The Bikini

       

          I am a chronic collector. I think having collections not only puts your interests out on display but also shows your level of commitment and devotion to something in your life. Someone doesn't go out and buy every ceramic Precious Moments statue just for kicks and giggles. She has to have some sort of special attachment to these dopey-eyed icons, some sort of fond memory of them from her past. Collections can become personal quests: all of a sudden you become Indiana Jones, on the hunt for 1940s china sets before the Nazis can get their grubby hands on them for the Fuehrer's dinner party. Collections perpetuate determination, and can also come together through the helping hand of others. Friends and family will see your burgeoning passion and suddenly develop an unquenchable thirst to be a part of it. Or maybe they can't find anything else to get you for Christmas. Either way, you have a new scorpion suspended in amber. Winning.
          I'm a pretty passionate person and I also like pretty much everything. Annoying when it comes to making a decision of what movie to watch, awesome when starting a collection. I have one for unicorns, dinosaurs, wine, and tights among many others. However, ask any of my close friends what my biggest collection is (besides the contents of my closet, obviously) and they would- hands down- all give you one answer: magazines.
          There are two major problems with magazines during the months of June, July, and August. First, they're incredibly stingy. Fashion kind of takes a hiatus during the summer in order to get its wits about it in preparation for The September Issue. The editors give it the good ol' college try for these three issues but usually they remind me of a term paper I once wrote while hungover, forty-five minutes before it was due. Second, the scant pages that devoted readers do get are hardly filled with any type of fashion. Approximately 4% is devoted to the weird middle child of style called "resort," 7% features the usual tips on how to get a tan without winding up a cancerous saggy saddlebag, 3% contains book and movie reviews (that are much less reviews and more advertisements-disguised-as-a-culture-section) and 86% is given to articles, pictures, diagrams, and checklists of varying sizes promising you countless ways to achieve the perfect bikini body.
          Woof.
          As Labor Day approaches, I bet some of you are still eating bowl after bowl of Special K in front of the mirror while wearing your bathing suit. I'm going to save you all the trouble and tell you exactly "what you'll gain when you lose": paranoia and dependency. These crash diets and crazy eating schemes might work to prepare you for a weekend away in Cabo but I assure you that once you're in paradise, eating all of that glorious resort food and drinking all of those adult beverages you're going to puff up. Your body's not going to know what to do with all of that food that isn't a processed grain dipped into some strange preservative and shoved into a dark cardboard box. Then, you're going to look at yourself in the mirror, feel bad about all of the choices you made, and vow never to slip into a two piece ever again, ashamed that other people had to see you like that in the first place.
          See you like what, I ask? Having a blast? Absorbing necessary vitamin D? Cooling off in the unyielding ocean or calm pool? Letting loose for one moment in your all-too-constricted life? Let's get real here: wearing a bikini is like being allowed to wear your underwear in public, and who doesn't want to do that when it's hot as hell out? Getting the perfect bikini body involves one simple step: putting on a bikini.
          I'm going to relay the same message I did in my female body post: we are all worth celebrating. There is 0% of the population that looks like you. None. You are a unique composition of cells and molecules, a collector's item of a human being. You have to live with yourself for the rest of your life, so what's the point of beating yourself up over a silly little thing such as what you look like in a bathing suit. I'm certain no one reading this stands in favor of domestic violence, and your relationship with yourself should be just as peaceful and loving. Now, if it's a matter of getting healthy, that is a different story. Everyone should try and watch what they eat and get some sort of physical activity in their lives in order for their bodies to function to their fullest potential. However, your body shape can only be healthily manipulated in a handful of ways. Genetically, some people are meant to be heavier than others, just like some people are taller and some people have the ability to grow a beard in an afternoon. Talk to your doctor if you're concerned about your wellness and she'll be able to help you get back on track.
          One's wellness goes far beyond the physical. It's been said time and time again that confidence is the key to pulling off any look, and especially so in the case of a scant bathing suit. While it's normally easier said than done, I have two tricks when it comes to building your summer swimwear sass. First, find a suit that you really, really like. If you're a classy girl at heart, you don't have to wear that rainbow glitter zebra print that everyone else is wearing.  If you're Ke$ha, maybe that retro cut polka dot top isn't going to stir your wild spirit animal. The swimsuit has branched out tremendously from the tropical florals I knew and loved as a child. There is a suit to fit everyone's fancy so that can no longer be an excuse, little miss. Second, after you find said perfection, wear it all of the time. No, seriously. I'll eat breakfast, bake, grab the mail, dance, open the door for the pizza delivery boy, text, and watch countless hours of Millionaire Matchmaker while wearing my new bikini. I feel very Megan Draper, which is weird but really can't be a bad thing. Now, I'm not saying you have to invite friends over and go all Beach Blanket Bingo in your backyard. This is an exercise that you can (and probably should) do on your own. It forces you to wrestle with your insecurities and at one beautiful point, you will realize that these insecurities are really just whatever. After about the third day of online shopping in your suit, you'll start to recognize just how much of a babe you really are. (I mean, look at you. How did you not see that already?) You'll become familiar with your body, its curves and softness, its muscles and flexibility. You start to appreciate the way you sit, the way you hold yourself. You become proud but more importantly, you become comfortable. You start to recognize yourself as someone who is capable of wearing a bikini.
          I'm not going to lie to you and say that picking out a swimsuit is easy. It's not. Luckily, this isn't my first time at the rodeo. I have compiled a lovely list to get you through this herculean task as quickly as possible. You've got places to go and heads to turn:
         
          1.) Modesty is always an option. Some people prefer one piece suits, that's just who they are. Some ladies aren't comfortable with the amount of skin a bikini shows in public. It could be a religious thing or maybe they just want to leave a little more to the imagination, be a little more mysterious. Needless to say, one pieces can be just as frustrating to find and feel comfortable in. You can still use the following tips if you fall into this humble category of gals.
          2.) Function first and foremost. Women were blessed with these things called breasts. Some breasts are Gwen Stefanis and some are Katy Perrys. All of them are amazing and all of them should be treated like close friends: well-supported. Buy a bikini top like you would buy a bra. That strapless number may look amazing on the rack but does it look as good on your rack. Will you be able to play a pickup game of volleyball, or get pummelled by the waves in it? Does it accentuate your body in the best way possible, or leave you self-conscious that you're letting it all hang out? Do you feel sexy, or saggy like a grandma in Atlantic City? Look at your current bra for clues. If you are supported physically, you'll feel more supported in your confidence.
          3.) After function, shop for shape. Although the two piece does not offer a lot of fabric to work with, the cut of a bikini can make all the difference. For example, my proportions tend to be a little bit boxier than some and my chest isn't necessarily the star of the Jojo show. This being said, when I try on a sporty bandeau top, I look like I was caught streaking on national television and they had to place a big bar over my girly parts. Not flattering, and not celebratory to the beautiful bird that I am. However, put me in a demi-coverage, v-neck top and a bottom that has pattern and other types of embellishment, and all of a sudden I'm Bridget Bardot. Cuts, color, and add-ons can do wonders. Bottoms that have ties sitting directly on the hip elongate the line of a shorter and/or more muscular leg. Triangle tops mimic the lines of cleavage, helping the less chest-invested through the magic of illusion. Ruffles anywhere automatically draw the eye to that area so if you want to fake an hourglass figure, I suggest you go whole hog on them. Focus on what you want to accentuate versus what you want to hide. Once you find a suit that helps those bits and bobs shine, you'll wonder why you haven't been wearing one all along.
          4.) Play around with color and pattern. Ladies, there was a song written about a girl who wore a particularly striking swimsuit. I believe it was yellow, and I believe there were polka dots involved. I'm just putting it out there that you might be immortalized in the music universe if you go for that flamingo pink suit with the pineapple motif. You'll never know what you'll like until you try.
          5.) Finish the shopping trip with some champagne. Finding the perfect swimsuit is a lot like winning an Oscar. Unleash your inner Jennifer Lawrence and celebrate appropriately.

