{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: Holiday hysteria 12.21.11

Lucky Brand jacket; thrifted Target blouse; thrifted J Brand jeans; Dolce Vita ankle boots

The week before Christmas marks the official start of winter break for my kids. This means that they're home from school for two weeks, and I am subjected to conversations such as the following:

Jake: MOM! DID YOU SEE THAT COMMERCIAL FOR THE SKYLANDERS WII GAME ON TV???!!! OH MY GOD MOM I WANT THAT FOR CHRISTMAS SO BAD!

Josh: I WANT THAT TOO! Mom, we've been so good this year, we only got in trouble that one time we spilled water all over your laptop and it got broken.

Jake: But then you got a new laptop so it was totally okay.

Josh: And MOM! MOM! MOM! Mom, are you listening? Mom, don't forget I REALLY REALLY REALLY want that Bakugan set, you know the one Mom, it was SO COOL!

Me: (Reaching for the Advil.) Boys, Santa will be here in just four days. Christmas is going to be great. Let's talk about something else for a change, okay?

 *Extended silence.*

Jake: How many minutes to Christmas Mom? Like exactly how many? Because I HAVE TO KNOW.

You can understand my need for both a steady amount of patience and an arsenal of simple outfits this week. These thrifted J Brand jeans might be the best score I've made all year, convincing me that Santa works in mysterious ways.

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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: Country strong 9/2/11

Vintage thrifted Wrangler shirt; Joe's cropped jeans (eBay); Lucky Brand wedges; Buffalo Exchange bag; vintage thrifted belt; Forever 21 and Charming Charlie bracelets; Marc Jacobs watch

I thrifted this generously ruffled 1980's western shirt a few months back. Then I saw my arch nemesis Gwyneth Paltrow in Country Strong on HBO. These two incidents, I believe, are deeply connected.  First of all, I kind of have a secret fetish for western wear. A pair of worn out Wranglers, a oversized silver belt buckle, and a dusty pair of cowboy boots enrapture me. This shirt led to daydreams of racing horses around barrels and sipping beer out of the bottle in some honky-tonk saloon while Willie Nelson croons softly on the jukebox.

My friend Gwyneth has loftier fantasies, I'm sure. Country Strong had enough melodrama and full-volume diva-esque histrionics to blow even Burlesque out of the water. Paltrow plays a booze and pills burned-out country singer on the edge of collapse. Her performance largely consists of screeching, weeping until the eyeliner runs in rivets down her perfect face, and stumbling around in a drunken manner. But there's a lot to like about this movie. The very best scenes involve watching princessy Paltrow in hysterics, rolling around on the floor, grabbing for a bottle of booze and being mean to Leighton Meester (who's got enough of a case of mean-face herself to make you think she deserves it.) It's almost as crazy as watching Mindy McCready on Celebrity Rehab.

So I dedicate this vintage Wrangler shirt to you, Ms. Paltrow.  It might not have be included in your epic country tear-fest, but it was there in spirit. Minus the dripping eyeliner, of course.

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Outfit post: My stomach, myself

I was in the fourth grade when I first began hating my stomach.

It all started during a brief foray into the world of ballet. I was ten, just on the cusp of puberty, and approximately as graceful as a toddler. It didn't take long for me to notice how unlike my body was to my classmates, the winsome, delicate creatures who shared the floor. These other girls were whisper-thin visions of grace. They glided. They floated. They were long-limbs and knock-knees and bony elbows and protruding hipbones, pre-adolescent teacher's pets in pastel pink leotards. I wore florescent fuchsia and always had holes in my tights. And, even worse, I had a stomach. A stomach that jutted forward, straining the seams of my leotard. A stomach that tattled on my penchant for soft-serve ice cream cones. A stomach that stared back at me from the dance class mirrors defiantly, taunting me, comparing my tubby body to that of the lean girls around me.

I hated my stomach. I hated it for existing. I hated the fact that I couldn't suck it in. I hated that I couldn't wear crop tops. From then on, my stomach became the source of all my body hatred. This thing, this foreign sycophant-like thing, attached to my body, this thing I could not get rid of despite countless sit-ups. This stomach.

Over the years, as I plowed through puberty and adolescence and womanhood and post-pregnancy, my stomach became the first thing I'd check in the morning, and the last at night. The condition of my stomach defined my mood. If it was flat, I felt elated, confident. If it bulged, I felt defeated. During my darkest days of anorexia, I would lie in bed at night, hands rubbing my hipbones. They jutted forward emphatically, visible underneath my clothes, like two sharp handles. I was proud of those bones. But even then, malnourished and dehydrated and emaciated, my stomach seemed too big. I'd go through boxes of laxatives and diuretics to shrink it, eat minuscule amounts of food to eradicate it, and make it flatter and flatter. It still wasn't enough.

