{Almost daily outfit of the day} Stripes and sparkle 5.31.12

J Crew striped top; thrifted Bitten jeans; Nine West pumps; Forever 21 rhinestone collar necklace; thrifted vintage rhinestone necklaces; thrifted Michael Kors rose gold watch

Today marked the occasion of my oldest child graduating from elementary school. There was a fair amount of pomp and circumstance, along with a really sappy movie made by PTA moms depicting moments from the past year that I am sure was designed to elicit tears from parents. While most moms in the audience were wearing Nike Tempo shorts and sweats and tee shirts, I decided to throw on a pile of rhinestones necklaces and heels for the event. Because sometimes the simplest excuse to get creative with my outfits is the best.

{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} Stress relief 2.13.12

Thrifted J Crew blazer; thrifted vintage chambray shirt; thrifted vintage sequin skirt; Spanx tights; Urban Outfitters 6x6 ankle boots; vintage estate sale clutch

Last week was among the most stressful I've had in a long time. My husband was out of town for the week, eating lobster rolls in Boston, sleeping in, enjoying room service, and, I suppose, working.  My kids had a million after school activities to attend, including a two-hour class in which they're learning computer programming. They're eight. They're also nerds. There was thrifting, and household chores, and errands to run, and the final proof of my book to approve, and a dreadful elementary school dance on Friday with a fifties sock hop theme. You have not lived until you've seen middle-aged suburban soccer moms prancing around in ill-fitting poodle skirts. Trust me.

So when the weekend came around, all I wanted to do was sit in front of my laptop in sweats and indulge in a little Pinterest-ing. Okay, a lot. I pinned photos of Katherine Hepburn; kitchens with subway tile and exposed brick; twenties flappers in chemises; turquoise jewelry; and women in sequined skirts and chambray. Hence this outfit.

I wore this to eat barbeque with some friends on Saturday night. Wearing sequins while sitting in a restaurant full of grizzled men in Wranglers was a tad inappropriate, but I didn't care. Life is too short not to overdress.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Black and white and blue 2.10.12

Madewell sweater; thrifted J Crew cords; thrifted Gap button-down; Jessica Simpson pumps; estate sale clutch

Just last week, Dallas meteorologists worked themselves into a tizzy regarding our lack of winter. It's "the warmest winter on record!", they crowed. "Pack away your sweaters and boots!" they recommended. So many of us did. And this week, as if on cue, winter finally decided to show up. Fortunately, I had just bought this cozy sweater on super clearance at Madewell and it kept me warm throughout the day.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Kind of blue 2.6.12

Thrifted J Crew chambray shirt; thrifted vintage suede skirt; Hue tights; thrifted Cole Haan shoes; thrifted vintage Coach bag

In Greek mythology, the god Zeus would cause it to rain when he was sad and storm when he was angry. Because of this, the blue color of the oceans became related to to sadness. But blue is more than symbolic of melancholy. It's the sunny sky of a hot summer day. It's a pair of suede shoes immortalized in a rockabilly standard. It's a bucket of berries ready to bake in muffins, and the pale color of a newborn baby's eyes. Blue is commonly used in the Western hemisphere to symbolize the male gender in contrast to pink used for females, although in the early 1900s, blue was the color for girls (as it had traditionally been the color of the Virgin Mary in Western Art) and pink was for boys (as it was akin to the color red, considered a masculine color.

Blue is also the predominant color in my closet. It's a neutral, a color that seems to go with everything, and the color I reach for the most. This outfit might be the closest I ever get to monochromatic dressing. Zeus would be pleased.

{Almost daily outfit of the day} Five a.m 2.3.12

Thrifted vintage blazer; thrifted J Crew button-down; thrifted vintage Levi's (chopped by me); Target tights; vintage thrifted Coach satchel; thrifted Marc Fisher loafers

I have gotten into the bewildering habit of waking up exactly 45 minutes before my alarm goes off. I startle suddenly out of a deep sleep, glance at the alarm clock, curse, and implore myself not to fall back asleep because, well, what's the point. After which I naturally fall back asleep and have a hallucinogenic dream where I'm stuck on the 1 line of the NYC subway and am being chased by a man trying to sell me Anna Wintour's collection of Chanel twin sets. Maybe this is just what happens when you get older. Soon I'll be eating dinner at 4 pm, upping my fiber content, watching old episodes of Matlock and yelling at kids to get off my lawn.

