Saint Spanx

My previous experience with shaping (read: internal organ reorganizing) undergarments was a pair of stomach-flattening underwear so tight they could have contained communism.

I was nearing the end of a particularly brutal day of shopping, during which my belly had foiled all attempts at cute jeans, when I stormed the lingerie department, angry, vulnerable, and determined to walk out with a magically shaped and smooth midsection.

I found a pair in the back that looked a lot like a 17th century whalebone corset, perhaps mistakenly transfered from the auction block at Sotheby's to the sale rack at JC Penny (happens all the time, I hear), but I wasn't in any condition to make a good decision, so I bought them. And I wore them, and I learned that you can, in fact, go a day without breathing, although it's not such a good day.

So when it came to the undergarment wunderkind that is Spanx, I took my time jumping on the trend train (that was possibly the dorkiest sentence I've ever written; I apologize).

Sure, I'd heard a few honest celebrities admit their post-baby fitness secrets were nothing more than a pair of these amazing underwear, that maybe they were actually still pregnant, and we would never know because of Spanx's incredible efficacy. I'd listened to my friends talk about their new smooth, pantyline-free lives. I'd heard murmurs that Spanx were being considered for sainthood, because they perform thousands of documented miracles a day.

It wasn't until I found a pair of Spanx Hide & Sleek panties on sale for $10 at Nordstrom Rack that I decided, what the hell, I might as well sheep it up and join the flock (OK, that sentence might have been even dorkier than the first one, but still, if "sheep it up" does not sweep the world as the new hip phrase, I'm going to be very upset).

The only thing I could think of when I put them on was "Let's get that Sainthood thing goin'!," because sweet mother of god did these things deliver. I have quite a few dresses in my closet that I never wear because I prefer that people I sit next to on the bus aren't able to give me an accurate body fat estimate, but when I tried these evil garments on with Spanx underneath, they looked great. No lines or lumps, and they flatten my stomach without forcing my kidneys into my ribcage, which is always a plus. I'm hating myself for writing this, because I'm pretty sure it's an exact quote from a Depends commercial, but they look and feel like regular underwear!

Look, no whalebones!

Overall, I'm hugely impressed and plan to buy a few more pairs in different styles. Spanx makes underwear, nylons, bras, camisoles, etc., all of which have witty names and cost from $20-$60. Buy a pair, and send this form letter to the pope:

Dear Pope,
Please consider Spanx for Sainthood.
They gave me a (circle one): flat stomach/smooth ass/rid me of pantylines/etc.
Trust me, that is really impressive.
Cordially,
(Your Name Here)

Available at Nordstrom, spanx.com, and many other stores and websites.

If You're Not Tired of Political Rants...

Check out my essay on BlueOregon.com.

Alliterative Reader Mail: Sloping Shoulders Not Stylish

Winona--

Here's a question for you. I just got a job downtown in a mid-size city. Because I'll be parking far, far away from my office (curses), I'm looking for a stylish -- yet ergonomically correct -- bag to tote my work goodies. Preferably something hands-free, because all these years of lugging around the kitchen sink in my purse have made my shoulders kinda slope-y. Everything I've seen has either been too laptop-y, too manly or just plain ugly. And my North Face backpack is really going to cramp my style when I have to sling it over my DVF wrap dress.

What do you think, oh-fashionable-one? Any suggestions?

Fashionably fondly,

Becky

Dearest Becky,
First of all, congratulations on the job! Second of all, if you decide to start a My Back and Shoulders are Screwed Up Due to a Lifetime of Extremely Cute But Ergonomically Disastrous Handbags and Maybe I Should Have Listened to My Dad After All Even Though He Recommended One of Those Rolling Backpacks FOR THE LOVE OF GOD support group, I'll be there.

So here are some options for you (and me):

As you know, it can be tough to make a backpack look grown-up and stylish. Kate Moss could probably do it, but Kate Moss could also wear a traffic cone on her head, and within a few days a slew of less expensive traffic cones would be available at Topshop and the Gap. I do think that a classic leather backpack has some fashion potential, and of course, it'll go with everything:

This one can also be converted to a one strap sling style, which may blow the ergonomic thing all to hell, but, in times when you slip back into old fashion-over-function habits, could look pretty boho cool. God I'm such an enabler.
Derek Alexander Leather Backpack, $180, ebags.com

We'll focus mainly on messenger bags, which I've found are absolutely not comfortable when filled with three hundred pounds of textbooks (each day I get closer to the rolling backpack, damnit), but would be great as a work bag/purse.

