The Forty-Year-Old Hairdresser

Okay, so when I said "blog post will come later today," I guess I actually meant "blog post will come at 2 in the morning the next day when everyone who might want to read it is asleep or doing something more worthwhile." Sorry about that.


My haircut actually ended up being a wonderful experience. I got side-swept bangs and long 1960's hippie layers from a hairdresser that I love. It looks great and now I feel kind of stupid for writing a melodramatic post about haircuts as capital punishment. But really, there is a reason for my haircut melodrama. Have a seat, dear Daddy Likey readers; it's time for a little story.

I always hated getting my hair cut. I dreaded the awkward banter, the hot hairdryer, the aftermath of finding tiny poky little hairs in my cleavage for days afterward (is that just me? yeah? damn.). For many years I went to the same hairdresser, a 40-year-old surfer dude with badly bleached tips who called all his clients "Babe" and who, perhaps because he lived in fear of being falsely outed in a profession overflowing with accurately outed guys, was the most oafish, crude, stereotypically straight man I've ever met. He would always insist on giving me 1980's news anchor bangs when I didn't want them and was generally horrible, but still I stayed true (the crippling fear of finding a new hairdresser can make people do some pretty strange things), until I went in for a haircut one day when I was about 16.

As soon as I walked into the salon, he looked me up and down and said, "Wow! Your legs look really hot in that skirt." This was creepy, yes, but sadly, it was within the normal range of creepiness that I endured every two months just to get a damn trim. As the haircut progressed and he worked on the news anchor bangs in front of my face, he kept staring at my lips and pretty soon he was saying things like, "God, your lips are amazing. You should totally star in a lip commercial." I had no idea what a lip commercial was and I was getting kind of uncomfortable, but my hair was half cut so I just said, "Umm...thanks." He gave me the lip commercial line one more time and I decided I was never coming back.

When it was all finally over, I got up, brushed myself off, and went over to my purse to get the check my mom had given me. When I walked back over to him, he swooped in for what I thought was his usual hug which I was desperate to avoid today. I tried to parry but he grabbed me in a passionate embrace and planted a kiss on my "lip commercial" lips. And not just any kiss. It was the frenchest of french kisses. Full. On. Tongue.

I screeched "gah! bleh!" and pulled away, literally threw the check at him (why oh why did I pay him for that??) and ran out of there. I got in my car parked a few blocks away and did that thing people do in bad movies that you think nobody does in real life, when they find out they kissed a man dressed up as a woman or something and they look in the mirror and go "bleeechhh!" and scrape their tongue off with their fingers for like five minutes straight.

Yes, as my friend Rachel so graciously pointed out the other day, my first kiss was a forced frenchy with my forty-year-old hairdresser. And that, my friends, is why I have haircut issues.

If you have a painful haircut experience (and really, don't we all?), let the comments section be a place of therapeutic sharing. It doesn't have to involve a sexual predatory hairdresser, it can be a crappy haircut (I once went to a place seriously called "Hack and Whack" and left with a rat tail, so I hear ya) or a horribly bad dye job. Whatever it is, we all feel your pain and we all want to hear about it.

P.S. Anna from Miscellaneous Musings, you left a comment hinting at your bad haircut history so I definitely want a story from you, missy.

Electric Chairs at the Salon?

Blog post will come later today since I'm going to get my hair cut this morning. I hate getting my hair cut so much that I feel like I'm on my way to the electric chair right now, but provided my salon hasn't installed electric chairs in the many months since my last haircut, I'll be back this afternoon to tell you all about it.

Midnight Snack at Net-a-porter.com

Net-A-Porter's current sale means that for the first time in recent memory, some lovely designer fashion items are getting joyously near affordability, and though I probably still can't realistically buy anything from there, the prospect alone has me ecstatic.

This is how good it is: When you choose to shop in the "Under $200" category right now, you can browse two whole pages of day dresses, one whole page of jackets, and, well, a brief search indicates that that's about it. But really, if you've ever visited the site under normal circumstances, you'd know that a mouseclick to the "Under $200" category back then pretty much generated a sympathy screen with the text, "Hahahaha good one! Oh. Wait. You were serious? Shouldn't you be picking up your welfare check or something?"

Anyway, here are some of the glorious things that, thanks to the sale, have gone from laughably extravagant to only slightly and therefore painfully out of my price range:

Ah, one of the cutest dresses I've seen in a long while. Love the detailing, love the cut, love the subtle jacquard print. I have these awesome ice blue tights that I would wear with this and black leather ballet flats. Tres chic.
Tibi bib front dress, now $171.

