Because It’s Cold
And snowing. And raining. And hailing — so maybe you don’t know what to wear.
Charlotte and I anticipated shooting three forthcoming style stories yesterday. One was another installment of How to Make an Old X New Again and the other two are a surprise, surprise, puppy surprise.
Much to my discontent, however, what weather forecasters suggested would be a mere morning of flurries snowballed (for lack of a better term and my propensity for bad puns) into a full day of our gazing out the window, feeling like the contents of a snow globe.
At around 12PM, during a lull period, we walked to my apartment anticipating the termination of the morning’s white but of course as Murphy’s Law would have it, once I was changed, the city started to look all too much like a Dickens novel once again and that was the end of that. Defeated, dejected, with no new content to share, our glide — not walk — back to the office was met by an interesting point one Amelia Diamond made. I was dressed like the physical manifestation of at least five posts I had recently written.
And I hate to admit it because she looks and acts like a butt plug but she was totally right.
Yesterday I wrote a love letter to mid-heels and what do you know, the navy leather boots from Zara that I was wearing featured just the perfect number of accrued inches in the form of short heel. We kicked off our Saturday Slideshow installment with a tribute to sweaters and is it just me or does that chunky-ass Marc Jacobs ivory knit thing I’m wearing looks a lot like, you know, a sweater.
There was a story just last week detailing the tribulations linked to uncovering the perfect jeans and though I maintain that I have yet to find them, these are the precise rendition I mention in that story as having come close to superlative.
And you remember She Who Wears a Hat, don’t you? I practically wrote a dissertation on women who wear headgear. Or how about that Ode to Neck Scarves? I’m practicing both those trends with the aforeposted Maison Michel wide brim topper and a navy blue Isabel Marant neckerchief that makes me feel like my mother in all the right ways.
The combination of hat and scarf hearkens back to Karl Lagerfeld’s week old homage to The Old West and I’ve been endorsing ankle-length coats and minaudieres as day-time handbags for just about as long as I’ve been picking my eyebrows, which according to my deteriorating right brow leaves us (the brow, the coat, the bag, myself) at, let’s say, two and a half years of dedicated work.
So, there you have it, folks. I really, really, really never tell you to do something that I don’t want to do myself.
Just one question: do you take my suggestions? And for the love of all that is heated, how in the good name of forgoing gloves are you staying warm?