Posts tagged ‘blog’
Your Epidermis is Showing
Like bare arms and legs, your upper abdomen is going to be getting a lot of sun this season thanks to the spring 2013 runways. Now, if you were to take a survey asking women if they would feel comfortable baring a part of their stomach while wearing a dress or shirt, I guarantee that at least 70% would say “oh hell no.” Not only is the stomach one of women’s biggest “problem areas”, but it’s also an area we cover up for the majority of the year (unless you live in a bikini, in which case you are hereby excluded from this entire post). But before you turn your back on the trend, know this: revealing the upper abdomen — we’re talking just below the boobs — can actually be extremely flattering, and requires little to no work at the gym.
Unlike the crop tops before them, these upper torso cut-outs aren’t here to expose your FUPA. Instead, they show off the flattest part of your stomach, provide ventilation (the under boob sweat is one of my biggest issues come summertime and this nixes that whole problem), and may actually be sexier than cleavage. Should you be a man reading this right now, you’re probably thinking, “Sonia doesn’t know anything when it comes to sexy dressing.” And given my recent stint with gaucho pants, perhaps you’re right. But in the act of self-defense, I too think I am right.
The upper-ab cut-out leaves much more to the imagination than a J.Lo style dress or Lil Kim nipple pasties. While cleavage will always have a place in the world of fashion (as it should), this new epidermal focus is far more refined and elegant than a set of perfectly plump knockers pouring out of a strapless gown. Maybe not for the office or the first time you meet the parents, but for a summer party (like this very Memorial Day Weekend!), it’s definitely worth taking out for a test run. Also, for the record: bras are optional whilst going crop-top. Feel the freedom and find your own suitable cut-out dress from my picks below.
A Week in Review
Bags all packed and ready to go for Miami (bienvenido a Miami).
This was a short week for me as today, at this very moment, I am on a plane to Miami for my friend Sevan’s bachelorette party. Break out the strippers, matching bikinis, and inflatable penises! Just kidding. It’s not going to be anything like that. Anyhoo(ters), I’ve finally taken into account that we are out of the blustery winter season since I have not reached for a downcoat once in the past month. This naturally beckons the start of short shorts and rosé, and while I have yet to reach for shorts on a daily basis (let’s not get ahead of ourselves here), I have embraced the rosé season with open arms and an open mouth. Thankfully, I’m a teeny weeny step closer to announcing a big update on here (I’m such a tease, I know), which is grounds for celebration; therefore making my rosé intake totally appropriate. Right?
Cheers to the weekend!
My ‘Crushing Florals with Leather’ outfit styled for StyleCaster.
Rosé season is hands down one of my favorite seasons.
Finally! Supergas that are shouting “Sonia! Take us somewhere!” to which I say “Don’t worry guys! You’re coming to Miami!”
Compulsive book purchases (you can never have too many) hanging out with Seymour the Whale.
That’s My Name
Throughout most of my childhood I admired the Jessicas, Katies, Jennys and Michelles of the world. I wanted nothing more than a standard name; so much so that I named my favorite teddybear (who still sits on my bed) Sarah. I may have been given a different name, but there was no way I was going to let my teddybear grow up with the same frustrations. It’s not that Sonia is all that rare of a name actually, it’s just that people butcher the spelling and pronunciation beyond belief. Sonya. Sonja. Sonie. “Did you say your name was Sylvia?” “Hi Saaaah-nea, nice to meet you.” It’s SO-NIA. S.O.N.I.A. Dammit!
What’s more is that I was never able to find a snow globe, license plate keychain, or magnet with my name on it at the airport. I would turn those revolving racks around and around and around, passing all the Hillarys, Laurens, and Susans, desperate to find Sonia. She was not there. “Jesus” and “Daddy” were though.
