Frye Fever, Returned

Normally, I leverage every ounce of my will power to ignore the Promotions section of my inbox, a violent onslaught of commercial click-bait, laying innocently in wait to snatch all of my paycheck. This morning, however, I was weak, tempted, and noticed a message suggesting I peruse a Frye focused Nordstrom Rack digital sale. Clearly, the promotional algorithm has been well attuned to my obsessive online window-shopping habits. Like a commodity-controlled automaton, I clicked, and peruse I did. Eyes scanning like a machine for a particular pair of boots I have been noticing lately and had stowed away in my memory for a later date.

Alas, I apparently was not quick enough to capture the proverbial worm I craved: this pair of weather black studded motorcycle boots. Teased with a "One Left" banner, I hastily attempted to throw my size into the virtual shopping cart. Foiled. This item no longer available.

Disappointed, I decided to drown my feelings in another second choice pair, still lovely and functional, but lacking in the stud department. When they arrive in however many business days, carrying with them that aroma of the road and of fresh leather, I will prevail with a proper photo shoot. Perhaps. Promises.

(image taken from Zappos)

Lusting Lately: Nicholas Kirkwood Carnaby Pumps

These absolutely awe-inspiring and delicious pumps by Nicholas Kirkwood embody everything I crave in a shoe: sleek and classic design, luscious materials, and a low practical heel. The vehement, and deserved, sartorial tidal wave of the lower kitten heel, fueled by the effusive Emmanuelle Alt, is a topic on which I have previously waxed poetic. Not one to shy from enthusiasm or extremes, verbal, sartorial, or otherwise, I think continued eloquent gushing is appropriate.

I am not sure what type of criminal undertakings I would have to adopt in my evening hours in order to afford an entire wardrobe of Nicholas Kirkwood shoes, but, I have smarts and imagination enough to know they could not be flattering or morally advisable. So, I must endure with my listless longing, my occasional drop of drool over this ideal specimen of shoe.

image taken from Barney's

That Old Suit Jacket, Revisited

I have had this shrug-blazer hybrid in my closet for at least a few years now. Hidden under another blazer, both draped over the same hanger in some not-so-effective strategy to cram as much as possible into my minute closet, I had, to be frank, completely forgot about this garment. Which is totally understandable. While I adore navy, a stalwart neutral, it is rather ubiquitous in my wardrobe, not in the least a stand-out hue. The shape here is nearly shapeless, just a smidgeon of structure through the shoulders. This jacket lacks pattern, lacks accent, lacks personality, honestly.

So, it seems strange that a few weeks ago, when scrambling to find an appropriate layer to place over a newer crisp cream dress, I discovered this bland blazer and thought of something. But, sometimes bouts of creativity come when you least expect them, even while staring at a crumpled bit of a jacket that fell off of a hanger, while dashing about your apartment in your underwear before work. Regardless, I was struck with a bit of sartorial spark: where the blazer closes with a simple hook-and-eye clasp, a bodacious brooch can add some intrigue.

Perhaps appropriately, this brooch also does not get much love, rarely appearing in my jewelry rotation, relegated to the doomed and dark back of the cluttered jewelry box. I flipped the orientation of the brooch, when using it as a decorative fastener for this jacket, and its bizarre geometric shapes took on almost a conceptualization of Saturn and her mighty rings. 

Procrastination Wednesday soundtrack: King Krule 6 Feet Beneath the Moon

That Old Suit Jacket

At some point during the winter of my senior year of college, I went shopping with my mother for professional and, frankly, dowdy interview-appropriate clothes. After quite some hours at the local mall, sprinkled with some drips of sweat and some passive-aggressive barbs thrown in slightly raised voices, we completed our mission, purchasing a basic black suit jacket with both a matching skirt and pant. The jacket featured a fitted, feminine waist, while maintaining a mature, professional tone with a looser fit knee-length skirt and wider-leg pant. So, my mother was satisfied and I was compliant and pleased to be finished with the ordeal. Over the course of those next few months, during my interview process and then up to accepting an offer at my first company, I amassed two other similar suit-skirt sets: one in charcoal and one in lighter gray. Standing out like sores amidst my closet of bizarrely whimsical vintage finds and flimsy party frocks, these three suits catapulted me harshly from my university haven of intimate literature discussion seminars and advanced sociobiology reading courses to the new frontier of working world tedium. I was entering a conservative industry and I had the costumes assembled to play this new role. Donning them did feel like assuming the life and personality of some other character, distinctly and decidedly not me, yet one that I could, for the most part, adopt convincingly.

After some months in my new life, at the office, I learned the nuances of following the traditional doctrine of business casual, or in cases of client meetings business professional, dress code, without feeling as though I was merely posturing what I imagined to be a businesswoman. I discovered that, contrary to popular perceptions onto which previous generations desperately cling, there is an advantage to being yourself, being natural, exuding a sense of personal style and from that, confidence. And this advantage is vast, is important. Over the years working at my former position, I continued to add to my collection of classic suits, but I found methods of personalization. Infusions of flair. Of fun. A silk scarf in a bold print tied adroitly across my shoulders. A signature cocktail ring, with sharp angles, in a simple ivory tone. A bevy of unique and still bizarre, still whimsical earrings and necklaces.

My current office dress code vacillates wildly in interpretation by various individuals, hovering mostly between crisp, clean casual and pajama party. While I have certainly embraced the lenient denim policy with open arms, I have not allowed the arsenal of more business formal items in my wardrobe lay sallow. Those suit jackets, stiff and often old-fashioned when paired with their matching bottoms, are reinvigorated when partnered with a pair of sleek, skinny-cut jeans and some modern accessories. I hate letting pieces that are nice and classic go to waste, and welcome any and each opportunity to explore how to adapt these professional items to my personal style.