Ah, another one of the cutest dresses I've seen in a long while (is that phrase losing its power yet?). As you should know if you've been reading this blog with any attention or regularity, I'm obsessed with all things mod, so I automatically love any and all babydoll dresses. The fact that the rose pattern is incredibly gorgeous is just a bonus really. Even if this dress were printed with, like, high resolution pictures of medium t-bones, I would still totally be yearning for it (and actually, so would my brothers). But it is rather nice the way it is, don't you think?
Marc by Marc "can do no wrong" Jacobs rose print velvet dress, now $196

This dress used to be $500, and now it's $198, which is still way too much for me to spend on a dress that I would inevitably end up wearing to some sort of red wine, barbecue sauce, mustard and grease potluck (don't pretend you don't get invited to those all the time) and soil it with samples of each. But it's still very pretty and if you live the sort of life where you can wear white without fear, then by all means, purchase it, wear it, photograph yourself wearing it, and send me the photo so I may pretend to be you.
Jill Stuart "Delilah" tulle dress

Alas, how I adore this garment. I've stared at this dress on my computer screen for so long that Hollywood should consider making a sequel to Breakfast at Tiffany's called Midnight Snack at Netaporter.com starring me eating crackers alone in my computer room wearing a baggy college sweatshirt that would become iconic and later sell at auction to an anonymous buyer who may or may not be Victoria Beckham for $100,000 and god this is a terrible idea.
Tibi cotton print dress, now $119

And finally, the rare sighting of a designer jacket in the "Under $200" category:
So. Adorable. If I owned this, I would wear it over everything, even my iconic baggy college sweatshirt.
Milly lace box jacket, now $198

All at www.net-a-porter.com, or netaporter.com works too if you're averse to hyphens.

I'm in Vogue (a little)!

It is so amazing and wonderful that French Vogue just did an article about fashion blogs and profiled some truly fabulous bloggers. We're hittin' the mainstream, ladies (and some gentlemen too)!

While Daddy Likey wasn't a chosen one, the incredible Emi at Letters to Marc Jacobs was (quite deservedly so), and she happened to mention in her interview that this is one of her very favorite fashion blogs, which means there is now a link to Daddy Likey on the French Vogue website. I've clicked on that link probably 800 times so far, smiling dreamily and relishing the possibility that some extremely chic French Vogue webmaster looked at my blog for at least a few seconds in order to create this glorious connection between us. Maybe he or she liked what she saw and now reads it regularly? Maybe I should send him or her a BFF necklace?

It was perfect timing too. I was having a bout of low blog esteem when Emi told me the news, and it has rekindled my fashion blogging flame. She totally deserves a BFF necklace more than the French Vogue webmaster, huh?

If you are a Daddy Likey reader who does not yet know the joys of Letters to Marc Jacobs, you simply must give it a try; you'll never go back. Well, actually, I hope you'll come back. Maybe just go to both. Everyday.

The Toxic Designer Relationship: Are you afflicted?

So, every once in a while (by "every once in a while," I mean "everyday") I fall completely head over heels infatuated mega in love with a designer. This process begins in an innocent manner, with the designer making a collection or two of awesome clothes that I genuinely love, but soon the relationship inevitably turns toxic: the designer gets a little cocky and starts putting out some horrible things, but still I remain loyal and start fervently defending them to friends and family and myself. Pretty soon my friends get tired of it and move on, my family drops me off on the side of the road somewhere, and then it's just me, alone, shivering and clutching a dog-eared Designer Spotlight page torn hastily from InStyle trying desperately to hold onto the dream of my perfect designer.

One of the first times I found myself engaged in the toxic designer relationship cycle was in junior high. I used to love Paul Frank; I adored everything he made. I spent all my babysitting and birthday and Christmas money combined on Paul Frank clothes and accessories at Nordstrom, and so did everyone else my age. But then things started to turn bad. I mean, the Julius monkey thing was cute for awhile, but pretty soon it got a little tired, then a little obnoxious, then it was just ugly.


