Dear Daddy Likey: I can't find a damn dress!

I received these two reader questions via email at around the same time:

Dear Daddy Likey,

I'm 18 years old and going to a benefit for an organization that helps emerging young playwrights, and I can't find a dress online that I like, or that fits my needs. I haven't worn anything shorter then a three quarter length sleeve since a few summer's ago, and so I need a night-time dress that would also work with a cardigan/long sleeved top and tights. You probably would rather do something much more exciting then give me ideas, but since we have a similar style and body shape and you are a hilarious genius, I figured you would be the girl to help me out. Oh, and I'd need it to be fairly cheap. Girls got needs.

Signed,
Short-Sleeved Shakespeare

and

Dear Daddy Likey,

I’m in a bit of a dilemma. I’m being forced to go to my high school’s winterfest dance, and I haven’t any idea in the slightest as to what to wear. I went to homecoming in a fringed pale pink dress by H & M, and, as much as I loved it, it was hardly figure-flattering, and not exactly a proper dress for the occasion. Winterfest is generally just a colder version of Homecoming or Prom (instead of the customary football game no one goes to with Homecoming, there's a basketball game no one goes to). I'm thinking I have a rectangular figure, but perhaps it's a cone...I can't really tell...Could you give me a few tips?

Signed,
Rectangle, or Perhaps Cone

Dear Shakespeare and Cone,

I thought I could group these two queries together because both of you are adorable teenage readers in need of formal dresses, and since one of you has a similar body shape as me, and my body shape could also be described as a rectangle, or perhaps a cone, I think this pairing will work out swimmingly!

I was actually out shopping today, and tried on a few dresses, and let me tell you: I hate shopping for dresses. I've realized that my problem is that since I'm so thick in the middle, wearing one piece of fabric makes me look like this rectangular mass, instead of a perfectly normal non-mass with legs, waist, and chest. I'm not sure if you guys are experiencing the same issue or if I'm the only mass around these parts, but here are some ideas for you, regardless:

Something like this would be so great for an emerging playwrights benefit--doesn't the model look just like a young tortured writer? This is something I would have worn when I myself was an 18-year-old tortured writer, so I can vouch for its authenticity. Other bonuses: it has sleeves, but the lace keeps them delicate instead of bulky, it obviously looks fabulous with tights, and you could totally wear it again with a slouchy cardigan and some flats.
Velvet Torch Lace Party Mini Dress, $54, nordstrom.com

I think this dress (or something like it) would be fantastic for both occasions:

The color is a stand-out, and the ruching across the waist is super flattering. It would work on its own or with a cardigan and tights, and can you believe it's from Sears??
Trixxi Ruched Glitter Dress, $79.99, here. If that price is a bit steep (seriously, WTF, Sears?), look for similar styles on ebay or at stores like Marshalls and TJ Maxx.

Completely Gratuitous Sidenote: I can't mention Sears without telling you about the time I was at a group job interview with a girl who used to work at Sears, and the interviewer asked us all to give an example of a time where we had a problem with a coworker and how we solved it. This girl told a story about how one of her coworkers was in a really bad relationship so she offered to let the coworker move into her apartment, on the condition that she stop seeing her asshole boyfriend, so the coworker moved in and they became best friends, but then she found out that the coworker was actually still doin' the nasty with the asshole boyfriend, so they got in a big fight and the Sears girl was like, "You can just HAVE my apartment, cuz I don't want it anymore, bitch!" and moved in with her mom, and this story went on for like fifteen minutes as the rest of the applicants and the interviewer grimaced and laughed nervously and sank lower and lower into our chairs. Finally, the interviewer interrupted the Sears girl and asked, "Wait, so how did you solve this problem?" and the girl was like, "I didn't. I hate her and she stole my apartment. That's why I'm applying here."

Moving on...

LOVE this:

And not just because it's my favorite color.
London Times Satin Pleated Tie-Back Dress, $50, overstock.com

Another great option for formal occasions when finding a dress proves hellish: try separates. Just find a dreamy, dramatic skirt, like this one (which just sold for $20 on ebay!)...

(JC Penney also has a gorgeous purple one on sale for $50, here)

...And pair it with whatever feels comfortable and appropriate for the event. My young playwright might add a basic black sweater set and look absolutely dashing, while the lovely Winterfest attendee could try a sequined sleeveless top. The possibilities are endless, and dressing in separates can be easier and more flattering than scouring the earth for the perfect dress. I wore a poofy pink skirt and ruched brown tank top to my senior prom, and even though I eventually turned into a drink menu, it was a great outfit while it lasted.

Best of luck to you, and I hope you ladies have a lovely time at your prospective events!

A Little Martin for Your Monday?

