Isn’t there just something endearing about the sight of a lot of white in a lot of cold?
Never mind my face.
Though I do have a fairly violent aversion toward homogenous dressing (I will never tell you that “good style” can be defined by wearing head-to-toe-one-designer-only–where’s the creativity in that?), I am wearing so much Calvin Klein in the above photos, it is not only hypocritical but wholly unbecoming of who I am (see: banner). I want to blame Cher Horowitz for inciting this distinct appreciation for quintessential American minimalism. I also want to blame myself, though, for eliciting a cold cum potential flu because of exposed abs in near zero degree Fahrenheit weather. Who does that? I must be a masochist.
The outfit just seemed so good. And these pants are freakin’ unicorns. How many wide leg, tight tops do you know with the ability to nest a fairly sizable clutch? It’s just like a fanny pack, hold the fanny…and the pack for that matter. I guess only one similarity remains–but it’s a big one: free hands equal frequent impromptu dance parties and lots of time to play with my hair, which, by the way, I made real greasy for these photos. I was trying to look like Christian Bale ca. American Psycho but turned out looking more like…myself with oily hair. End scene.