Saving Fashionable Face: The Interview

          I'm beginning to feel like my degree is total bullshit. It has been approximately ten months since I graduated, diploma in one hand, celebratory cocktail in the other. Ten months since I took all of those pictures with family, professors, and people I only kind of, sort of knew but felt like I'd want to remember in ten years regardless. Ten months since I packed all of my belongings in boxes, and moved away from the people I loved and the place I fondly regarded as home. Needless to say, these ten months have been pretty rough, and have only gotten worse due to the fact that I have also spent those ten months unemployed.
          Okay, that's not entirely true. I have spent eight of those months working as a restaurant hostess. My job description includes standing at the front of the house, greeting guests as the come in, taking them to their tables, and (seemingly most importantly) looking pretty while on the clock. I'm not kidding; during my hostess orientation I was told I was hired for my smile and my hair. So you see, while I'm grateful for this position and the small but helpful paycheck it provides me every week, I don't consider it a job. A job is supposed to challenge you, utilize your skills and talents, make you feel like you have some sort of purpose, something to bring to the table for society's benefit. What I'm doing now isn't a job, it's just work.
         In between hosting shifts, I've taken on a second job: finding a better one. I've spent whole days at the coffee shop four blocks down from my house mooching off of their free wifi, drinking much too much espresso, and scouring the Internet for positions that might put my education to some sort of good. Over these ten months, I've sent out upwards of one hundred resumes and cover letters to promising (or at least kind of interesting) positions. The titles have ranged from editorial assistant to copywriter to fact checker to administrative assistant to part-time receptionist to document copier to au pair to dog walker to yes girl to (unfortunately) hostess. Ten months and countless applications later, I have had two interviews. Two. I'm probably coming off as some sort of entitled bitch but that's not really the angle I'm going for. I just know in my blossoming, optimistic heart that I can do more, that I can be something better. I am not above the string of shitty jobs twenty-somethings are being asked to take. I'm grateful for my current position because I know that I have it better than a lot of people. It just makes me sad that we've all stopped dreaming. We all are settling for the mediocre rather than going after those dreams of grandeur we had as undergraduates. Settling is for Pilgrims, and this is 2013. 
          The elusive "they" always say to dress for the job you want not for the job you have, and I couldn't agree more. If I'm going to be honest with you (which I always am) I have to say that the search for my interview gear was more stressful for me than the actual interviews. Primarily, it proved to be a reality check that I still had a great deal of growing up to do. Here I was, this pompous post-grad who thought she was so mature, so cultured, so wise because she had read so many large books. I thought my closet was so adult, so chic, so classic with those pencils skirts and silky blouses. I was so ready for the adult world.
          But then I started reading. I started Googling "what's appropriate to wear to a job interview," thinking the loving search engine would come back with a jovial, "Oh, ho, ho! What you're wearing is just fine, Jojo! Professional companies totally dig that 1960s vintage crop top and high-waisted, lavender sailor shorts! Just remember to throw on that embroidered cardigan with the rabbits, otherwise you could appear a bit too casual, cupcake!" Obviously, I was wrong. First off, web pages (beyond this one and sometimes HelloGiggles) don't ever use that best-friend-bracelet tone of voice. Ever. The Internet is composed in phrases only Tom Brokaw could narrate. Secondly, I found out that dressing for an interview was supposedly a lot like dressing for private school. There's a code, a uniform to which everyone needs to conform. Otherwise, you'll be put in detention and listed as a juvenile delinquent and never get into that Ivy League school, even though both of your parents went there and you'd be a total shoe-in if it wasn't for your pubescent wickedness. Or, in the case of this comparison, you won't get the job.
          I found templates of outfits appropriate for both sexes. Men should wear suits. Women should also wear suits, however with the option of skirt or pants. Unfortunately, men do not have this freedom unless they are Scottish or Irish. If this is the case, they can do whatever the hell they want; those delicious accents are going to get them hired the moment they open their mouths. Both men and women should wear a blue dress shirt; blue is the color most often associated with honesty. However, if one's feeling particularly sassy and confident, he or she could wear a red shirt, which is the color most often associated with power (and sexual energy, if that's the game you're trying to play). Men should always wear ties and women should always wear nasty nude pantyhose. Stick to this code, or you're professionally screwed.
          You can see why I almost threw up on my computer. I had heard horror stories of The Man getting you down, turning you into a corporate clone with no feelings and a pure hatred of all things whimsical, but I didn't realize this soul crushing began even before the interview! Luckily, I was born with a pretty strong sense of what's good and what's evil. I tend to thwart injustice whenever I encounter it. What I'm trying to say here is that I'm a superhero. Anyway, I spent an afternoon perusing these step-by-step, dress-for-success, how-to-do websites... and disregarded them completely and wrote this instead.
          Okay, that's also not entirely true either. I took into account a few bits and pieces. Basic knowledge such as the outfit should be relatively simple, clean, tailored, and made in a durable material. For my interview, I ended up buying the amazing little black dress you see above. It's made of a thick jersey, which although is not what one may call a "professional" material, the pleating and general construction make it fit like a Brooks Brothers dream. My favorite part of the dress is the trim. It's leather. Wearing leather to a interview (even with as small as the detail is) made me feel like a total badass. That's how interview clothes are supposed to make you feel: invincible. Here's my list of helpful hints to get you there, and get the job:

1.) Do your research. Consider the company you're interviewing with. You wouldn't wear the same thing for a law office interview that you would for a museum curator position. Explore the employer's website; take a look at the company's gallery. If they have photos of their current employees, note what they're wearing and plan your interview outfit to be two notches fancier. If you see someone wearing a pressed shirt and tie, add a jacket. If one is shown wearing jeans and an ironic cat tee shirt, opt for slacks and a great sweater. And you should probably look for somewhere else to work if their current employees appear to be freegans raiding the Urban Outfitters' dumpster.

2.) As always, keep fit and material in mind. What makes you think that someone is going to make you part of their company if it looks like you can't even properly dress yourself? Buying a suit, let alone having it tailored is expensive but one perfect black suit can last years if you take the time to care for it. An interview suit is an investment piece that will be well worth the cost once you get your first paycheck. Also, the material of the suit should look expensive, even if they're just faking it. Keep things clean, pill-free, fresh-smelling, and unwrinkled. Even if you can't afford to do your laundry, an interview is not the time to show and tell.

3.) Men-- shoes match socks match belt match pants. It's really not that hard.

4.) Ladies-- consider length and coverage. By now, you should all know that you're total babes. However, a job interview is not the place to showcase that innate foxiness. The length of your skirt should be to the knee or just below it. Your shoulders, neck, and legs should not all be naked at the same time. Pick two. For me, my dress highlights my legs and shoulders very well, so I kept my neck and chest on the DL by wearing a silk scarf. If you choose to keep your neck and shoulders bare, slip into a pair of opaque tights. Your third option (obviously) would be to employ a cardigan or jacket to complete your ensemble.

5.) Another note, ladies-- heels. Wear them. Not only do they (literally) put you on the same level as a male interviewer, who doesn't think that it takes a truly confident woman to wear high heels in an incredibly nerve-wracking situation? Be that truly confident woman and click-clack your way into that building like you own the place. One day you very well could be CEO.

6.) Smile. Seriously, no one likes a Grumpy Gus. This could be the opportunity that changes your entire life. Get excited.

