{Daily outfit} Woah, we're halfway there. 6.26.12

 Cardigan? Gap Outlet. Gap tee shirt? Thrifted. J Crew skirt? Thrifted. Wedges? Miz Mooz. Gold bracelet? Forever 21. Handmade clutch? Giveaway coming soon!

Like all summers prior to this, the days are flying by. The heat is oppressive, energy levels sluggish, and outdoor activities limited to swimming, frantically darting in and out of air-conditioned business, and evenings spent drinking ice cold beers on restaurant patios. It doesn't seem like autumn, with its blissfully crisp mornings, splendor of changing leaves, and pumpkin everything will ever arrive.

But arrive it will. School supplies are beginning to fill store aisles. Catalogs heralding next season's must have sweaters and boots are filling my mailbox. And in a few short weeks my children will be trotting off to school. Summer's long days are halfway gone. And I, for one, couldn't be happier - mostly because I'm frustrated trying to dress for the 100+ degree temperatures outside, and arctic air conditioning inside. Hence this outfit. Fall layers up on top, summer bare legs down below.

Are you holding your breath for autumn too? Or do you relish summer?

{Daily outfit} Point of view. 7.20.12

Vintage embroidered top? Thrifted. Jeans? Citizen of Humanity. Vintage Whiting and Davis bag? Thrifted. Belt? Thrifted. Sandals? Gap. Leather cuff and turquoise necklace? Thrifted

I'll admit that there isn't much about this outfit that makes sense. It isn't elegant. It isn't trendy. It's not preppy, or classic, or even definable. Some would argue that it's not especially stylish, either. At it's most basic, it's a medley of a few favorite old pieces I grabbed from my closet and a recently thrifted vintage bag. But truthfully, in this mixed-up hodge podge of an outfit, I felt the most me.

I've realized lately that I've gotten a bit off track from my personal sense of style. At my core, I'd much rather wear something unique that compliments who I am rather than what's expected or trendy. The gift of fashion is that it allows us to communicate our individual sense of style in a creative, yet functional way. We can be classic, or ladylike, or sporty, or bohemian, or experimental. We can be feminine, or masculine, or a bit of both. We can show a lot of skin, or cover ourselves completely. We can slavishly follow trends or reject them entirely. Whether we're rich, or poor, or something in between, the way we dress is a pretty incredible device for communicating who we are to the world.

One of the things I enjoy most about thrifting is that it allows me to wear things that no one else owns. Like this bag. And this blouse. It takes courage to embrace being different. And, even better, it's a whole lot of fun!

{Almost daily outfit of the day} On the fringe. 5.29.12

Vintage thrifted suede vest; Lucky Brand 'Indian' motorcycle tee; thrifted Paige jeans; Gap sandals; Urban Outfitters necklace; vintage leather cuff; thrifted Michael Kors watch

I see a lot of weird stuff while thrifting. Indian beaded, acid-wash cocoon jackets. Seventies plaid, fringed ponchos. Polyester jumpsuits with bedazzled collars. Floral shortalls and satin tracksuits and acrylic stripper heels. Most of these items make me inwardly cringe in a way only really tragic fashion trends of the past can. When I do drag one of these items home, they usually hang forlornly and lonesome in my closet as I try to figure out how to wear them before admitting defeat and donating them back.

This vest spoke to me when I was in the Goodwill the other day. It's suede. It's fringed. It's adorned with wooden beads and silver grommets. It would look appropriate paired with leather chaps on a Harley rider. It's strikingly different from anything else in my wardrobe. And it was marked down from $365 to $6.99.

I threw it on with a motorcycle tee and felt pretty hot. And I realized that sometimes it's fun to play against the rules.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} A hair don't 4.23.12

Thrifted Zara blouse; Gap trousers; Old Navy belt; Steve Madden pumps; thrifted vintage Coach bag; Forever 21 bracelets

I am at that uncomfortable almost-need-a-haircut phase that happens approximately four weeks after getting a haircut. This never fails to coincide with an perplexing increase in compliments regarding my hair, leading to put off the haircut much longer than I should. I spend an embarrassing amount of time debating whether I really do need a haircut, or whether I can stand feeling like a hippie for a bit longer. I suspect all us short hair girls go through this. Do we chop it off, or grow it out? Do we experiment with headbands and fanciful hair clips or go in for regular trims? WHAT IN GOD'S GREAT NAME DOES OUR HAIR WANT FROM US ANYWAY AAAAARRGGGGHHHHH???

I have an appointment for a trim on Friday. Which I will probably regret. But it's better than feeling like a hippie.

How often do you go between haircuts?

