Deja Blue

Several weekends ago, I hit up a local secondhand clothing boutique in Rockwall called Second Evolution, which was not surprisingly voted Dallas's best vintage resaler on the Dallas A List.  They are jam packed with all kinds of high-dollar designer jeans listed for a fraction of the cost of brand new ones.  As I scoured the overloaded racks in search of my beloved Miss Me's and Rock Revivals in my size, I was hit by a sudden feeling of "deja BLUE."  It seemed like I had done this before.  Um, that's because I had...and quite often I might add!

Apparently every single I time I go shopping for new summer tops (which I REALLY need) and strappy sundresses (which I don't), I unknowingly wind up in the denim department, trying on yet another pair of blue jeans--which I really, really don't need!  I guess I've just become one of those people who can't refuse designer jeans if I happen to be able to score them at a major discount; thus, my closet is embarrassingly well stocked.

I have lost count when it comes to the number of pairs of jeans I currently own, unlike shoes, which I pride myself on the actual (obscene) number.  We all have our vices, right?  But when it comes to jeans, I justify my borderline obsession by the fact that jeans are (and thankfully, always will be) a fashion STAPLE.  They go with absolutely anything and everything.  Plus, I get to wear them to work every day if I want to.  That simple equation adds up to the fact that I can never have too many pairs, right?  A rhetorical question--please don't answer.  Well, I guess it also depends on who you ask.  I'm fairly certain my mother would have a mild heart attack if she knew just how much money I had invested in my jeans collection even though they were (mostly) purchased at less than full price.  There are just so many styles, cuts and washes--and the pocket embellishments?  Don't even get me started.

When it comes to shopping for jeans, I always recommend that you purchase your jeans just a tad bit snug.  They will loosen and stretch with every wear, eventually conforming to your body like a second skin.  Notice I said snug--not so skintight that getting dressed in the morning requires throwing yourself back on the bed while squirming and making groaning sounds like a cat in heat just to get those jeans over your hips and butt.  * Please note, however, that the universal "jeans stretch" is 100% okay.  I know you know exactly what I'm referring to--those crazy, lunge-like motions and contorted yoga poses that help expedite the stretching of your just-removed-from-the-dryer, temporarily tight jeans.  Every morning, I fear Jeremy will walk into the closet and witness this ridiculous-looking act, but it's a necessary evil for all denim-sporting individuals.  I digress.

If you are like me and can't seem to shake the urge to splurge on denim, at least take my advice and satisfy your cravings at discount retailers.  Forgo Dillards, the Buckle and pricey western stores, and instead, shop at discount retailers, "resalers" and the like.  I also recommend Poshmark, a free downloadable clothing app on your phone that allows fellow fashionistas to buy and sell gently used (and sometimes new) clothing and accessories at unbelievable low prices.  I got one of my fave pairs of Rock Revivals there for only $60--and if you think that's a lot, you better sit down when I tell you they typically retail for at least $150 and above.  It's crazy, I know.  I could never drop that kind of cash on a single pair of jeans.  Same goes for True Religion.  I picked up a pair of those trendy jeans on Poshmark for about only $70.

Also, if you happen to find yourself in Rockwall or McKinney with time to kill, hit up Second Evolution--you won't be disappointed!  Other places to check out are Platos Closet and other secondhand retailers in the more upscale (read: rich) cities.  You're more likely to find better-quality clothing in the ritzy parts of town.

The moral?  Repeat after me, "Paying full price for designer jeans is ridiculous."  Plus, savings wads of cash on jeans comes with certain merited bragging rights.  You know there's nothing better than responding to a friend's sincere compliments with a smug, "Thanks, I got them at (insert retailer here) for half price!"

So yes, I may have an addiction to jeans shopping, but at least I hunt for bargains.  And jeans really do hold up for quite a long time if you take good care of them.  God forbid I should gain an ounce and not be able to fit into my designer collection--even after I have tried and failed in my attempts to loosen the stubborn fabric with jean-stretching exercises.  (I joke, but I also tremble inside at the thought--oh, the horror!)  I guess the worst case scenario is that I sell/trade them in for a multitude of "new" used jeans in my current size.  And so the cycle repeats itself--allowing for, yet again, deja blue.

Shoes, My Solemate

Much like the proverbial tree falling in the woods with no one around to hear it, I find myself wondering...if my fave department store holds a shoe sale and I'm unable to partake, did I really just lose out on hundreds in savings???  I pity the thought!

In case you know absolutely nothing about me at all, I will sum up my biggest downfall in a word: shoes. I know what you're thinking--all women love shoes, right?  Well, that's a fairly accurate blanket statement; however, I don't know many women who adore shoes to the extreme level that I, myself, do.  Some might say (more specifically, my mother) that my love affair with shoes borders on obsession.  To which I respond, "Po-TAY-to, po-TAH-to."  Call it what you will, but no label will deter me from my goal of accumulating pair after pair of  fabulous footwear to fill the shelves of my "pink room's" closet.  (That's right--my shoes have their very own home in my private, pink-walled, girly room upstairs).  Did you really think Jeremy would allow my strappy Calvin Klein sandals, Betsey Johnson platform wedges and  Guess studded stilettos to displace his raggedy T-shirts and worn-in Levi's, rendering them homeless?  Gasp.

