Posts tagged ‘sunglasses’
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.
// photos by Emily Malan
Consider the Hybrid
Several months ago I caved and bought my first pair of leather pants. I admit they were a bit snug, but I wanted them to have that extra skinny fit. With a couple of wears and a few too many episodes of sweating on the subway, I was not only in love but convinced that all the hoo-ha about leather pants being the number 1 item women most regret buying was a misconstrued statistic. These edgy pants were comfortable, glorious and cupped my butt beautifully!
But then the worst thing to happen to a woman in skinny pants happened. As I was getting out of an SUV taxi in the most unladylike fashion — legs spread like I was doing a grand plié — I heard a ripping noise followed by a waft of cool air around my nether regions. Looking down, my $Did-You-Really-Just-Spend-That-Much-On-Leather-Pants? were split right down the middle. Thankfully this was a taxi ride home to my apartment so I didn’t have to deal with crotch-ripped pants in public, but I was devastated and mortified nonetheless. Not only did I feel like a hippopotamus but my beloved leather pants were done-zo. Finito. Tombstone ready. This is what all those women were complaining about! Their pants ripped! I’m convinced.
Fast forward a few months later and I came upon a pair of pants that were half leather/half leggings. While skeptic given my previous leather pants debacle, I decided to give these hybrids a go. With a wiggle here and a lunge there, I was in my new skinny fit leather leggings and beyond pleased with their flattering cut and pajama-like comfort. But the ultimate test had to be done because God forbid I rip another pair without the luxury of being so close to home like the last time. So, I turned my apartment into a mini ballet studio trying out grand pliés, grand battements, and just about any other “grand” movement I could think of.
After a good sweat and probably one of the better shows I have ever given my neighbors, I am pleased to announce that not so much as a seam popped. I have since worn these almost everyday and am also pleased to announce that they have barely stretched out. So, if you’re one of the women who curses the moment she bought leather pants or find yourself debating whether or not to take the plunge, I urge you to consider the hybrid. And much like a 1980s mullet or that time in 8th grade when you thought that if you only shaved the front of your legs no one would notice the hairy situation going on in the back, these pants are bound to make you look awesome from any angle.
// photos by Emily Malan
Heart String Band
Having been chained to my bed with a feverish mucous monster for the past seven days, my recent sartorial choices haven’t been, shall I say, “blog worthy.” Leggings and an oversize t-shirt, which I change out of only if a soup stain or snot dribble occurs, doesn’t seem like the kind of outfit updates you come here to find. So, on Saturday as I made yet another venture outside the confines of my duvet and six pillow mashup for more cough medicine, I slipped into a real outfit (including a bra!) to take some style snaps.
There are certain pieces of clothing that I obsess over so relentlessly that I don’t even get the pleasure of dreaming about them. No, these pieces pull so hard at my heart strings that they keep me up at night, taunting my mind with all their beauty and outfit possibilities. Miu Miu’s cat printed Spring 2010 collection is one member of my Heart String Band, and Stella McCartney’s latest resort collection certainly plucks at the base chords, but there are some members of this band that wear down my strings to a point that I can no longer take. Just like some dreams are made to become realities, certain pieces of clothing are made to be on my body, not strumming away at some ridiculous metaphor which I think I’ve worn out at this point.
At last this brings me to these Isabel Marant jeans. The first time I saw them I literally said out loud to François, “Hello, Goooorgeous” (for those of you who have seen the movie Funny Girl, you will get that quote. For those of you who haven’t, go watch it). But alas when the time came for these printed pants to hit stores, my bank account was in no shape to buy them. For months I watched them fly off the racks; I even saw a pair on the L train one Tuesday morning and considered offering the girl wearing them all the cash in my wallet, but I only had four dollars. So I let the tormenting dream fade.
But then while I was bopping around a cute boutique in San Francisco a few weeks ago, the owner and I got to talking about our shared love for Isabel Marant. It was then that I opened myself up to vulnerability and relayed this jean dream to her, praying she’d understand my pain and would at least empathize with me. But she did better than empathize; she presented me with a solution. She told me to call up Barneys all across the US asking if they had the jeans in my size. I gave the owner a giant hug and ran home to call every Barneys imaginable. And with just a bit of fashion fever luck I was able to track down a pair (on mega sale no less!) and have them shipped to my very own Brooklyn doorstep.
So you see, while my sinus headache may be keeping me up at night, I can rest assured knowing that the pair of jeans I was convinced I’d never own are now a member of my denim family.