I've eaten a few pythons in my life. I mean, who hasn't?

If I'm being honest, some of my snake snacks have been, umm, less than ideal. And by "less than ideal" I mean I ate a dead, rotting snake I found in a dumpster behind an exotic pet store.
And it looked a lot like this:

Conclude from that what you will.

XOXO,
Martin

VBH Python Box Clutch, $875, netaporter.com

p.s. If you're new to Daddy Likey (welcome!), and you're all, "What the hell kind of fashion blogger talks openly about eating rotten snakes?" then you definitely need to stop judging me and read Martin's intro instead.

Listen

When I think of the occupations where good listening skills are most important, doctor and hairdresser rank pretty high on the list. And yet, doctors and hairdressers consistently impress me with their abilities to not listen at all.

I've gone to different doctors for different ailments, and most every visit can be summed up in similar fashion:

A doctor walks into the room. "How are you?" I say. "Antibiotics," they say, and "Call me if the pills give you a rash." And then, like a deaf ninja, they disappear into the night, the only evidence of their presence a prescription slip rustling in the wind, and a substantial co-pay awaiting me at the front counter.

My hairdressers, when they're not french kissing me, usually aren't much better. (Would it be cocky to nominate that for Best Sentence Ever?) Sure, I've had some good ones, but not many.

The experience I had last week was especially bad. I blame myself, really, because I had let my hair grow out to that sad, awkward, in-between stage where you can do nothing but pile it in a frizzy knot on top of your head and hope people think, "Look at that cool bohemian girl" rather than "Look at that poor homeless girl." Not only that, but I was feeling crushed under the weight of a massive deadline, and cutting off a part of my body seemed like a drastic but necessary measure to free myself (I had to decide between my foot and my hair).

Throwing caution and logic to the wind, I called the salon geographically closest to my house and made an appointment for "15 minutes from now," despite the following warning signs:

• They had an appointment available 15 minutes from now.
• The name of the salon had a confusing and gratuitous accent mark, presumably to make it seem more French.
• The receptionist thought my name was Banana.

Minor details, right? I told you I was desperate.

I arrived at the salon just in time to hear one of the stylists tell a client about how a witch had stolen her boyfriend. "I figured out that she was actually a witch," she said. "Can you imagine? A real witch, right here in the neighborhood! I always had the suspicion, you know? Cuz she, like, did spells and stuff, and she was ugly."

Minor details.

My normal-seeming stylist greeted me and led me to her station. "So, what would you like today?" she asked.

"Well, I just really hate my hair right now, and I was thinking--"

"Flat iron," she said, petting my hair.

"What?"

"Flat iron. You need to flat iron your hair. It looks bad when you don't flat iron."

So, here's a fun fact about me: I have used a flat iron exactly three times in my life. All of these instances took place during my freshman year of college (didn't we all do a bit of experimenting?), and they all ended with a combination of acute boredom and seared flesh. I will never use a flat iron again. I just can't. It's boring and takes FOREVER and it makes my hair frizzy and I like my hair wavy anyway.

I attempted to explain this to the hairdresser, thinking it was sort of hilarious.

"Why would you not use a flatiron?" She seemed personally offended.

"I just...wouldn't."

"But it makes your hair so nice!"

"I just hate doing it. I think it's a waste of time. I would maybe, possibly consider doing it if a Russian terrorist kidnapped my family and demanded a straightening treatment as ransom, but even then I would hesitate."

"Your family is kidnapped by Russians?"

"Well, no."

"So you go buy a flat iron. Spend $100 on a nice one. You don't color your hair, so you have lots of money left over."

"Actually I'd rather spend $100 on anything else--"

"I could give you a really cute haircut if you promise to straighten it."

"What kind of haircut will you give me if I promise that I would never buy or use a flat iron?"

"A good haircut, just not stylish."

"Can I have some antibiotics?"

"What?"

Good Luck With This One, Santa

I already posted this on my Tumblr blog, but it's too good not to share here as well.

This is my 13-year-old brother's Christmas list:

• Hamster with top hat

• Gun that shoots meatballs

• Meatballs

• Tay Zonday action figure

If you're lucky enough to not know, this is Tay Zonday:

p.s. If you haven't yet, see the post below for more funny commentary from my brothers.

Hoofing It. (Literally.) UPDATED: With Five Men's Impressions!

OK, I know I said I was super busy, and I am, and I seriously shouldn't be spending time blogging, but LOOK AT THESE:


I came across them while browsing ebay (something else I shouldn't have been doing), and the starting bid is $625. For serious.

I tried to make a list of situations in which these shoes would make sense, and here's what I got:

1. If you were dressing up as a cow for Halloween.
2. If you were in a play, and your role was "cow."
3. ....

Any other ideas?

