While shopping in Hamden in Baltimore over the Christmas break, I bought this men's silk scarf for myself for my birthday. Italian crafted, it was hidden under a pile of more typical floral handkerchiefs, a specimen simultaneously alluring and atypical for me. Cross-hatching pattern, slightly askew, reminiscent of a hazed checkerboard, of a bizarre collection of subway gratings, scattered with abandon. My collection of scarves, the ultimate wardrobe flourish, is extensive, but most are whimsical, nautical or hunting or lush roses; this one was, obviously, both more masculine and more edgy.
The deep oxblood and buttery cream staved my black tuxedo jacket and simple black dress from appearing too lugubrious. Between the tuxedo jacket and this scarf, I was a pair of velvet smoking flats away from embodying the fictional boy-billionaire Chuck Bass; my pseudo-wrap dress was hardly noticeable but crucial for a effect of a soft swish of a skirt. Overall, it was professional but faceted.
These black chandelier earrings are, surprisingly, contemporary; they were from my junior year high school prom dance. My dress that evening was also a deep, nearly blood, in an iridescent fabric; it was not my favorite, at the time, but in retrospect, it was much more fascinating than the sea of pastel trendy taffeta. Nearly since that night, of innocent sweat and some anxiety and bad music, these earrings have sat idle in my jewelry box. With the masculine features, they added some delicacy and a welcome glisten.
Oxblood patent leather pumps with a soft, rosebud accent completed the look.
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