Still, I defended him to all my friends. I didn't buy as many Julius-printed boxers as I used to, but I still bought some. I gave Paul my total 14-year-old love and trust, and a year later I was buying monkey head shirts that I didn't even really like. I'm pretty much over him now, but I'll admit that even today when I spot a cheap leather Paul Frank monkey wallet at Nordstrom, I feel a pang of nostalgia for our beautiful and pure relationship from once upon a time. Compared to the high-end designers I'm infatuated with now, my relationship with Paul was puppy love. But it was toxic puppy love, a mark on the low end of the toxic designer relationship spectrum that fashion-obsessed women know all too well.

Now that you've heard my story, here's a handy quiz to find out if you are or ever have been involved in a toxic designer relationship. Answer "yes" or "no" to the following questions:

1. Have you ever bought something not because it was cute but because it was by your favorite designer and you could kind of afford it? (Give yourself two "yes" points here if you really couldn't afford it)
2. Has one of your favorite designers ever held a runway show that included huge martian hats or models wearing garbage bags or Spice Girl size platforms and you found yourself thinking something like, "Gosh, I never realized that trash bags could be so wearable!"
3. Do you refer to your favorite designers by their first names (Michael, Betsey, Marc, Alexander, Christian, Stella, etc.) and count them among your friends?
4. Were you a junior high devotee of Paul Frank, and still buy Julius shirts today?
5. Do you go to swanky websites and troll your favorite designers' collections late at night the way other people look at porn?
6. When you hear a story about your favorite designer being an ass to a reporter, do you explain to people that he's really not like that, he was just having a bad day?
7. Do you get jealous when you see another woman (probably Lindsay Lohan) wearing your favorite designer?
8. Have you ever bought something completely wrong for your figure (read: skinny jeans) just because a designer you love made them and you feel that he/she would never lead you astray?
9. Would you scoff at the shoes below if I told you they were Dr. Martens?

10. Would you yearn for the shoes above if I told you they were Marc Jacobs (which they are)?

If you answered "yes" to 5 or more of these questions, you are engaged in a toxic designer relationship. I don't really have any advice for you, since I'm engaged in about six at the moment, but if it makes you feel better, even bigshots are afflicted. Consider the incredibly chic people over at the Net-A-Porter designer shopping site. Their description of the Marc by Marc Jacobs collection includes the sentence, and I quote,"Marc Jacobs can do no wrong." Yep, sounds like a classic case.

Christmas: 1863

What I got for Christmas, in the form of one of those Civil War-era letters you had to read in history class in fifth grade:

Dearest William,
After the cold, hard winter, this Christmas was as wonderful a blessing as the appearance of a plump hare in a barren meadow. We enjoyed a fine ham and the children played hopscotch and pick up sticks and other Civil War-era children's games that come up if you google "Civil War era children's games". I am happy to report the holiday saw great gains to my shoe collection, with the addition of two pairs of glorious footwear--some sturdy leather boots and red suede high heels. I suppose if we ever make that trip to Aunt Beatrice's manor the heels will be a necessity, but I wore them out to empty the chamberpots this evening and found them quite impractical indeed! I was thankful to receive some warm tights, gloves, and a lovely soft robe for the wintry months ahead--they should make bathing in a freezing bucket outside a bit more of a joy. A globe-trotting friend brought me a splendid sweater all the way from New York City! I must say that although I sometimes find myself a bit envious of her worldly ways, I know a woman's place is in the home. She may give good gifts but alas, she will never know the true gift of life on the homestead. The family showered me with some magnificent means of amusement, among them classics such as Spice World and She's All That. And finally, I now possess a wonderful volume called Write Away that was recommended to me months ago by a very wise scribe. If only I had received a quill and ink to write with, as my last drops of pigment are being used to write these words. The ink fails me now but my heart will never run dry, dear William...
Cordially,
Beth

p.s. Pictures and details to come when I'm not pretending to write in a century that had yet to master indoor plumbing, let alone digital cameras. Authenticity people, authenticity!

Merry Christmasock, Lieutenant Dan!

Dearest Readers,

I am going to have to take a blogging break in order to finish Christmas shopping (pray for me) and to allow optimal time for eating Christmas cookies (pray for my waist), but I will be back on Tuesday and ready to blog like never before. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you all have a great holiday season and that none of you find yourselves unwrapping these:


Unless you want them, of course. I mean, maybe you celebrate a special holiday called Christmasock or something and it's a tradition and then, by all means, embrace the sock. Or maybe you're my dad and you just enjoy sensible gifts and wish your daughter would get you socks more often. Or maybe you're Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump and you always lecture your new troops about the importance of socks in Vietnam and come to think of it you're running low yourself and you'd love to receive some more so as not to appear hypocritical. Good god, the cookies are already going to my head. I better go.