In the last two years, I have gained 30 pounds. This weight gain was necessary to restore my body back to health and reverse the heart damage twenty years of starvation caused. If I was going to live, I needed to gain the weight. And because I made the conscious decision to live, I gained. And, predictably, much of the weight traveled directly to my stomach

Here's the thing I've learned during the course of my recovery: Hating my stomach all those years didn't change a damm thing. I am not destined to have a perfectly flat stomach. I am never going to be one of those long-limb, lean creatures I see in pilates class, striding confidently in their booty shorts and sports bras. If I was going to recover, I had to let myself just be. I needed to accept my body just as it was.

Therapists call this the paradoxical theory of change. According to the Gestalt Therapy Page, “the premise is that one must stand in one place in order to have firm footing to move, and…it is difficult or impossible to move without that footing.”

In a lot of ways it makes perfect sense; when I hated my body so much that all I did was focus on changing it, it led me to beat myself up in ways that destroyed the intended effect. But when I started accepting my body as is, it allowed me to show my entire self – including my stomach – kindness and love. Which led to greater self-care.

If you had told me five years ago that I couldn’t change a thing until I fully accepted where I already was, I would have tried to get you some psychiatric help. But today I know better. I know that in my life, change doesn’t come from a place of self-hatred, but rather from a place of self-acceptance.

Rodarte for Target lace dress; Forever 21 lace crop top; Lucky Brand wedges; thrifted vintage bag; Charming Charlie bracelets; Michael Kors rose gold watch

Outfit Post: On self-awareness and being different

I am child of New York City. I rode the subway alone when I was fourteen. I know the difference between a bialey and a bagel. I can hail a cab in the rain like no one's business. And I'm a master at the fast walk without looking anyone in the eye because I'm very very very important, I have important places to go, can't you see how IMPORTANT I AM?

In the New York City of my adolescence, oddball and eccentric behavior was both welcomed and encouraged. I thought nothing of wearing neon fishnets under my ripped jeans and layering Catholic schoolgirl skirts with vintage lace blouses, leggings and Doc Martins. Conformity was a four-letter word, a disease best left to adults, or those that had the unfortunate condition of living in the (gasp!) suburbs.

And now, at 37, I live in the suburbs. I am nothing like my housewife neighbors, with their bedazzled capris and designer bags and bleached hair and penchant for gardening and sharing recipes and hosting Southern Living kitchenware parties. I stand out. I have bright red hair and an affinity for wearing vintage sequins while fetching my dry cleaning. I am pale, refusing daily trips to the tanning salon. Instead of scrapbooking and organizing neighborhood potlucks, I skulk around thrift stores. And I have many, many visible tattoos. I get looks when I venture into my suburban neighborhood - second glances, curious side-eye, or blatant, outright staring. And the majority of this eye contact isn't exactly friendly. A trip with my kids to the mall yesterday resulted in so much staring that I felt embarrassed, even ashamed, by the time I left.

It takes considerable courage to be different. Of course, being different extends far beyond what you chose to wear, or whether you have tattoos. Being different means embracing the opportunity to chose where your heart leads you. It can also include the freedom to start doing what you love, following the things you are interested in, and discovering the things you've always wanted to find. 

When I got home from the mall, I jumped on the computer to try and figure out others handled being different. I found that the key to embracing your uniqueness, the things that make you different, is self-acceptance. Self-acceptance means being loving and happy with whom you are NOW. It is an agreement with yourself to appreciate, validate, accept and support who you are, even those parts you’d like to eventually change. Self-acceptance is the willingness to embrace all the things about you that make you different, regardless of how you might compare to others.

When you lack self-acceptance, you’re more likely to struggle with low self-esteem, low self-confidence, and problems in relationships. The refusal to love and accept yourself might lead you to believe that you’re not rich enough, beautiful enough, loved enough, lucky enough, or successful enough. It might lead you to doubt who you are, and entice you into conformity.

Being different may set the stage for a lifetime of side-eye. But it's what makes you, you. You should be different. If there weren't people different from you, you would not be an individual.

So what makes you different? What are your quirks? Have you ever faced criticism for being different? Do you enjoy feeling different, or are you more comfortable blending in? Leave a comment, and share the things that make you different here!