UPDATE: Thanks to the suggestion of an anonymous commenter, I summoned the Five Men for an urgent summit. Since they'd seen the post already, I wasn't able to get their true first impressions, so instead I asked them to come up with their own lists of places/situations where they thought this shoe would make sense. Here's what they said:

From my 19 year-old brother:
1. Rock climbing in mountain goat country.
2. To kick a child and/or dwarf in the eyes.
3. Chew your cud and wear these shoes to make yourself Kosher (Warning: may result in murder and consumption by believers of Leviticus)

From my boyfriend:
1. To put a cow at ease when preparing for artificial insemination.
2. To wear on a date with a centaur.
3. Perfect for removing nails from a piece of recycled plywood.
4. A good way to waste $625.

From my 21 year-old brother:
a. If you were a fugitive being chased through the snow and wanted to leave only cow prints to throw off the US marshals behind you.
b. If you ever needed to run exactly as fast as a cow.
c. Christmas/Chanukah gift for a cow.

My dad, of course, couldn't resist adding some social commentary to his list:

1. A significant threat to the "nads" from a well placed kick.

2. An aid to roofers who might find such a shoe useful for pulling nails. (actually this was my first impression)

3. They represent a particular form of excess often found in "fashion" that supposes to push limits and boundaries. Is it fashion or art or somehow both? Or is it an aspect of an Ego who's owner can only find validation in preposterous pricing to ensure a dangerous exclusivity?

And finally, from my little brother, age 13:
1. If a cow needed to wear shoes.
2. If you were born with cow feet, and needed a comfortable shoe.
3. If you want a better parking space, and your boss thinks your feet are disfigured, and you get a handicap space.
4. If you want to slowly painfully mold 5 toes into 2.
5. You need a new pair of shoes, and you order some nice ones, then you get these in the mail by mistake.

Blogback Mountain: Distracted Daddy Likey Edition

Hello my lovelies,

As I'm sure is pretty obvious, I've been so swamped with other work recently that this poor blog of mine has been a bit neglected. My schedule should be much less horrifying by the end of this week, but in the meantime I'd like to introduce you to a batch of AMAZING new blogs that I can sort of take credit for, since they were created by my friends who, instead of getting annoyed with me for saying "Aaahh you're so funny and clever! Start a blog!" every ten minutes, actually started blogs.

Awesome Blogs By My Friends

Apocalypstick Now: Maggie is brilliant and hilarious and knows more about makeup than ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD, except for the friendly transvestites who taught her all she knows (and yes, that story is as good as it sounds). Read her blog, and you will learn about awesome secret sales, the best mascara, and how to do your own pedicures. And you will laugh. A lot.

Dear Dave Lieberman: I knew I loved Catherine when she was eating a piece of birthday cake and delivered an impromptu speech on the melding of textures and flavors that was so impassioned and elequent that by the end the whole room was quiet, except for one guy who said, "umm...you should have your own show on Food Network or something." On her new, awesomely titled blog, she discusses food, funny stories, and DC restaurants, among other things. Hopefully someone from Food Network will read it and give her a show.

Wax Wendy: When I first met Whit, I was dressed up as a severely depressed Rudy Giuliani supporter, and she was a punk rock Princess Leia (it was Halloween, but still). I think we were destined to be friends. Her blog is a badass, frequently updated collection of funny videos, awesome pictures, and nerdy analyses (my three favorite things!).

And Two Awesome Blogs By People I Wish Were My Friends

Bread & Honey: Read this Portland-based food blog, and experience euphoria, envy, and significant weight gain. (All in a good way, of course).
Note to self: must score an invite to their next monochromatic party BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY. Oops, was that creepy? Yeah, that was really creepy.

Yes and Yes: Sarah is the coolest girl ever. I love her writing style, her humor, and her outlook on life, and her blog is OK too (I kid! I kid!). But seriously folks, it's become one of my favorite sites and I think you'll like it too--it's got intrigue, inspiration, and....another word that starts with I...hmm...impossibly awesome other stuff! Just trust me on this, and check it out.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my friends (and wannabe friends), and, in the words of Arnold Schwartzenegger, "My name is John Kimble, and I love my car." What? Did you think I was going to say "I'll be back"? Why would I say that when I could quote Kindergarten Cop instead?

p.s. Also, just a note--I've been meaning to add these and a few other fabulous new reads to my link list, but my list server went psycho and froze, leaving me helpless to update my blogroll (the horror!). As soon as I get some time, I'm planning a major revamp.

Three Easy Steps to an Apartment-Sized, Recession-Proof, Patriotic Christmas Tree

1. Go to the discount grocery store down the street. Buy a potted mini tree for $4.95. Buy a box of mini ornaments for $1.98.