Love times infinity,
Winona

Christmas on a Budget...Psyche!

I guess since I dedicated 500 words to The Slanket yesterday, I should probably post something incredibly high fashion and chic and out of everyone's price range to get my fashion blogger street cred back today. Hmm...maybe something like this:

Yes, the perfect last minute gift for every friend and family member left on your list--a $3500 Gucci tote.

saks.com

p.s. Remember "Psyche!"? God those were good days. I'm looking at you Millie.

Slankalicious!

I am cold. Mega cold. Like, Donner Party cold (too soon? no?). I just got back to Oregon from a four month stint in Hawaii, and I'm having a hard time adjusting from 80 degree humidity to 29 degree freezing rain and a father who believes our glorious home heating system was never meant to be used.

I was in front of the computer, shivering, wearing every item of clothing I own plus a tower of wool hats trying to find something cute to post today but feeling that nothing looked warm enough, when my 11-year-old brother walked in and said "Hey Nona, I found something you should post on your fashion blog." He was carrying a copy of PC Gamer magazine--a publication not usually known for its up-to-the-minute fashion coverage--so my initial reaction was "God no!", but when I remembered that just a few moments ago I had concocted a full and detailed plan for cooking our jack russell terrier (should the need arise) before realizing that the cold was making me completely insane, I decided not to trust my own judgment and invited him to show me his find.

Freezing fashionistas and videogame-obsessed nerds alike, I present to you, The Slanket:

It's a blanket. With sleeves! I know the name kind of sounds like a racial slur, and the guy in this picture is way too excited about his joystick, but, well, here, look at this picture instead:

See? She's warm. She's lounging. She's reading Us Weekly with ease due to the convenient sleeves on her Slanket!

PC Gamer points out that The Slanket would also work perfectly as a fleece wizard robe, which tells you a lot about the kind of people who read that magazine, but you know what else you could do in a Slanket? Blog! As I struggle to reach the keyboard over the 3-foot orb of layered down jackets I'm currently wearing, I think The Slanket might be the greatest idea in the history of the mankind.

Check them out for yourself here. You know you want to.

p.s. Since my brother did give me the inspiration for his post, here's a link to his videogame blog. It's a lot like the blog that glowing blue guy in the first picture would write if he had one, but if you want to give an enterprising, Metroid-obsessed sixth grader some blog traffic, or a couple comments, that would be great. He did introduce us sheltered InStyle readers to The Slanket, after all.

Ellen disses Kevyn and Martin isn't pleased.

You know that new Ellen Degeneres commercial where she's working with a bunch of animals and a raccoon does her makeup (Very talented makeup artist by the way. In our circles he's known as Kevyn Aucoon), and she asks him if her eyeshadow looks heavy? Here's a behind the scenes clip, in case you missed it or forgot:



I am so mad right now I don't even know where to start. I mean, one of the greatest raccoon cosmeticians of our time gives her his signature natural look and all she can do is complain? Most women would kill to get done up by Kevyn. He travels with Avril Lavigne. He's a genius. Let me tell you that I will not be watching Ellen's show through a furniture store window while eating old spaghetti with clam sauce out of an alley dumpster anymore after this. This is just ridiculous.

Obviously, Kevyn is a master of subtlety, and I'm a huge fan (unlike some daytime talk show hosts...), but I also understand that sometimes a girl's gotta go glam. For times like those, this stuff is the way to go:

This stuff is the sparkliest of sparkly. I once saw an okay-looking female wearing this a few garbage cans over, and, long story short, I ended up licking her eye. I couldn't help myself--it was that shiny. She got the wrong impression, I tried to explain, yada yada yada we're trying to settle the suit out of court...Yeah, I don't really want to talk about that right now.

XOXO,
Martin

Urban Decay Heavy Metal Liner, $17, sephora.com

Drum roll please...

The winner of the Daddy Likey 100th Post Contest Extravaganza is Annie P., with this entry:

The whole 'contents of my purse' topic reminds me of a game I play w/ my older sister, but we call it 'the mary poppins game' where we see who has the most random stuff in our bags. Being the packrat/artist/paranoid younger sister...I usually win...& my sister pretty much hates playing the game, but she humors me.

Anyway, the random object which won me victory in the last round of 'the mary poppins game' was a hacksaw...in a large longchamp bag. No, it wasn't bloody (I swear).