Not laptop-y, manly, or ugly. What a find!
Kyoto Messenger bag, $60, here.

LeSportsac has some rad bags with straps long enough to wear across your body. Their website is also superfun, because it shows the bag style as a white canvas, and then, when you choose the color or design, splashes it onto the bag. I spent a lot of time playing with that instead of doing my homework, which is regrettable.

I might buy this one for myself:

"Courier," $88, lesportsac.com

Here's a different style in basic black (welcome to Boringville), but there are different color and pattern options as well:

"Charlie," $80, lesportsac.com

Less than thirty bucks, but would look right at home slung over that DVF wrap dress.
Dakine "Lola," $27, ebags.com

And I thought I'd throw this one in, just in case your new job is, like, 2nd baseman for the Yankees, and you've got a little extra cheddah to spend:

I could stare at this for hours. Hours I should probably spend training myself not to say things like, "cheddah."
Gucci Brown Suede Messenger Bag, $796 (usually $1000--what a deal!), bluefly.com

Shark Attack Chic

You know how pretty much every day the Discovery Channel airs a variation of a show called something like, "Sharks: Nature's Killing Machines," and in every one of these shows, there's always a scene where, after a harrowing dramatization of his ordeal, a one-armed shark attack survivor is sitting on the beach with his surfboard propped up next to him, and he gestures to the giant chunk bitten out of it and says, soberly, "Obviously, if he'd bitten three inches to the left, I'd be a goner."?

This dress sure reminds me of that surfboard.

Inadvertently Ask Daddy Likey!

One of the advertising programs I use includes a feature that allows me to be my own lil' version of Big Brother (in the Orwellian, rather than RealityShowian, sense) and see the words and phrases people have typed into google that brought them to Daddy Likey.

For example, if someone searches for "how to look like a refrigerator," and Google helpfully directs them to this post, this program will show me that someone searched for "how to look like a refrigerator," and I will laugh. (Don't panic--it's totally anonymous. It doesn't tell me your name, address, and how you voted in the last election or anything, although it probably would if I paid for an upgrade.)

I think that a lot of bloggers use this tool to adjust their content and see their readership skyrocket and blah blah blah, but I'd rather turn it into a regular feature called...

Inadvertently Ask Daddy Likey!

Every so often, I'll choose some of these searched phrases and respond to them as if they were submissions to a really strange and dysfunctional advice column. Not really getting it? Just read a few, and I think you will. All searched phrases are in bold italics but otherwise left unchanged. My responses are below in the normal font. Here we go...

"it's my birthday bitches"
You seem a bit hostile. Perhaps your friends aren't meeting your emotional needs? Try to re-examine the priorities in your life, and surround yourself with positive influences. And happy birthday!

"i love my overalls."
i do too. Sing it loud and proud, sister!

abercrombie and fitch marketing techniques
I've always thought that the A&F marketing meetings went something like this:
"Alright, so what's our big idea for this quarter? We want something bold, something fresh, something that the kids will really relate to."
(pause)
"Hot, naked people?"
"Great! Who's buying lunch?"


bad grade p.e. running in the heat.
You just gave me the worst flashbacks. Damnit.

30% off anthropologie sale
LOL! Good one!

5 adjectives to describe a rubber ducky
Hmmm....I'll go with "squishy," "squeaky," "adorable," "yellow," and "buoyant." Also, why in God's name are you googling this?

any man can be a dad but not many can be a daddy
Ummm...sure. I guess I could get behind that.

how to tie a scarf on your head gangster style
I hate to break it to ya, kid, but if you're Googling this, you're kind of a crappy gangster. For a start, try to say "gangsta" instead of "gangster." It will improve your street cred. I am a white girl from a small town in Oregon. I know these things.

do men notice woman's shoes
I didn't used to think so, but according to the comments and emails I got after this post, I guess they kind of do.

catwalk diet
I've heard it's something like cigarettes, champagne, and maybe a little coke. Talk to your doctor before beginning any new diet or exercise program.

caught dad wearing tights
Well, that is definitely awkward.

picture of the midget from willow
Those can be tough to find. Here you go:


is stegosaurus capitalized
I've always wondered that too.

Hilary Duff diet secret
OMG! I totally know it! Click here! Click here!

"what do girls where under a mini skirt/dress"
First of all, I must commend you for not taking part in "flip-up Friday," which is how the upstanding young men of my generation answered this question (I still hesitate before pulling on a skirt on that traumatic day of the week). Your kindness and chivalry will get you far in life. You know what else will get you far in life? Spelling and grammar. Pay attention in language arts class, and someday you'll meet a smart, strong woman who will answer all your questions.

my disorganization is ruining my life
I. Feel. Your. Pain. I'd ask you to meet up for coffee but I can't find my planner.

