Long metallic leather gloves by Prada
$395 at bergdorfgoodman.com
31 October 2007
Her life, lips, hair, "figure," wardrobe and skin may be a hot mess, but BritBrit's new album Blackout is surprisingly "off the chain" as the kids on the Metro like to say.
And, in my opinion, the hot cut I've linked you to below - "Get naked (I got a plan)" - is its best offering. Granted, I don't really want to envision the Britney of today breathily "unhhh, unhhh yeeeah"-ing and moaning lyrics of more than questionable veracity such as I'm not ashamed of my beauty/you can see what I got and If I got on top, your gonna lose your mind/The way I put it down boy you know should be up.
But all that aside, the beats are wicked fun and Brit's part machine-generated, part baby-talk songstress-ing has never sounded more polished, packaged, and fingers-crossed, platinum.
So tonight, while I'm at home watching my munchkinbot open his Halloween prezzies and you're out getting your sexy ______ or slutty ______ on at a fantabulous costume bash, let's both be sure to listen to track six off the shaky but still reigning Princess of Pop's new album.
"Get naked (I got a plan)":
Sadie Hawkins Dance? Lah-dee-dah fourth of July rooftop cookout? Cocktail waitress taking a break?
For this woman.
30 October 2007
Wear clothing that is fitted, fitted, fitted. Not tight, but fitted.
Wear thick, footless tights (or leggings) under all your trousers and jeans
Just as a serious job is no excuse to ignore your appearance, neither is a drop in the temperature.
Over the past few weeks, I've received dozens of reader questions that in some way or another touched on the all-important and very timely issue of "how can I stay stylish when I'm freezing my funbags off?"
Before I present to you my own solutions to this fashion/function dilemma, let me first explain why you should trust my judgment on this issue.
Like many women with relatively low body fat, I have a serious circulation problem. The only sets of circumstances when the tip of my nose, my fingers and toes, and those other two aforementioned lady protrusions aren't steely-cold to the touch are when I'm either (1) in the shower (2) in Thailand (3) in the UVA-free tanning bed or (4) as I am right this second, in my apartment in head-to-toe sweats with the windows tightly shut and the thermostat set to 82°.
In short, I get cold quickly and I get cold often.
Despite having spent the better part of my formative years in a state where Summer passes by in the blink of an eye and Spring and Fall are wafer-thin bookends to the fat six months of wretched, biting-cold Winter, I am no more prepared than any of you when the daily high dips below my minimally acceptable 7-0.
So, how do I live with what has been described by those who have shared living quarters with me as a frustrating, selfish, even invented condition?
In addition to replacing those individuals with a four-legged life partner who doesn't have the option of using passive aggressive sarcasm to get his point across that yes, the apartment is too hot and yes, I do realize the curiousness of it being July and I'm wearing wool socks to bed, I have four basic rules that keep me toasty - as toasty as I'm able to get, anyway - during those Fall/Winter walks to and from work and even more important, that allow me to maintain the fashion-over-function lifestyle I so strongly advocate.
More thorough explanations and recommendations for each coming later in the day...
29 October 2007
Though I'd like nothing more than to claim my post-work plans always include shopping and a neverending flow of Champagne with a boutique hotel backdrop, the truth is, I've never actually gotten my shop on while under the influence.
At least not under that influence and not in a public setting.
And considering I was able to somehow justify using both Bop's and Saks' 20%-off online coupons last week (for serious, I so needed a new black daybag) with nary a sip of the sauce, I think keeping my credit card and my beer bottle separate is in my holiday shopping budget's best interest.
But as we all well know, exceptions must be made, and if you enjoy indulging in some permutation of Champagne imbing, dessert forgoing (it'll be just after Thanksgiving, after all), clothing and accessory purchasing, blue leather furniture lounging, raffle prize winning, and my favorite, DC BFD watching, please to mark your calendars "TAKEN" for the evening of Monday, November 29th and come join the DC Style family and their fashionable friends from 6-9pm at the Topaz Hotel in Dupont Circle.
See you there!
28 October 2007
27 October 2007
26 October 2007
In my opinion, medical conditions aside, a three to five inch boost is always in a woman’s best interest. With legs lengthened, calves defined and confidence boosted, a woman in a pair of sky-high stilettos will walk out her front door feeling her best, ready to do her best.
That is, however, assuming she knows how to walk in them properly.
Like any daunting task, from speaking in public to making the first move on a smartly-dressed man 20 years your senior, learning to walk effortlessly in a skinny-stemmed high heel, especially in busy city environs, is no easy task. And while I applaud the many women in DC who seem to be working toward this goal by wearing what I like to call “training heels” (i.e., the sturdy, one-inch block-heeled pumps pictured above), I’ve come to a point after seeing many of you wear this one-step-away-from-Plymouth-Rock footwear for months, even years on end, where I must ask the question:
Haven’t you figured it out by now?
If your answer is “yes…I think,” let’s graduate slowly to grown-up pumps with a wide-strapped Mary Jane, like these from Max Studio ($159.99 at heels.com), or a held-in-tight T-strap like these from Dolce Vita ($121 from pinkmascara.com). Either way, if you fall, at least your shoes will still be attached to your feet.
*for the DC Style version of this post, please head on over to their website
Since I don't (yet)
Etoile satchel by Elliott Lucca
Nedia jacket by Diane von Furstenberg
*wink to Hot Redhead Lawyer for showing me these
25 October 2007
Whatever the reason, whether it's them, whether it's you, whether it's timing or circumstances out of your control, when you can't have the one you want, the one you really want, the one you know deep down was put on this earth for you and you alone, the standard for what you'll allow to come after them is inextricably tied - and unavoidably lowered due - to the still-fresh memory of the one from which you were forced to walk away.
Put simply, you rebound.
And while this sort of relationship can work and has worked, for the most part, the allure of having something new and of being seen with something new, regardless of its inadequacy, will rapidly lose its lustre and thrust you head and heart first into one of those I'll-never-find-something-better phases.
That's presently where I am.
But it's not exactly what you may be thinking.
My heart is broken, yes, and I have been trying to move on with limited success due to both my unwillingness to accept the so-not-my-choice departure of "the one" and because of the string of vastly inferior replacements with which I've attempted (and patently failed) to fill this gaping void.
But you've got to understand, this one was special. Really special. I mean, how often does one find a perfect condition circa-1956 gold lamé cocktail dress with waist-cinch, pleated pencil skirt, and a gathered front and back deep v-neck plunge?
But the dress is gone. It's done. And I need to move on with the mindset that I'm no longer looking for another version of my perfect dress but rather opening my mind - and heart - to the possibility of falling for something completely different.
Maybe next time it'll be a silk burgundy sheath with cap-sleeves and a drop-waist. Maybe a backless gunmetal column gown. Who knows?
All I do know is that after having received in the mail yesterday my fifth nope-not-good-enough gold lamé vintage cocktail dress (very similar to this), I'm through looking for the perfect replica of the perfect past dress. In fact, I'm gonna stop looking altogether. Two episodes ago on Tell Me You Love Me, therapist May told recently single sex-addict Jamie that only when she stops actively trying to replace her former fiancé will she stop reaching for unhealthy, unsuccessful rebounds.
And they say you don't learn anything on TV...
Here below, exactly 13 months ago this Friday, my last evening with "the one." I can barely stand to look at it. Or my hair.
24 October 2007
And a couple of close-ups of her newly-slimmed calves (from running, perhaps?) and those to die for sparkly slingback, bow-adorned, five-plus-inch platform peep-toes...