is the HOTTEST OUTFIT EVER, amirite???






Bam. I just lied to you. I TOTALLY know I look like crap. This is far from my most inspired outfit. My eleven year-old could come up with something more fabulous, and she's a tomboy who has to be cajoled into brushing her hair . In addition, I'm pale. I'm pasty. My smile is forced. I look wiped out. And let's not even talk about my hair. But in my defense, this is the first outfit I've worn in a week that didn't include sweatpants and slippers. I'm not accessorizing with a clutch filled with Kleenex. And I'm not sprawled in a fetal position on my couch, hacking into a tissue and wailing that I am never, ever going to feel better.

People, pneumonia is nothing to joke about. There were moments in the last week when I was convinced, absolutely convinced, that I was GOING TO DIE. I pictured my husband coming home from work and finding my cold, lifeless body crumpled on the ground, kind of like that scene in Steel Magnolias when Dylan McDermott discovers poor sickly Julia Roberts collapsed on the stairs, her hand curled around the phone and a bubbling pot of spaghetti sauce boiling over on the stove and her beautiful, beautiful blue-eyed son wailing next to her, desperately pleading for her to just GET UP and take him trick-or-treating. (Just try to deny that this isn't the very saddest scene you've ever watched in a movie. Go ahead. I'll wait.)

I was NOT going to be Julia Roberts. No siree. So I sent prayers to the gods for recovery in return for things I was going to do once I got better, the kind of desperate promises you can only make when you're deep in the throes of illness. Such as, from now on, I'm going to take my vitamins. I'm going to get 8 hours of sleep every night. I'm going to work out every day, and avoid trans fats, and floss twice a day and watch more PBS and maybe even add some charity work because, what the hell, it can't hurt.

YEAH, I can feel your side-eye from here.

So bear with me here. Things could be a lot worse. This could be a photo of me hacking into a tissue. Be grateful that it isn't.


(I have an awesome giveaway coming tomorrow, just to thank you all for not deserting me during Pneumoina Germpocalypse 2011. Say tuned.)