But it's really okay.  I honestly don't mind the final step of getting dressed in the morning, which includes my ascension to the top of the stairs to select the "shoes of the day."  If it means I can have a whole closet dedicated solely to my footwear (pun intended), I'd likely trek across the state of Texas in 102-degree heat.  In all actuality, you should know that more often than not, my shoes determine my outfit.  Most of my wardrobe was acquired to match a pair of fabulous shoes I had already purchased (most likely on impulse).  Call it the "chicken vs. the egg" quandary if you will.  I, however, happen to know that the chicken came first---and so did my shoes.

I'm a firm believer that shoes can totally make the outfit.  I will subject myself to what others deem sheer torture as I stuff my feet into a pair of constrictive sandals that look like a device to force information from of a prisoner of war.  Some even call it sheer "shoe-pidity."  I, however, am willing to suffer the pain for the overall look of the ensemble because I simply don't believe in "sensible shoes."  Honey, we all know that if they don't hurt, they ain't worth wearing!  Repeat after me, "If the shoe hurts, it must be fabulous!"

The other day, my mom went out of her way to clip a newspaper article specifically for me.  The article was written by a podiatrist advising readers against wearing sky-high heels, lest they suffer future foot and back pain and require invasive surgery.  Evidently, the human body was not made to hold its weight on a 4-inch peg nor be forced to walk at an awkward angle.  Um, duh!  I already know this.  Did the article succeed in scaring me into flat shoes--or worse, shoes with a shorter, more sensible heel?  Of course not.  Much like the smoker knows the dangers of the cigarette or the sun worshiper knows the consequences of exposure to ultraviolet rays, the fashionista is acutely aware of the dangers associated with wearing high heels.  The truth is, we're all gonna die of something.  And frankly, I'd rather go looking stylish (instead of with blackened lungs and sunspots all over my face).  So the moral of this story is: there are worse vices to have.

Rather than avoid ridiculously tall and incredibly uncomfortable shoes, I embrace them.  In fact, I like to think of my shoes as my dear friends.  I love them, and in turn, they lift me up and offer me support.  Plus, they make me feel great about myself.  After all, isn't that what friends are for?  Do they hurt me at times?  Sure--but then again, what lifelong friend hasn't done his/her share of hurting us?  We never stop loving them despite their flaws.

So to any gentlemen reading this, please take note......the next time your girlfriend/wife emerges from the bathroom in a pair of absurdly tall high heels, don't you DARE say a word to her about practicality--even though you know at the end of the evening, she'll curse them for the pain they've caused and sweetly ask you for a foot rub.  Grin and bear it--and know she's making an effort to look sexy especially for you.

Also, the next time you shake your head as a woman dangerously teeters on 5-inch stilettos while slowly and carefully crossing an uneven parking lot, please slow down and allow her ample time to pass safely by.  That fall is a long way down.  You can think to yourself, "those high heels are ridiculous" if you want.  But I assure you in the same breath you'll also utter, "Damn, she looks good in those!"

Under the Gunn

Each Saturday morning, you can find me curled up on the couch with my dog, Charlie, catching up on the previous Thursday-aired episode of Project Runway. Regrettably, I'm unable to watch it live as Jeremy is vehemently against my favorite show.  He can't stand all the drama, yet he watches Cops on a semi-regular basis. Hello, hypocrite!

Anywho, I'm thrilled that the current season has welcomed back Mr. Tim Gunn as the contestants' mentor (the All Stars version of the show excludes him, and is, in turn, quite lacking in appeal).  I would love to meet him someday.  In fact, Tim Gunn is one of my top choices for famous guests at a hypothetical dinner party.  Oh, the pressure to dress impeccably!

I admire his kindness, authenticity, immaculate style, and candor delivered in a tenderhearted tone.  He seems like a genuinely nice guy who is committed to helping each and every contestant deliver his or her best work. His trademark "make it work" mantra encourages contestants to rise above any challenges, whatever they may be, and press on to deliver a winning garment--or at least one that is indicative of their talent and personal aesthetic.

Tim doesn't hold back during his one-on-one critiques in the work room, yet he delivers constructive criticism in an honest manner that is not harsh or snarky (unlike some of the judges). While I don't always agree with the judges' opinions and criticisms, I often find myself nodding along as Tim imparts his wisdom and shares his thoughts and critiques with contestants. 

I can just tell that Tim is a total sweetheart with nothing but good intentions.  He's well spoken, stylish and polished, yet down to earth.  I'm fairly certain that if we were to meet in real life, he could easily become my BFF--and oh, what a shopping buddy he'd make!

Hey, Sailor!

I don't know about you, but lately, I'm absolutely loving the red, white and blue nautical look.  Call me patriotic, but there's nothing like a bright pop of red and clean white mixed with a classic navy blue. It almost makes me want to break into a chorus of America, the Beautiful.  Perhaps I've been on a few cruises too many--or maybe I just like a traditional, all-American look.  Either way, I can't seem to get enough of striped tops and sundresses these days.