Reading Daddy Likey Is Not Without Its Perks

10% off the rad, retro merchandise for boys and girls at Waterloo.

Coupon code: daddylikey

All Style Hands on Deck!

One of my beautiful, smart, accomplished readers, Amber, recently sent me this email:

Hey Winona,
I was just accepted into the Teen Vogue Fashion University for 2007, which is happening in October in New York City. I'm not sure if you know much about the program (I trust that you've heard of it), but I am extremely excited to be going! I know that I will be surrounded by some of the fashion greats (Cynthia Rowley & Philip Lim, to name a few), and so many of the girls there will SERIOUSLY know how to dress. I was just thinking about it and getting slightly nervous, and wondering if you could provide me with some advice as to what to wear? Friday night is a Locksley (don't know who the hell they are) concert, Saturday is a full day of seminars/classes followed by a wrap party that night, and Sunday is the "graduation" ceremony. What do you think would be appropriate for these events? I'd love to hear your input! Thanks so much!

Usually, right about now, I would start dishing out sage advice, but I know that a few of my fellow fashion bloggers are attending TVFU (Lauren and Kori come to mind), and I know that my readers are gonna have some fab ideas for you, my dear, so I think I'm gonna open this one up for some good, old fashioned collaboration.

So, let's pretend that we're a bunch of girls (wow, that's a tough one) who just found out the theme for prom, and we're calling each other and shrieking and giggling and trying to figure out what to wear and coordinating outfits and floating jokes about asking the really nerdy guy we secretly have a crush on to see how our friends might react. Wow, that metaphor got sort of out of hand.

Anyway, what do you think Amber should wear to look like she wasn't trying tooooo hard but is just naturally the chicest girl in the room? What kind of outfit will make Philip Lim do a double-take and then ask her to come work for him? Lauren and Kori, what are you wearing? Click on the link above if you want more of a feel for the event.

Please leave a comment describing the perfect outfit you envision for our Amber, and within the next week or so, I'll choose a few of my favorites to illustrate in a follow-up post. Thank you in advance for your willingness to shriek and giggle. And, word to the wise: nerdy guys are the best.

Let's Play Political Blog!

The protest was amazing. Life-changing. Inspiring. A cause for hope. 100,000 people gathered in the streets and demanded change.


Not that anyone who wasn't there would know that. Thanks, big media, thanks a lot.

If you got your info on from CNN or FOX or the AP (that is, if you found any coverage at all), it probably went something like this: Peace protesters squared off with pro-war advocates in DC. Radicals got maced and arrested. Now, back to OJ...

Where's that liberal media when you need 'em?

Here's my experience:

We took the subway to downtown DC and picked up a couple of "End the war NOW" signs. We were over three hours early for the march, and although hundreds of people were already gathered behind the White House, we decided to take some time to explore. We'd barely been there five minutes when a man approached us and said, sheepishly, in broken English, "Can I please take a photo with you?"

"Sure," my boyfriend and I said, and he handed my brother his camera.

"Can you please hold the signs high?" the man asked.

We hoisted them up and smiled for the picture. Afterward, I asked him where he was from.

"Mexico City," he told us, and motioned to the signs. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

We headed back to the gathering place (not before being stopped and thanked by a man from India and encouraged by a delivery man who said, "Let's bring our boys home."). Thousands of people had congregated by now, but still, when I looked up at the White House, I felt insignificant and vulnerable. I don't know, maybe it was the snipers.

The pre-march rally was really inspiring. We heard from Iraq war veterans, military moms, and ministers of every religion. I can't think of any other way to say this, so I'll have to employ a cliche here, but there was truly an electricity in the air. I was surrounded by tens of thousands of other people who wanted--demanded--peace on earth. I turned around during one of the speeches and saw that the square had filled completely, and people were overflowing down every street farther than I could see (that's "farther than I could see," not "farther than the eye could see"--jesus, I'm not that into cliches). You know that giant protest scene in Forrest Gump where the guy keeps yelling "Viet-fucking-nam!"? It felt like that. It was amazing.

The march itself was fuckin' incredible. The sky stretched out in front of us in perfect blue, people were laughing and chanting, there was even a guy selling pretzels--God truly blessed America.


A beautiful old church on the march route had opened its doors and set up speakers that were playing "How to Save a Life." And this is when I fell in love with Washington DC.


