Fashion Musings: 26 Going on 14

I'm wearing a massive pink bow in my hair today. It's a barrette, sitting perched on top of my head, a little to the right, giving the bow a nice tilt. It's nearly identical to a bow I wore often as a little girl.

From about the age of 3 until I was 13 my mother did my hair the same way everyday - pulled up and to the side, and fastened with a bow or barrette.

With my two cousins. Can you guess which one is me?

Recently I've been going through a phase where it's like I'm really trying to hang onto my childhood through my fashion and accessory choices. The thing is - it's fun. When you're a kid you don't care. You wear what you want because it makes you happy. So on a day like today, channeling the kid inside me I can totally wear bright blue pants and a bright orange shirt and a huge pink bow in my hair and maybe an over-sized blazer because it's sort of silly and it makes me happy.


This becomes slightly awkward, of course, when you're approached by an actual child...


See, here I am sitting at my desk, typing up some updates for our studio development grid with my boss standing next to me, when a co-worker walks by with his two kids. They're cute kids, one boy, one girl - maybe around age 10 or something. Or they might have been like 12. Maybe 8? (actually, I have no idea - I really can't distinguish children's ages all that well just yet).  As they pass by us and their Dad says hello they happen to be staring at my large desk space.  All of a sudden the little girl cries:


"McDonald's toys!" 


At which point I'm thinking, oh boy.

And sure enough, about two seconds after looking at Lego toy car, she cries:


"Silly bandz!"


She's spotted my prominent jewelry choice and now comes to stand right in front of me for a close examination of my selection of Silly Bandz.


At this point, my boss is just laughing at me. Here I am - his 26 year old assistant, with a giant pink bow in her hair, happily conversing with a little kid over a mutual interest in toys, bright colors, shiny objects, and air.  Then I gave her one of my Silly Bandz, a pink fairy that also glows in the dark.  Let's just say I was the coolest of her dad's co-workers she met today, that is for sure.  Whether or not it's a sign I need to grow up, I think I'll ignore. So maybe just about every one of my co-workers today has made a remark about the bow, I don't care. It's fun and it's me. Ironically, it's back to the "truest" version of me - the same girl wearing a big pink bow, smiling at all the bright colors and laughing at air.

My Pink Bow

Neon Colors, Stickin' it to the Man Since 1984

The first Lilly Pulitzer dress I remember really loving (brace yourself, WASP alert) was one of my mother’s, from when she was young. It was a bright yellow shift with a lace detail around the bottom hem—lace in the shape of pineapples, and it’s worth mentioning she’d cut the dress to make it shorter (what a floozy!) when she was in high school. I first wore the dress in middle school, for a theme dance, but then in the summer time, when I realized Lillys were still acceptable at our country club (not only acceptable, but expected) I just started going Lilly-crazy. When I was really little my mother had always dressed me in Lilly-themed clothes, lots of bright colors, florals, patterns, and I almost always had a massive bow in my hair until I was 12 and decided I had outgrown my bow phase (don’t worry, I resurrected my love affair with ribbon in college—yes, college—when I started to wear them with ponytails). When I graduated from college the dress under my gown was—yep—a Lilly. A really bold one, with big parrots on it and pink and green and a waistline that made it look like a 10 year-old’s party dress. I was happy as pie (you know as I type this, I am having writing deja vu so there's a solid chance I've written about this before, but excuse my poor memory retention, and just enjoy the story, okay?)

By the time I graduated my Lilly Pulitzer collection was excessive, especially after years of vacationing with my Lilly-loving step-grandmother in Naples, Florida. I only have some of my dresses with me in LA (it’s not so much of a Lilly city), while the rest are in my closet in New York or in Maine. All in all, it’s something like 2 bathing suits, 6 shirts, 2 beach tunics, 2 pairs of shoes, 13 dresses, 2 scarves, 8 skirts, 3 sweaters, 3 bags, 2 pairs of shorts, and yes—even some overalls (granted, some of these I inherited from my mother, but keep in mind this doesn’t even include her original Lilly collection that I still have). So yeah, it’s utterly excessive and borderline disgusting, but I love each and every one of them. Oh and I even have some Lilly jewelry.

What can I say—I have a thing for bright colors, bold patterns and exciting prints. As I mentioned, LA isn’t a city where you spot a lot of Lilly, although there’s a store that sells dresses up the street from my current apartment and I imagine if you hit some Beverly Hills ladies’ luncheon gala fundraising event you’d spot some pink-and-green.

Since I’ve lived here I’ve modified my Lilly-love to just generally use LA’s great weather as an opportunity to wear bright colors all year round. I rarely wear one of my bold dresses, but I always sport one on Easter and maybe if I am at a day party. However, as I am noticing that neon and bright colors are big this season, I am going to start wearing Lillys to work. Yep, I’m going there. I’M CRAZY LIKE THAT.

Yes, I often talk about my wardrobe choices at work, and it’s heavy on the J. Crew, but also heavy on pushing the envelope, because unlike the majority of my suit-wearing company, my department, being “creatives” gets to get a little creative with the dress code. So in my own form of silent rebellion, a little Stamos-sitckin’-it-to the-man, I wear as much neon or bright colors in a given week as possible, and I think I am going to bring back retro-50s-housewife with my caché of Lilly Pulitzer goods. So far the HR fashion police reprimanded me once for questionable footwear (Jack Rogers--puhleeze), so I'm going to keep it up.

