I call this one: loving life. The photo above combined with the title of this post make a really seamless connection to one another, but before I explain too deep why, or what I mean, can you figure it out? Yes, no, maybe so? Anything? Anything? …?
Alas, you are correct! They’re connected in that this post is going to function as a short commentary on trends, and segue into my general inability to commit to them. This is what makes personal style so…you know, personal. Let me share an anecdote: while getting dressed one day last week, the borer of repeller or in
lament layman (hehe) terms: my mother walked into my room. I was wearing nothing. Except for my labia. I told my mom to dress me because I’d just watched that Bluefly video in which I starred and it reminded me how well she used to be at doing just that. She pulled out from my accessories drawer a strand of pearls and paired them with a tweed jacket, skinny pants and ballet flats. I rolled my eyes and shot her in the face, just kidding about the rolling of my eyes, I would never do such a thing! She’s my mother, people.
In any case, it was then that it dawned on me: I can’t and won’t commit to trends. And that right there is what building dynamic personal style is about. Eureka! We all dress thematically, right? Right. But what’s the fun in only embracing one theme when you can indulge your body in so many? If you’re going fancy freak on top, you should likely go jazzy construction worker on bottom. Staying fancy freak all over would make you something of a mannequin. Enter the above photo. In pairing a pouffy Tibi skirt that is reminscent of a certain Oscar de la Renta anything with a lace blouse, adding sweet satin shoes, or a little cropped bolero would be rendered obvious, easy if you will. And we’re not easy, oh no. So I took the rugged route and tried a pair of chunky black open toe booties clad in a heel Daphne Guinness would most certainly salute and the infamous Veda utility jacket, because breakfast at Tiffany’s legs call for army general lady of the night shoulders.