Now, the media would have you believe that the ratio of peace protesters to pro-war protesters was 1:1, if not 1 crazy hippie:500,000 honorable patriots, but holy hell is this wrong. We didn't encounter one pro-war person until about three-quarters of the way into the march. While there were only 500-1000 of them (versus our 100,000, which doesn't totally reflect public opinion or anything...), I've got to give them credit for extreme nastiness. They yelled death threats at us and asked why we love terrorists so much (ah yes, I do love my terrorists). Here is a picture of a sweet old lady gesturing to a young woman peace protester that she wants to slit her throat (I'm dead serious):

Isn't that adorable??

Anyway, I'm not going to waste any more words on them because they've already been exhaustively lauded by all major media outlets. I will say that America is a wonderful place where two groups that are so opposed to each have every right to share a space and voice their views, but when there are 500 people on one side, and tens of thousands on the other, and the media gives them equal billing, well, that's a fucking tragedy.

When we reached Capitol Hill, the police were in riot gear and had a barricade set up so we couldn't get close. They were marching back and forth in such a dramatic fashion that part of the crowd started singing the Imperial theme from Star Wars. I thought that was clever.


People started offering themselves up for arrest by voluntarily crossing the police line. They would climb over a small fence and the cops would grab them. The crowd roared "Thank you!" as each pair of handcuffs snapped shut. It was beautiful. Two hundred people--Iraq veterans, old ladies, teenagers--went to jail to make a statement. It would have made a damn good one, too, had any of this been covered by the media.


Things got pretty tense at this stage in the protest. More cops were flooding in and they placed officers with tear gas at the front lines. A geeky teenage boy a few feet behind me got bored and started playing light saber, by himself, with a piece of his sign. A cop wearing a face mask, grabbed a can of pepper spray big enough to disable a bear and shouted, "You see the stick? You see the guy with the stick?" to the officer next to him, who drew his baton and said, "I see it." I heard screaming as a group of rowdier protesters a few hundred feet to my left got maced. People were calling the cops "traitors" and yelling "Shame on you!" This wasn't a situation I wanted to be in. First of all, crowds can get crazy really fast and give the cops ample reason to use force. And secondly, I didn't come to Washington DC to taunt cops, who were just doing their jobs, I came to protest the war.

Here's me posing with one of the cops who was guarding my section:

We had a bond. I know he felt it too.

In conclusion, it was a fantastic experience, and although the lack of media coverage is enraging (only after wading through hours of OJ news did we find a brief mention of the march), to be there, to see the passion of the people, was so encouraging. Also, I fell completely in love with Washington DC and hope to move there sometime in the next few years. If you live there and read my blog, you are required to be my friend.

As for the question of what to wear to a protest march (and to sort of bring this blog back to the whole fashion thing), I decided to go with a trucker hat I got airbrushed by a reformed convict for fifteen bucks at the State Fair (classy, right?), big aviator sunglasses (always), a black t-shirt embellished with political buttons, a peace sign necklace, and jeans. Basic, yes, but it did the job.

I wanted to say thank you to all of you who left supportive comments and emails. I had my mom read them to me at different airport stops throughout the trip (and I read them a million times when I got home) and they made my heart flutter!

Thanks so much for your support and patience, and now we should be back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Peace be the Journey*

Dearest Lovelies,

There'll be no new posts today through Monday because I'm headed to Washington DC to join the war protest and march for impeachment of the President. I've been fed up for a long time, but after I watched this video, I bought my ticket to DC:



People--young people, wonderful people--are dying for motives that are at best incompetent and at worst completely corrupt. I feel that I owe it to myself, my (future) children, the soldiers, and the world to stand up and say, for lack of a better term, "Ah, heeellllll no!"

I'm pretty sure most of you will support me in this (and if you don't, I'm not interested in arguing), and I appreciate it greatly.

PEACE, Love, and Happiness,
Winona

*Sian, there's another Cool Runnings reference for ya.

Blogback Mountain

Gala is running a wardrobe makeover series that has almost--almost--inspired me to go through my closet. And when I say "closet," I mean, "the pile of clothes on my floor that is roughly as big as the pile of Triceratops shit in Jurassic Park." And that was perhaps the worst analogy I've ever made. Sorry about that.

Frequent commenter Peajai has started her own blog full of fabulous plus-sized fashions. And it's not just a relentless ode to Lane Bryant like most full-figured style sites.

Kori at the Fashion-y Blog has discovered a new perfume that makes her want to eat her wrists. Her description (including a Ben & Jerry's reference) kind of makes me want to eat them too. Pray we never cross paths, Kori...

