Work Those Conservative Trousers, Girl!

I recently received this email from a lovely reader 'o mine:

Dear Winona,

I have an interview coming up for a job at a social service agency, and I have no idea what to wear. The biggest issue is that it may well be quite warm, and that makes dressing up and dressing professionally quite the challenge. It is a particular challenge for me because I hate warm weather (I'm an Oregon girl! Go Ducks!), and much prefer cold and rainy to hot and humid.

I also have certain physical challenges that make summer professional attire even harder. Let me list them:

1. I'm not plus-size, but I am not skinny either. As such, I'm not super comfy baring skin, and I need to dress to compliment my figure (a-line skirts or full skirts with a more fitted top are my ideal silhouette).

2. I don't feel comfortable baring my arms, and 3/4 length sleeves are the shortest I would go for an interview.

3. I have the worst legs in the world. This makes wearing a skirt or dress in summer really tricky. In the winter, I can wear boots (and I do, all winter!). But in the summer, that's painful and looks silly. Nylons are disgusting, and I don't wear heels (except a really chunky heel).

My style is super funky, but I need to be somewhat conservative for this interview. I'm poor, but creative, so don't worry about budget issues - I am just looking for ideas!

Signed,
2 Hot 2 Interview

Dear 2 Hot,

Oh sweet mother of jesus do I know your pain. Perhaps it is our mutual Oregon upbringing, but I share both your disdain for hot weather and your confusion about how to dress in it. Now, like the sweaty-and-fashion-confused leading the sweaty-and-fashion-confused, allow me to advise:

I went back and forth on this a bit, but in the end I've gotta go with the tailored, semi-wide legged trousers and button-up blouse. At first, I thought a unique skirt would be a great way to show your creativity and still look professional, but then I remembered the "worst legs in the world" issue, and I didn't want to be like Tyra on this episode I saw the other day where this woman came on and was talking about how she's lost so much weight but she's still really insecure about her arms, and she had this big fancy event to go to, and I was sure that Tyra was gonna be like Oprah and buy her plastic surgery and therapy and hire Roberto Cavalli to tailor a one-of-a-kind dress for her and then buy everyone in the audience a Micronesian island just for fun, but then instead, Tyra opened the curtain to unveil a bunch of this lady's old clothes with the sleeves torn off, and she was just like, "Work those arms, girl!"

The woman looked really confused. And I thought the whole thing was really stupid, because you can't just will someone out of an insecurity, even with poorly altered clothing as an incentive. If I went on Tyra to talk about how I keep my stomach hidden all the time because it's roughly as large as Jim Belushi's, and then she opened a curtain to reveal that she'd cut big holes in the middle of all my shirts and said, "Work that stomach, girl!" I'd just be like, "Holy shit. Tyra. Seriously. You fucked up all my clothes."

Anyway, several severely run-on sentences later, what I'm trying to say is that even though Tyra would probably steal all your trousers, turn them into hotpants and tell you to work it, real pants will probably be the most appropriate, comfortable, and realistic to work in, so let's go with that:

Nine West "Cyndi" trouser, $84, nordstrom.com

I like these because:

1. They have a nice, wide, forgiving leg.
2. The sharp crease is slimming.
3. They're viscose, which is not bad in the heat.
4. They're not $400.

Of course, if you'd prefer to spend $400, these are good for that:

Hugo Boss "Thyra" (if you just read that as "Thyroid" and thought, "Jesus, Hugo Boss needs to hire a new pants-namer, stat," well, so did I), $395, nordstrom.com

Next, add a crisp white shirt:

Bonus: Roll up your sleeves, literally, and you'll look like someone who gets things done.
J. Crew, $49.50

Wear at least a bit of a heel:

Gabriella Rocha "Jacinda," $59.95, zappos.com

Creased trousers and plain button up shirts are kind of boring, I know, but they're also professional, flattering, not thaaaaat bad in the heat, and appropriate for work in even the most conservative environment (Tom DeLay's office, for instance). You could obviously do a darker colored shirt here or even one with a subtle print, but definitely err on the conservative side (as Mr. DeLay often does). Or, to quote my corporately jaded mother: "Save your originality until after the damn interview."

