Exposed Zipper

          Normally, I have a major problem with zippers, especially those of the invisible variety, especially when they have been sewn into the sides of adorable dresses. For some reason, my body has been blessed with a pretty wide ribcage. This is great for the deep breathing in my yoga classes, or when I want to hug someone tightly. Unfortunately, when the rest of my figure fits into Size A but my ribcage forces me to wear Size C, this blessing starts to feel like a bother. I'll be in the fitting room, trying on a flirty frock that from three sides looks perfect but from one side looks like the victim in a slasher movie, the large pale expanse of my left torso exposed, the open zipper becoming a vicious, laughing mouth.  I jump up and down, pinching the small sliver of a pull between my thumb and forefinger but no amount of non-existent upper arm strength will help it budge. If, on the very rare occasion that all of my Herculean efforts do result in upward motion, I then have a new problem on my hands: how do I get out of this jam?  More than once have I ripped the seam in a dress beyond repair, placed the dress back on the hanger, handed it to the fitting room attendant, and got the hell out of Dodge. It's not something I'm proud of but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do in order to not spend spring in last season's styles.
          So, what's a wide-ribbed lady to do when she needs to close her clothes? Buttons are great but can appear out of place or lead to unsightly gaping, and snaps lead people to think you are approximately four and a half years old. One could got the tied-and-tried-and-true route of corseting but let's be honest: if you're wearing a top made out of bits of boning, lace, and silk ties, it's not meant to stay on for very long. In a state of hopelessness, I had adopted a style I like to call Depression Chic: dowdy pullovers and elastic-waist cheerleader shorts. I decided that if the world wasn't cutting dresses for my shape, it obviously wouldn't miss it when covered up in sweatsuits. 
          Enter the Exposed Zipper. 
          A lot of people think displaying the hardware, the constructing elements of a garment results in an unpolished and unfinished piece. They believe the beauty is all in the fabrics, the way something looks on a body. And for the most part, they're right; as the old adage goes, "the clothes don't make the man, the man makes the clothes." However, in my educated opinion, an exposed zipper is more than just a tool left out in the open air. It's an accessory, a game-changer. It adds a metallic, industrial touch to what otherwise could be a demure skirt. In a practical sense, an exposed zipper tends to be sturdier, similar to those found on blue jeans and army issue jackets. They close, and close well, and their pulls are easily seen and grasped. They're surprising, especially when attached to classic staples; for months I lusted over a simple black dress that boasted a shiny gold zipper down the full length of its back. This brings me to my next point: exposed zippers are sexy as hell.  Theoretically, in one swift motion you could be naked, which also makes them dangerous and a bit seductive. They're a dare for both the wearer and all those who encounter her. 
          But one of the best things about exposed zippers? Everyone can wear them. No, seriously. You could go super subtle, showing off small zippers on the cuffs of your coat or the ankles of your cigarette pants. More and more designers are featuring small, zippered pockets on particularly understated tops. Fall boots showcase zippers running down the length of the calve, hinting at equal parts retro (an homage to seamed tights) and equestrian. And if you think you are ready to take the plunge into longer lengths, you have my full approval.  You can shake up your look while taking comfort in the fact that  it'll stay closed and keep you covered. That is, only if you want it to...

The 3/4 Length Sleeve

          In the fashion world, length can be a tricky wicket. Maxi skirts, mini skirts, oversized everything, baby tee, boyfriend jeans, thong underwear... all of these trends beg the question, "What is the appropriate amount of fabric for any given occasion?" Some super chic individuals have made names for themselves through playing with length; for example, the Olsen twins took the bag lady look from the homeless shelters to the haute couture houses one gigantic, grandpa sweater at a time. In my mind however, there is one length that will never be out of place, or out of style: the 3/4 length sleeve. I know, you're probably reading this and thinking, "Really? She's writing about a sleeve?" And the simple answer is yes. However, it's not just the construction of the sleeve, the fabrics, and the stitching that I find beautiful but what this type of sleeve suggests. Just hear me out.
          A man wearing a 3/4 length sleeve is powerful. Maybe not in the business and philanthropy way. Maybe he doesn't trade transatlantic stock with Taiwan but he gets shit done. His rolled sleeves mean that he needs his hands to be free to accomplish one thing or another, from opening a pickle jar to drawing with charcoal to raising a barn. Or maybe he just finished a project, and now has to wash his hands and prepare for the next project to come his way. He unconsciously shows off his masculine forearm, all hairy and muscular , some veins showing here and there. It's not the most proper and his cuffs might get wrinkled but he's got more important things on his mind. Besides, he knows he still looks damn good. A button down with the sleeves rolled up, or a baseball-style shirt with cropped ones  are dressier than a normal tee or a short sleeve work shirt, but can still be cafe cool or rock-and-roll rad. This guy can still play bass in the band or thoughtfully sip a chai in either attire. All the barista babes and girl groupies will be on you like a cinnamon bun. 
          Now, for the ladies. A 3/4 length sleeve (as seen above on yours truly) does for a woman's femininity what it does for a man's masculinity. I can see the doubtful look on your face already but let me explain. A woman's wrist is such a delicate piece of body; the skin is pale and thin, blue and green veins fully displayed, the bones light like that of a bird. It's the spot where a lady puts perfume and tennis bracelets. It's grabbed in moments of protection... and passion. It's the new Victorian Ankle. It's understated but really shouldn't be. It holds a pulse, a heat. Besides, there is something classic about cropping. Audrey did it, Coco did it. You can, too. Your beautiful, dainty wrists will thank you for a little fresh air and soft stroking from a lover.
          And what happens when a properly sleeved man and a properly sleeved woman meet? They hold hands because no stiff cuff is holding them back.

New Beginnings

          A friend (who is no longer a friend but who probably had the best intentions at the time) once told me that before I started blogging I'd have to find a reason, a unique way of looking at something, a niche. He advised me to focus on something that no one else had featured before, otherwise I'd be another internet nobody. For a while, I followed this advice. This thought became my bedfellow through many sleepless nights; how could I put a new spin on something, how could I make something appeal to the cool cyber kids, who have already browsed all of everything? I started to feel very small and defeated before I even started. 
          Today, I finally realized that the more I think, the less I do. If I flip an idea around in my brain too much I get scared and, like the little rabbit of a girl that I am, run away from it. So, although he probably was just trying to help, I'm throwing a big whatever at that once-friend's words of wisdom. I'm going to blog. And it's going to be disjointed. And sometimes boring. In all honesty, I hope you like me and I hope you like what you read. If not, you'll move onto something else on your own accord. But I'm going to let you know right now: I'm pretty entertaining, in all my flighty glory. 
          So, my raison d'être? I have this undying need to talk about clothes. And shoes. And beautiful things in general. Do not confuse this with a want, dear reader. It has almost gotten to the level of compulsion. I flip through magazines or see someone on the street and think, "Good God! I need to tell someone about such-and-such!" You are that someone. So, let's be friends, yes? We'll talk about neon, and lace, and the occasional cupcake. I have a lot to say, and I take a lot of pictures but stick with me gal pals and gentle guys! It's about to get chic.