Questionable Conduct: The Hipster

          Does anyone remember the show Tough Love? It was one of the numerous reality dating shows that were incredibly popular about five years ago (and I guess are still so today, unfortunately). The premise of this show was simple: take one macho man who allegedly gets all the honeys with his buff bod and medicine cabinet full of hair products, add eight or nine self-conscious and heartbroken women who tend to cry on cue and wear tube tops as dresses, stir in some sort of "original" plot line, pour over ice, and presto! You have the show VH1 will play ad nauseum all weekend, every weekend. Tough Love's shtick was that Steve (the aforementioned Man of la Macho) would help the ladies navigate the dating world by doling out heavy doses of brutal honesty about what they were doing wrong. He would give them the genuine male opinion about how they came off to a potential suitor, from what they were saying, what they were wearing, even the manner in which they ate. He didn't mind being the bad guy because he knew, in the end, these women would meet their Prince Charmings (at least in front of the camera). The pain would eventually pay off. Long allusion short, for today let me be the Steve of your closet. It's time for me to spread some tough love of my own on a particularly contagious fad: The Ironic Hipster.
          Now, before you go pulling pictures off of my Facebook as proof that I have dabbled in these dark arts from time to time, let me explain myself. Yes, I have worn readers, creepers, cut-up cat shirts, and things with a mustache motif. Men and women of the jury, I plead guilty. Fortunately, deep down inside I knew how awful, how unnatural everything appeared. Junior and senior years of college were no picnic for me. I ended up putting a lot of stock in how I looked, and how much people liked me. Stupid, I know but that's growing up, kids. I wanted to do everything possible to fit into this mold others built for me, this quirky pixie girl who ate like a bird and had a ridiculous sense of style. They thought me a magician: give Jojo a shitty piece of clothing and she'll wear it like it's Givenchy. It became a game of Truth or Dare between Me and Them, with me telling all the lies but completing every challenge. At the time, I was dating someone at the who (now that I can view it retrospectively) really didn't like me; he liked that I was so complacent. He liked that I tried so hard to become his dream girl, a surly model who just stepped out of a Urban Outfitters or Free People catalog and had Emma Stone gravely voice. I wore stupid, silly, and downright ugly things because I felt I had to.
          Fortunately, like old clothes, one can outgrow bad habits, negative thoughts, and horrible people. I look back on photos from those years and think, "Why did I spend good money and precious time on that outfit? I look like I don't care, like I'm homeless and this ugly animal face shirt is the only thing I have to my name." It makes me sad but what's worse is that people are still wearing this junk. And they're not wearing it in a I-love-flying-unicorns-and-that-is-why-I-have-three-of-them-soaring-across-my-pectoral-muscles kind of way. No, no. They are wearing these things because they're the ugliest, because it'll receive attention. Because it's hip.
          Since when did dressing like you just stepped out of an American Apparel dumpster become a thing? Why is everyone so gaga for garbage nowadays? It would be different if any of these pieces actually fit the person; normally, these shirts, hats, pants, what have you are enormous. It would also be another thing if these pieces (albeit mammoth in size) were flattering colors/patterns/materials. But alas, this rarely happens. Some believe that neon cheetahs wearing crucifixes is a proper graphic to wear, especially on spandex. If my sarcasm hasn't hit you, let me be blunt. That shit looks awful and makes you look stupid. 
           I'll try and reign my sass in for the rest of the post but seriously, when did this all start? When did the Hipster Movement transform from flannel-wearing, artisan-coffee-drinking, bike-riding, Fleet Foxes fans into this strange blend of stunner shades, flower crowns, pouty profile pictures, piling sweaters, and #hashtags? When did the modest, artsy/environmental style become so superficial and hideous? Hipsters seem to have their own reasons for donning Member's Only jackets and thrift store mom jeans: they just don't not care what you think about them. Obviously. They are saviors of the discarded items, adopting things that no one else wants, to prove to others an elevated sense of taste. Obviously. In the case of wearing ugly things, Hipsters put them on like armor, as of to say, "Yeah. My shirt has glow-in-the-dark french fries on it. What's it to you? Come at me, bro!" Now, I'm all for self expression. I've said it a million and one times. Honest and true, I knew a kid who loved ugly clothing, genuinely and unconditionally loved them. Screen prints of woodland creatures and camo cargo pants were his thing. So if it's your jam, rock out super star. No one's stopping you, not even me. However, if you're throwing on that Aztec print button down shirt just show people will notice, then we have a situation on our hands.
          In a way, I believe the overuse of ugly items is degrading in a similar way to the overuse of club wear. For example, if one sees a lovely girl dressed in a teenie weenie cocktail dress, five inch heels, hair teased out to there, and the entire Sephora store on her face, the assumption might be made that she's a slut to some degree. I only use that term to illustrate a point: this girl could be a church-going, Harvard graduate who has just been influenced by too much reality and gossip magazines. She thinks this is what attractive looks like, this is what she has to wear to make an impact. In a similar way, what has recently been deemed as "cool," as "hip?" Ugly clothes. Weird prints. Ill-fitting cuts. Unfortunately, since Hipsters have gotten such a bad rep as of lately, wearing items like this can have backlash. Instead of people seeing you as cool, they see you as pompous, cynical, and stuck up. They peg you as someone who makes her own kombucha and has an Etsy shop dedicated to driftwood bird sanctuaries. You become a stereotype, and a badly perceived on at that.
          Now, I'm pretty sure some of you are offended at my casual tossing about of the term "hipster." Again, you might even be scrolling through my Facebook, my Tumblr, mouth agape, thinking, "Are you kidding me?? Look at yourself! Look at your reblogs! Look at all those goddamn Peter Pan collars! You, Miss Know-It-All are in denial of your own hipsterdom! Embrace the kitten couture!" I get this a lot. Yes, I have engaged in a lot of incriminating behavior. I listen to She & Him. I drink too much craft beer. I bake strange flavored cupcakes. I'm trying to be a volunteer at Firefly. I work at a yoga studio. I'm diligently working on my vinyl collection. I rollerskate. I understand the confusion. But I think the difference between "hip" and "hipster" is all in the intention. In my experience, Hipsters are generally surly and/or overly enthusiastic about things. They do things purely for show, to become a spectacle. They do things for the Instagram likes. To me, this is more sad than annoying. Think about it: who are these people, really? What are they like beyond the picture? Why do they do the things they do, and what happens when people become disinterested? I never look at a Hipster and think, "Yes. I want to have a conversation with you." If we did talk, I'd more than likely just ask her where she got her shoes.
          Having hip tastes doesn't necessarily mean you are a Hipster, kind of like how every square is a rectangle but not every rectangle is a square. The difference is you actually like what you're doing/wearing/listening to. You find Zooey Deschanel's voice hauntingly beautiful. You don't have a Driver's License so you pretty much have to ride that fixie. You honestly prefer cats to all other form of life. If you honestly love it, do it. Be it. There are no cares in the world you should be willing to give. But tread carefully, my favorites. It's a slippery slope. Once you start liking the cool kid things, you start getting the cool kid's attention. As a lover of the occasional Goodwill sweater and the obscure Forever XXI jumpsuit, I have a lot of practice in balancing my look. I pass along this list of tidbits to prevent you from committing sartorial suicide. There's a difference between street style and street rat.

1.) Mix it up. Things are best in moderation, hip pieces being no exception. If you're going to wear those floral harem pants, pair them with a simple white v-neck, or even a solid cowl neck top. Those boots that appear to be cloven hooves look fabulous at the ends of skinny jeans.  A fringed crop top and a high waisted skirt looks fashion forward without being too freaky. If you're worried your outfit is too hip, look at yourself in the mirror and think, "Am I wearing one piece Tim Gunn would call classic?" If not, make the necessary adjustments.

2.) Consider material and fit. I am the proud owner of this gigantic, rainbow striped sweater. This thing consumes me, long enough on my little frame to double as a dress. While normally, this could be seen as a Fashion Don't, it's made out of this amazing cotton yarn that lies flat and smooth. The pigments in the fiber remain vibrant after every wash. It looks good for a gigantic rainbow striped sweater. Similarly, I have this tissue-thin, baby pink gauzy fairy dress. It's only weather-appropriate on that one sweltering day in July but the dress' fit is incredible. Shapeless on the hanger, it drapes over my body as gently as a falling cherry blossom, making me look ethereal. With ridiculous pieces, look for materials that make you feel good and cuts that make you look even better. These factors help balance out the extreme nature.