As catchy (and depressing) as mom's advice is, I don't quite agree. Mostly because if I'm not expressing myself with my clothes, I curl up into an angry little ball and don't let anyone touch me until I can at least put a cute necklace on, damnit. So, I say show your originality...with accessories.

Carry a bright but classic bag:

This would look fabulous with a pretty scarf tied around the handle too.
Furla, $126, bluefly.com

Prada small leather briefcase, approximately the same price as a term of school at a public university (but totally worth it, right? right?), bluefly.com

Necklaces and bracelets are a good way to take a bit more of a fashion risk in a job interview, because if you walk in and find that all the other employees are wearing robes and bonnets and ritually burning copies of Elle Accessories magazine, you can just throw your offending jewelry in your purse and no one will be the wiser. But I would advise walking out if there is a ritual fire of any kind in your prospective employer's office. See what a great blog this is? You ask for fashion advice, I throw in some career counseling for free.

"Magnolia Pendant" by Lulu Smith, $220, guild.com

"Baroque Bead Necklace" by Eloise Cotton, $250, guild.com

"Moonblossom Choker" by Amanda Khalsa, $230, guild.com (sorry for all the 3-digit pricetags--the second I visit that website, I go blind to prices and see only beauty.)

"Squared Away" bracelet, $25, etsy, here.

Nordstrom Interlocking Bangle Bracelet, $48, nordstrom.com

Godspeed my long-lost Oregon sister. And remember, if you land this job, you owe me a cut of that huge social service agency paycheck.

p.s. I've got a few emails and comments expressing interest in the hot-weather job interview concept, so I'll probably do a couple more posts about this featuring some different options for different body types and work environments.

Oopsy Daisy!

Kind of procrastinated on that Mulholland Drive analysis paper (yes, I'm serious--my teacher is an angry, angry man), and it now seems to be 1 am the night before it's due. I'm sorry it has to be like this, with no big wonderful comeback post after the long weekend (there is a cute little baby post below this one so be sure to check that out!), but here's a sneak preview of what's coming up on Daddy Likey, post-paper:

• How to dress for a hot-weather job interview!
• Five Men's Fashion First Impressions! (you're right, Connie, it's been way too long)
  
• Find out what book is currently on my nightstand, courtesy of this lil' meme!
  
• My looooonnnnggg-awaited expanded response to the great black-and-brown debate!
• Why 28 Weeks Later will ruin your life and cause you to curl up in the fetal position in your bedroom for three days instead of enjoying your Memorial Day weekend. Actually I'm not gonna write more about that. That's all.
  
• And much more!

Do you like the abundance of exclamation marks, even when they are completely unwarranted? I learned that from our alarmist media.

I hope you all had a fabulous weekend (trust me--if you didn't see 28 Weeks Later, you had a fabulous weekend). I'll be back after I go support my The-Entire-Movie-Was-Just-A-Silly-Dream thesis. Pray for me.

Plaid Makes Me Bad...At Math*

So, maybe I'm still mad for plaid, but is this not the coolest dress you've ever seen in your whole life?

It used to cost $430. And now it costs $151. I'm no math whiz, but that's, what, 300% off?

Kay Unger strapless plaid dress, here.

*I'm really sorry about that title. That was worse than usual.

Hate: Painful Irony. Love: Moving My Forehead.

Those new Botox commercials with the tagline, "Express Yourself!" make me really angry. Like, this angry:

And I wouldn't be able to express it if I had Botox.

I Guess It Doesn't Just Save the Polar Bears...

Just in case my rave review a couple days ago didn't convince you of DiorShow's mascaral (that's what "mascara" looks like as an adjective, my friends) superiority and/or my penchant for dramatic exaggerations, check out this true life story:

I was on my way to an appointment with my academic adviser yesterday when I ran into my friend Khathy.

"Where are you going?" I asked. We had film studies together in an hour and she appeared to be hurrying in the wrong direction.

She gestured to the door. "I'm headed to Nordstrom to get that mascara you wrote about yesterday."

I beamed with joy. The feeling of being both a good friend and a powerful force of capitalism is really hard to beat.

"Oh my gosh, you so won't regret it!" I shrieked. "Look at my lashes! Just look at them!" Possible DiorShow side effect: You may become completely eyelashotistical (that's what "eyelash" combined with "egotistical" looks like, my friends, and good god that didn't work out as well as I'd hoped).

