Leandra: Does my reciting the following verse to you mean anything: we love our bread, we love our butter (butt-ta), but most of all, we love each other. If the answer is yes, my Monday outfit should come as no surprise that does not indicate direct affection for Madeline. Sure, she wore a yellow hat but you know what they say about adapting style, right? You have to do what feels good for you. Enter the A.P.C. striped t-shirt, which comes from the men’s department, and a sea foam green leather Chloé skirt from last fall. The boots are Eugenia Kim and I am a human dance floor.
Amelia: Looking outside tells you nothing about the weather save for the fact that wet stuff is either falling from the sky, or it isn’t. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with this lately because I refuse to find alternate methods. “Hey Amelia, it’s called a weather app.” Well sorry my 26-year-old brain is still unable to catalogue varying degrees of how cold the air is based on some arbitrary number with a tiny circle on its right shoulder. This was my problem all week, as the extremely unhelpful sky did nothing to aid the process that was me-getting-dressed. This day I was a little bit hot but you win some, you lose some, you wear deodorant. I’m wearing an Equipment blouse as a wrap (instead of buttoned) with BDG jeans and a pair of Oscar de la Renta flats that I returned 3 times and they are still too small.
Charlotte: That shit-eating grin on my face is me saying, “Getting dressed this morning took no thought because my fall uniform has not changed in the past two years.” With the first chill in the air I thought “Ah, layers!” and threw on my old reliable plaid pants, a starchy collared button up (actually a school uniform shirt made for “husky” elementary school boys), a black sweatshirt and topped it off with a motorcycle jacket and Ray Ban sunglasses in attempt to be badass.
Leandra: When I got dressed on this #blessed Tuesday morning, I am 99% sure I looked into the full length mirror that covers a door that closes my bedroom and thought to myself: self, this looks great. Stupendous, even. Now fast forward three hours, through at least three tears to the sleeve of my Wes Gordon sweater and that nagging, cling-feeling that pronounces a chest I don’t actually maintain and comes only in the wake of static friction and I am annoyed. Unseasonal, too. But only because it was too hot for a sweater. At least I’m still technically, according to the rules of a sequined (All Saints) mini skirt, a human dance floor, right? The shoes are Balenciaga and white socks are never a bad idea except while you’re losing your virginity.
Amelia: These Urban Renewal Levis were shipped to my dad’s house because my mailbox can barely fit an envelope in it. When they arrived, he texted me a picture of them with the accompanying text, “?!?!?????” I think that’s because they look like flared capri pants made for a scarecrow. I never wrote him back but I did pair said scarecrow pants with a Ralph Lauren hacking jacket, a button down and Bass loafers so that I look like my usual self but far more prepared for a flood. (Noah, I’ve got dibs on the horses. You have to handle the geese and shit.) Why am I making that face? Because I just told you I’m wearing flared capris. I feel like we’re not communicating well.
Charlotte: Here I am, a living personification of Leandra’s “What to Wear This Weekend” post. I woke up with a messy comb over and rolled with it. That little school uniform necktie is a relic of the days when I modeled outfits after Blair Waldorf (my head still has indents from all the headbands that punctured my temples), the military jacket is a Parisian vintage score, the overalls are Madewell, and the top and shoes come from Zara. Oh, and that starfish jutting out of my ear is Pamela Love! Fun fact: I wore that shirt on my first day to intern for Man Repeller.
Leandra: It’s a sweater! It’s a scarf! It’s…a knit smock? There is nothing that I won’t try which is precisely where J.W. Anderson’s Pre-Fall knit thing comes in to play a little play. From the front, maybe I look like I’m wearing a dress over pants. That’s fine. From behind, however, full-frontal ASS! Made thrilling by a pair of vintage Levi’s 501s and a white blouse that I believe every woman should own by Tome. The boots are Chanel and it becomes increasingly more obvious with the repetition of that utterance that there is no way around sounding like an asshole when providing outfit credits.
Amelia: Oops wore my short pants again. They really might as well be jorts, or shants. I put on these Ralph Lauren wooden heels so that I wouldn’t be 4’7″ for once and added a denim shirt so that I could be mistaken for either Crosby, Stills or Nash. I am clutching my phone and Poppy Lissiman bag for dear life because someone freaky was doing something terrifying outside of “the shot,” and also because these jeans do something really attractive to my inner thighs.
Charlotte: I’ve come to realize that film directors adopted normcore far before it was mainstream and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say I resemble Steven Spielberg in this getup. I once read a Jezebel article that said we as humans are our ugliest on Wednesday afternoons circa 3pm, and seeing as I got so frustrated with my hair I opted to cut off a few inches when I got home from the office (I am not as talented as Leandra in this department and ultimately had a professional fix it) I don’t think this is untrue.
Leandra: This was the day of Alexander Wang’s grand H&M slam. We had happy hour at our office around 6PM with a recruiting company that operates out of the same building and many, many Whole Foods branded wheat thins were consumed. I’m wearing a Stella McCartney skirt, which I bought in London and was subsequently judged for buying at immigration on my way back into the United States, a sweater from Topshop which I almost didn’t buy but am so thrilled I did and the magna carta holy jacket — leather and shoulder padded and vaguely cropped at the sleeve, by Veda. The brogues are Celine. I just put a 20 in the douche bag jar.
Amelia: Looks like we’ve got a badass over here in the green turtleneck. (It’s by Fine Collection.) I put a striped shirt from Zara on underneath because I have this thing about needing cuffs lately, and I’m wearing white jeans (white jeans year round because I’m so punk rock) from McGuire denim and let me tell you: a girl could take a nap in them they’re so soft. My shoes are purple velvet loafers from Ralph Lauren, my sunglasses are the same Céline ones I always wear and my hair is singing the national anthem of PSL season. This outfit’s the general uniform from now until March.
Charlotte: This look is what I like to call the hipster version of “basic,” as it turns out every L-train-riding girl and her roommate appeared to be wearing some variation of my outfit. Sure, I felt clean and polished, especially compared to yesterday’s look (clean hair helps!), but perhaps those stark white Chucks need a little wear a tear for the outfit to feel more like me.
Leandra: Will referencing Rebecca Black when Friday comes around ever get old? I just don’t know. What definitely won’t get old is commemorating the reliable, weekly celebration that is a foray into the weekend with red leather (a skirt from The Reformation)! And eyeball shoes (Charlotte Olympia, of course)! And spray painted backpacks in the direction of paradoxically nouveau luxury! Man, I’m really going to miss you guys. Oh! And in case you’re wondering, the sweater is by Rosie Assoulin.
Amelia: It’s a Friday, and it’s a miracle, because I am not in fitness clothes per my usual end-of-week-attire. I had a work thing on this day where I had to look cool and shit so I was like, let me take a cue from Gloria Steinem. I’m wearing a black Raoul turtleneck and high waisted 7 jeans (although I want flares that are AT MY BELLY BUTTON, still on the mission). The vest thing is also a dress by this New Zealand brand Eugenie and I wore it almost every day this summer without anything underneath. Since it’s fall, however, I’m ripping this vest open like it’s a pair of Adidas snap-pants and I’m about to start a dance battle, which they basically are, and I basically am.
Charlotte: Sometimes I like to wear my emotions strewn across my chest and yippe ki-yay, it’s Friday. That smiley vest was knit with care by my great aunt in 1970, far pre-dating its newfound significance as emoji apparel. It’s layered over an H&M shirt dress, paired with Zara shoes and topped off with a vintage future farmers of America jacket because I’m just a simple cowgirl.