3.) Consider your motive. Do you really love what you're wearing? Does it make you feel like a better version of yourself? What would your best friend/significant other/mother think about this strange piece? Is this just for a picture, an occasion? Is this a costume? Are you hiding? Do some serious soul searching because, like it or not, an outfit is the first thing people see. Make it a reflection of your inner awesomeness.

4.) Prepare ye the hate parade. People are going to think you're weird. People are going to think you're wearing that for attention. People might even write rude things on your Wall. The important thing is you stick to your guns, baby cakes. If you really love it, that's all that matters. It's your body and your personal expression. A week from now, you may hate those heart-shaped Lana Del Ray Bans. You might look at a picture of you wearing them and think yuck. But for that moment, love what you love. Confidence really is the best accessory, one size fitting all.

Breaking Black, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Bright Colors

          I recently had an epiphany in the fitting room of a Forever XXI. While that specific verb and specific proper noun don't normally go together, this is a true story. All names, situations, and places are real, and based on fact, so hear me out. In an attempt to hurry spring along, I decided to go shopping for a new sundress. Seasonal transition lines have officially hit the racks, nibbling on the heels of New York Fashion Week, and I had just received my (slightly depressing) paycheck that morning. Now, I've always been under the impression that if something depresses you, you should be rid of it as soon as possible, which is how I came to the logical conclusion of retail therapy. One of the best places to find an array of different dresses with semi-respectable price tags is Forever XXI.
          Stop. I can hear you groaning from all the way over here.
          I will be the first to admit that this monstrous chain tiptoes the thin line between trendy and trashy much more often than I am usually comfortable with. However, much like the search for the perfect pair of jeans, if you take your time scouring through rack after rack (after rack after rack after rack...), more often than not you'll find something that suits your fancy. Forever XXI tends to get a bad reputation because it's pretty fearless with what it stocks on the shelves. It knows that everyone has a freak flag deep inside that needs to fly free every once and a while, and when that time comes, it'll be happy to provide heavy doses of weird. Even though most of those bright purple, faux fur pimp coats will meet their slow demise and sell for $4.99 in the clearance room, there's always that one girl who is looking for a statement piece like that to complete her closet. F21 rules because they simultaneously refuse to conform and try to please each of their customers.
          But I digress. Because I have this problem of liking pretty much everything, I ended up bringing a million and one dresses with me to the fitting room. While they were all cute (well, okay not all of them; I don't know why I thought cheetah print peplum was going to round out my life...) nothing struck me as hot-to-trot amazing. As paltry as my wages are, I wasn't about to blow them on a sub par dress. I asked the attendant what she thought of the one I was most sold on, a little black number with an illusion sweetheart neckline, white bow print, and a-line skirt. She took half a look at me before suggesting that I try its red twin. On the floor, I had originally picked up the red one but ultimately opted out, thinking it too precious. I slipped into the one she brought me and realized how wrong I was. The red one was anything but precious. The red dress forced me to stand out, even by myself in the comfort of a private dressing room. I couldn't hide from myself. The color was less firetruck, more salmon-swimming-against-the-current red: strong and determined. My pale skin went from bland to brilliant in front of my eyes, sparkling like a Stephanie Meyer vampire. My dark hair took on the opposite effect, the color richer, more striking; it pulled one in with its darkness, like a black hole. All of a sudden I was a White Stripes cover. I was the answer to that age old joke of what's black and white and red all over. I didn't know what to think so, slowly cracking the door open, I asked my New Best Friend what she thought. She pursed her sticky glossed lips as she had me turn for her. "Yeahhhh..." she said, "this is much better. You look like you actually enjoy life now." I told her that this dress was totally out of my comfort zone, that I normally stick to the darker colors. "Yeahhhh..." she sighed again, "You look like one of those girls who wears a lot of black and drinks a lot of espresso."
          Biddie went from bestie to bitch in two shakes of a lamb's tail but it got me thinking: since when did black get such a bad rep? Isn't it supposed to be a classic, pairing with everything and perfect for every occasion? Looking around as I write, I'm noticing that almost every person here has a black something. Black scarves, black shoes, black thick rimmed glasses, black smartphones, and yes, black coffee. I wonder if this is out of choice, or out of lack of choice? Is our love of the neutral becoming a problem?
          Okay, I know that sounds melodramatic so let me try and explain it differently. I feel as if the color black and the term "comfortable" have become synonymous. We all have been taught these wonderful (and completely true) things about black. If the piece fits you well, black can be extremely slimming. It's hard to dirty up a black dress or black slacks, hence why most restaurants adopt it for their dress codes. Because black is the culmination of all colors, it's understandable how it can be acceptable for all occasions; one could wear either black or baby blue to a wedding reception, but the same can not be said when choosing an outfit for a funeral. With black being so universally accepted, we have fallen into a dangerous rut of it becoming our first and normally only choice when it comes down to what to wear. You ultimately blend in when wearing black because everyone can pull it off; you never hear someone going, "Oh, only you could wear that shade of black. It looks so bad on me..." When I think back to all of the fashionable pieces that will always remain in my sartorial heart, very few are black, and those few are expertly tailored or dramatically crafted (see Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's and Jackie O's funeral veil). I feel more and more like America is stylishly depressed. You go out wearing black because it's never let you down before. Your friends say, "Wow, that dress is great" but then it's never mentioned again. That dress is not a conversation piece. What your friend is really saying is, "That black dress helps you pass as acceptable. Moving on."
          As harsh as that may come off, you don't want to be just "great," just "acceptable," do you? You are a stunner. You are a fox. You have every right to be your own conversation starter. I looked into my own closet after my shopping trip to take a gander as to what my black pieces were saying about me. The restaurant that I work for recently dumped the old uniform of white-button-down-and-tie for a streamlined, all black code, so my collection of the dark neutral has grown significantly. Most of my black clothes were just that: black clothes. Things I could go to work in, professional pieces. But I wasn't just wearing them to work, no, no. I was taking them out for nights on the town, treating them like party pieces when, in reality, they're a bit of a snore. I was starting to let basics rule my look. Freshman year of college, I would rock the most insane color combinations while others stuck to hoodies and jeans. Now, I have reached the age of what some would classify "adulthood" and I worry more about what others think. I need to get a steady job and a bank loan, and ain't nobody going to take me seriously in high-waisted, floral print shorts.
          But, so what? Just because I'm twenty-two and just because I'm being thrown into a new, professional world doesn't mean I need to trade my personal style in. There is always room for ikat prints and neon creepers (the shoes, not the person)! Unlike black, bright colors and prints can't be worn for every occasion, so we should start celebrating the times that we can wear them by doing so. There are too many beautiful things to wear, and still so much time to wear them. Starting ASAP, I'm challenging myself to wear more color. Scary, I know. When you choose to wear color, you choose to put yourself out there. You choose to show yourself off. You become the proverbial peacock rather than the pigeon. Here are some tips I've gathered to help you transition from bland to bah-zing!
         
1.) A dab'll do ya. Start small if your shy about bright colors, work it into your accessories first. Try a printed bag or colored belt with jeans and a sweater. Opt for the sparklier jewelry, or thick headband. Even a pop of lipstick can add interest to an otherwise somber ensemble. Try practicing with these small steps every day, and soon color will become a habit and you'll want to wear more.

2.) Try the twin. Pull a me and if the piece you're trying on comes in a color, try that one on, too. It may not work, but you'll never know until you take that chance.

3.) Learn  what colors work for you. It may seem extremely old lady, but "getting your colors done" is something everyone should at least explore. There are handy dandy quizzes floating around the Internet that can help you with this. They take your skin, hair, and eye color (along with a few other factors) and generate a list of hues that will compliment you the best. With my dark hair and light eyes, I'm a winter, which shouldn't really be a surprise to anyone. This profiling gave me insight into colors I never thought I could pull off, like eggplant and rust. I always assumed they'd make me look like a ghost when they actually help my features stand out. Go figure.