"I know! I've been searching for good mascara forever!"

At this moment, a woman popped her head around the stairwell we were standing in. "Did I hear someone say 'good mascara'?" She asked, her voice heavy with hope.

I looked at Khathy to see if she knew this strange, mascara-obsessed eavesdropper. She looked as vaguely confused as I did, which made me wonder just how long this woman had been lurking in the stairwell, waiting for someone to say 'good mascara.' Weeks? Months? Years? Perhaps she was like the tragic Thackery Binx in Hocus Pocus, cursed to live in purgatory as a talking cat for 300 years until the sunlight-induced death of the Sanderson sisters finally granted him his mortality, except of course this woman started out as a cat and the only thing that can turn her back is 'good mascara'?


I had so many questions, but I decided that raving about DiorShow was more important than finding out if this woman was actually a cat. After all, I am studying to be a beauty editor.

"It's called DiorShow," I said, "It's by Christian Dior. It's pricey, but it's worth it. It's the best mascara ever."

"Alright," the cat said, "good to know." And then she walked away.


p.s. If you haven't seen Hocus Pocus, yes, that is Sarah Jessica Parker on the right, and no, I'm not going to explain what the hell I'm talking about in this post. Go rent it. And start living.

p.p.s.s. If you have seen Hocus Pocus and you're still confused by this post, please be forgiving, as yesterday I was 5 minutes late for my film class on the day we were watching Mulholland Drive, a movie that apparently makes little to no sense if you see the whole thing, and causes straight-up psychosis if you miss the first 5 minutes. God I hate my life.

Funny Quote; Funny $500 Fur-Lined High Top Sneakers

"Sure, I'm not the kind of guy with a huge weight problem, but I'm the kind of guy who could really put the brakes on an orgy."
~Mike Birbiglia

~Gucci

Bluefly.com

DiorShow: Saving The Polar Bears

Beauty editors are not known for their subtlety.

I can't recall ever opening a magazine to the makeup section and reading about "mediocre" mascara or "adequate" foundation.

No, the beauty pages constitute a strange world where perfume smells like adjectives, where the perfect shade of blush could give Drew Carey cheekbones, and a swipe of gloss can double your lip size. I tend to read the beauty pages with the same mistrust and obtuse enjoyment as I do The Weekly World News--"Batboy found in cave!" "Chanel's $350 face cream is totally worth it!" See? Same deal.

So when I read, oh, I don't know, 20,000 reviews of Dior's new DiorShow mascara that said it was so perfect and lash-plumping that it had brought peace to the middle east, I was skeptical.
After all, these were the same people who promised Three Easy Steps to Charlize Theron's Skin, and that sure as hell didn't work. But I couldn't help but take notice of the DiorShow epidemic: It seemed that within a two-week time period, every beauty editor and makeup blogger on earth had become a passionate convert, a born-again big-lashed preacher singin' the praises of life-changing mascara.

So I bought it. And I tried it. And I decided that I want to be a beauty editor.


To put it simply: this stuff fuckin' rocks. To put it beauty editorly: This stuff could save the polar bears.

When I first bought a tube of my previously favorite mascara, MAC Fibre Rich (which I still recommend, by the way), the drag queen behind the counter told me, "the brush kind of looks like a cat chewed on it, but it works really well." He was right on both counts.

When I first opened my new tube of DiorShow, I found that the brush was as big as a cat. A large cat. Therefore, my first few applications ended up looking less like lush lashes and more like a poor attempt at blackface. After a few tries though, I was a pro, and I seriously stared at my new, big-lashed self in the mirror for twenty minutes, thinking, "My little blond lashes can look like this?? Where have you been all my life?"

Some of the reviews I read had included dire warnings, like,"Beware of using DiorShow during the day, because your lashes will be too dramatic. Stick with night-time use only." I guess they were going for a "With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility" thing, but I've always felt that lashes could never be too dramatic. Still, I get a bit of a rebellious rush every morning when I put it on and watch my lashes expand to apparently unacceptable proportions.

"Gawd," I imagine my eyelashes saying, "I can just look at a tube of DiorShow and gain 10 pounds."

And when your mascara makes you think your eyelashes can make bad jokes, well, that's when you know it's really working.

Two Bags. Two Words.

Daddy. Likey.