The eyeliner I used in 1998 would have been a nubby, cracked Maybelline pencil I stole from my friend Brittany who stole it from her mom. Jennine was using Chanel. And she still does (the very same compact), to fabulous effect.

Lalla Lydia delves into the good, the bad, and the freakin' hilarious of ruffled fashions.

And finally, if you get jealous when you read about people getting amazingly cute shoes custom made with gorgeous fabric from Japan, don't read this.

The Time Has Come--Let's Vote!

Alright, with the help of some unbiased friends and family members, I have finally identified three finalists in the Junior High Fashion Confessions contest. I was so impressed and touched by all the stories. Every single entry made me laugh, smile, or, dare I say it, shed a tear (Inside the Pages--I totally tried to match spandex outfits with a much skinnier best friend, too! Lisa--way to show those Babysitters Club bitches!).

After I read the whole bunch aloud to my little brother, who just began junior high himself, my mom took him aside and said, "You have just learned a very valuable lesson that few other people your age realize: there is life after junior high. There is better life after junior high."

Life goes on after junior high, yes, but the fashions never die.

Let me just reiterate that you are all winners--ironically, because you were such losers :)--and that this was pretty much the hardest decision ever. But now, without further ado, and in no particular order, here are the three finalists:

From Mortified:

Unfortunately, I have several from which to choose. I think I'll go with one of my most memorable...and horrendous. A look I like to refer to as "Portly Poser."

The year: 1988. The setting: small town Texas. Me: A chunky 7th grader with a can of LA Looks and a dream.

Let's take the outfit from the top...the "rooster" bangs, a stark contrast to my straight black hair (courtesy of an iron...a REAL iron).

Giant hoop earrings that would put Janet Jackson and her key earring to shame.

Big red Sally Jessy Raphael glasses (What 7th grader didn't think this talk show host exemplified the phrase "fashion forward?") I wanted them so much that I actually lied to the eye dr. and said I couldn't read the last few lines of the optical exam. I know. Loser.

White Vision Street Wear t-shirt.

Red knit bubble skirt from Units or Modules, can't recall. Now, I know these have come back in style somewhat, but I STILL don't think they are a good idea. Did I mention I was a chunk? Knit...bubble skirt...strikes 15 and 16.

To top it off, I had these killer red and black Vision Street Wear high tops. They were actually the best part of the outfit and something I would totally wear today.

The kicker is...the extent of my skateboarding was riding up and down the tiny wheelchair ramps at the local nursing home. Hardcore, I know.

Thankfully, the skater phase was short-lived. Less than two years later, I ditched my VSW duds for Hammer pants, matching vest and one of those red, green and yellow leather Africa necklaces. Yep. White girl was representin'.
--------------------

From Cate:

In junior high, I was obsessed with silk. I thought that silk could make any garment classy and worth wearing. I was also obsessed with boxer shorts, despite having been caught with my fly open several times...by peers, teachers, 5th graders, my horrified parents..you get the picture.

After purchasing about three thousand oversized silk short-sleeved buttondowns in a wide variety of extremely intense colors, I found what I considered my crowning glory. Silk, maroon, Animaniacs-printed boxers. In size XXL, so they wouldn't "dig in" to my youthful chub (or raging case of needing-to-put-the-food-down-fatty, whichever). I decided to wear these with white sheer knee highs, black patent leather mary-janes, and a black cotton tee shirt, to a party where the boy I was in LOVE with was in attendance.

Needless to say, I returned home boyless and traumatized after having "She's an Animaniac" sung to me all night long, to the tune of the Animaniacs theme song. Although I will say....I still wore the boxers. Furtively, at home, and under my man-jeans, but with a sense of "the bastards will never get me down."

An honorable mention goes to the "As If!" and "Whatever!" shirts that dutifully strained around my pudgy midsection in eighth grade after Clueless came out.
--------------------

From Katie-Lilga:

im not sure what the equivalant of junior high is here in ireland but ill just pretend ok? alrighty. well all through school i had to wear a set uniform (like most schools here) but every now and then we would haul our asses into assembly only to be told the exciting news that we had a colour day coming up. and SWEET mother of god did we make the most of those days. you'd come in in the morning and everyone would seem far more awake and excitable in the corridors, huddled in groups talking fashion only glancing up to have a goo at what everyone that passed by was wearing. and you'd want to see the teachers trying to get us to do any kind of work on those days. HA. anyway on my first colour day in a new school my outfit went a little something like this...