It wasn’t until sixth grade that I began to appreciate my name. While I would like to say I had this breakthrough moment where I realized a name is only just a name and that I’m lucky not to be a Petunia or a Bertha, that didn’t happen. This is what did happen:
I was walking on Lexington Avenue with my Mom when we passed a store that had a particularly “mom-friendly” window display — think khakis, A-line dresses, and white patent-leather Mary Janes. I was in need of a winter jacket, so my Mom suggested we “pop our nose in” just to see what they had. I was not impressed. It smelled like an old woman wearing way too much perfume. The ivory white carpet was obnoxiously clean. And the store itself was all too quiet, which inevitably warrants the sales people to hover over you even if you tell them “I’m just browsing.” I was ready to give my Mom one big eye roll and stamper out of the store, but then she held up a black hooded bomber jacket lined with brown faux fur. What started as an eye roll turned into the same face I make when I see an overflowing buffet. My eyes open wide, pupils bulging, and my mouth turns into a giant, tongue exposing grin.
I floated over to the jacket to give it a proper inspection, and it was then that I saw my name. “Sonia”, correct spelling and all, typed up in capital letters on the tag. Holy penguins. That’s my name! Is this what they call fate? It must be. Just below SONIA was “Rykiel”, which at the time could have been a type of fabric or city for all I knew. My Mom told me she was a big deal designer, but since my designer knowledge didn’t go past the likes of Abercrombie and Fitch, I just nodded and said I loved it. I also said she was my favorite designer for about five years after that; though, aside from my gorgeous new jacket, I’d never seen another piece by her. It just made me feel cool knowing that I shared my name with a chic Parisienne designer. It also made me feel OK knowing that I would never find a license plate keychain with my name on it. A keychain? Puh-lease. Who needs some dinky souvenir when you can wear a dress covered in Sonias. You know?
Maje jacket | Sonia Rykiel dress | Prabal Gurung x Target heels | Bracelets by Hermes, Giles & Brother, BaubleBar, House of Harlow
//photos by Emily Malan
Camo Bo Bamo
Trends are bullshit. You know why? Because the minute you say “I would never wear that” you find yourself coveting a similar item only a year or so later. Case in point: the camouflage print. I can attest that back in the day when items from Delia*s and Abercombie + Fitch dominated my closet there were indeed some camo pieces, but it has been over a decade since I even considered wearing it.
Until recently, the print reminded me of my not so stylish pre-pubescent days where braces were color coordinated with holidays and butterfly clips surrounded my ballerina bun. But now I find myself strangely attracted to the print and its surprising versatility. Like plaid or pinstripes, camouflage can stand as well on its own as it can when paired with equally busy prints — i.e. leopard. And so here you see me betraying my previous sentiments of hatred regarding the camo print and wearing it like it’s a necessary staple in my day-to-day wardrobe.
This not only supports my initial statement that trends are bullshit, but also that fashion is fickle. One second you’re swearing off anything snakeskin and then you’re wearing gold snakeskin pants that Snooki probably wore in the first season of Jersey Shore. Oh fashion, you trickster.
Zara jacket & shirt | Hudson jeans | Schutz shoes | BCBG bag | Celine sunglasses | Kenneth Cole watch
// photos by Emily Malan
Because It’s Awesome
Each time I wear either this jacket or these shoes I get a variety of comments — some positive, some negative. For example, a boy once said to me in reference to this outerwear, “why on earth did you buy that?” Ok, a few things here. One: I can’t believe a guy actually said “why on earth” — I feel like only people who say “geez” or “golly” or “soda pop” say that. Two: do you really want me to explain why I bought this jacket? Because it’s a pretty uninteresting, anti-climatic story. So, I simply responded with “because it’s awesome” and walked away. (Jerk.)
Now, when I was younger (ages 5-24) a comment like that would have sent me to Insecure City where people hide in corners and try to blend in with the walls. But as I’ve matoooooored (that’s “matured” with an obnoxious accent), I’ve grown to care less and less about what people think in regards to my sartorial choices. Much like the belief that most people would rather be overdressed than under, I would rather dress like myself than try to blend in with the vanillas of the world. This is starting to sound like a preachy post, and though that wasn’t my initial intention I’m going to roll with it. You see I’m under the belief that if you feel like your look is a little on the “is this appropriate?” side then you should definitely wear it. So I leave you with this: should someone question your outfit or comment on its ridiculousness, tell them it’s awesome and walk away. (Cause they’re a jerk.)
William Rast jacket (similar here) | Splendid shirt | Moschino skirt | Tibi clutch | Burberry wedges | Ray-Ban sunglasses