Hayden-Harnett Tuileries Satchel, $529 (damnit), ravinstyle.com

Blogback Mountain

In case you missed the last one, it's another International Dress Up Day today! Film noir is the theme. Check out Gala for the deets. (Oh, and if you're like me and visit her site and see that the date is a day ahead and assume that you've somehow gotten stuck in an eternal time vortex so you punch the wall in rage and put your head down on your keyboard and cry and ponder whether or not you'd like to live a life without a future, never fear: she lives in Australia.)

So, when I do a "photo shoot" for my blog, I look like a twelve-year-old girl playing dress up for her Myspace page. When the Queens over at Kingdom of Style do it, it looks like this. Damnit.

Can you tell a stripper shoe from a Louboutin?

Ambika ponders the wearability of Clueless-style kneesocks. Raise your hand if that movie changed your life. Everyone? Good.

Fashionista disses and dismisses Urban Outfitters for copyright infringement, and being SO six months ago (yeah, I wasn't joking about that whole Clueless-changed-my-life thing).

So, this girl, who may or may not be my friend, started this blog, which may or may not be about her experiences working at a certain coffeeshop, which may or may not be Starbucks... god I would be the worst secret agent ever. But go read her blog. It's angry and funny as hell.

Best. Diet. Ever.

Old Tires and Dangerous DVF Dresses

In case you aren't blessed with a Nordstrom within driving or wagon train distance, allow me to illustrate their incredible customer service with this authentic urban shopping legend:

Once upon a time, a woman and her husband went to the tire store to buy themselves a set of tires. They picked some out, paid for them, went home, and lived happily ever after.

Well, scratch that. They lived happily ever for awhile, but then, like fifty years later, the husband dies. The woman lives alone for a couple years but one day she's going through the garage and she finds one of the tires. It hadn't lasted for that long, so they'd put it on a shelf and forgotten about it, but now the woman was mad. I have half a mind to return this tire, she thought. Then she got a whole mind to do it, and she did.

She goes back to the place where they'd bought the tires over half a century ago, but there's a problem: it's no longer a tire store--the building has been converted into a Nordstrom. Unfazed, the woman walks in, lobs the old, flat tire up on the pristine counter and says, "I'd like to return this." The Nordstrom employee is confused, sure, but she smiles, calls her manager over, and eventually they take the tire back.

I understand the phrase "authentic urban legend" has a slight oxymoronic feel to it, but what I mean by that is I have no idea if this story is true, but it actually is circulating out there in the world. Do I believe it? Well, yeah.

Today, Nordstrom customer service is still tops (only when I'm very tired do I start saying things like "tops"), and while that translates to stellar help in the store and hassle-free returns, it also means that often you get very bad advice.

The staff there is so friendly and so eager to please and so on a commission that suddenly everything looks good on you. There have been times when I have opened the dressing room door in a shirt so small and ill-fitting that an entire one of my breasts has squeezed out of the armhole, desperate for air, and been met with coos of affirmation from the staff. "Oohhh that looks so good on you!" They will say without irony. "It's a totally different look but it WORKS!"


So a couple weeks ago, when I stood in Nordstrom, stroking this gorgeous DVF dress (I'm big on dress-stroking whenever I have a free minute) and seriously considering draining my little brother's college fund to buy it, a clerk came over and whispered, "You know, I've never seen that dress look good on anyone*," and sweet mother of jesus did I take heed.

I slowly backed away from the garment and got the hell out of there, thinking about the Nordstrom employees' past championing of the perpendicular boob shirt and wondering what sort of horrors this dress has wreaked on the world in order to deserve an honest, commission-breaking opinion. I'm not sure I want to find out.

*Except the model in the picture. Of course, she has to look really good in it and totally disprove my dramatic thesis right in the middle of a post. Damnit.

Sinfully Chic: A Sartorial Tribute to Jerry "Jer-Bear" Falwell

As you surely know by now, Jerry Falwell died today. This is probably the saddest day in the history of America. No, you know what? I see your sarcastic hyperbole and raise you one--this is, without a doubt, the saddest day in the history of the world.

Since I'm sure hell has free wireless internet, and the Jer-Bear is no doubt surfing the blogosphere right now, I thought it would be nice to pay a proper sartorial tribute to the greatest man this world will ever know.