the most conspicuous big blue chunky CHUNKY blue skecher PLATFORM runners. (i refused to let this craze go a year beforehand when everyone else did.)

jeans that were made out of a variety of different coloured but equally manky retangles of denim. they were too short (platforms did not help) and the fly had to be SUPERGLUED CLOSED. (they were my favourite favourite jeans and i didn't care how i kept that damn zip up.)

a BRIGHT RED 'nope' fleecey hoody with a big WINKING cat on the front. (why oh why is that cat winking??)

all topped off with a long rainbow scarf (it wasn't even cold) that used to get caught in between my legs when i walked leading one good friend to start calling me 'multi-coloured pubes' or mcp for short. (this was actually all in good fun but still added to the hilarity of the outfit)

oh oh and i'd just discovered make-up...gold cream eyeshadow and tonnes of orange bronzer.

i got a lot of wear out of that outfit. the jeans could alternated with beige 'o'neills' tracksuit bottoms (yes with platforms). in fact o'neills were the must have at the time, the waist band had to be folded down and they had to be dragging slightly on the ground so you were constantly tripping up. (i was ok in that regard, mine hung halfway down the platform heel, not such a silly choice of shoe nooow are they?!)

oh and everyone thought i looked cool.

apparently.

now that wasn't long ago at all but you should seeee the kids in my old school these days, all kitted out in their designer labels, fake tan and professional looking make-up...YOU'RE LIKE TWO YEARS OLD!!!
----------------------

Now, dear readers, it's up to you.

Who should win the totally phat junior high flashback giftpack?
	Mortified--A Can of LA Looks and a Dream
	Cate--She's an Animaniac
	Katie-Lilga--Multi-Coloured Pubes
pollcode.com free polls

Don't Show-cha Your Chocha: Volume IV

I'd like to start by saying I have the best readers in the world, and your response to DSYC has been unwavering and hilarious.

Observe:

Stef found this "bad sweater trying to be jipped as a dress:"

She says: "Sweater Dress", for... uhm... winter? Winter in Arizona, maybe. This looked cute until I clicked on the link for "More Photos" & saw she's wearing nothing but mid-thigh socks underneath. What is the point of being cozy & warm on top when your legs will be FREEZING??!? Not quite as bad as others out there, but I'd sure like to see someone wearing this try to sit down.

From Pimkie:

I'd like to see this from the back, because I bet there's some butt cheek happenin'. And when I say I'd like to see this from the back, I mean I don't.

Anna, whom I'm encouraging to start her own blog because her email made me laugh so hard, has the story behind this picture:

It's like she spent the whole shoot having a tantrum and they had no choice but to photograph her in the middle of saying "-- my agent on the phone NOW! I'm NOT KIDDING!! STOP TAKING THE GODDAMN PICTURES, MY PICHE IS F***ING FREEZING HERE!!!"

All I have to say is: Thank God for a well-placed shadow:

Tiffany says, "This one's from ShopBop, the worst offender, it seems!" Yes, Tiffany, ShopBop is a place where pants, skirts, shorts, and underwear do not exist. It is a bottomless utopia, if you will.

Jeanette found a "pre-natal version" on Go Fug Yourself:

Perhaps she's expecting her water to break, and didn't want to ruin a perfectly good pair of pants?

Jessica thinks she knows what this model is thinking:

Why, oh why, won't this dress stay down??

Jessica, if you ever need an investor to start a psychic reading business, I'll put the money down right now.

Anne-Marie received a "Style Update" email from Asos.com, and, though it may have looked innocent to the untrained eye, she was a strong and vigilant DSYC officer, and turned in the offending materials:

No bending over for her!

Also pictured in the Asos Style Update, this "dress" that would barely cover someone's stomach, let alone her ladybits:

Thank you, Anne-Marie, you are a true patriot.

And finally, Martina found this collage of so-called "wedding dresses," and had to call it out:

Somehow, I think that pose in the upper left is gonna look a little odd at the altar. But maybe I'm just old-fashioned.


Send me your Don't Show-cha Your Chocha finds at daddylikeyblog@gmail.com Stay true, stay vigilant, and for the love of God, wear pants!

As Seen on the Tag of an Incredibly Ostentatious Red, White, and Blue "CHEVY--MADE IN THE USA" T-Shirt Hanging on the Clearance Rack at Kohl's:

"Made in India."

I told you I was gonna nag.