2. Decorate with necklaces, earrings, and leftover campaign buttons.

3. Put it on your windowsill with a snowstorm as a backdrop.

The Affair of the Shrinky Dink Necklace

When my lovely reader Irina contacted me earlier this year to offer me a sample from her awesome jewelry line, of course I said yes, so she sent me this gorgeous tree necklace made out of a shrinky dink:

Yes, a shrinky dink. How freakin' rad is that?

The first time I wore it, my friend Katelyn squealed something along the lines of, "Oh my god that's sooooo cute! I'm a hippie and I love trees can I wear it?" Being the selfless, enterprising friend that I am, I offered her partial custody if she promised to model it for my blog.

Obviously, I have talented readers and beautiful friends with well-conditioned hair*.

Check out Irina's website, i love blocks, for more of her work, and maybe buy some for your friends for Christmas, to avoid having to make shady modeling deals.

*And vice versa, of course--Katelyn's very talented and you are beautiful and have amazing hair!

Update: To address the beautiful, well-tressed readers who were unfamiliar with shrinky dinks, they're shrinkable plastic toys that were hugely popular during my childhood. They come as big pieces of plastic, and then you paint them and put them in the oven and they shrink down to smaller pieces of plastic, and for some reason this was hugely entertaining. Irina's work is awesome because usually shrinky dinks look like this:

Although I could be into wearing that smiling rainbow robot as a necklace.

Blue Blogger

Remember when I said I was a little obsessed with blue?

So, what do you think? Too much?

p.s. Yes, those are Blublocker sunglasses on my head. And yes, they were necessary.

Outfit breakdown: Hoodie: American Apparel; Mini dress: Random sale rack find at Nordstrom; tights: We Love Colors, duh; purse: Hayden Harnett (I love you, Maggie!), shoes: Nine West, via an emergency trip to Macy's in Las Vegas when I was stricken with a massive blister while walking down the strip to the Spice Girls concert and had to buy replacement footwear ASAP.

A Word (or a few hundred) About Ankle Straps

Ankle strap shoes are perhaps the most maligned footwear of the 21^st century, with the possible exception of plastic clogs. Ask anyone from a powerful fashion editor to the line cook at IHOP, and you’ll hear similar sentiments: "Ankle straps are evil!" "Ankle straps make your legs look fat!" "Ankle straps were the second shooter on the grassy knoll!"

I've been seeing tons of supercute ankle strap shoes in stores lately, and I've just gotta say: I think they get a bad rap.

I think the ankle strap is sort of like the really pretty, thin, tall girl in your high school class—sure, she’s intimidating, and standing next to her makes you look short and frumpy, but if you get to know her, she’s not that bad.

Here’s the thing: if you find a shoe you absolutely love, and it happens to have an ankle strap, I don’t think that should warrant an automatic re-shelve. Try it on. Does it make your leg look like a giant sausage stuffed into a too-small casing? Then you should probably put it back, but if not, or if only slightly, here are a few tips to help you rock those ankle straps:

• Try tights. I know, I know, I always say this, but opaque tights, especially black ones, make legs look so long and lean that unflattering shoes hardly matter. Tights the same color as your shoes=legs for miles, ankle straps or not.

• If you love the whole shoe except the ankle strap, wear them with slim pants that show everything but that damn strap.

• The higher and thicker the heel, the longer and slimmer your legs look. This rule applies to all shoes, but it’s especially applicable when considering an ankle strap. There’s a much greater chance that a four-inch platform with an ankle strap will look fabulous on you than a flat shoe with an ankle strap.

• Speaking of flats with ankle straps—the chances of these looking fabulous hovers at about 2%. I bought a pair of these about a year ago after I saw them on Nicole Richie (yes, I'm an idiot), and sweet mother of god, I had no idea my legs could do such an uncanny impression of...two giant sausages (I just seriously tried for ten minutes to think of a funnier, more creative analogy, but I've concluded that "giant sausage" is the best I can do right now). If you can rock 'em, rock 'em, but proceed with caution...

Shoe above: Via Spiga "Monique" Sandal, which would be SO freakin' cute with black tights in the winter, oh my GOD, $198, nordstrom.com

Update: A creative and enterprising reader just sent me this brilliant chart with another, slightly more brutal idea for dealing with ankle straps:

Super cute, right?