Well played Annie, well played. You will be receiving either a very expensive looking leather-covered martini shaker, or, if you are underage or don't drink or just think that's a lame prize, an equally expensive looking bottle of Italian chocolate-scented shower oil from Aquolina.

I got so many great entries. Thank you so much to everyone who entered for sharing their crazy purse stories! I will definitely be having more contests in the near future because this one was so much fun.

Just to clarify...

Just to clarify some questions I've received about my blogging life and the future of Daddy Likey:

-I just got home from spending a term in Hawaii for school, and will return to my usual college, Portland State, in January to finish up my last two terms (hopefully).

-Of course I'm going to continue blogging from home! I will blog until the day I lose my fingers. Then I will get one of those computers that lets you say what you want to write and it writes it for you, and I will blog until my voice box has to be removed because I used it too much to record my blogs. Then I will get one of those incredible devices that records letters according to subtle movements of the tongue, and I will blog until I have to bite off my own tongue in protest because my caretakers keep feeding me cherry jello and I'm sick of cherry jello but I can't tell them that because my voicebox was removed. I could keep going with this, but for your sake, let's just say I will blog for a long time.

-Thank you all so much for reading Daddy Likey. I love writing it and I love reading all your comments and compliments. Please keep reading everyday, and tell your friends to do the same!

Ah, Sweet Expensive

I made it. I wasn't thrown into an airport holding tank. I didn't have to wear a straitjacket. I only screamed for my life and repented and tried to kill myself with the complimentary beverage cup a few times. Overall, it was a pretty good flying experience. And what made it all worth it, my reason for living, was making it back home to see my Lucky Shops giftbag that I won like four years ago and am only now getting to go through and gloat about properly (well, and seeing my family, I guess). I'm going to post a full list of everything that's in there after I announce the winner of the Daddy Likey 100th Post Contest Extravaganza (I am sending the finalist emails out to my panel of judges this weekend and the winner shall be crowned on Monday!). For today, since I'm still a little off from my plane ride, I'm just going to give you a brief, glowing review of one of the samples I received in my bag. This:

Yes, I was blessed enough to receive a free dime-size amount of Samy shampoo and conditioner. After spending about forty minutes and all of my family's hot water trying to open those damn plastic sample packages with wet hands in the shower (seriously, how annoying is that?), I washed and conditioned, reveling in the smell of free expensive (I would like to proclaim that from today forth in the United States and the world, "expensive" is a noun). I actually blow dried it today, for the first time in a long time, in the way that makes my hairdresser cringe whenever I describe it ("Well, normally I flip my hair forward and put the blowdryer on high til it burns.") and at the conclusion of this routine, I was transformed into Narcissus. My hair was so shiny and so soft that I literally couldn't stop looking in the mirror and flipping it back and forth and parting it in different ways and posing for imaginary hair product commercials. I walked around the house all afternoon swinging my hair in family members' faces and ordering them to "Feel it! FEEL IT!" And the few agreeable ones that did were all very impressed. Or maybe they just wanted me to get my hair out of their food. Either way, I'm a huge fan.

Flying In (No) Style!

My position on any fashion article that deals with "Cute and Comfortable Travel Clothes" or "Flying in Style!" or "Airplane Chic!" is that it is full of damned, dirty lies and the writer should be made to wear mustard yellow Carhart overalls into Saks Fifth Avenue as punishment for her ethical defects. Articles like this almost always show you outfits consisting of expensive jeans, a light cashmere sweater, and a bright-colored pashmina (Seriously, how many times have you seen that exact outfit in a magazine being hailed as a revolutionary fashion equation?). They even recycle the same phrase about the pashmina, something along the lines of "A bright pashmina will punch up your outfit on the ground but can also double as a light blanket on the plane--perfect!"

I used to heed these articles' advice and try to be cute on plane rides, I did. I loved the idea of landing in a new place all fresh and chic and ready to roll. But in reality, my intense fear of flying means that my hours in the air are spent hyperventilating as my boyfriend holds my arms down and tries to convince me that this bout of light turbulence does not warrant breaking the complimentary beverage cup and ending the pain with a shard of plastic to the neck while other passengers glare at me for screaming "Gah! This is it! We're going down! Goodbye cruel world!" one too many times.

