How many more times can I talk about “this awkward in-between weather” before the collective you begins an uproar called Tell That Broken Ass Record To Shut Up?
I hope at least once.
On Monday morning I was doing that thing where I stare blankly into a full closet and denounce the inevitabl(y untrue): SHIT, I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR. So you know what I thought? If I were me (which I am,) and I could wear whatever the shit I wanted, what would I wear? And then you know what I thought?
I’ll tell you what I thought.
Eureka! It’s so simple, I just wanted a blue and white striped dress shirt (file this one under: indubitably made for men, sparingly used by women) with an easy-to-manipulate collar that I could tuck into virtually everything. Maybe that was the secret sauce–that capital T-Thing that makes the entirety of a pre-existing closet feel brand new again.
Now, because I live downtown and there is no Brooks Brothers south of 1st Street, I consulted the next best thing: Uniqlo, where my findings were a phenomenal combination of cheap and chic. I’m just kidding, I would never say that. But really, the shirt was cheap and it is conceivably chic.
What you see in the above images are three separate looks styled with the same shirt, worn the same way but applicable under the circumstances of several different occasions that occur during the infamous, aforementioned “in-between” season.
In look #1, I’m, let’s say, going to the park for a walk or the coffee shop for a scone or maybe I’m going to the chiropractor and an oncologist back-to-back because my upper back has been killing and naturally, I think that means I have cancer. I’m wearing the Uniqlo shirt, which costs $39.90, paired with Rag & Bone shorts, Golden Goose hightops, and an Antik Batik clutch. The sunglasses are Warby Parker and though everyone wants to call them “Lennon shades,” I prefer calling them “Lenin shades.”
In look #2, I am hypothetically meeting my parents for dinner or maybe I’m on my way to an important “business meeting” or, or, or! maybe I’m interviewing to work at a fashion house. This is what I’m wearing. The jeans are MiH (yes, these are the Phoebe jeans we wrote a poem about last week,) the purse is Lizzie Fortunado and the heels are Caroline Issa for L.K. Bennett. I maintain that you haven’t lived until you’ve worn neon balls on your Achilles.
And finally, in the last look, you’re definitely going somewhere (cue slide #9, in which I insouciantly walk), I’m just not quite sure where. Why? Because this is precisely the blazon of outfit that doesn’t necessarily need a destination attached to it. Just wear it because it’s great and because you love it and because it’s fruity. The skirt is an old Stella McCartney number I scored on The Outnet, the shoes are Isabel Marant and really awesome because they assume so many different identities. They could have been Gucci when the house was still running at the helm of Tom Ford, they could alternatively also be Guess, so, there’s that.
As for the way I move (because I know you’re wondering)…
Play this music:
And watch this: