Thursday, December 15, 2011

Thematic (Repelling): The Birthday that Keeps on Giving

Yes, I’m consummating my relationship. But it’s not like you stopped celebrating Christmas when your parents told you they were Santa Claus or like I refused to continue taking science classes at my Jewish day school when evolution tried to disprove everything I’d previously learned, so the Man Repeller finding a man that says shit like “I love that skirt over pant thing you do,” and “if you wear those shoes I won’t hang out with you, just kidding, I will, but please don’t wear them,” shouldn’t really change all that much. Despite a gimmicky title, this is in fact a fashion blog. New finger party addition or not, I will never stop subscribing to a school of self. All the underlying Oprah shit you think I project: confidence, independence, loving oneself; really is there just not, you know, explicitly projected. This is a successful case of bad seeds out, floral prints in. So let’s bury the hatchet, wear our drop crotches proud and continue forward with regular programming. My birthday falls into the former half of next week so for blog post sake, here’s my intended part-ay outfit. Take this opportunity to draw your own conclusive inspo, wear it on your own birthday, to a holiday party, the supermarket, whatever.

But let me tell you something about these booties: caution when squatting. I don’t know about you, but I’m a big advocate of the public lunge, so every now and then, I’ll drop what I’m doing and give a little attention to my hamstrings. During a regular recital last week while wearing the boots, my ass was plagued with the kiss of Man Repeller, the shoe. So, should you find yourself in the same predicament, I suggest you keep your feet far away from any sensitive body part while wearing. Cut to dress.

 
I saw this guy on Shopbop shortly after admiring–and when I say admiring, I mean somersaulting in glee–the Carven pre and proper spring collections so figured I’d be a fool not to embrace the art of the cut out in a capacity that mandated I spend $100 instead of a billion and took the plunge. Pun intended on the plunge (-plie hybrid) as I seem to be doing just that in what is perhaps Naomi’s most accurate and artful betrayal of me in ma’element. I know, I know, “and someone wants to get jiggy with that?”

Naturally my bizarro Carven score induced a victory dance seen far and wide down a New York City avenue and even across a river. But I couldn’t let it go worn exposed cut out, so I did what I could given the short period I had between receipt and birthday to makeshift a sewn in something and added an under-shirt. The neckline was a debacle too, but no debacle an enormous necklace couldn’t fix. All in all, an easy job well done in the comfort of my own balcony.

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