By the time I arrive at my destination, I'm hoarse, have lost all the color in my face, contracted a cold, and just want to sleep for days on the sweet, sweet ground. This is the time in my life when I probably care the least about being cute. And despite my dramatic tendencies, and I know many of you are going to disagree with me on this, I don't think jeans are that comfortable on plane rides. I've worn expensive jeans, cheap jeans, tight ones and loose ones, and they always end up sticking to me or bunching up wrong or being too stiff or cutting into my stomach and it's enough to make me very nearly condone Juicy Couture tracksuits.

Anyway, I'm flying home tomorrow morning (keep it together, Winona, keep it together), and I thought I'd show you the slight crime of fashion (a misdemeanor, really) that I'm planning to wear.

Let's start with the meat of the offense:

Yes, I'm wearing leggings. No, I'm not going to cover my ass with a long tunic or skirt or dress for the sake of the world as style experts desperately plea. These are comfy, soft, stretchy, and really unflattering--perfect. I like to pretend that I look like a much larger thighed version of Audrey Hepburn...so don't ruin this for me, okay?

To continue the Hepburn (dis)illusion, I pair them with this:

Ah, the wonderful J. Crew sweater I bought a couple months ago (mine is blue). It is also soft, comfy, and stretchy, but actually quite flattering. Maybe the chic top will make up for the blatant display of cellulite and major risk of transpacific camel toe due to my choice of bottoms? Probably not, and even if it did, the shoes send the outfit all to hell anyway:

The coup de grace of my air travel outfit: my ratty pink fur-lined moccasins that aren't nearly as nice as the ones in this picture. They're stained and ripped and definitely make me look the part of the mentally disturbed person that I am while in the air.

This has pretty much become my go-to travel outfit. It's the sad truth that I would probably wear this if I were, I don't know, getting off the plane to meet the press after my presidential inauguration, or arriving in a foreign country as a rookie diplomat, or landing in Paris to accept the award as Most Fashionable Person In The World. Yeah, that would be a bad choice, but for me and my paranoia, there is no such thing as flying in style. Hopefully there's no such thing as flying in an airline-mandated straitjacket either...

Pray for me.

Fashion Humane Society: Adopt This Shirt!

This supercute 1960's blouse is in desperate need of a home. Look at the adorable polka dots and oversize collar! You could pair it with black pants like in the picture, let the pattern and collar peek out from under a chic pants suit or blazer, or even dress it down with a slim denim mini and ballet flats if you live in a warmer climate. This shirt would be perfect for a curvier girl since the bust measures up to 44". Sound good so far? It's only $29!

Want to open your heart and closet to this fabulous find? Buy it here!

Maybe fun shoes will bury my boring

I had a really boring day today, and not the kind of boring where you eat toaster strudel in your jammies and watch a 12-hour marathon of Dog the Bounty Hunter and secretly enjoy it but tell everyone it was boring so they don't judge you. My day was that sharp, painful kind of boring--I had to study for a pacific history test, take a pacific history test, try to sell an 88' Volvo station wagon that no one wants to buy, vacuum...god I can't relive anymore.

I can't really be funny right now because I spent all day vacuuming my car and writing things like "Additionally, Germany's chancellor was interested in expanding his empire to compete with England's vast scope of power, and acquiring colonies in the Pacific would help to achieve that goal." Instead of trying to write something clever and funny, I went on Zappos.com and searched their couture collection for shoes that screamed FUN. They didn't even have to be attractive; my only requirement were that they were fun enough to bury the boring in a shallow grave in the back of my mind (I'm not going to write prices either, because that's no fun).

Marc by Marc Jacobs

Missoni

Sergio Rossi

Moschino

Sigerson Morrison

Kate Spade

Etro

Give me your poor, your yachtless, basically anyone who's cold right now

I have a major issue with resort collections. Namely, I can never afford the clothes or the trip needed in order to wear the clothes, and therefore they only make me feel poor and cold. As soon as the temperatures drop and the snow and freezing rain starts, major floorspace in major stores becomes dedicated to flowy halter tops and bikinis and $200 sandals. Meanwhile, all of us normal, yachtless people must walk by these bright-colored fabric odes to sun and leisure on our way to try to find some waterproof grey wool socks on sale. This is true injustice, my friends.

That is why I am dedicating the Daddy Likey Un-Resort Collection 2006 to everyone who is not on holiday in St. Barth's right now (and especially to everyone who, like me, has no idea how to pronounce "St. Barth's"). These are clothes that you couldn't wear on a tropical holiday unless you were a boxer trying to lose water weight before a big match. Clothes that make sense. Because it's winter.