Earlier this spring, when the air was still chilled and it seemed winter would just never end, I played with the pattern of this tailored, double-breasted houndstooth suit jacket, layering texture with texture. Houndstooth and stripes. The result is busily modern and sophisticated, and is saved from complete visual complication by the matching, simple color palette. White and black. To complement the houndstooth and striped tee shirt, I kept the rest easy and solid: black, tight denim and black leather boots.

Belated Birthday Baubles

While wasting away visiting my childhood home in Baltimore over the Christmas season, I, naturally, did some shopping for myself, blaming my birthday as proper justification. My mother and I nearly always spend at least one morning during my visits scouring the wares of peddlers of bygone memorabilia at an antiques market, weaving between now familiar patrons, quirky characters also interested in ornate oyster dishes or classic crystal champagne sets or decrepit dolls from an earlier era. The predominance of my time is spent scanning the many trays and shelves devoted to costume jewelry, hoping to find that gem that is unique from the hordes of pieces already cramming my bedroom. After more than a decade of amassing huge quantities of costume jewelry, at this point, it is no easy feat to find a truly unique gem.

This visit, thankfully, the search was rather seamless. Amidst a tray of silver and rhinestones, I found these very sleek, very modern Art Deco-like earrings. Featuring mixed metals, sharp angles, and dark onyx stones, these earrings, unlike most in my collection, appear as though they could have been a contemporary creation. Since purchasing these beauties back at the end of December, I have worn them at least once a week. They are an ideal complement to the thick chunky knit cream sweaters I have donned all winter in an attempt to stay warm, and are an equally appropriate and sophisticated companion to the ever-timeless little black dress ensemble. 

Winter White Pearls

Beads, vintage bright bits of gold, rhinestone, opalescent pearl, overrun my bedroom, most surfaces conquered, each tiny jewelry box crammed with a touch of sparkle. It is the plight of a costume jewelry collector. Naturally, this makes selecting accessories each morning a bit of a challenge, one that, when accepted without caffeinated reinforcements, can be exceedingly time consuming. There are perennial favorites, bangles or earrings that are worn at least once a week. And there are those, in some cases literal, forgotten gems, stowed away somewhere, out of sight within a specific drawer, cached behind another bauble, and certainly out of mind. These treasures, when unearthed, months, sometimes years since last being displayed, receive a gasp of delight. If they do not fit into whatever clothes cover my nakedness, a new look is constructed. The abandoned piece donned.

For often arbitrary reasons, loosely grounded in some aesthetic rationale, some pieces I have deemed for winter wear only, some for summer. This particular long, double strand of vintage costume pearls and crystal beads, a delightful find from last winter, have been relegated to icy, chilly, frigid times only. Often, I pair them with a sleek, monochromatic black look: a black cowl sweater, a simple black shift, a favorite cashmere sweater in black. Lately, I have been wearing this necklace with creams, heather grays, and winter white. 

Holiday Baubles, Belated

At the beginning of December, before the seasonal mayhem of cheer, I bought these gold and pastel stone earrings as an early birthday present to myself. My lovely friend Sarah and I were having a catch-up booze brunch, with two-for-one cocktail specials at a favorite local haunt, and after some sufficient lubrication, wandered out within the neighborhood to peruse the vintage shops and the Brooklyn Flea winter market fort. As the holidays have flew by, and the air has transformed to a deathly chill, that late afternoon seems eons away, another dimension, another person. The sun shone warmly, my naked hands not numbed to stone by frigid winds. Sarah has since moved west, California, a huge move. She is the latest of many friends to abandon the seductive cruelty that is this city. I am proud of her, excited for her, but miss her desperately, and selfish wish for a quick return, or at least a frequent visiting schedule. With her family firmly planted here on the east coast, in our childhood city of Baltimore, I am sure I will get that last wish.

Before that delicious, fun brunch, I had been lusting after these earrings for awhile. A score from Prospect Heights boutique 1 of a Find, a regular stop on my vintage shopping crawl, I had always devised some reason to leave them be on earlier visits. While a tad pricey, the soft asymmetric design paired with the soft colors was unique and, that day, I decided to treat myself. While the earrings certainly match, or dare I say reflect (purposeful pun; see the unintentional self-portrait above) a sort of bombastic and decadent style that most of my accessories imbue, they were profoundly different from anything else I owned. Always eager to display a shiny new glint of gold, these became my holiday staple for the various parties for the season. Worn with simple black silhouettes, my holiday look was simultaneously classic and bold.

Irregular Inspiration

(image taken from Irregular Choice)

I unearthed an intense love for the shoe brand Irregular Choice while traveling in London awhile back visiting a dear friend; while meandering through Camden, she led the way to one of their boutiques. Since that afternoon, I have learned that, despite no store in New York, I can peruse their wares at a slew of various online fashion purveyors, including ModCloth. With bombastic embellishments, featuring sculptural elements, dyed lucite, emblazoned embroidery, these shoes are certainly not for the meek, the mild, the mute.

During an antiquing excursion, on the Friday following Thanksgiving, a sort of tryptophan and pinot noir-cleansing ritual, I stumbled on these adorably funky vintage wedge sandals at the back of a dusty stall in an antiques mall in rural Pennsylvania. The conceptual resemblance is uncanny. Slender fingers clutch a small sharp knife, carving each detail, the veins of the bright green palms, chisel minute openings for the windows, the door. I imagine these shoes are handmade, hand painted. Decades ago, amidst sloping dunes, rounded mountains of millions of miniscule diamonds of sand, a tiny house, made immortal, dwelling soul dwelling in the soul of a shoe.