4.) Try, try, and try again. Not everything is going to look great. However, not everything that you think isn't going to look good won't look good. You feel me? For example, I recently was shopping with my best friend Hillary and ended up picking up a violently pink neoprene dress. This pink was hurt-your-corneas bright. We both thought that no one could pull such a shade off, which then prompted me to try it on. Obviously. When I put the dress on to show Hillary, she said, "Literally one person could pull off that color. That one person being you." Sometimes seemingly awful things end up being amazing, like the Cupid Shuffle or WarHeads candy. Have a little faith but more importantly have a little fun. You're too fabulous to take yourself seriously all of the time.

Pencil Skirts

          There are some movie scenes that just sink into a person's mind and stay there forever. Something about the lighting, the setting, the accompanying music, the script, the acting, the everything of that moment hits an emotional spot with the viewer. Maybe the movie mirrors the person's life and has brought him to enlightenment as to what to do with his sad state, or maybe the movie makes someone laugh harder than she ever though she could laugh after a day like that. Or, maybe the movie had Jennifer Lawrence in it, which then inspired you to sign up for that Pilates class after all. No matter what way it happens, movies sometimes become more than just entertainment.
          The scenes that have stuck with me are all over the cinematic spectrum. They include but are in no means limited to Cameron killing the car in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, the dance competition in Pulp Fiction, the final (although completely textually incorrect) kiss in the new Pride and Prejudice, the bedroom situation in Barefoot in the Park, Buffalo Gals from It's a Wonderful Life, all of the faces that melted in Raiders of the Lost Arc, and Eva Amurri's entire character arc in Saved! Don't ask why these stick with me because I honestly have no idea. Sometimes, there is no rational explanation as to why something makes an impression. Case in point: the subway grate scene in The Seven Year Itch.
          Marilyn Monroe has had many, many moments in the spotlight. From her cute calendar shots while still a brunette to her breathy birthday serenade to a certain president, it's safe to say her image has thoroughly sunk into the minds of her audience. However, in The Seven Year Itch one scene in particular has made it onto the list of most iconic images of the 20th century. Nine out of ten readers already know what I'm talking about but for that confused cultural ingenue, let me drop you a few clues: it involves a white dress, a city sidewalk grate, and a whole lot of updraft. I love Miss Monroe, honestly and truly but I just don't get that scene. I know it's supposed to be purely provocative, showing much more of the bombshell than most people had probably seen. And yeah, it is hecka sexy. However, in real life NO ONE would have reacted in such casual, dare I say, even inviting manner. It was the 1950s, for goodness sake! If a woman (even if that woman was Mega Fox Monroe) was out, walking around on a date and all of sudden her skirt flies up all around her face, that's a reason to be mortified not amused. It's not cause to laugh, honey pie, it's cause to hail the next cab and call it a night!
          Okay. Maybe I'm overreacting but my own Marilyn moments have not been few and far between. I mean, I live in a city, and I had to wear some sort of skirtlike uniform almost every day for thirteen years. Embarrassing moments abounded. I remember walking from my middle school building to church for mass on particularly windy Wednesdays, clutching the extra fabric of my jumper tight against my legs to protect my dignity. While waiting for the downtown bus home from high school, the rush of the passing traffic stirred my plaid skirt, flirting with the dangerous idea of being flipped. Legend has it that once a girl's skirt flew up and someone noticed she was wearing the Wednesday pair of day-of-the-week underwear on a Friday. She died of embarrassment and shame that weekend. See, Norma Jean? It's all fun and games until someone mentions your unmentionables.
          So what's a lady such as myself to do when it's as blustery as it has been? The easy way out would be to swallow my pride and slap on a pair of slacks and a bowler hat and Charlie Chaplin the shit out of this weather. Easy peasy, lemon squeezie. However, you should know by now dear readers that I am not one to normally 1.) take the easy way out, and 2.) wear pants. I just adore skirts and dresses. It might be getting to the point of obsession, and yes, I'm looking into getting help. But before they try to make me go to rehab, I come with wisdom for my fellow ladies for these last windy weeks of winter. I come bearing pencil skirts.
          I could go on and on about pencil skirts. Seriously. I think I own more pencil skirts than anything else, with the exception of underwear. I'm pretty sure I even have two of the exact same color and style because I was certain something terrible would happen to one, leaving me skirtless and depressed. Again, I know how crazy I must sound but if you would just give me a moment to explain, I'm sure I can convince you to love the cut as much as I do.
          The pencil skirt has been a savior in the fashion world on many levels. First, and possibly most importantly, the pencil skirt saved a woman from the horror that is the hobble skirt. For those of you that don't know already, the hobble skirt is a sort of insane piece of clothing. Imagine a maxi skirt that is bound at the bottom with a scrunchi, right above the ankles. I know, completely ridiculous but it was all the rage around the turn of the 20th century. The simplicity of the pencil skirt made it a savior in yet another way. During World War I, fabric was being rationed in order to adequately clothe the armed forces. Fashion designers and home sewers alike had to make do with the material they had. The pencil silhouette came into fashion during war times because although it was full length, its simple, straight construction lacked the extra embellishments previous eras had favored. It used little fabric while still being a modest piece for a woman's closet.
          In 1940, Christian Dior brought the pencil skirt from the floor to the knee. The designer felt that hiding a woman's leg was an outdated practice for an increasingly modern world. This modified version retained its form-fitting shape, and, to help women move, was equipped with a small split or pleat down the last few edges on the back, also known as a kick pleat.
          The pencil skirt has recently regained popularity in today's chic communities for what I believe are a few reasons. As I stated in my last post, trends are becoming more and more perpetuated by television, and I feel what Mad Men did for suits it also did for pencil skirts. Just look at the costume choices for each female character. You have Betty, who is normally clad in the fuller skirts featured in Dior's New Look. Betty is also kind of a bitch. And crazy. In the viewer's unconscious mind, she's associating the princess dresses of the 1950s with high maintenance and short fuses. Now take Joan, who is quite the fan of the pencil skirt and its close cousin, the pencil dress. Joan is clever, ambitious, and the object of most envy and desire. Again, the unconscious association is that pencil skirts are for all the honeys who make the money, the Alpha Females.
          Another theory I have is that fashion molds itself around what's happening culturally. If you look back on the past decade of style, you can clearly see a theme of ease.  Denim came back in full force, showcasing three fresh cuts which we all hemmed and hawed over: the baggy boyfriend, the skinny stovepipe (which will constantly be my go-to), and the surprisingly flattering wide leg. Athletic wear (unfortunately) drifted over the line into everyday wear, and graphic tees helped you say what was on your mind in 140 sassy characters before the boom of Twitter. Oh, and Crocs, of which there is not much to say but don't. To me, it was almost as if the abrupt terrorism and following war affected our wardrobes. Consumers sought out comfort; we wanted things that fit and things that were familiar. We wanted clothing that we believed to be distinctly American, even though a majority of it was produced in a foreign country. Blue jeans and tee shirts became our uniform, our symbol of solidarity. Unfortunately, this didn't leave a lot of room for femininity.
          Now, I'm not about to say that our battle as a country is over, that our need to stand together is through. But I do feel as if there is a shift in our morale, which translates to what we wear. We want to grow as individuals, we want a fresh start, a strong foundation. We want definition. Speaking with a women's point of view, I think we all want a little more fantasy, a little more fun, a little more escape. A lot of people laugh at the hipster movement, the manic pixie dream girl, and the club kid style but as someone who has dipped my toes into these pools from time to time there's a sense of relief that comes from playing with your clothing, allowing yourself to have fun and enjoy your own flair. As a leading world power, Americans are asked to keep a stiff upper lip, which can get incredibly exhausting.
          But back to the skirt. A pencil skirt is quite possibly the best of both worlds. For a woman, it is both functional and fantastic. Like other skirts, it's completely feminine; with the exception of Marc Jacobs, Scotsmen, and drag queens, it's a rarity to see a man in a skirt. While some may see that as sexist and oppressive, I see it quite differently. Women get to have something men don't have. Yes, it's a one-up in the dressing room but a small victory is a victory nonetheless. I see the pencil skirt as victorious, a symbol of confidence and drive. Women wouldn't settle for the hobble skirt. Women wouldn't settle with the floor length, either. Women wanted it all. The pencil skirt is a symbol of our ability to transition. It can easily go from the work day to a night out, with a few changes in accessory. Unfortunately, I feel a lot of women are scared to wear them, believing the cut to be unflattering, showing off just how overweight/round/undefined/other negative comment they really are. I had a similar mindset about the skirt but much like a healthy habit, the more you do it the more you like doing it. The pencil skirt celebrates the female figure. Woman are supposed to have curves, peaks and valleys that move softly and fluidly. The pencil skirt shows what your momma gave you. You are worth celebrating, and this skirt knows it.
          The pencil skirt is incredibly flexible. While the cut is classic in suiting material such as houndstooth and wool, many designers are presenting them in jersey, leather, and even neoprene (yeah, swimsuit fabric).  For work, a nice woven blouse tucked in looks incredibly sharp but other pairing options can include a cashmere sweater or even a nice jersey v-neck shirt in rich jewel tones, such as Pantone's color of the year, emerald. Also, a cami-and-cardi combo is always a go-to when you're on the go. For casual days, I love pairing a high waisted pencil skirt with an optically interesting graphic tee, sleeves rolled up greaser-style. High-waisted pencil skirts are also great with those crop tops we all hoarded this summer; it's more modest than jeans but still leaves a little seductive sliver of skin peeking out. Pencils are great with both flats and heels, but if you do choose flats take note that you're not breaking up the line of your leg too much. You've got great gams, sunshine. It'd be a damn shame not to show them off, especially in a skirt like this.