I'll just let him do most of the talking:

"It appears that America's anti-Biblical feminist movement is at last dying, thank God, and is possibly being replaced by a Christ-centered men's movement which may become the foundation for a desperately needed national spiritual awakening."

If I know my Jer-Bear, I know he would think this was just adorable. $20, here.

"I listen to feminists and all these radical gals--most of them are failures. They've blown it. These women just need a man in the house. That's all they need. Most of the feminists need a man to tell them what time of day it is and to lead them home."

While you're at it, why not throw one in for that special guy in your life--you know, the one who tells you what time it is and leads you home. Unisex tee, $20, same place.

"AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals."

Pride commitment ring, $165, here.

"He is purple--the gay pride color--and his antenna is shaped like a triangle--the gay pride symbol." (In reference to Tinky Winky, the most Satanic of the Teletubbies)

I think this purple, triangle clutch would be a really nice way to honor Mr. Falwell, don't you?
Inge Christopher, $143, zappos.com

"If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being."

I think this is probably the coolest bag ever made. And only partly because I just had my brother make it on Cafepress. Available for $14.99 here. (FYI--My bro will get like a dollar of that so it's totally going to a good cause.)

And finally, our man of the hour's thoughts on September 11th:

"Throwing God out successfully with the help of the federal court system, throwing God out of the public square, out of the schools...The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way--all of them who have tried to secularize America--I point the finger in their face and say "You helped this happen."

So, I thought it would be a really nice way to honor the Jer-Bear if anyone who had a part in causing September 11th (and according to this quote, that would be, like, everyone except him) left a little apology in the comments section. It's the least we can do for the poor guy. I mean, eternal suffering's gotta suck.

FYI

I have another Girl Power session today, so I won't be able to get a big juicy post up til later tonight. In the meantime, enjoy the haiku below, cast your vote in the black/brown poll if you haven't yet, and have a lovely day!

High Fashion Haiku

Today's 5-7-5 comes from my lovely reader Jordon, whose poetic diatribe was inspired by these leggings:

Why do people wear
leggings? Must you all look like
an escaped convict?

Excellent work, my dear. As usual, if anyone else would like to try their hand at HFH and have a chance at international fame and fortune (seriously, Jordon is probably on the phone with Harvey Weinstein right now negotiating her fee for penning Stripes 2: The Spandex Story), show me your stuff: daddylikeyblog@gmail.com

The Eternal Black/Brown Question

Recently, one of my readers emailed me with this classic fashion quandary:

Black and brown - is it okay to wear it together? And if so, to what degree?

My sister has always been fanatical about black and brown not even being near each other. Then I met my cute, artistic co-worker, who will wear a black skirt with a brown top or vice-versa! And when I mentioned this to my sister, she said she no longer minds black and
brown together in small increments! It's like my whole life is turning upside-down!

Ah yes, the eternal black/brown question. My own life has been turned upside down by this controversy many times, so I totally feel your pain. I have my own thoughts on this issue, which I will share soon, but aren't polls fun? Let's poll!

What do you think about wearing black and brown together?
	Blasphemous. You'll see a lot of that color combo in hell.
	Love it. Unexpected and chic.
	I agree with sis: it's okay in small increments.
	Depends on the shades, the skintone, the political climate, etc.
	I'm colorblind.

It's Chic To Do Good.

I was an AWOL Fashion Blogger yesterday because I spent most of the day working on a project called Girl Power (no, it's not a massive campaign to get the Spice Girls back together, although that's definitely a worthy cause too).

It's for a class I'm taking of the same name, and basically what we do is conduct a series of in-depth discussions (we call 'em "rap sessions") with groups of teenage girls, and then create a zine using their words (if any of my college professors were dead they would be turning in their graves right now because I just linked to Wikipedia). The point is to show these girls that their voices matter and give them a safe place to talk about their lives.

My partner and I did our first rap session yesterday, and it was seriously one of the most amazing experiences of my life. These girls were just seventeen or eighteen and had been through abuse, pregnancy, addiction, gang violence. They told us things that were really hard to hear, but it was so inspiring to see that they still had light in their eyes (although a few of them had been substantially dimmed). I mean, the people in these girls' lives had gone to horrific measures to put that light out, but they couldn't.

