Shamrocks

For all of us with mildly, or wildly, olive tinted skin, who are nonetheless festive and wish to celebrate appropriately, even those more subordinate and Catholic feast day holidays, Saint Patrick's Day can be a bit of a conundrum; obviously, green, and even the less popular orange, are a requisite but can lend an atrocious air of jaundice. Other than very particular shades of emeralds, those that fall in the almost teal genre, and the occasional deep hunter varietal, greens have never been my most attractive color. So, unsurprisingly, my chromatic sartorial spectrum is quite narrow here and there is a dearth of green in my wardrobe, at least as far as clothing items are concerned. To compensate, I have managed to amass an impressive arsenal of green flavored accessories, giving me a wide range of choices for the faux-Irish lass in me.

This year, luckily, I was able to get away with wearing green paired with a much more flattering shade, the ubiquitous and always trusted black: this ombre maxi skirt was, frankly, a bizarre choice for me when I purchased it and I was very hesitant and skeptical. Wanting to invent some new permutations, I went for it, figuring it was perhaps a bit trendy but ultimately an interesting piece. Aside from being apropos for any Irish holiday, the skirt fits well, snugly following the contour of my hips without desperately clinging, and the ombre bottom has a soft flow without infusing fullness. For my friends' Guinness and Irish stew laden brunch this last Saturday, I felt both fitting and flattering in this black and leprechaun-green skirt.

Featuring small green parakeets encased in a globe of golden hoops, these earrings have been trapped in one of my jewelry boxes for entirely too long; they are funky, fun, and filled with flair. Conveniently, for me, they also fit the theme of the day. In a stretch, the minute birds allude to one of my favorite poems, "Sailing to Byzantium" by William Butler Yeats, who, in a synchronistic twist, is Irish.

I wear my classic green bakelite with nearly anything in my closet; though matching all my numerous shades of green cheer is not at all typical, I certainly never tire of my favorite bangles.

Paisley, with its upholstered parameciums, has always lured me in; this vintage clutch from the late 1960s is adoring and abhorrent, revolting and riveting, with its sickly and succulent array of grass greens, yellows, and turquoise. Discovered under a dusty pile of silk scarves and yellow withered white gloves in a small antique shop on the eastern shore of Maryland, this incredible specimen of a handbag was a steal for a low 7$. Sauntering in and out of some pricey vintage boutiques in my sister's neighborhood, a few different shop proprietors asked me about the make and name of my clutch. I chuckled as I admitted my deal, perusing their beautiful but expensive wares. While I wish I could carry it everyday, the clutch is far from practical; still, able bodied to house my wallet, cell phone, and a bevy of bright red lip stick tubes, I love carrying this, loud and proud.