Comments of the Week: Anti-Romper Edition

With all due respect to my pro-romper readers, these comment regarding the post below were too hilarious not to share with the world:

"I all can think about is how epically difficult it would be to use the bathroom when wearing a romper AND tights. You'd have to completely disrobe to empty your bladder!"
~Amanda

"[My daughter] wants a romper but I have been encouraging drug use, smoking, and piercings instead."
~Margaret

Dear Daddy Likey: An Accidental Romp

Dear Daddy Likey,

I was just impulse purchasing at Forever 21, and I picked up what I thought were two cute dresses. Well, one dress is indeed very cute, and the other one turned out to be a romper--whoooops. Here it is:


It actually is pretty cute also, and I'm kinda glad I finally purchased a trendy romper, but I am not sure how to wear it. Should I do it with tights and heels for a night dancing? Could I wear it to class? Should I just save it for summer and romp around in it or whatever it is you're supposed to do in rompers?

Signed,
Ready to Romp (albeit by accident)

Dear Ready,

This is too funny! Just a couple weeks ago, I was talking to my friend Lindsay, and she said, "I bought this thing at Forever 21, it's like, a complete outfit in one, but it's shorts on the bottom. What is that called?" and I was like, "Umm..what?" and she goes, "There's a shirt, and it's attached to some shorts. What is that?" "A romper?," I said. "No!" "A jumpsuit?" "No, no, no, it's like, shorts that look like a little dress." "A skort!" I squealed. "No! Eerrgghh I don't know what it's called, but it's really cute!"

And then, half an hour later, she sent me a text. "A ROMPER! It's a ROMPER!"

So you see, dear Ready, you're not the only one perplexed and enchanted by this saucy little romper.


Now, how to style it: while summer romping comes easy (hmm...that sentence came out more sexually charged than intended), working a romper into a winter wardrobe is a bit more intimidating.

Here's the best tip I can give you--pretend your romper is a cute dress, and proceed accordingly. Heck, for awhile you actually believed it was a cute dress, so this shouldn't be too difficult.

Cool hosiery is a must for winter romping. Have I mentioned my enduring love for colorful tights from We Love Colors? Oh, I have. Well, to reiterate: these are the best tights ever. Stock up on some eye-catching colors to pair with cute black and white dresses (hint: when I say "dress," I mean "romper!")--a rusty red color would be gorgeous.

I love the tights and heels idea for a night out dancing; also try some thick black tights and badass boots:

Ribbons and Bows Boots, $60 (enter code "blog" for 10% off!), modcloth.com

And since we're still pretending this romper is a dress, I'm gonna say heck yes, go for it, wear it to class! Try layering a long sleeve tee or a slouchy cardigan over it to make it a little more casual. Add some knit tights and ballet flats or small wedges and trust me, nobody will saying, "Who's the weirdo in the romper?" In fact, they might want to romp with you, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Any romper enthusiasts out there, feel free to leave other tips in the comments! Would you wear it to class? And what are you supposed to do in a romper? If I had one, I think I would go clamming.

Daddy Likey Is Not Dead

I'm so sorry for my absence last week. I wish I could say that I was so threatened by your warm reception to my brother's guest blog* that I declared Daddy Likey dead and moved into a cabin to pout with JD Salinger (yes, he accepts disaffected fashion bloggers on occasion), but really, I was super-busy with other projects. Some of them are exciting writing projects, and some of them involved binging on turkey and playing with my parents' cats.

As soon as my brother sends me the photos, I'll share some of my Thanksgiving experience. Since it involved my dad examining a dead salamander wearing the head-mounted magnifying glasses he first debuted here, I thought you guys might be interested. But in the meantime, please accept my earnest promise to be a better blogger this week!

I'll start things off with a high fashion haiku in 3...2...1...

*Seriously though, I loved the response to my brother's post--such funny and cute comments! The praise definitely went to his head though: he called me on Tuesday and said, "The people have spoken, Nona, and they like me more than you."

High Fashion Haiku: Penny Pinching Edition

One word: recession.
For nine-hundred bucks, give me
at least five bows, Marc.

Marc Jacobs Bow Gladiator Sandal, $897 (sweet mother of god!), nordstrom.com

To Up-Size or Not to Up-Size: A guest post from a straight-talkin' junior high boy

Today's post is by my 13 year-old brother:

The most defining moment in anyone's life, the most important moment, is getting a kickass winter jacket. A jacket you truly love will choose the path that your life takes, and keep you warm. But choosing a coat that fits the aforementioned guidelines, and is truly awesome, is a tough decision. And it becomes an even harder task when you have to make the ultimate choice: Will you get a winter jacket that fits over a T-shirt, or one that can go over a sweatshirt? And as much as we don't want to think about it, this can happen to all of us. In fact, I had to face this very dilemma recently.

My parents decided that my coat was getting too small, so they made the decision to get a new winter jacket for me. Now, I didn't know much about jackets or coats, or clothes in general, and in fact, I still don't, but when it came time to try on some jackets, I had to choose. I found a good one that was water resistant, and all the other stuff that my dad said would keep me from dying instantly in the rain.