{Almost daily outfit of the day} In the pink 4.13.12

Thrifted vintage silk blouse; Joe's Jeans capris; Stuart Weitzman wedges; thrifted vintage clutch; 

Gap belt

Pink is the blush of love on a date. It's the soft bloom of a baby's cheek. It's the gentle sway of a peony and the sharp tartness of lemonade. Pink was the shade of my very first lip gloss, a sticky concoction named something like 'Razzleberry' or 'Flirt' which made me feel very grown up. Pink is the mouth-puckering sweetness of candy, the kind that stains your tongue and gets lodged in between your teeth. Pink is joy, and giggles, and peonies, and Barbie's corvette. It's a color that always makes me smile. In pink, I feel pretty, and lighthearted, and feminine and cheerful.

What does pink do for you? What are your favorite colors to wear?

{Almost daily outfit of the day} A short story 4.4.12

Fossil jacket; Gap plaid shirt; Gap Outlet cutoffs;  Miz Mooz wedges; Old Navy belt; thrifted Gucci tote ($17 from the Salvation Army); Forever 21 and Neiman Marcus bracelets; thrifted Michael Kors watch

You might have heard about the tornadoes that tore through south and west Dallas yesterday. I was at home, hot gluing gold braiding on a thrifted navy suit for a Robert E Lee costume for one of my twins. Then I saw this pic come across my twitter feed:

There are two things that happen when you learn about tornadoes located a short distance from your house. First, you FREAK THE HELL OUT. Then you hyperventilate, hysterically text your husband (who isn't helping by being out of town. Thanks a lot, husband), obsessively watch the news, and madly clean out your coat closet which will serve as a makeshift tornado shelter and is crammed full of random things like baseball bats and tennis balls and wool coats and hangers and scarves and OH MY GOD WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE SAVE YOURSELF AAAARRRRRGGHHHHH.

Today, having faced my imminent death and survived to tell about it, I wore shorts. I hate wearing shorts. But when you've sailed through a terrifying crisis like a tornado outbreak, shorts don't seem that bad.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Belted. 4.2.12

Thrifted Anthropologie tunic; Gap legging jeans; Gap belt; Zara sandals; thrifted vintage Coach bag; Forever 21 bracelets; thrifted Michael Kors rose gold watch

I was laid out with a pretty terrific allergic attack this weekend. I use the word "terrific" ironically because there was nothing terrific about it. I didn't want to get off the couch. I didn't want to get dressed. I didn't want to do anything except whine and grouch and watch Midnight In Paris over and over again while lamenting the insulting way Rachel McAdams' character behaves towards Owen Wilson's. When it finally became time for me to get out of my sweats, I found myself leaning towards a belted tunic. McAdams wears a lot of belted tunics and dresses in the movie, perhaps as a juxtaposition against the loose chemises of Owen Wilson's 1920's love interest and a nod towards her uptight personality.

Whatever the reason, I'd have to say this outfit is one of my favorites. Runny nose notwithstanding.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Twinkle 3.22.12

Thrifted J Crew blazer; thrifted J Crew button down; beat up thrifted Seven For All Mankind jeans; Gap belt (clearance); Nine West pumps; estate sale clutch; Forever 21 rhinestone collar necklace

The other day, while embarking on a laborious mission to clean out my closet, I stumbled upon a photograph of myself at six years old. I am costumed in a stiff mint green tutu and shimmering leotard, rosy cheeked and sweaty, grinning maniacally at the camera. Rows of silver sequins and rhinestones dance around my waist. This photo is all that remains of my brief, yet illustrious career as a childhood tap student. Lacking both talent and equilibrium, I was the type of dancer who careened into walls and refused to practice and preferred to hide in the back of the class, chewing on my hair. I confess that my only impetus for sticking with those long, arduous classes was the opportunity to wear that recital costume. Silver and rhinestones were, and continue to be, hard to resist.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} In the trenches 3.20.12

Thrifted Norma Kamali trench coat; Gap Outlet jeans; thrifted Gap chambray blouse; Ellen Tracy heels; thrifted Coach "Willis' satchel; Old Navy belt; Forever 21 bracelets

I want you all to know that I tried very hard to prevent this post from dissolving into a discussion about Downton Abbey, but I am so obsessed with that show that I could not continue without it. I am convinced that Netflix added Downton Abby because they're planning to take over the world while the rest of us get nothing done. If you haven't seen Downton Abbey, the show captures the behavior of an aristocratic family and their meddling but loyal servants against the rigid societal boundaries of the Victorian era. Today's photos, containing my recently thrifted trench coat, instantly reminded me of the intrigue and diabolical manipulation at play between Downton characters. Let's hope the show doesn't kindle a longing for corsets. That would be too much.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Simply pink 3.7.12

Thrifted vintage silk blouse; Old Navy jeans; Jessica Simpson pumps; Gap belt; Frye clutch; vintage rhinestone necklaces; Forever 21 bracelet

At this time tomorrow, I'll be hurling down the freeway headed to Austin for the Texas Style Council Conference. It's hard to believe that a year ago I was preparing for the same event as an attendee (and nervous newbie blogger) while this year I'm one of the co-chairs! I'm so excited to speak on the panels, mingle with designers and brand managers, and meet bloggers I've only interacted with on Twitter or through blog comments. If you'll be at the conference, please come by and say hi. I'd love to meet you!