This one seventeen-year-old, a beautiful, vivacious sparkplug of a human being, said that her mom often tells her "I wish you were dead." I watched that girl later as she smiled and laughed and talked about her future and I thought, "Wow. That is strength."

Life is hard enough when everyone's rooting for you.

Obviously, Girl Power is a pretty specific project that not everyone can be involved in, but I wanted to take this opportunity to ask (plead with?) anyone who is interested in this sort of thing to think about volunteering for Big Brothers Big Sisters. I've had a "little sister" for almost two years now, and it is so fun and rewarding. As corny as it sounds, all it takes is an hour a week, and you make such a difference. My little sister's grades went from F's to A's within a year of starting the program (not to brag. well, okay, yeah, I'm bragging, but isn't that just too cool??). You can get a lil' sis if you're 18 or older, and you don't have to do anything heroic like tutor them in long division everyday (gag). My little sister and I go to the mall and complain about how expensive Macy's is, but drinking those Orange Juliuses (Orange Julii?) together and listening to what she has to say is enough.

I've always been of the mindset that since I made it through adolescence relatively unscathed, I owe it to other girls to help them do the same. And I really have thought for a long time now that so many of my regular readers and commenters would make excellent Big Sisters. You guys are so clever and kind and have such unique views of the world. You are wonderful (and stylish) people to look up to.

If you have questions or even an ounce of interest in volunteering, send me an email and I'll give you the scoop.

Sorry if that post was way too serious (and a bit high on the cornball factor) for a Saturday morning read, but I'm still a mushy little pile of emotions and I had to emote (plus, if I'd tried to write a regular post right now it would have come out like, "Isn't this dress adorable? WE MUST SAVE OUR YOUNG WOMEN!" and that would have been confusing).

In case you really just wanted a laugh today, here is a picture of a smiling goat:

God, that gets me every time.

Thanks for hearing me out. More lighthearted fashion to come.

Love,
Winona

Funny Quote; Funny Shoes

"How can I believe in God when just last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of an electric typewriter?"
~Woody Allen

~Marc Jacobs

Blogback Mountain

I'm off to traffic court this morning. Pray for me, and check out these lovely links in the meantime:

So, if I had to list the three things I love most, in order, it would probably go: Fashion, David Bowie, my family. The fabulous new blog Fashion by Bowie has the first two covered.

Catwalk Queen advocates a bright colored coat for Spring. Can't argue there.

Cuffington is kind of pissed that she wasn't invited to this year's Costume Party at the Met. Curse the unreliability of the United States Postal Service, because mine got lost in the mail too! Again...

The Queens over at Kingdom of Style teach us how to sew a tulip hem. I probably won't be attempting this one, since the last time I tried sewing was around age 9, when I made such horrid outfits for my Barbies that they instituted a massive ad campaign with the slogan "I'd Rather Go Naked Than Wear Winona's Designs." But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.

Feministing has news that Disney is now selling "Princess" wedding dresses for thousands of dollars. The 12-year-old girls interviewed in the article think this is pretty cool. I think it's freakin' terrifying.

One morning I woke up to find that sometime during the night I had sleep-drawn this diagram:

I had even enthusiastically titled it "Ear Wigs! So Clever! Massive Success!" And that's kind of the end of that story. Check out Gala Darling for tips on how to wear an actual wig.

I'm Gilmourning. God that was bad. I'm sorry.

The very last episode of Gilmore Girls ever is a week from today. Not to be dramatic, but I'm planning to drive my car off a cliff directly afterwards.


I seriously feel like I'm losing a good friend here. I mean, Rory (one of the main characters--if you're not familiar with the show, rent all the seasons on DVD and quit your job) and I grew up together! We were both nerdy high schoolers who went on to extremely prestigious universities (little known fact: Yale and Portland State are actually tied in the college rankings). We both had annoying preppy boys make fun of us for being smart and we both really enjoy pizza and bad movies. We even got dissed and dismissed by the New York Times within a week of each other during our senior year of college!

And yeah, I know the show isn't real. Kind of.

A part of me always knew that it couldn't last forever. Remember how Boy Meets World got really weird when the gang went to college and all of a sudden the whole show was just constant innuendo about how Cory and Topanga have sex all the time? That was kind of scary. And Gilmore Girls has managed to avoid the Creepy College Years (well, the whole losing-her-virginity-to-a-married-guy thing seemed really un-Roryish to me, but let's just pretend that didn't happen), so I guess we can only assume that the next phase would have been the Boring Working Years, in which the camera follows Rory from computer to coffee break and back again in her entry-level journalism job (the job I, too, dream of everyday).