Mens-day: Suits

          People blame television for a lot of things. Since the set came out, mothers have been warning their children not to sit too close to the screen, otherwise they'll go blind within the year. Many believe television is the main factor in the quickly growing rate of obesity in our nation. Others credit television as the cause of unwarranted violence and unprotected sex in today's world. The mudslinging doesn't stop there, either. The restaurant that I work for refuses to hang televisions in the bar area, claiming the company is "dedicated to traditional family values." Television splits families apart and destroys the art of meaningful conversation! In short, television is the devil. The More You Know!
          In all seriousness, while being glued to the tube is never a good thing, I feel that a little television every once and awhile won't rip a person's life to shreds. Certain broadcasts aided me in staying informed (and possibly a little bit over-informed) during the presidential election, helping me narrow down for whom I'd be casting my vote. During my freshman year of college, I bonded with the girls on my dormitory floor over America's Next Top Model and Gossip Girl, establishing lasting friendships over commercial breaks and post-show speculations (Chair forever, ladies.) Contrary to popular belief, I have had meaningful conversations that spurred off of ones about television shows, including a rhetorical analysis of Girls, a debate on whether or not past decades were better than present day brought on by Mad Men, and the composition of a pro/con list concerning if I really want to live in Baltimore courtesy of The Wire. I've learned things from crime shows like Bones and Law and Order, although maybe not enough to pass the bar exam. And who doesn't love that endless string of award shows at the beginning of every year? While television should not be our end-all-be-all, it has given us some good things. For example, it's brought men's business suits back into every living room in the country.
          Is it just me, or are the men on television impeccably dressed? I feel as if this wonderful transition in the costuming of male characters began with the ad men of Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Pryce (née Sterling-Cooper, or the agency in Mad Men, for those of you who have been living under a rock). Don Draper, Roger Sterling, and incredibly creepy Peter Campbell are men that know their way around a deal. They could sell cookies to a Girl Scout and not make her think twice about what she was doing. They know their game and can play it better than anyone else, because they know if they don't win their families (and ladies on the side) will suffer at the lack of bacon being brought home. It's entirely sexist, and each of them have racked up significant frequent flier miles on power trips but all of that aside one can clearly connect what they're wearing to their overall success in life. Don knows he looks sharp because he chose to wear a suit that's tailored to his proportions, that fits all over. He doesn't have to worry about the coat being too bulky or the legs being too short, which gives his brain room to worry about more important things like a million dollar account or what he's going to do about his daughter's obnoxious lisp.
          Other notable television characters have also helped popularize the three-piece. Charles Bass went from high school rapscallion to bow-tied business man in between seasons. Barney Stintson has always worn a suit on How I Met Your Mother and tries to get others to "suit up" whenever possible. There is even a show simply titled Suits. It's about clever, conniving lawyers who do business in building with lots of shiny glass and/or rich wood surfaces. Unfortunately, these characters have another thing in common beyond their wardrobe. They are all terrible misogynists, which is kind of a deal breaker what with my being a woman and all. It's this crippling character flaw that may be giving suits a bad reputation: wear a suit, you're an asshole. I find this to be an extremely sad assumption because I've met a lot of really nice guys who just happened to be wearing suits. If we continue to view a suit as the sign of a sexist sir, we lose everything else a suit can symbolize. We lose its power, its strength, and its grace.
          A lot of men that I've talked to hate wearing suits. Big surprise there. They find it to be too confining and uncomfortable. Others say that it makes a guy look like everyone else, that it's against individuality and freedom of expression.  They say it's a symbol of oppression, a symbol of The Man who is always trying to bring the party down. And I can understand. Really. I'm not saying that you should lounge around and watch the big game on Sunday in a nice pinstripe. I'm not saying that you should go to the chili cook-off dressed to the nines. I'm not even saying that you need to wear a suit to every bar or on every date to impress the ladies. My mission here is to get men to look at suits differently, to create a better relationship with those blue, black, and otherwise colored ensembles pushed to the back of your closet. Then once the two of you are bosom buddies, maybe you'll take it out on the town more often and introduce it to your other friends. I'm positive everyone will get along famously.
          Now, let's take the whole shebang apart piece by piece, shall we? First, have you ever thought about how you button your shirt? (Probably not, I know but I wonder about these things all of the time so I did some nerd girl research.) The buttons on a man's dress shirt has origins in the plate armor worn in the 1300s. Before it was invented, a knight would hold his shield on the left side of his body, the side that was most commonly attacked. When shields were replaced with metal suits, fighting styles hadn't changed so knights were still being struck on the left. To guard against swords getting caught in a joint, armor was designed to be  fastened left over right so that the pesky joint was on the right side, and fighters could continue raging war without worry.
          A men's tie is not the most comfortable thing to wear in the world; I know this by experience. I have to wear one every day for work, so I am familiar with the constant feeling that you're wearing a noose in public. However, they also have a pretty kick ass past. During the Thirty Years' War, Europe was experiencing especially cold winters due to a low amount of solar activity (this period is sometimes referred to as the Little Ice Age). The extreme drop in temperature forced the soldiers fighting to make significant changes in their wardrobe in order to keep warm and stay alive. The Croatian soldiers wrapped long pieces of fabric loosely around their necks, and the French were smitten with the look at first sight. After the war, the French adopted the style of the Croatians and called the piece a cravate, which probably came from the word croate. In America, we know this to be a necktie.
          The vest has an interesting past, too. It is known to be one of the few pieces brought into the fashion universe by England rather than the powerhouse that is France. In fact, the fashion rivalry between the two countries is what sparked the vest's creation. In the 1600s, King Charles VI was tired of the French and their flamboyant clothing. He decided to fashion a somber and functional piece of clothing that would also serve as a giant middle finger to the fops across the pond. The original vest looked somewhat like a monks robe, almost floor length in simple heavy fabric. While the composition of the it has changed drastically in today's version, the origin still proves that the most rebellious men wore vests.
          The idea of the suit in its entirety has a story similar to the vests. Beau Brummell, the father of modern suiting believed that a man was not meant to wear the fussy getups that France was producing, that a man needed something simple, easy, and strong to wear in the world. Brummell crafted the first suit to make a statement in society, as if to say, "I am a man, and this is what a man wears." He was done with the powdered wigs and tights of an older age; he wanted to dress men into a streamlined, more modern look. He wanted his menswear to mirror the country he loved: simple, dignified, and solid.  Although it had a small following in the beginning, Brummell's confidence in his product is what really brought the suit into popular circulation. To this day, England is home to the best tailors in the world, making the country's everlasting imprint in the fashion universe.
          So you see, the suit you only wear when forced actually comes from good breeding. Knights, soldiers, rebels... who wouldn't want to be those guys? The modern suit has held onto the most masculine elements throughout its evolution. When wearing one, it should make you feel more like The Man than a slave to Him. If you're looking into buying a suit, you should spend an afternoon on that task alone. Much like jeans, it takes awhile to find the right fit and style to suit you (all of the puns intended). Take along a fashionable friend to help give you an outsider's opinion. Also, don't be afraid to ask a sales person for help. They were hired because they know the ins and outs of menswear, so they're indispensable especially if this is your first time. Try on many different colors and styles. Have fun with tie/shirt combos, mixing patterns and hues. If you're adventurous, maybe even dip your toes in the realm of pocket squares! You can show a lot of personality in formal attire.
          However, if suits just aren't your jam right now, I understand. I'm not trying to force every man to spend every waking minute of his life in Brooks Brothers but maybe you can start incorporating elements into your daily wardrobe. Pop on a sport coat over your tee for drinks with the boys, or sport a skinny tie, button-down and jeans when you're romancing your lady. And an unbuttoned vest over a v-neck, henley, or really any shirt is very Han Solo. And let's be honest, who doesn't want to be Han Solo for the day?