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Cherry ice 2.8.12

Thrifted Calvin Klein blazer; thrifted vintage silk blouse; Gap legging jeans; Jessica Simpson pumps; Vintage Martini clutch

It happened almost every summer afternoon. My friends and I were beached on the sidewalk, attempting to recover from hours spent riding our bikes around the neighborhood, tracing new routes and swerving into sprinklers. The air was sultry with heat, the way August afternoons get in New York. Rivers of sweat ran down our backs. Without warning, a hopeful chirp pealed through the air. Could it be? Was it time? Suddenly it emerged, with a trail of excited children behind it, a white knight sent to rescue us. It was the ice cream truck.

A beacon of joy to every kid on our street, the ice cream truck saved us from heat stroke and fortified us for continued adventures. My friends got strawberry crunch bars, and soft serve with sprinkles, and twin pops, and Nutty Bars. I got cherry Italian ice, the kind in the little cardboard carton with a wooden spork. It tastes tart and sweet and bright, like a cherry exploding on your tongue. Kind of exactly like my silk blouse looks.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Sure footed 1.30.12

Forever 21 denim jacket; vintage thrifted Wrangler shirt; Gap legging jeans; Target satchel; Jeffrey Campbell 'Lita' ankle boots; Michael Kors rose gold watch; Buffalo Exchange necklaces

As a child, I was struck with the terrible affliction of having flat feet. This meant not only a need for orthopedic inserts for my shoes, but truly ugly shoes to hold them. These were shoes my mom bought at Buster Brown - sensible, solid things that were the equivalent of wearing a station wagon on my feet and made me feel clumsy and awkward.

Fortunately, as a grown woman, my flat feet are no longer a problem. So I can wear the footwear equivalent of a Jackson Pollock painting without hesitation. These Litas are surprising comfortable and made me feel supermodel tall. Six year-old me would have been insanely jealous.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Coco crunch 1.27.12

Thrifted J Crew leather jacket; vintage thrifted Pendleton shirt; Gap legging jeans; Frye 'Heath' boots (eBay)

Allow me, for a moment, to pontificate on cereal.

Cereal is the world's most perfect food. Think about it. When you don't feel like cooking, cereal is there. When you want something sweet and crunchy, cereal satisfies your craving. And when you need a snack, cereal is ready to nibble straight from the box. A comforting beacon in a world full of complicated choices, a bowl of cereal will never let you down.

When I was a kid, cereal came in two options. There was the boring, tasteless, unsweetened variety that languished in the back of your pantry and needed to be doctored with a hearty dose of sugar and raisins and maybe even bananas to be palatable. This is where the Rice Crispies, Cheerios, Special K and Shredded Wheat fell. Then there was the sugary stuff. This was the packaged crack you begged your mom to buy, the kind with cartoon characters on the box and marshmallow stars and a toxic level of corn syrup and turned your milk an interesting shade of pink or blue. This was cereal so lethal it gave you instant diabetes and essentially turned you into a hyperactive brat.

I wasn't allowed to have those delicious bowls of chemical delight. No, I was stuck with Rice Crispies. I hated Rice Crispies, and I was insanely jealous of anyone my age who was allowed to eat the good stuff. I spent many a morning daydreaming about when I would finally be a parent myself, and thus allowed to eat whatever the hell I wanted for breakfast. I intended to stock my pantry with Coco Puffs and Captain Crunch and Trix and my mom wouldn't be able to do a damm thing about it. I would show her.

So what did I eat his morning, as I huddled in vintage Pendleton wool to chase away the winter chill? A big, hearty bowl of Rice Crispies. Because much like my outfit of oversized shirt, skinny jeans and boots, it's tough to beat the classics.

{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} The bee's knees 1.13.12

Gap sweater; Target long-sleeve tee; thrifted vintage wrap skirt; We Love Colors tights; Urban Outfitters ankle wedges

Bees are scary. Bees are almost as scary as a zombie apocalypse, or runs in your tights, or spending an entire day with a piece of lettuce stuck in your teeth without anyone telling you. Bees divebomb picnics and chase terriified children through parks and generally make summer outdoor activities miserable. I was stung by a bee when I was five. I had innocently plucked a flower from the garden in my backyard and suffered a sting on my palm. It hurt. It hurt like the white-hot flame of a thousand suns. Or at least I remember it that way. That bee sting left me forever wary of both insects and gardening, two things that seemed perfectly innocent prior to the assault. 