Still, my pain is potent. Here are some dark and depressing dresses to mourn the passing of my favorite show:

Marc Jacobs, $2790, netaporter.com

Hanii Y, $470, netaporter.com

12th Street by Cynthia Vincent, $215, netaporter.com

Upon visiting the Dress Shop on the Nordstrom website, I was shocked to find that their "Shop by Event" section did not include "Mourning the Last Episode of Gilmore Girls." The bastards. So I had to find these on my own:

Maggy London, $178, nordstrom.com

Stop looking so damn happy, you heartless wench! Don't you know it's the end of an era?
As U Wish, $52, nordstrom.com

See? This girl's appropriately broken up about it:

Norma Kamali, $325, nordstrom.com

Thanks for the good times, ladies. I'm sure we'll meet again someday.

And yeah, I know the show isn't real. Kind of.

On the Other Hand...

Paris Hilton is going to jail. So if you'd rather skip the black, put on a happy dress like this and celebrate, I could totally support that too.

Rebecca Taylor, $371, pinkmascara.com

Happy Birthday Laila!

If I were rich, I would dig up Arthur Conan Doyle, reanimate him, and pay him to do a dance for you.

Lucky for you, I'm not.

Have the best birthday ever, babe.

Monday Morning Martin

I eat out of garbage bags.

So this is kind of like seeing a sandwich wearing a skirt. I'm very confused right now.

XOXO,
Martin

If you're very confused right now, click here.

High Fashion Haiku: After Shower Chic

Hate to break it to
you, Shopbop, but that's no dress.
It's a damn towel.

Bath towel--er, I mean, "dress," Thayer, $282, shopbop.com

Read Old Post, Buy New Swimsuit

If you're a new reader (and by "new reader," I mean "anyone in the world except my parents and three friends who read my blog when I first started"), are self-conscious about your stomach, and love retro styles (wow, those requirements came out way more specific than I'd planned), then you simply must read this old post about the discovery of my dream swimsuit.

(Not me. Different happy customer.)

I don't think I'll do too much blogging on swimsuits this season because, for the first time in my life, I'm in a gleeful, monogamous relationship with the perfect one. I just don't want to risk ruining that. I hope you'll understand.

But if you met any of the stringent requirements above, check out the post and buy a hot suit. They have bikinis and plus sizes too (these styles look incredible on curvy girls), and you deserve it, damnit. Plus, if this place goes out of business and I can't replenish my swimsuit soul mates, we're gonna have one angry fashion blogger on our hands. Look at me, I'm writing in the second person just thinking about it.

Birthday Recap: Bruised Egos, the Beach, and Business Cards

Thank you all so much for the birthday wishes! And don't worry, Candid Cool, as I age there will be no ebb in my constant usage of the words chocha and crunkify. Birthdays are kind of stressful, aren't they? I mean, if you don't have a good day, you've blown your chance for the year. Here's a breakdown of my special day:

Reasons Why My Birthday Sucked:

-I got an email from the New York Times, after five days of anticipation, saying that they were going to pass on the essay I submitted to them. This happened in the morning, so the rest of my day was a painful emotional rollercoaster of "Yaaayy the beach is so fun! Waaahhh the New York Times thinks I'm a crappy writer!"
Note to self: If you're going to do the freelance thing, grow a thick skin. Or maybe buy this.

-My favorite girl got voted off America's Next Top Model.

-I miss my friends and my bro who live far away (or are busy assistant directing operas--curse you and your birthday-hogging, Cosi Fan Tutte!).


Reasons Why My Birthday Was Awesome:

-Yaaayyy the beach is so fun!

(That's the famous Mr. Daddy Likey, by the way.)

-I received the cutest jacket that this world has ever seen:

Seriously, trust me when I say this picture does not do it justice. There were actual gasps when I opened it because it is so gorgeous in real life. Not to brag.

-My parents got me a really nice microphone so I plan to add podcasts to the blog really soon!