Let's start with a down comforte- I mean, coat.

I have never owned a coat like this, but every time I go shopping, I try one on, and every time someone walks into class wearing one, I go sit by them and "accidentally" fall asleep on their shoulder, nuzzling up to them and soaking in the sweet, sweet warmth. I should probably stop doing that. Here's why I love these coats: If you wrapped an actual down comforter around yourself and went out in public, people would probably avoid eye contact, maybe toss you some change, and the police would try to put you in a camp on the other side of the river, but if you wear this coat out in public, you'll be just as comfy and warm without being forcefully placed in a tent with a guy called Crazy Eye Jones. That's always good.
Larry Levine Long Quilted Coat, $110, nordstrom.com

Okay, so I'm really not a fan of thermal underwear worn as pants (my weariness of this trend was confirmed when Mischa Barton was photographed in a pair having a bit of a menstrual incident--the horror!), but when I'm waiting for public transportation in a tunnel that could easily double as a meat freezer, I'm a huge fan of thermal underwear worn as they should be--under pants.

I also really like the idea of the thermal underwear under my pants being super cute. It feels kind of deviant. Yep, heart print thermal underwear under my jeans. I'm a badass. If you ignore the fact that this mannequin kind of looks like it has a male appendage (Bluefly's irresponsible use of mannequins will be the subject of an upcoming post for sure, right Ms. Rachel P.?), the thermals are really cute and there are many other designs to choose from.
Priorities grey thermal heart pants, $31, bluefly.com

Next in our Un-Resort Collection, we will need a very warm hat. Aha!

Don't worry, none of Martin's family members were hurt for the lining of this hat.
Quilted rabbit trapper, Hat Attack, $83, girlshop.com

Usually I am so not one for sensible footwear. In fact, I often wear crocheted flats during rainstorms, which is dumb, but I can't bring myself to buy whatever the hell kind of shoe you're actually supposed to wear in the wet cold. Then I saw these over at Ma Petite Chou, and my life will never be the same:

These would work in the snow, the rain, acid rain, lava, anything. Look at the puffiness! The traction! The fuzzy insides! The crisp white outside! I know what you're thinking--"If you love 'em so much, why don't you marry 'em?" I'm getting the paperwork in order, thanks.
Women's Snowparadise (they also have them for men, Ronaldo), $100, shopadidas.com

There you have it, the first segment of the Daddy Likey Un-Resort Collection 2006. I will probably add something (gloves, socks, scarves, woodstoves, etc.) to this after every time I run into Nordstrom desperate to escape an Oregon downpour only to find my soggy self face-to-face with a rack of bikinis labeled "Rich People Only, Please." And trust me, that happens quite often.

Oh, deer.

I met a deer once. He was eating grass behind a farmhouse where I'd just found some old pie. The pie was delicious. The deer, a bit boring. I mean, we talked for awhile, actually ended up grabbing a drink, but overall his personality was pretty bland; he kept getting stunned by bright lights and when it came time to head home, he just ran into the door over and over, which was kind of annoying.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is that there's this shoe brand called "Oh Deer!". They make shoes like these:

And I'm thinking they should change their name to "Oh Raccoon!" Those are my kind of shoes, baby.

XOXO,
Martin

Oh Deer! Edina, $180, ravinstyle.com

Do a little dance, make a little love, maintain the utmost orthopedic comfort and support tonight

So maybe this kind of looks like the type of shoe an elderly nurse would wear to Studio 54 in 1976 when she just wanted to take a break from colostomy bags for a while and get her dance ooonnnn and maybe do a little coke while still maintaining the utmost orthopedic comfort and support, but I don't care. I love them.

And you know, they'd be totally hot with opaque black tights...

BCBGirls 'Adige' Wedge, $78.95, nordstrom

Tights are tight, dude.

The way I feel about opaque black tights is the way Rachael Ray feels about chicken stock: add it to anything, even, like, chocolate cake, and it makes it better. I adore black tights. They make your legs look skinny, they kind of keep you warm (well, at least that's what I tell my dad when he demands to know why I'm wearing a mini-skirt and tights in December instead of his highly recommended plaid flannel-lined L.L. Bean jeans), they can look fabulously mod or European-chic, and you can add them to anything, even, like, flannel-lined L.L. Bean jeans, and they make it better.