Thrifted The Limited silk blouse; Gap bra; thrifted Escada skirt; Lucky Brand wedges; TIKKR watch, Charming Charlie bracelets

Everybody, Everywhere: Lace (with an exploration of celebrity culture and sartorial choice)

Back in March, People StyleWatch editor Susan Kaufman presented the results of a study of 2,000 women ages 18 to 49, regarding how celebrity style influences their own dressing habits. Three-quarters of women admitted to getting ideas of how to dress from celebrities, while two-thirds said they get ideas of how to dress from celebrities over runway models. Three-quarters of the women also said they would spend more for something if they see a celebrity wearing that item. This is especially true for jeans, since expensive jeans (say, $250) are never going to be as expensive as designer handbags (say, $1,400). "They will pay more for premium denim if they see a celebrity wearing it," Kaufman said. But the female psyche's connection to denim goes deeper than that, it seems:

“Some 48 percent of women said they are more excited getting jeans on sale than having sex,” she said.

The survey went on to uncover more about the style habits of the poll participants. 75% of women admitted they directly copy celebrity styles, while 67% said they get wardrobe inspiration from celebs over runway models. 75% also said they would be willing to pay more for an item if they catch a celebrity wearing it.

It's true that I was left agape over the fact that half of the women surveyed valued a sale price on jeans over an orgasm. As a self-declared cheapskate and thriftaholic, I've well aware of the euphoric high one can get when you uncover a great pair of jeans for substantially less than retail price. But I was more struck by the considerable influence celebrity culture has over personal style.

In a society that largely obsesses about entertainment and celebrity culture, celebrities can have a powerful impact on a person's life. From fashion trends to political views, the attractiveness of a celebrity's lifestyle can affect people's beliefs, interests and behaviors. Some historians credit the rise of mass celebrity culture in America to the early 20th century. Between 1900 and 1929, the entertainment industry in New York flourished through the emergence of different forms of entertainment, including opera, vaudeville, radio and film. As a result, many Americans became infatuated with celebrities and contributed to a new, consumer-based culture that continues today.

In addition, as the 20th century progressed, Americans placed less importance on the role of religion in their lives. The percentage of secular Americans grew by 110 percent between 1990 and 2000, while Christians only increased their ranks a measly 5 percent. Some historians believe that the worship of celebrity culture replaced the influence of religion, substituting wardrobe and wealth for religious relics. Neal Gabler, entertainment scholar, author, journalist and political commentator, writes in his book Life: The Movie, that American society sees celebrities as “icons on their way to apotheosis”, that we “seek . . . exegeses of their lives as if they are sacred texts” and revere “artifacts as if they were relics.” Britney’s chewing gum on Ebay, anyone? Furthermore, this obsession with celebrity culture often starts at an early age. Many children and teens are infatuated with young, pop-culture icons. They think of celebrities as role models and may choose to imitate them.

I find it fascinating that such a substantial percentage of women turn to celebrities to influence their personal sense of style, replacing it altogether with what the latest movie, pop or television star is wearing. It's not difficult to see evidence of celebrity influence on fashion trends of late. From the "Rachel" haircut of the nineties, to Rhianna's pointy structured shoulder pads, to Angelina Jolie's edgy glamour combining tattoos and couture, to Rachel Zoe's seventies-inspired flared jeans and oversized sunglasses, celebrities have been responsible for some of the biggest trends in the fashion world today.

You could argue that my outfit today clearly displays influence from a number of celebrities. Madonna's Like A Virgin phase popularized exposed underwear; the skinny cargo pants became last summer's blockbuster trend after Jessica Alba, Eva Longoria, and Jennifer garner were spotted in them. Armloads of bracelets are a signature Rachel Zoe look. And both Alexa Chung and Blake Lively have been spotted in lace dresses and blouses this spring.

However, the combination of all of the above is uniquely my own. I don't rely much on celebrity style - I certainly can't see it replacing my own sartorial choices. But popular trends spread by celebrity culture are hard to ignore. Now I ask you - are you influenced by celebrity culture? Do you ever look towards celebrities for style inspiration? How much weight do you place on trends embraces by starlets and movie stars?

Forever 21 lace top: Gap Outlet cargos; Forever 21 sports bra; Lucky Brand wedges; TIKKR watch; Charming Charlie bracelets; Forever 21 cross earring

Outfit Post: Confessions of a control freak

There's a long list of things I would like to change about myself. There's my tendency to procrastinate - folding the laundry and cleaning the bathrooms and vacuuming and carrying out a myriad of other household tasks. There's my propensity towards driving too fast on the highway. And let's not forget my intolerance towards people that bring more than 15 items to the express check-out line at the supermarket. However, if I had to name what I'd consider my greatest character "challenge,"  I'd say it's my need to feel in control. I go through life the way I drive: gripping the steering wheel until my arms get all scary and veiny and it looks like I'm going to rip the damm wheel off.