Time is running out for my Junior High Fashion Confessions contest! The stories posted so far have been AMAZING (my god, you guys make me laugh so hard!), but that doesn't mean that those who have yet to enter should remain on the sidelines. Remember that time at the school dance when you totally wanted to ask the popular guy to dance with you, but instead you sat by the punchbowl, pretending you were extremely thirsty, but really just too timid to take the plunge?

Well, this is just like that! Except it's probably good you didn't dance with the popular guy, because he was probably a douchebag and he probably would have copped a feel of your ass and then things would have gotten awkward. So actually this contest is different. It will not move its hands lower than your waist, I swear.

Enter!

Cordially,
Winona

p.s. Shoegal's comment made me aware that my lovely international readers don't have junior high, but most of you do have middle school, and all of you (hopefully) had puberty, so just tell me what you were wearing around the time you got your first pimple. I'm not picky (wow, that was a really poorly timed phrase).

p.p.s.s. Also, just in case you have bad peripheral vision, allow me to point you toward the ad in the right sidebar for a 20% off coupon for Jane's Closet! Feel free to use it to shop and repent for your past fashion sins.

An Open Letter to Vera Wang

Dear Vera,

How are you today? I am doing fine. I'm not sure why I'm starting this letter the same way I did when I wrote to my imaginary pen pal in fourth grade, but that is not the point. The point is that I checked out your new Simply Vera collection for Kohl's today, and we need to have some words.

I was sooooo stoked to see this collection in the flesh. I'd been anticipating its arrival since, like, I was born, and your 800 page ad/editorial/entire-magazine-devoted-to-you in O magazine got me even more hot and bothered. I mean, look how cute this is:

I love the color palette and the different shapes and colors and textures. I also love that you completely and totally and unabashedly love leggings (amen, sister!). So when this post kindly informed me that we country folk would be able to rope up our oxen and head on out to the nearest Kohl's to find your collection stocked early, well, I roped up my oxen (read: got in my '97 Honda Accord) and got my ass to the store.

And, to borrow a phrase from pretentious academics everywhere, herein lies the problem.

I think I really would have liked these clothes if I were legally blind. And I mean that in the best way. They were fabulous and colorful and unique from far away, but, as I cantered toward them, giggling with unbridled glee, a different picture came into focus, a picture that looked a lot like cheap shit. I saw shoddy seams, beads falling off, and more polyester than a 1970's fondue party.

In other words, Vera, these clothes are total Monets.

I tried on a polyester tunic that made me resemble one of my high school English teachers who resembled a giant grape, and, after gaping at my new, expanded physique in the mirror, I looked at the price tag, just for kicks. $50?? Vera, Vera, Vera. I would normally be very understanding of a price like this, because there's no denying that these are beautiful clothes, but dude (I bet nobody's ever called you dude before, huh? The internet makes me brave...), these are beautiful clothes that are falling apart.

I gotta be straight wichu, girl--I don't live in New York and I can't afford a $10,000 wedding dress, hell, I can't even afford one of your $300 party dresses on Bluefly, but I can still appreciate the difference between good cheap shit and bad cheap shit. You can't pull the polyester over my eyes on this one.

I'm sorry it has to be this way. If you want to send me this dress, things might be different.

Love,
Winona

picture from O magazine via Jezebel.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

I just spent the past two hours creating a Myspace page for Daddy Likey. Despite my hard work and rampant swearing, it's kind of the lamest profile ever (I'm gonna blame my friend Jess for this one, because she was like, "Oooh I'll help you make a cool profile! It'll be so fun!" and then she decided that going to work was more important...I know, her priorities are totally messed up). But still, it's ruining my self-worth to have Tom as my only friend (Tom's a sucky friend), and I want to meet you! Well, the cyber version of you. I never thought I'd find myself saying this, but let's be Myspace friends!

Check out my profile here and let's take the next step in our relationship!

p.s. And enter my contest, or I'll track you down and confront you, Dog the Bounty Hunter style.
p.p.s.s. Do you like how I ask you to be my friend and then threaten you?

Mr. Rogers Goes to Vegas

My reaction to this sweater--an involuntary squeal followed by hyperventilating followed by ransacking my house to try to find an extra $275, only to find 30 damn cents--made me realize not only that I am extremely materialistic, but that this sweater is my style, epitomized.

Let me just call up my old calculus know-how to put together a quick formula here...let's see....Slouchy grandpa + flamboyant showgirl = Winona. Yep, that's about right.

Nanette Lepore Sequin Cardigan, $275, nordstrom.com

p.s. How rad would it be if there were a lost episode called Mr. Rogers Goes to Vegas? I wonder how many times he changed his shoes in that one.

