Thursday, October 4

This Week In Things That Kept Me Clothed: Let's Pretend I Don't Wear The Same Thing Every Day, Shall We?




I'm not exactly sure how the same human can default to both of these outfits, but call me a confuzled T-Boz because I'd rather wear either of these than a sensible "top" from my closet I bought in hopes that the minimalism trend would stick with yours truly. Apparently I forgot to check myself, wreck thyself and listen to the rivers and the lakes that I'm used to, but it happens to the best of us.



In terms of Fashion Week, 85% of which was spent drooling in front of my Inbox in pajama tees, I did escape my cabin of solitude a few times to fete a friend and to celebrate my favorite holiday of all, Fashion's Night Out. (Yes, we are running very fast and loose with this concept of "This Week", but after many days marked with leggings and two-day eyeliner, we're outta the time rut.)




This year's was totally overrun, halfway dry and a hair away from disappointing, but I closed out the evening with two dinners, fistfuls of cocktails and my favorite boots slung over my purse because I could no longer walk in them, meaning I accomplished some mission in some way. I have a feeling next year's drunken holiday will be a lot less fiesta-filled — If you think about it, hundreds of places with no liquor license serving up champagne to any child in heels while the city doesn't shit a brick is mindboggling — but I'll always have the memories, regardless of how spotty they end up being.





Here is a picture of me at a really good angle from the only place we could find with champagne.
(Honesty's the best policy.)




Work, work, workitty work. A long sleeved blazer on a surprise 80 degree day wound up being a bad choice, but having all the pounds I packed on from this summer's travels in a state of clinging to my midsection for dear porkpie life, I couldn't waltz around in a completely open-sided ACDC tank top like my internal temperature gauge would have liked me to. Being as New York weather is as much of a crapshoot as a Metrocard from my endless purse pile popping "Insufficient Fare" up on the swipe screen, I wore the velvet blazer on the right on another occasion more fitting for the weather at hand. Weird, how weather can be all weathery and things.



I may have been the most regular-sized person outside of the bathroom at Sally LaPointe's pre-show model mania, but among those empty white stalls, I was at least the tannest. I trailed those homies around with a camera shooting video of all the backstage wondrement that happens when a big-eyed girl with bangs is transformed into looking exactly like the wavy-haired, olive-skinned model next to her, which was almost as fantastic as this dress. Couldn't be more proud of the girls, especially considering they've gained some stellah fans in high places.


BEEP BEEP! SAN FRANCISCO EDITION COMING THROUGH!



Obnoxious coat and worn-out Lou Reed tee? Which way's the tour bus! No, but seriously, tell me where I put my suitcase because it's been three days and I need to change. These photos were taken on completely different days, but you'd never know since I wore this thang over and over and over, all trip long. A flexible waistband when you're embarking on a familial food journey of multiple sorts is necessary, but my stupid ass hearing the word California and perenially thinking "so warm!" always forget that nugget o' knowledge doesn't apply to, oh, San Francisco, the city by the bay and the only town I've ever met on the West Coast that requires you to break out a winter jacket for late summer travels.





I like to call this one "Day to Night, Homebody Edition." To the naked eye, this may look like a jacket and a shoe swap, but for me, a girl for whom simply leaving the house has become an adventure of seismic proportions, it's a whole new getup with a whole new purpose. I've spent a few months not touching my closet and wearing the same dumpy clothes as part of a not-so-stylish transition into freelance living, but this dress, this curtain-topped dress is symbolic of me being back in it to win it. I no longer wear a sweaty gym bun for weeks on end. I'll never again put on a swipe of tinted moisturizer and call it a fuckin' day. Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, I finally figured out how to do my hair without really putting any time into it and still have it look normal. Took 25 years, but i got my shit together....well, from the forehead up, anyways.

(Liquid eye liner lessons always still welcome.)

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