Perhaps you've noticed that pretty much all of the hypothetical outfits I wax poetic about on this blog involve opaque black tights. In fact, I would totally bring in a new contributor to join Martin and work the Daddy Likey opaque black tights beat, but sadly, I can't think of any cute furry animals with an affinity for hosiery. I guess I'll have to do this post myself, damnit.

So, I'm never really sure if buying designer hosiery is like buying designer paint colors (I have yet to hear of someone walking into a friend's kitchen and exclaiming "Oh! What a lovely shade of white! Is that Ralph Lauren?"). That being said, I've never had a friend look at my tights and say "Oh! What a lovely shade of basic opaque black! Are those DKNY?", but I've always had really good luck with that brand. Here's a picture of them. You can totally tell they're designer, right?

I don't want you guys to stage a massive boycott due to my only advocating designer tights, so let me add that I've also heard great things about Target's generic brand tights and I have many a pair from Fred Meyer that have served me well. But I do love my DKNY.
$12.50, Nordstrom

My love for hosiery does not only concern opaque black, my friends. There are so many amazing colors and textures and designs, like these:

We Love Colors has one of the best collections of tights (and one of the most to-the-point names) I've ever seen. In addition to some very cool patterns, they have 45 different solid colors (not all of them are crazy hot pink, I swear), all the colors come in plus sizes, and they're only $8 a pair. I would wear these pink ones with a black mini dress and the riding boots I raved about long, long ago that hopefully Santa will bring me. I also have to show you the outfit they put together on the website that is as gorgeous as great art:

Even if you're a more conservative dresser, don't you at least want to print out this picture and hang it on your wall? I do.
www.welovecolors.com

If you don't own a pair of sparkly tights, please get some. As soon as possible. Maybe these:

I got a pair very similar to these over a year ago, and I wore them so much that they're permanently dirty and full of holes and the crotch is saggy. You're just gonna have to trust me on this one, but these are surprisingly subtle. They sparkle most when the light hits them just right. They're incredible. And Martin loves them too (you do trust Martin, don't you?)
Silver or gold, $12.00, welovecolors.com

And I have to include these because they are called Milan Texture Tights and my amazingly chic Italian teacher actually wore this exact pattern and always looked, well, amazingly chic:

$15.00, www.foottraffic.com

That's enough hosiery for the day. As the incredibly articulate boys in my high school class would have said if they saw this post like six years ago: "Tights are tight, dude." Well said, young men, well said.

Not Your Daughter's Fashion: The Cutest Shirt

This shirt would work on fashionable gals of any age, but truthfully, not many 20-year-olds could afford it, and I love how it's very prim and proper but has unexpected details like ruffles and texture that make it a little hipper. It'd be fabulous with simple black pants or skirts or a gorgeous way to dress up some jeans.

Daddy. Likey.

Diane von Furstenberg 'Kailey' Ruffle Blouse, 198.00, Nordstrom

Homework, Lava, Coats

I'm currently trying to finish a term paper for my 300-level history class that I thought would be a good idea to take after never having taken a college history class before, let alone a history class about the pacific islands, and I may or may not drive up to the volcano and throw myself in before I finish it (one of the risks of going to school in Hawaii--easily accessible lava), but let me leave you with this, some super cute coats from one of the super cutest designers I've come across in a while.




God I could live in that down jacket. All by Soia and Kyo. Check them out. http://www.soiakyo.com/

I'll be more interesting (or melted) soon!

Wow.

Have you ever wondered what it would look like if a designer handbag came in contact with some of that pink slime from Ghostbusters 2 that made inanimate objects come alive and it acquired a taste for blood and went hunting and killed a coyote and ate it and then threw it up the next morning when its owner was just trying to pose for a bloomingdales.com photoshoot like nothing was wrong?

Wonder no more, my friends.

Cynthia Rowley, $675.

High Fashion Haiku

I'm in Hawaii
You'll hate me for saying this...
God I miss sweaters

In two weeks, I leave this perfect, warm, tropical weather for the cold, gray rain of Oregon, and I know it sounds crazy to all of you reading this from snow-covered bunkers or braving howling winds and blizzards, but I can't wait.

Look at this sweater! It's a blanket with arms and a waist tie! The perfect antidote to my massive tanktop overdose.

Marc by Marc Jacobs Envelope Sweater, $258, Nordstrom

p.s. Sorry I didn't post yesterday. We drove 250 miles roundtrip to see the hotel where Dog the Bounty Hunter got married. Yeah, long story.