CONTEST! Junior High Fashion Confessions

Me (left) with a doily in my hair, circa 8th grade

Today was my little brother's first day of junior high school. We've all had a lot of fun convincing him that he would have to be measured for his jock strap on stage at a school-wide assembly, but today the jig was up, and he was off to reality.

I seem to write about junior high a lot (see here, here, and here). I'm not sure if it's because I'm still emotionally scarred (well, OK, I'm sure of that), or what, but middle school analogies just pour out of me in every facet of life, from job interviews (that was awkward) to their almost daily occurrence on Daddy Likey.

I got to thinkin' that I haven't done a contest for quite awhile, so why not celebrate my little bro's life change and my apparent obsession with a junior high themed contest??

I want to know about your junior high fashion sense. What was your favorite outfit? Your least favorite that your mom made you wear? The garment you look back on and cringe? The garment you look back on and secretly want to revive? Did you get teased for wearing the wrong thing? Did everyone hate you because you dressed so right?? How did you wear your hair? Who was your style icon?

There are no specific criteria for this, just tell me a true junior high fashion story. Make me laugh and/or cry. Leave your entry in the comments section. Treat it like a confessional; just let it all out, honey. There's no need to leave your full name if you don't want to (I totally understand if you don't want prospective employers googling you to find your past penchant for Converse and fishnet gloves); your first name and last initial or a nickname (maybe your junior high nickname? Mine was Winoner Boner...damnit) will be fine.

This contest will run for a week, during which time I will hound you incessantly to enter, and then I'll choose the top 3 (or maybe 5) and have you guys vote on the winner. The lucky winner will receive pride, validation, and a totally sweet junior high flashback giftpack, including a bottle of Revlon's Charlie perfume, Bonne Bell chapstick, a Boyz II Men cd, and much more!

I'll get you started with a couple examples:

My very favorite outfit in junior high was the intriguing combo of my giant, bright purple American Girl jacket, purchased from the back of American Girl magazine; my Zoo volunteer t-shirt, complete with rips around the neckline from a possum attack (yes, really); a pair of plaid short shorts; mismatching kneehighs; and a pair of lace-up, faux-suede boots. If you can't guess, I wasn't that popular.

-or-

In 8th grade, a kid named Billy Williams came to our school. He was immediately popular because he looked like a prepubescent Abercrombie model, and there was a rumor floating the halls that his dad owned Budweiser. The first thing I noticed about Billy was his shoes--pristine blue and white Adidas Superstars. I knew I had to have a pair, so I saved up, had my mom drive me to Fred Meyer, and got my very own. I literally wore them to bed that night; I had never felt so cool. I was opening my locker the next day when I heard a voice behind me.
"What do you think you're doing?"
I turned around. It was Billy, staring at my shoes.
"Why are you copying me?" he asked.
"Umm...er...I had these before you!" I lied.
"Yeah right," Billy said. "Those are men's shoes anyway. What are you? A man?"
He teased me daily for the rest of the year, through two more pairs of Superstars, but I didn't care. A boy had never paid any attention to me before, and I decided it was better than nothin'.

So there you go. Obviously, they don't have to be that long--"I dressed like Kurt Cobain." would suffice. Please tell your friends, and if you have a blog and would like to link to this contest, I would love you forever. I'm so excited to read these, and thank you in advance for sharing your stories!

Want to send a picture of your hot junior high self? Email me at daddylikeyblog@gmail.com

Sometimes this turns into one of those "What I did today..." blogs. Sorry about that.

So I was totally planning to take some better pictures of my thrifting haul (below) during the long weekend, per reader request, but then some stuff happened:

First, I went to volunteer at the state fair and ate a gyro, some curly fries, a vat of lemonade, half a corndog, and a candied apple. Needless to say, when I got home I wasn't in a modeling mood (yes, I know that's Kate Moss' usual pre-catwalk menu, but what can I say? I'm a rookie.).

The next day, I started a new nutrition plan that's supposed to help my ADD. It made me cut down my sugar intake and, therefore, I spent all day screaming at my boyfriend to make me pancakes with extra powdered sugar and syrup and gummi bears. Another not-so-good day for photos.

And yesterday, well, yesterday was labor day. As we all know, labor day was invented to honor those who sit on their ass and write about clothes on the internet, so I went rollerskating and watched Happy Gilmore.

Hopefully the stars will line up sometime in the next few days and I'll get some better pictures taken, but in the meantime, I will distract you with a flurry of new posts to make you forget about my incredible Michael Kors heels that I got for $4.50. Oops.