What to Wear: When You're Under the Weather

         I'm convinced I have one leukocyte. No matter what precautions I take, no matter how many of those baby antibacterial gels I buy at Bath and Body Works semi-annual sale, no matter how many zinc and echinacea tablets I throw down my gullet each and every morning, I always, always, always get sick during the winter. I know, you're probably thinking, "Getting a nasty cold at the end of the year is no big thing! It happens to everyone, silly goose." You obviously don't know me very well, so let me enlighten you on my health history. I once had laryngitis for three months. I've had strep throat upwards of nine times. I've been questioned on if I'm starting a meth lab due to the amount of pseudoephedrine I've had to purchase all at one time. I fainted in a Target bathroom and had to be taken to the hospital via ambulance. I finished and presented my senior capstone project while hopped up on a Z-pack and Mucinex to treat a case of walking pneumonia. If I get a bruise on my shin, chances are it will still be there next month. I could go on, but I'm afraid you'll catch something just by talking about it.
          This past week, I've been battling my first cold of the season, which is saying something because I'm normally bedridden by October. It started off as an scratchy throat that annoyed me during a poetry reading that quickly developed into a beast with no name. The doctors didn't think it was the flu or strep throat (again) because I didn't have a fever, so they gave me the indispensable wisdom to rest and drink plenty of water and other liquids. Ironically, two things that I despise doing more than anything are resting and drinking water. While we're on the subject of illnesses, I should probably let you know that I have a pretty serious case of FOMO, or fear of missing out (Google it. I dare you. It's a real thing.) This causes me to have a go-go-go energy; I want to do all of the things at all of the times. I figure, I'm 22! I can juggle going out to the bar with my friends, learning Japanese, trekking to a new city to find the apartment of my dreams, working my shitty hostessing job, flowing through daily chaturanga, starting my own eco-friendly clothing line, and writing an academic article on the gender politics in fashion advertising all without sleep! Unfortunately, it is possible that this engines-hot-and-ready attitude is what landed me with an exhausted immune system in the first place, forcing my sorry ass onto the sofa, in front of an endless string of Sex and the City episodes and B-rated romantic comedies.
          However, there comes a time in every quarantined girl's stay in the sick bay where she must go out into the real world. It could be a run to the only Chinese restaurant in the city (that, curiously enough, doesn't deliver) for a vat of hot and sour soup and a double batch of fortune cookies. Maybe she's desperate for mentholated bubble bath and the newest Cosmopolitan. And yes, from time to time there's even the occasional trip to the doctor's office when the going gets really rough. At times such as these one could slap on a mismatched sweatsuit, pull her hair into a topknot, wear her best Jackie O's, and conjure up a wet cough for anyone who may come close enough to recognize her. I, myself have resorted to this ensemble and it works like a charm: no one sits next to you on the bus, your prescription is filled in record time, and there's no need to change when you get back home for your napternoon. However, the side effect of this outfit is a deep depression that only bad fashion can bring a person. And with a stuffy nose/whooping cough/fever/upset stomach/other seemingly deadly symptom, who wants to be sad on top of all that? No one. 
          Thankfully, my house arrest has given me a lot of time to think about solutions to this clothing conundrum. I went with the theme of what-would-I-be-wearing-if-I-accidentally-was-locked-out-of-my-ski-lodge-with-only-a-cup-of-cocoa-for-company? The steps are simple, and can be adapted to anyone's closet. If you have to step out while your sick:

          1.) Layer layers on top of other layered layers. Not only will this keep you warm and protected against the elements of this particularly wet and windy season, it also gives you the ability to take off clothes in the event of an unexpected fever without any indecent exposure charges.  In my case, I made myself into one of those delicious multi-level crepe cakes: camisole under a ribbed tank top under my boyfriend's tee shirt under a giant (and ridiculously comfortable) sweater that I stole from my best friend. You might feel a little bit like a stuffed pepper, especially if you are trying to cram all of these layers into a relatively snug peacoat but believe me, you'll be thankful an hour later when you're sweating in a public coffee shop, trying to finish an overdue blog post.

          2.) Wear the pants in the relationship. As you probably all know by now, if I could I would wear a skirt or dress for every and all occasions. However, no matter how many tights I put on these legs, they are just not as warm as a sturdy pair of skinny jeans. Look for heavier denim; some of those jeggings are really just jersey, painted indigo. If you're not feeling jeans, wool pants have been making a slow comeback with this (and next) seasons love of all things androgynous. Try a high-waisted charcoal or a glen plaid in a brown or toffee color with a paper bag waist, both of which are incredibly trendy and wicked toasty.

          3.) Knits are neato. Not only have I been blessed with a best friend who taught me to see the beauty in particularly ugly sweaters, I also have a mother who knows her way around a knitting needle. She has made me two sweaters, two pairs of socks, and a sharp pair of dinosaur slippers. Through their influence, my own love of knits has grown substantially, which is great because that keeping warm idea I've been talking about? Knits are all about it. Much like Daisy sour cream, a dollop'll do ya. Try leg warmers, fingerless gloves, or a floppy beanie if you don't feel like committing to a whole sweater. Or, if you're particularly adventurous, put them all together. There's nothing wrong with looking like a United Colors of Benetton advertisement.

          4.) Scarves against SARS. Okay, maybe not SARS but not only are scarves stylish, they also help prevent the spread of your nasty ass germs. As gross as it sounds, your scarf is something to sneeze into, cough into, and cry into if your cold medicine makes you as emotional as mine makes me. And bonus! A scarf is ten times prettier than that embroidered hankie that's been festering in your pocket since Thanksgiving. Look up some unusual ways to tie it up or tie it down on Pinterest so you can have a dash of fun with your function. (I mean, what else are you going to do while your sick besides scroll through endless pins? Put that obsession to good use, biddies.)