{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} 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: M is for Missoni 1.2.12

Missoni for Target sweater; thrifted American eagle thermal tee; thrifted J Crew skirt; vintage Frye boots (eBay); We Love Colors tights

When Target announced their collaboration with Missoni back in the summer, I was flummoxed. While I hadn't been especially impressed with previous Target collaborations, Missoni interested me. Their luxurious knits and sumptuous patterns are quintessentially Italian. Their clothes seemed appropriate for a quick jaunt to the Almafi coast in a vintage Porsche convertible with a tall, dark, overwhelmingly sophisticated Italian man who speaks little English and has impeccable manners, the kind of man who opens doors for you and calls you cara mia and smells like the inside of a Ferragamo boutique.

This cardigan is the softest, best knit sweater in my closet. It fits like a dream. And while it came neither with a sophisticated Italian man nor trip to the Almafi coast, I love it all the same.

Product review: Polka dots from Happy Scarf!

Thrifted cardigan; thrifted Michael Stars long-sleeved tee; thrifted J Crew skirt; We Love Colors tights; Kate Spade boots (TJ Maxx)

Last week, Happy Scarf sent me two scarves to wear and review. I don't think I've ever incorporated a scarf into an outfit photo here on my blog, but trust me when I say I'm a big fan. When winter comes I seem to get a permanent chill in my bones, and winding a scarf around my neck is an easy, stylish way to keep warm.

I chose this fun polka-dot mimic cashmere scarf for my outfit photos and could not have been more pleased. It truly is as soft and cozy as cashmere, and when paired with a long-sleeved tee and cardigan kept me warm. For $12, this scarf is a great alternative to budget-breaking genuine cashmere versions. I also received a black and white skull scarf, which was much thinner and more lightweight than the polka dot, and better suited for warmer months.

Happy Scarf offers free shopping on purchases and returns every day of the year, and 20% off all new styles. I would definitely recommend their products. A new scarf would make a great holiday gift!

Disclaimer: I received two free scarves from Happy Scarf for this product review. I was not compensated for this review, and all opinions are my own.

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.

This week I thrifted: Pendleton blazer

Vintage thrifted Pendleton blazer; thrifted J Crew sweater; thrifted Joe's Jeans; Coach ballet flats

There are certain dreams I've held on to since I  left girlhood and became a grown-up. Some are small, like the ability to make it through a day without spilling something on myself, and programming the clock on my DVD player, and parallel parking without backing up on the curb or hitting the car in front of me. But some dreams are bigger. These dreams, the big dreams, are so big that I don't often allow myself to think them, much less pin any real hope on them coming true. They include things like having hair exactly like Zooey Deschannel's. And becoming an equestrian. And finding the perfect pair of jeans in just the right wash (slightly dark) and cut (slim, but not too skinny.) And finally being able to run more than five miles straight without dry-heaving. You know - the big dreams.

Since I began thrifting as a broke high school student, I've been looking for a white or off-white Pendleton blazer. The blazer should be single-breasted and shrunken; fully lined and made from a pristine wool; and absent of moth holes and stains. It should cost less than $6. And it absolutely has to be made by Pendleton, a brand I've long associated with quality, tradition, and Americana. This blazer has been my Holy Grail for twenty years. When I go thrifting, I often head straight to the blazer section in the vain hope that my Pendleton will somehow, inexplicably, be waiting for me.

This week I found it.

I suppose I should focus my energy on improving my parallel-parking skills now.

Almost daily outfit: A Vogue idea 11.21.11

Gap sweater; thrifted J Crew silk skirt; Urban Outfitters ankle boots; We Love Colors tights; Vintage Martini clutch

Last week I was invited by Vogue Magazine and Bramin to attend a sneak preview of a new store opening in Dallas. First of all, I cannot believe I just typed out that sentence. Never in my life did I believe I'd be invited by Vogue Magazine to anything, much less a new store opening. Suddenly I was Carrie Bradshaw, strutting through the front door of the Conde Naste building in excited anticipation. Carrie understood the magnitude of that moment. Her arrival at Vogue signaled that she'd found her way to her metaphorical home, her Mecca - Vogue, where she belonged. And now, the same had happened to me. Well, sort of.