Today for example, I am wearing a denim dress however yesterday I got a great mani-pedi where my color of choice was, you guessed it, NEON ORANGE (you can see a pic in my Twitter feed). And my scarf today (love scarves)—also neon orange. While I am a teeny bit annoyed that neon is the color swatch of Spring ’09 (I like being a little unique in my affinity for brights), it’s just that much easier to find fun clothing items. I also have recently rediscovered Pac Sun, a store I definitely haven’t given a second thought to since middle school, but have noticed that it’s a great spot to pick up inexpensive bright-colored duds.

It’s sort of silly to think that wearing bright colors is what I view as silent rebellion—or that I feel compelled to find a way to “rebel” against corporate America and a diverse wardrobe is my tactic of choice. Hey, whatever gets you through the work day, right?

The City Premiere: A Brief Study

In my recent video game addiction/obsession to Paper Mario, I failed to mention that yesterday I was very much anticipating the premiere of The City, which I can say, with certainty, has now supplanted The Hills as my favorite faux-reality show I love/hate. Yes, in one hour I turned off the television feeling perfectly satiated—Whitney Port’s New York Minute is going to be my guilty pleasure TV of 2009. Happy New Year!



My immediate love is, of course, no surprise at all—nor is the fact that faux-socialite Olivia Palermo is destined to be the next breakout villain star of this MTV collection—which is fabulous. Obvious villain or no, she is infinitely more likeable and interesting to watch than Speidi, particularly because she is so awkwardly snobby, and also because she is really NOT a socialite (Olivia, I had plenty of friends who were Debs, in fact my own mother was one—which I believe means I could have been—and they are all normal humble lovely ladies now, no reality show needed). Thanks to a delicious exposé in NY Mag last year, we know she'd be better categorized as a social climber. But for the sake of this faux-universe; who cares! She's divine.

Yes folks, The City delivered (and thankfully explained Ms. Port’s odd getup at The Hills finale last week—all DVF, flowery hippie headband included) and I am looking forward to spending the next few months living vicariously through Whitney Port as she wanders my short-lived NY stomping grounds (unlike LA, I see more restaurants and cityscapes I recognize already, probably because in NY, when living off my dad—does that make me a social, Olivia?—I was eating out a lot more, enjoy the fruits of others’ labor).

The two-episode premiere sure packed in a lot of drama (faux drama obv), in fact I think more happened in this episode than an entire season of The Hills, which isn’t saying much, but says something—The City is a refreshing spin-off. I’m tired of Lauren and Heidi’s incessant rivalry and rumor spreading, Audrina’s boring romance, and even the shenanigans of the once poorly coiffed/tanned She-Pratt, Stephanie. It’s all about Whitney, and NYC from here on out—and this fantastic downtown/uptown competition. It’s a battle between the preps of Gossip Girl and the faux-hipsters of my West Village neighborhood, and the best part is, they aren’t actually all that different from each other. They all have killer wardrobes, have jobs like buyer, publicist, editor, art gallery trainee, non-profit co-oordinator... and so forth (you get the point).

A premiere highlight was undoubtedly the dinner party, and the ridiculous assembly of Olivia’s friends, the best being her cousin, who uttered the ridiculous sentence “Even though my father is an art dealer I just have no interest in art, I am completely the opposite” as though it were perhaps the most novel idea he’d stumbled upon. Brilliant! These people lack self-awareness to the extreme, which makes interactions even better, especially watching poor Whitney, who genuinely seems to be herself on camera, attempt to navigate this new social dynamic. Sadly, I have a feeling our heroine will likely change immensely over her course of time in the city and on The City. Whether it’s for better or for worse, only time will tell. 12 episodes-worth, that is.

Everybody's Doin It!

BLOGGING IS FOR THE PEOPLE.

Seriously. I am constantly finding out more and more that people I know are blogging and I think it is great. First of all, it makes me feel like less of a jackass. Second of all, I love the idea that people everywhere are using blogs as a forum to explore their interests, irregardless of popular convention. That is to say, I often wonder if there aren't more people blogging because of a general shared fear of what other people might think (clearly a characteristic in which I am lacking). I think I could look at each and every one of my friends and think of some ways they could use a blog.

Anyway, here's a friends blog you should check out, especially if you enjoy golf and clothing (I enjoy both. Moreso clothing than golf, but I appreciate the golf look).

The Khaki Crusader

I've also recently become addicted to this blog Style Rookie that's written by Tavi, a 12-year-old who writes with so much intelligence, wit, and serious artistry I'm seriously jealous (also jealous of all her press--The New York Times to boot). Check it out.

And I highly encourage people to take up blogging.

Actually, no don't. I don't want any competition. (Insert fake smiley emoticon here).

Cool it on the collar, Cindy.

Okay I pop my collar every now and then, I do. I won't lie. Blame it on my East Coast upbringing. Blame it on the ridiculous homogenous dress of my alma mater Middlebury College. Better yet, blame my mother who popped her collar since the day I was born (and long before that). Monkey see monkey do.

However, I do not, and would not, pop my collar in this fashion (thank you Cindy McCain):



You look like She-Dracula. Darth Vader also comes to mind... Seriously though, the Republican National Convention is not an audition for Blade Runner 2 (or is it? You know it could be...).

Oh and apparently that future-looking rain coat (or whatever) cost three hundred times more than my monthly salary (or something). Awesome.