So we had the coat picked out, and I tried it on over my hooded sweatshirt. It fit with room to spare, but when I took off my hoodie and tried it on over my T-shirt, I didn't know if I liked it or not. I tried a size down, and it fit well, but when I had my hoodie on, it felt kinda cramped. I had to make a decision right then and there. As usual my thoughts were focused on what I would do if zombies poured through the doors of the mall and I had to escape. After a while of deciding what to do in the event of of a zombie invasion, I tried them both on like 6 more times, then finally it dawned on me to look in the mirror.

With the T-shirt fitted one, it felt good, and looked good. The hoodie fitted one felt good, but without the hoodie I looked like I was trying to sneak a bunch of cocaine bricks past the border. I finally decided to go with the non-drug smuggler one.

So in summary
-find a jacket you like
-find a bigger jacket of the same kind
-stare off into space for 10 minutes
-try them all on a few more times
-does one make you look like a drug smuggler?
-use the other one.

Neon Yellow Jeans. Make It Work. Attempt #1

Remember how, awhile back, I used shaky impulse-buying logic to convince myself that these jeans would save my life?

Well, today I took a wrong turn on my walk home from the coffee shop, and within minutes, found myself edging along the shoulder of a 50 mile-an-hour road in the pitch dark, balancing my completely impractical Betsy Johnson laptop bag and an overstuffed purse between speeding traffic and a drainage ditch. As I approached a blind curve, I prepared to hurl myself into the abyss to avoid certain death, but then, the beam of oncoming headlights caught my jeans, and suddenly my legs were glowing brighter than a safety vest. I was visible, invincible! The yellow denim lit my way home; oh yes, these pants saved my life.

Finger guns could save your life too.

O! Whimsical Printed Panties!

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

OK, let's see...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8...well this is sort of boring for you guys, huh? Luckily the only things written on my calendar today are "count ways I love whimsical panties," and "pray for a better exchange rate so I can afford whimsical panties."

As you can see, I'm pretty busy. I better go.

Hilary Laing "Jemima" frilly knickers, £20.00, here.

Don't Show-cha Your Chocha, Volume XVI

I'm back, and I come bearing (baring?) chocha!

If you're just joining Daddy Likey, click here for an intro to the phenomenon previously and currently known as Don't Show-cha Your Chocha, and if you're like, "Yeah yeah get on with it" I'll leave you with this illuminating quote, from one of my fabulous, bilingual readers:

In Spanish, "chocar" means "to shock." Not sure about "chochar" though.

And now, time to chochar!

From Gabbi, a submission "featuring a very confused model:"

She says: If I'm going to spend $279 on a complicated grey...thing, I would like to know what I'm buying. While the description says it's a "top," this depressed-looking model with weirdly-twisted legs seems to think it's a dress. Good thing she put that black...thing (Is that a skirt?)...on underneath.

Jo sent me this one:

I just found this shining example on girl's football site, Kickette. It's Claire Merry who is currently attempting to divorce Thierry Henry for £10million. Maybe if she gets it she can buy some leggings or something to make this a whole outfit.

From Poppy:

Showin' your chocha from a brand new angle...

While visiting the American Apparel website (always a risky endeavor), reader Kate came across the next two offenders, and offered up some hilarious commentary:

This lady seems deeply troubled. Like, "Oh, God, I was changing - did you just walk in without knocking? I can't believe you'd do that. Why would you do that?" The thing that gets me most is that it is sheer. Sheer. So if by some miracle it is long enough, you can still catch a glimpse of her lady-area.

And, regarding the appropriately titled "Too-Short Tube Dress:"

They know it's too short. They know. The implications that has for my world view are terrifying.

Tessa found this at Forever 21:

Editor's note: Is that Heidi Montag?

From Sara:

I saw this dress and I felt so violated like I had actually seen this poor model's chocha. I'm not sure who feels worse about this get-up...her or me!

Reader Folu saw this Shopbop promo and determined that their normally half-naked models had staged a chocha-covering coup:


I would agree, but my inbox is still full of Shopbop offenders, including this one, from Emily:


And this, from Madoka:


And these, from Heidi:

But maybe someday the Shopbop coup (and hemlines) will really go down.

And finally, lovely reader Alison submitted this link, which is sort of not safe for work, unless you have the kind of boss who takes kindly to pleas of "But it's a prosthetic wax pudenda!" Well, now you have to click, right?