-I found the cutest business card holder ever at a little shop at the beach. This is very exciting, because in the past, all my business card transactions went something like this:

Cashier: That'll be $14.99.
Me: Oh my gosh! You should totally read my blog! You'll love it!
Cashier: What's a blog?
Me: Hang on, I'll give you my card! (I open up my clutch and dig through it for approximately 30 minutes, pulling up half-opened tampons and old candy and tufts of suspicious hair. Finally, I happen upon a bent business card covered in a black, tar-like substance and hand it to the cashier) Here you go!
Cashier: (horrified) Umm...thanks...

But now, with my cool, professional business card holder, the transactions will surely be more like this:

Cashier: That'll be $14.99
Me: Oh my gosh! You should totally read my blog! You'll love it!
Cashier: What's a blog?
Me: Hang on, I'll give you my card! (I open up my clutch, pull out my new business card holder, and hand the cashier a pristine card.) Here you go!
Cashier: Your professionalism astounds me, and your chic business card holder lends you massive credibility. I must tell you that, in fact, I am not a cashier at all, but an editor from The New York Times. You have impressed me so much here today that I'd like to offer you a job as a full time writer, and I'll even throw in a furnished apartment in New York City.

A girl can dream, can't she?

It's My Party and I'll Get Excited About Clip Art If I Want To

Today is my birthday. Yep, I'm turning the big 2-2 (wow, so I guess that totally doesn't work without the zero). Let's get this paaahhhty started with some clip art:

Wooo! Crunkify!

Anyway, instead of going to school, studying for tomorrow's important midterm, or posting a blog, I'm headed for the beautiful, cold, dark, rainy Oregon coast. Or maybe a beautiful, cold, dark, rainy minor league baseball game. Yes, both of those make perfect sense.

I'll be back tomorrow, much older and wiser.

Love times infinity,
Winona

Abercrombie & Fitch: My Secret Shame

I have a really weird relationship with Abercrombie & Fitch.

Sure, I hate their gang-rape chic advertising campaigns. I hate that their clothes cost about three times what they're worth. I hate the "Oh, poor thing. What are you? A size 10?" look that the perfectly bronzed and toned employees* give me when I walk in.

But even so, I harbor a shameful A&F obsession. I find myself perennially attracted to their pre-distressed denim, the frayed logos on their sweatshirts, even the ostentatious initials blaring from the asses of their chocha-baring gym shorts.


I think my problem is that the A&F cool factor was singed into my brain at a vulnerable stage of development. While this was probably the effect of savvy marketing techniques targeted at adolescents, I prefer to blame my friend Milena.

You see, I first became aware of Abercrombie's existence on a trip to the mall with my junior high class. This particular excursion was a privilege reserved solely for "Warrior Club" members, which was a club based on "outstanding citizenship" that you were automatically a member of if you didn't, like, stab your math teacher with a shiv. I spent the whole time lurking around Orange Julius deciding how to spend the $2 my mom had so generously allotted me, but when we all got back on the bus, Milena was hauling an Abercrombie bag. The borderline porn on the front grabbed my hormones' attention.

"What'd you get?" I half-expected her to pull out one of the so-called "dildos" I'd heard about on Loveline.

Instead, she drew from the bag the single most beautiful object I'd ever seen--a dark hunter green crewneck sweater with ABERCROMBIE lettered in bold white across the front. My jealousy leaked out in the form of a gasp/grunt. It was incredible. It had a big tag sewn into it. I got a strong urge to reach out and touch it. Maybe some of its coolness would rub off on me?

I went home and plastered the walls of my room with half-naked Abercrombie models torn from magazines. I ordered their catalog (which actually cost money--aren't catalogs supposed to be a god-given freedom, like air?) and lusted after each new collection...er, well, I guess I lusted after what I imagined each new collection looked like, because there were no clothes featured in the catalog, only abs.

And, like a young girl whose distant relationship with her father leads her to a lifetime of pursuing cold men, I find myself still, at 21, yearning for a $60, pre-ripped hoodie. This one, to be exact:

Yes, it's $60. Yes, I've never wanted anything more. Perhaps the same God who grants us free air and catalogs will also grant me the strength to resist! Yeah, probably not.


*If you happen to be one of those perfectly bronzed and toned employees and are totally offended right now, just remember, anyone who reads Daddy Likey is a friend of mine. Maybe we could get together sometime and talk about a discount? Kidding! Kind of.