When I received the email inviting me to the event, I had a very minor heart attack. What did one wear, exactly, to an event hosted by Vogue? I couldn't exactly borrow Carrie's gorgeous asymmetrical Vivienne Westwood suit. But I could put a newly thrifted J Crew silk skirt to use. I had a great time at the event, but the highlight was when the Vogue accessories representative complimented me on my neon striped sweater and clutch. Carrie, eat your heart out.

Almost daily outfit post: Girls just wanna have fun 10.8.11

Thrifted vintage bolero, $4; thrifted J Crew jeans, $7; Forever 21 black tank; thrifted Marc Fisher loafers, $12; Forever 21 bracelets

Last week, Good Morning America presented news segments organized around an eighties theme. They talked abut things like Reganomics and Wendy's 'where's the beef?' commercial and that terribly awesome Flock of Seagulls haircut and the wedding of Prince Charles to Princess Diana. But, unsurprisingly, the segments on fashion most interested me. As far as I'm concerned, the eighties were all about the fashion. This was a decade where everything went, from purple frosted eyeshadow that swept up to your forehead to acid wash jeans to bedazzled everything to blazers with aggressive shoulder pads. It was during this decade that I, a painfully awkward middle school student with braces and a (gasp) perm, begged my mom  for things like bubble skirts and scrunchie socks and neon anything and OH MY GOD, IF I DON'T WEAR GUESS JEANS MOM I AM GONNA DIE, LIKE, DIE RIGHT HERE ON OUR KITCHEN FLOOR.

While I was thrifting in the Goodwill the other day I came across this ridiculous cropped top from the same era. It's sequined and muli-patterned and looks exactly what I imagine a bad acid trip must feel like - the eighties personified. And I couldn't resist.

Almost daily outfit of the day: Hillbilly hell 10.6.11

Thrifted J Crew chambray shirt; vintage thrifted silk skirt; vintage thrifted leopard belt; H&M sandals; Charming Charlie and Forever 21 bracelets.

I did not wear this outfit today. No, I wore it last Thursday, when I received a call that my husband's car was disabled by flat tire, leaving him helpless on the side of a road somewhere near Tulsa. My husband travels for work. He's on the road a lot, schlepping back and forth from our tidy little suburban house in Dallas to the wilds of Oklahoma, where the accents are so thick you could spread them on toast. While he is always able to stay cool and calm in the face of a crisis (which I must admit irritates the CRAP out of me) I do not. Nope. I freak out. My imagination goes into overdrive. Immediately, I pictured him sitting roadside on a dirty patch of gravel, vultures circling overhead hungrily as he waited for rescue. Every pickup that sped by contained at least one escaped homicidal maniac wielding either a butcher knife or sawed-off shotgun, monitoring him, deciding whether he was worth a kill, which he was because he's a nice guy and generally a good driver and takes care of me when I'm sick and OH MY GOD I AM ABOUT TO BE WIDOWED. So there he sat, helpless and vulnerable, shivering (never mind that it was 89 degrees out) and praying for salvation. Or a tow truck.

In the end, he managed to get his car transported out of Oklahoma to a town forty minutes from us, and I picked him up. Apparently he made friends with a couple of mechanics and had a jolly old time while I was losing heart muscle with my worrying. Both he and his car are fine, and I've vowed to stop freaking out. For the rest of the week, anyway.

Almost daily outfit of the day: Vintage nautical 8/25/11

$5 Thrifted J Crew chambray button-down; $4 thrifted vintage skirt; $10 thrifted vintage Coach bag; Miz Mooz wedges; Charming Charlie and Forever 21 bracelets; thrifted Michael Kors rose gold watch

Every spring, stores become inundated with pieces relevant to one specific theme: nautical. Such as this skirt. And every spring, I scratch my head in confusion. I've always felt that nautical-inspired clothing belongs on blonde twenty-something East Coast girls with names like Muffy and Tinsley. These girls have vacation homes in Nantucket and drive BMW's and drink Evian and always wear pearl studs in their ears and started playing tennis when they were six. They date guys named Blake who went to Brown and are working as investment bankers or something pertaining to Wall Street, and spend their evenings at the club nibbling on vegetable crudite and watching polo. Or so I imagine.