Worn together, yellow and black make my post traumatic stress disorder twitch. Nevertheless, this sweater is one of my favorites. 

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Flummoxed. 1.6.12

Thrifted Gap cardigan; American Eagle thermal tee; Gap legging jeans; Gap belt; DSW boots; thrifted vintage Coach bag

I tend to avoid waxing poetic about my clothes too much here on the blog. But today I would like to address the love-hate relationship I have with this cardigan. Wearing it demands the labor-intensive, fastidious, and specific placement of a belt to ensure the presence of my waist and prevention of unflattering bunching and resulting illusion of a food baby. Furthermore, the heavy wool knit demands a cold, blustery day to avoid sweltering to death. However, the cardigan's dreamy colors and cozy hug comfort me in a way few articles of clothing do. I suppose that in clothes, much as in life, you can't have it all.

Almost daily outfit of the day: Lists, vomit and a vintage cardigan 12.12.11

Vintage thrifted Montgomery Ward cardigan; Gap legging jeans; thrifted Michael Stars long-sleeved tee; Frye boots; Urban Outfitters necklace

I am a planner. I enjoy making lists and crossing tasks off as I complete them. I schedule appointments months ahead. I plan outfits days in advance and lay out my clothes the night before. I organize my day and stick to objectives with an almost militant precision. Spontaneous outings send me into a panic. No, I like things to be structured, predictable. This makes me feel like I'm in control of my life. Sure, it might be a sham, this feeling of control, but it works for me.

Naturally, when crisis comes, I find myself completely unhinged. Take this weekend, when one of my twins barfed all over my bed. A sick, vomiting child sends me into a panic, rushing to my computer for a obsessive search of symptoms on WebMD. Is it bubonic plague? A stomach virus? Dysentery? My mind spirals through a encyclopaedic, increasing terrifying collective of illnesses. What if he becomes dehydrated and needs intravenous fluids? Does he have an antibiotic-resistant super bug, like they showed on 20/20? What if he infects the rest of us? OH MY GOD ARE WE GOING TO DIE, A TERRIBLE DEATH WHERE NO ONE KNOWS WE'RE DEAD UNTIL THE SMELL HITS OUR NEIGHBORHOOD???

It helps to have a simple, comfortable outfit to rely on when I'm facing my imminent end. A vintage cardigan and weathered pair of boots is soothing, and when accessorized by a liberal application of hand sanitizer and Lysol, even better.

This week I Thrifted: Yellow corduroy

Vintage thrifted fisherman sweater; thrifted J Crew chambray shirt; thrifted Gap corduroys; thrifted J Crew boots; thrifted vintage Coach bag.

It's 1986. I'm in the sixth grade. I have long, frizzy hair that tangles into knots the size of my fist and a binder covered with Lisa Frank stickers. My class is putting on a off-off-off-off Broadway production of a play loosely based on Vivaldi's The Four Seasons (don't ask.) I have been cast as The Sun. This is the penultimate moment of my short, unremarkable theatrical career. I spend weeks memorizing my line, reciting it with the same vigor Shakespearean actors reserve for gut-retching, macabre soliloquies about death. This is a big deal. I am an Actor, and not just any actor - I am The Sun. This is my time.

A week before my performance, I am ushered into the girls room, where a shrill collective of PTA mothers have prepared my costume - a long-sleeved leotard, flimsy sheer skirt, and tights. All in yellow. And not a pale, delicate, dainty yellow. No, this is an aggressive, harsh yellow, the same shade used on street signs to alert traffic and painted on school buses to ensure the safety of children. There was nothing glamorous or regal about this costume. In the harsh light of the bathroom, it looked cheap and unfinished. Where was my crown of glistening diamonds, my scepter, my royal robes edged in sumptuous fur? Where were my golden slippers and dazzling rings?  And, while I was asking, what about my private dressing room, appointed with white lilies, diet Coke chilled to precisely 42 degrees and bowls of red Skittles?  This was an outrage.

I was instantly reminded of this incident when I thrifted these yellow corduroys this week. Corduroy always reminds me of school, with it's strong ties to chilly late autumn weather. And yellow triggers memories of my early theatrical experience, traumatic as it was.

Somehow I learned to function without my royal robes and luxurious appointments, and make yellow work for me. Perhaps that acting thing wasn't so bad after all.