Remember--next time you're shopping online and find yourself saying "Where are the pants?," do the right thing, send the offender to me: daddylikeyblog@gmail.com

I'll Be Back

Posting has been light this week for a couple of reasons:

1. There was an election. Maybe you heard about it? No? Yeah, it wasn't really a big deal.

(Click to enlarge the cutest picture in history)

I spent the evening crying and eating lemon bundt cake. At a little past 11, people were running down the street by my house shooting guns in the air and screaming, "YES WE CAN!" I was like, "I don't think that's what it means."

2. My internship is ending and I'm flying home tomorrow! It's been so much fun and gone by so fast, I can't believe it.

My last week consisted of interviewing Leanne from Project Runway (click here to check it out), researching Pakistani boy bands, posing as a sexy penguin in a photobooth with my friend Catherine, and forcing my amazing coworkers to spend so much time with me that they'll probably rejoice when I leave. ("Is that needy intern girl finally gone?") I'm going to miss them. A lot.

I'll be back in the blogging game on Monday, but in the meantime, feel free to check out the new podcast over at The Sunday Best, featuring moi. Thomas always does a bang-up job, and if you push that play button you'll be treated to juicy secrets like why the hell this blog is called Daddy Likey and how much I would pay for cheese.

Thanks so much for the opportunity, Thom, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

Source

When I Was Your Age, I Walked 10 Miles in the Snow to the Polling Station

So, any crazy voting stories yet? 

Oregon is a vote by mail state, which is both blissfully convenient and depressingly anticlimactic. While putting a stamp on an envelope hardly feels patriotic, I'm not going to complain, since I've already heard some harrowing tales from the polling stations in other states—how's it goin' out there? 

I'm working the polls in Virginia later (I think my official job title is "KEEP THE PEOPLE IN LINE HAPPY SO THEY DON'T GO HOME"), so maybe I'll see some of you there, and if I do, I'll tell you a knock-knock joke.

Tonight we make history.

Happy Halloween!

I made the mistake of stopping by American Apparel late last night for completely un-Halloween related reasons. Good god. There was a line out the door of people stocking up on skimpy costume essentials, and I seriously almost smacked one girl when I caught her saying, "I just wish these shorts were, like, shorter." Really, ma'am? American Apparel's merchandise is too demure for your tastes?

On that note, stay tuned for an upcoming installment of Don't Show-cha Your Chocha—it's a doozy!

p.s. Check out the "Miss World A.D. 300,000" Halloween costume I illustrated for National Geographic's blog here.

A Capitol Obsession

I have a bit of an obsession with the US Capitol building.

This bit of an obsession makes me do strange things like sit next to the reflecting pool for approximately an hour a day (even in the biting cold), staring up at the majestic dome, sighing dramatically; or, in the context of an impassioned speech about my dreams of winning a senate seat, pointing at the Capitol (and directly at an armed Capitol guard) and screaming, "YOU'RE NEXT!" repeatedly until my brother said, "Listen to what you're saying, god damnit," and we took off down the street.

So you can imagine how excited I was when a visit to a U Street vintage store yielded this:

(click for details of necklace and my hand)

A Capitol building pendant. Surrounded by pink rhinestones. On a gaudy gold chain. "Was this actually made for me?" I asked the perplexed store owner as I handed over some cash.

It's a perfect souvenir to remind me of this city, and this building, that I adore, sometimes to a disturbing degree.

It's Martin.

The first time in a long time that I've seen a combination of my two very favorite things: shiny sequins, and bite-size frogs:

Must raise money to buy this delectable little treat. Maybe I could teach dumpster diving lessons on Wall Street?

XOXO,
Martin

Marc Jacobs Iris sequined bag, $1,895, netaporter.com

p.s. For a little background on Martin, click here.

Lovin' Daddy Likey?

This Bloglovin' thing caught on so quickly, I feel like I'm already behind (kids these days!), but if you're so inclined...

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Thank you!

And Now, the Finalists. Time to vote!

I read over a hundred seriously amazing entries to my Halloween Costume Chronicles contest,and, after much agonizing, narrowed it down to these three finalists. Now, it's up to you to choose the winner. Hope you enjoy these as much as I did!

First up, a super creative costume idea and ensuing humiliation from Michele:

I think it was my sophomore, maybe junior year of high school and student council decided to have a Halloween Costume contest.

I think it was my mom's idea for me to go as an outhouse. Actually I was an old lady in an outhouse. We used a big appliance box to be the outhouse. We made a peaked roof with construction paper shingles. We cut a half moon in the front of the door so I could see out. I had on a long nightgown, slippers with toilet paper stuck to one, and corn cobs tied to the side. My hair was all up in curlers and I had cold cream on my face. I had handles inside, to hold the outhouse up when I walked from class to class.

Well, chemistry class had stadium seating, and somehow I managed to trip and fall, outhouse and all.

The science teacher was very serious, the most strict teacher of all. (You know, the one with the "Bring a writing utensil to class or detention" and "No flying projectiles in class" rule).