Those with issues around control tend to be described by the following attributes: They are dominating, and picky, and highly critical. They are raving perfectionists. They would rather give orders than take them. Someone with control issues finds winning an argument much more fulfilling than finding the right solution, and often makes the people around them anxious, if not alienated. Furthermore, those with control problems often have difficulty trusting others and have a profound fear of having their flaws exposed. Exerting control over our environment is a fundamental human need, but in a certain portion of the population, the mechanism for managing such a need simply doesn't exist. "Control freaks try and control every aspect of the environment," says executive coach Jon Stokes of Stokes & Jolly. "They obsesses. They try to assemble masses of information"

I rationally understand that it's simply not possible for me to always be in control. But more often than not, I find myself struggling to feel like I am. Whether it's insisting on certain seat in a restaurant (usually facing the front entrance, so I can keep tabs on anyone entering and leaving,) or imagining any number of horrific scenarios (so I can work them through in my mind and plan exactly how I'll respond,) my need to feel in control of myself and my circumstances has a significant impact on my life.

For a long time, my need to control was directed at my body. From the foods I put in my mouth to the amount of calories I consumed, I was most definitely in charge and no one - no one - could change that. Studies have shown that many anorexic individuals try to exert control over their bodies through deprivation of food, because they feel very little control over any other aspect of their lives.

But now that I'm solidly in recovery, my control issues squeak out through my shopping habits and wardrobe. I'm constantly in search of the "perfect" piece - the right shade of denim skirt, the sublime touch of a glossy fur, the preppy cut of a slim vintage blazer, the glistening sparkle of a sequined top - and having the perfect wardrobe. It seems I never have the right items to make an outfit look, well, perfect. Nevermind the fact that my closet door is bursting off its hinges. I am convinced that if I keep shopping, and searching, somehow I'll get it right. And if I'm not shopping I'm reorganizing my closet, purging and categorizing and color-coding every item I own. When I feel my life is out of control, this is my self-soothing mechanism. I can't control how often my husband is out of town for work or what my kids do at school,  so I attempt to ease my anxiety by obsessing about shopping, the state of my closet, and dressing "perfectly."

For many women, the search for control is an anxiety management technique of choice. Focusing about what others are doing, compulsively trying make something perfect, or obsessing about appearance are ways through which we create a false sense of security in an unpredictable world. Yesterday, as I was reorganizing and editing and obsessing and categorizing my closet, I wondered if I was the only one who struggled with control issues.  The quest to make everything perfect seems to be something we all deal with at one point or another. Do you think there's a connection between a search for control and perfectionism? Has anyone ever called you a control freak? Do you have to deal with someone who fits the description? How has that affected your relationship?

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

Lucky Brand jacket; thrfted J Crew chambray shirt; Forever 21 lace top; Gap Outlet jeggings; White Mountain sandals; Charming Charlie rings and bracelets

Someone had a case of the Mondays

I am not a morning person. When my alarm clock goes off it induces a state of pouting, whining and depression akin to a five year-old's failed attempts to get candy. I snuggle deeper into my blankets, attempting in vain to pretend I have hours available for blissful slumber. I engage in luxuriant fantasies of having the kind of life where a staff of nannies is on hand to wake my kids, get them dressed and fed, and drive them to school. Like I am certain my arch nemesis, Gywneth Paltrow employs (read my rant against her here.)

Monday mornings are especially difficult. On Monday mornings, accomplishing my usual tasks feels like swimming through cement. And something always, always goes wrong. Monday mornings are when I discover we're out of coffee and that my daughter neglected to do her homework over the weekend. Mondays are learning it's 21 degrees out and forgetting to warm up the truck (leading my youngest son to declare that his bottom has turned into a butt-sicle.) Mondays are misplaced car keys and leaving the house without mascara and lipstick and sitting in an hour of traffic and not being able to find even one decent song on the radio. Mondays also involve stifling urges to bitch-slap that annoyingly chipper barista at Starbucks. I don't care if it's her job to be friendly towards customers, or that she's ingested enough caffeine to fuel the Space Shuttle. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE THAT HAPPY FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, IT GOES AGAINST NATURE. Mondays are going to the supermarket and forgetting to buy the most important thing on my list, like toilet paper. And coffee. And, worst of all, Mondays are always the days I bump into someone I haven't seen in three years and, of course, I look like crap.

So, on this Monday, I decided to dress simply. This vibrant red sweater dress is uncomplicated, comfortable and cheery. I love the quilting at the neckline, and it coordinates nicely with my freshly-colored red hair. (I also have the same sweater dress in cream - see it here.) Wearing this red dress makes me feel good, even without lipstick, coffee, and a warm butt.

Free People sweater dress; Michael Stars long-sleeves tee; Joe's Jeans jeggings; Frye boots; Via Spiga bag; Lucky Brand earrings