I do have a bit of credibility regarding nautical wear, though. I've spent some time on Long Island. I've ridden on the Staten Island Ferry. I own a pair of earrings with anchors on them. And I was on my college crew team...though I might have been the coxswain (whose entire job consists of sitting in the front of the skull screaming at the rowers to stay in rhythm.) Okay, I was the coxswain. And it was awesome.

Daily Outfit 8/13/11

Thrifted J Crew chambray shirt; thrifted vintage circle skirt; H&M sandals; Michael Kors rose gold watch; flea market turquoise ring; Charming Charlie and Forever 21 bracelets

If you are a child of the eighties, as I am, you might remember a hugely successful, tongue-in-cheek tome called The Preppy Handbook. On the North Shore of Long Island, where I spent much of my childhood, this book was studied as closely as the Bible. Although it was written as a parody, it served as an accurate "field guide" to the dress and lifestyle of the New England prepster. Indeed, what made The Preppy Handbook so successful in the eighties was that it is simultaneously a satire, for those in the know, and an actual handbook, for those hoping to pass as socially upwardly mobile.  

While reading the Handbook, you learn immediately that being a prepster goes well beyond attendance at a private boarding school. You learn about their cars, colleges, clothes, food, jobs, music, pets, what they read and how they decorate their houses. (FYI: Prepster cars include BMWs, Saabs, Volvos, Land Rovers, and Jeep SUVs; pets are retrievers and spaniels.) Written in 1980, this work help launch the preppy craze of that decade and gave birth to the current preppy style among which many have chosen to emulate. No socks? Classic. LL Bean Rubber Mocs? Always, even in temperate weather. Lacoste, and turned-up collars, and madras shorts? All accounted for.

The Preppy Handbook is timeless. According to Wikipedia, its musings on young urban professional culture served as an inspiration to the founder of the J. Crew clothing line, Arthur Cinader. Cinader hoped to capitalize on the success of the book through the development of a retail empire based on argyle sweaters, chinos, and oxford shirts. The book also represented a resurgence of interest in 'preppy' culture that aided the growth of retailer L.L. Bean.

I did not go to boarding school, or an elite day school, but I was able to b.s my way into Hobart and William Smith Colleges (one of the exceptional schools for demonstrations of prep-dom). The lifestyle depicted in the book was as true in the early 1990's as it was when it was written. As a person who can admit to wearing topsiders to class, ordering chinos from the J Crew catalog, and going for a sail on lake Seneca, my college experience seemed modeled according to The Preppy Handbook word-for-word.

It's pretty obvious that I don't consider myself a prepster anymore.  But i kind of felt like one in this outfit. I automatically associate khaki and chambray with prep. I suppose you can take the girl out of Long Island, but you can't take the Long Island out of the girl.

Daily Outfit 8/3/11

Thrifted J Crew silk dress; White Mountain sandals; vintage estate sale clutch; Charming Charlie bracelets; Michael Kors rose gold watch

I go thrifting at least four days a week. On three of those days, I walk out empty handed. A failed thrifting trip is a bitter pill to swallow. I question the universe when those days happen. Sometimes I get a teensy bit angry. Sometimes I feel haunted by what I didn't purchase. Maybe I should have bought that neon plaid Chaus vintage maxi skirt. How could I have left that vintage straw hat behind? And what about that black fur-trimmed evening coat? HAVE I LOST MY MIND???


But sometimes I get lucky. Such as I did when I stumbled upon this dress at a Goodwill I rarely have luck in. It fits me beautifully and makes me feel kinda like a forties movie star, all glam and sensuous and cat-like. Thought I doubt movie stars would be caught in the Goodwill. But if I ever bump into one, I'll let you know.

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