          5.) For goodness sake, put on a pair of socks. Someone once told me that if you're cold and if you focus on warming up your hands and feet first, the rest of your body will naturally follow their lead. I think this is a big bunch of bologna but I can attest to the fact that having cold feet might be the most uncomfortable feeling in the world, besides sitting in a wet swimsuit in a car that has fabric-covered seats. And again, do you want to feel more uncomfortable than you already do in your hacky-snotty-hazy daze? No. You can go the route of wearing fun socks that will make your tired soul smile every time you happen to gaze at your feet; this works well with moccasins, Converse, Vans, and other super casual footwear. If your wearing boot(ie)s, go for a thick boot sock that you can bunch up around the top. If you favor ballet flats, wear socks that match your shoes. Above, I paired a black sock with a black shoe so not to break up the line of my foot. Another bonus to wearing the ballet flat-sock-leg warmer combo? You look like an off-duty ballerina. Even when they're sick, off-duty ballerinas are significantly more graceful than even the healthiest average human being. Suddenly the weather you're under doesn't seem so bleak, does it Swan Queen?

Alter Egos

          At first glance, you might not peg me as a comic book nerd, but under these hip glasses and peplum skirts I have an unending love for all things superhero. As a little girl, I sat close to the screen, enamoured by the old Superman movies, and just how suave the Man of Steel could be. Along with the usual candy and small toys, Santa tucked comic books into my Christmas stocking. Throughout grade school, I pretended I was the Pink Ranger at recess while everyone else was a Spice Girl (granted, those ladies are superheroes of another caliber, but I digress). My love has followed me into adulthood. My brother and I have lengthy conversations about the newest movie adaptions and how closely they follow original plot lines. I've read and dissected various graphic novels with fellow enthusiasts, weighing literary merit against the element of sheer fantasy. I count down to Free Comic Book Day, and yes, I've become extremely fascinated with the costumes. (This is a fashion blog; did you honestly think I wouldn't mention the tights and spandex?)
          I think what gets me about a super suit is not the constricting construction, the heavy use of primary colors, or the recent popularity of the utility belt. What gets me about a super suit is how it can change a person, how it can advance a person from seemingly normal human being to something spectacular. Superman can't fly without his cape, Iron Man is toast without his armor, and Bruce Wayne is just a pretty boy doing push ups without all of those gadgets. And Alfred. I'm convinced he'd be dead without his butler bestie.
          After thinking about it more and more, I decided that super suits and their transformative powers aren't just found in the pages of first editions or on brightly-lit movie screens. They're in our own closets. I have this theory that we all have fashion alter egos. We have these signature looks that we love, our own Clark Kent getup complete with ill-fitting tweed jacket, thick-rimmed glasses, and awkward disposition around the opposite sex. It's what the outside world sees us in, and is most comfortable seeing us in. However, deep down we all have this other identity that is significantly different from the stylish role we play on most occasions. This look is completely foreign to our friends and loved ones; we would never display it in the light of day because we're certain they wouldn't understand. They'd shun us from society, intimidated by the power we've been harboring internally. We'd be labeled freaks and sent back to Krypton. If only they knew this secret side could save the city, maybe even the world!
          I want to reiterate that I am 100% behind having a signature look. It's the style you are most comfortable in, not only because it looks good on you but also because you, with all of those personal beliefs, opinions, and feelings, make the whole ensemble even better. In addition, we all know that those who feel good, look good. Suddenly, there's a whole lot of winning going on: you feel good because you're in your favorite outfit (which looks amazing on you in the first place, you fox) and because you feel good, your whole being shimmers with confidence, causing you to appear eighty-four thousand times more stylish to everyone who sees you. Soon, your picture shows up all glowing and chic on one of those street style blogs and Urban Outfitters designs their fall line around your ingenue image. You're a star, baby! You're a star!

          However, an epidemic of sorts is sweeping the sartorial part of our fine nation. Nay! A supervillian! (I like extending my metaphors as far as they will stretch.) I've been out shopping with my friends or flipping through the occasional Vogue, and she will point out something completely out of her usual style portfolio. She'll sigh as she wistfully paws the item saying, "God! I wish I could pull this off!"

       And to that, I find myself thinking why the hell not??  Answer: we are all so scared of our desires.  We live in a society of self-deprivation, self-denial. We've become passers. You pass up those delicious brownies in the cafe case or that second glass of wine because you think it's bad for you, because you're "trying to be good." You pass up buying those tickets to the concert you've been dying to see or the country you've been dying to visit because you know you should be saving your money for that ever threatening rainy day. You visit the same coffeehouses, bars, and clubs because they are familiar, they are safe.  The bleak reality of it all is that we're all waiting for something that may never actually happen. We're looking ahead, planning around uncertainty while we waste the moment that we have been given. Now, I'm not saying to take your life savings to Vegas, blow it all at the craps table, hook up with a midget stripper wearing a feather boa, and come home with chlamydia. No, no. What I'm saying is we have to let our freak flags fly every once and a while to feel truly powerful.

          Taking my own advice, I recently stepped into my metaphoric phone booth and changed into my super suit. Call it the Sandy affect or blame it on all that damn rock and roll I listen to but in the words of Allison Vernon-Williams, "I'm so tired of being good." My style alter ego is a cross between Bettie Page and a rockabilly baby. Both looks are all about rebellion. These biddies pulled away from the straight-laced sensibility of Christian Dior's New Look, which was defined by full a-line skirts and buttoned-up blouses. Think Grace Kelly in Rear Window, or Mad Men's Betty Draper in her entertaining finest.  The rockabilly style for women was adopted in order to show off the curves of the body that suffocating crinolines and long dresses hid from the male gaze. Everything was form-fitting. Both pants and skirts had high waists, producing a legs-for-days look. Stiletto heels made their mark, giving women a platform to stand strong on. The style is influenced by music, which was itself an enormous change from the crooners of the previous era. While some may argue these women were sexualized objects, I think differently. They were catalysts of change when women needed it most. The look allowed women (and men, frankly) to have fun, to feel powerful in their femininity rather than thinking it an inferior thing, something to demurely cover up. Women had a choice in how they wanted to present themselves. We should make like those rabble rousers and use our freedom of choice to the fullest. While I got a few weird looks and a lot of grief from rude men in the city, going out on the town in my secret identity was relieving. I felt free in my self-expression, and came to the full realization that I can take the chances I've always been afraid to take, in my fashionable life and otherwise.
          You've got to ease yourself into the waters of your alter ego. First, you have to find it. Look at the people you admire for their style. What is it about them that attracts you, beyond just what they're wearing? How does that shine through onto their clothing choices? Let's take the beautiful M.I.A. for example (another dream alter ego of mine). I admire her because she is outspoken, honest, and bad ass as all getout. She also has a strong hold on her cultural background, and tries to use her celebrity status for philanthropic good. In 2009, she declined being placed on People magazine's list of most beautiful people because Mother Theresa was never honored on the list. Her style mirrors these attributes in bright colors and significant volume, similar to the clothes in the Sri Lankan fashion circuit.
          Now, I'm not about to take pictures of my favorite lady rapper and try and find exact outfit replicas. However, I can risks and try to work some bolder shades and louder patterns into my everyday closet. I could even take it one step further and learn about my own heritage, and then see how those fashion elements resonate with me. It's all about exploration and bravery. If you're nervous, start small. Wear a simple top with beaded embellishment in homage to the flappers of the 1920s. With leather recently being on trend, it's the perfect time to throw on a jacket or a pair of boots and play around with punk. And a pearl necklace is a great gateway to becoming the spitting image of a beautiful 1950s debutante. Do what you want to do because there's no reason to wait around and try it later. Batman never hesitates to jump into full body spandex whenever the bat signal is flashed into the ominous night sky, and do you think Tony Stark gives a damn whenever someone gives him grief about his weird glowing artificial heart? No. He doesn't give a damn because he knows he's the shit. Be your own Tony Stark: wear what you want, drink whiskey, don't give a damn, and know you're the shit.