No one in the class had ever seen him laugh like he did. No one even had to tip the outhouse for me, I did it all on my own.

Later, at our last period pep rally, I won $15 for the costume. I think by then every one had heard the story of my great fall and wanted to see if I could repeat it there in the old gym. At least I could hide in my outhouse!

___________

Next up, Christine's surreal Halloween moment:

So, here is my favorite Halloween story. I dressed up as the bee girl from Blind Melon's "No Rain" video. I grew up in Wisconsin and Madison is legendary for its Halloweens (State Street is a pedestrian only street, full of bars, and on Halloween weekend chock full of drunks and the night always ends up in a fury of riot gear and tear gas). I'd been there for Halloween visiting friends who went to college there when I was 18, 19 and 20. But on this particular year, I was 21! Finally! BARS!

I live in Minneapolis and it takes about 4 to 5 hours to get to Madison. My friend Megan and I set out early to stake out a good barstool. The bars literally fill up at like 4-5pm and from then on it's "one in, one out" at the door and who in their right mind is going to leave once you're in from the cold! I'll save you the boring car breaking down in the middle of nowhere in Wisconsin, walking like 2 miles down the road because we were convinced that everyone who stopped to help was going to drag us into the woods and do unspeakable things to us, and eventually getting the car started again, like 3 hours later.

So, we finally rolled into Madison at 8pm. 8PM!!! The street was packed, my friends were already in the bar but that didn't help with the 100 person line to get in the door. Luckily we had brought some flasks and were walking down State Street trying to get to the particular bar where my friends were. Then... it starts raining. Oh damn, not only is it cold and I'm wearing a tube top and tu-tu, but now I'm going to be wet.

I'd been getting compliments on my costume all down the street but then, it happened... "ALL I CAN SAY IS THAT MY LIFE IS PRETTY PLAIN, I LIKE WATCHING THE PUDDLES GATHER RAIN!" A drunk girl was singing to me, LOUDLY. Then her friends started in. Then ALL the drunks around us start singing and moving away from me. I am at the center of a large circle of drunk hipsters singing "No Rain" in the rain.

I begin to dance.

I jump. I frolic. I remember the moves from the video and shake my tutu around for all! Megan is dying laughing. I don't care, I am a dancing machine. A larger and larger crowd is gathering and I really wish I had drank more. When the song ends, everyone is cheering and screaming and I am a little proud and a lot embarrassed. Just then the bouncer at the door of the bar grabbed me, I grabbed Megan, and he threw us in the door. WHOO! Dryness! Drinks! My friends-- this is the right bar! Whoo! Best Halloween Ever!

___________

And last but not least, this story from Sara, which came in an email titled, "You want to do WHAT to the panda?":

Halloween of '99 I and a couple friends had tickets to see James Brown in concert just a few days before Halloween. My dad let me know that he played in Seattle very regularly around Halloween and everyone would dress up in costume for the show. I dressed up as a panda, which was just a black outfit with long sleeves and a white tank top over the top, with black and white face paint and high pigtails to suggest panda ears.

Our tickets were for general admission and we went early so we could be right up at the front. It was a fantastic show, with much dancing and plenty of silly costumes -- we were behind some hippie-dancing people in alien costumes so we had to dodge their flailing deely-boppers.

During "Sex Machine" some guy in a fedora just behind me decided he would dance with me by humping my ass. No hello, no nothing, just all of a sudden some guy was thrusting at me from behind. My friends were dressed in tasteful but relatively much sexier costumes, but for some reason this guy decided "no, I'm going to hump the panda."

I shoved him off a few times, as did one of my friends who he'd shoved for better panda-humping access, and yet he kept coming back. I had no chance of getting the attention of one of the bouncers from where I was and the guy didn't stop until I turned around and faced him down with a cocked fist. He left me alone for the rest of the show, and I got the pleasure of seeing a truly wonderful concert (someone tried to lead James Brown away in his cape and James Brown REJECTED that, and kept singing) and a silly story.

____________

Now toss aside that presidential election ballot and cast your vote on a contest that really matters:

So, who's it gonna be?
	Public Fall in a Portable Outhouse
	Blind Melon Bee Come to Life
	You Want to Do WHAT to the Panda?
pollcode.com free polls

I'll leave voting open until the end of the day on Wednesday, since weekends aren't exactly high traffic days in the blogging world and I want to make sure people get a chance to read these and help me choose the winner. Best of luck to all three finalists, and thank you again to everyone who sent me a story!

UPDATE: Congratulations, Christine! You've won the ModCloth gift certificate! Thanks to the more than 500 amazing readers who weighed in--next up, the presidential election!