With summer fast approaching, and along with it, Texas's infamous 100+ degree temperatures, the nautical look couldn't be more appropriate.  Whether you layer a red cardigan over a white blouse with dark skinny jeans or rock a flirty striped navy/white dress with a red belt, you'll be totally on trend for the season. Keep it fresh with clean lines and dichromatic patterns, and then throw in a third color for an eye-catching pop.

Speaking of eye catching, as I wandered through the shoe department at Dillard's recently, I was drawn to these Gianni Bini T-strap sandals like a moth to a flame.  I couldn't put them down, and of course, once I tried them on, I was hooked.  I even adore their imitation Louboutin-esque red soles (since this may be as close as I ever get to owning a red-soled shoe). I typically pair them with a striped top and skinny jeans. As soon as I strap them on, my spirits are immediately lifted. 

Gianni Bini Traci T-Straps

If you haven't already, set your sails on a red, white and blue nautical-themed outfit this summer.  Maybe even slap on a bright red lipstick for a retro, pinup-girl finish.  You don't need a private yacht to pull this look off--but it will sure make you feel like a million bucks.  Anchors aweigh!

Red Sole Society

Anyone who has even a remote interest in the fashion industry knows of all the big-name shoe designers including Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo, Stuart Weitzman and the great granddaddy of them all, Christian Louboutin (pronounced LOO-bi-Tawn).

Christian Louboutin has only been in business since the early 1990s, yet his signature red sole has become an iconic symbol recognized and coveted by shoe lovers everywhere.  Pay close attention the next time you see a Hollywood starlet on the big screen.  When she walks away, if you know what to look for, you'll most likely get a glimpse of red tapping against the pavement.  If you listen carefully, you may even hear it whisper, "I'm too good for you."

That's exactly the way I feel whenever I see someone authoritatively strutting by in a pair of Louboutins as though she owns the room--(and if you know how much a typical pair costs, it's a safe bet to say she probably does own the room!)  It's as though that woman is a member of an exclusive, high-society club that is extremely scrutinizing about its members.  I can almost imagine the salesperson who sold them to her sealing the deal with a secret handshake.  I sooooo want to be in that club, yet at the same time, I could never justify dropping a couple months' rent for a pair of shoes.  I would rather have a closet full of reasonably priced shoes than a single pair that costs in the four digits.

Maybe someday if I win the lottery, I'll be able to join the Louboutin club, but in the meantime, I'll just stick with my trusty, favorite brands that won't (entirely) break my bank. Don't get me wrong--I'd absolutely LOVE to own a pair of Louboutins, and I wouldn't even turn up my nose in exclusivity as a member of the club--but I'm not about to sell my soul for the famous red sole.

Gladiator, Begone!

There are few fashion trends that I look upon with utter contempt, but as I flipped through the glossy pages of People Style Watch the other day, I was reminded of one of them: the gladiator sandal.  The phrase "Long live the gladiator!" springs to mind as this strappy eye sore of a sandal simply refuses to die.  With the passing of each spring and summer season, the hideous sandals make a reappearance on the pages of (gasp) fashion magazines.

In my mind, gladiator sandals are right up there with Ugg boots.  I mean, come on people, they're called Uggs for crying out loud!  Coincidence?  I think not.  With the exception of young girls--and when I say young, I mean toddlers--no grown woman should sport these awful boots.  They give off the vibe that you're not even trying.  It's like rolling out of bed and going to college classes in your pajamas.

Another trend I can't seem to wrap my head around is Crocs.  I get the whole idea of comfort, but seriously--that's why God invented the flip flop!  Crocs sandals are the equivalent of wearing elastic-waistband pants on your feet, and that is just completely unacceptable for people under the age of 70. 

If you're of the school that gladiator sandals are cute, then I regret offending you; however, I am willing to take you shoe shopping.  Same goes for Ugg boots, but I'm sorry, if you stand behind Crocs, then you're already beyond help. 

Death to the gladiator---for the love of fashion, please go away!!!

MAD (wo)MEN

                                                           

I want to be Don Draper. No, really.  I want to be Don Draper in a dress.  More specifically, a floral-print, fit 'n flare number sported by the likes of Mrs. Betty (ex) Draper or a brightly colored, mod shift dress frequently worn by the current Mrs. Draper, the lovely Megan.

As you can see, I'm in love with Mad Men.  In fact, with each episode I catch on Netflix, I'm becoming more and more obsessed with life at an advertising agency in the 1960s. Hey, what can I say?  I was an advertising major in my former life, and the show combines my love for creativity and fashion.  What more could I ask for in a TV drama series?

The only thing (well, one of the things) that bugs me about the show is the way women were treated back in that era.  (The other is all the infidelity!  Geez, was every married man sleeping with his secretary?!)  Like I was saying, either you were a housewife, or if you worked, a secretary.  Even Peggy overcame the odds when Don promoted her to a junior copywriting position.  I don't mean to get up on my women's lib soapbox--in fact, I'm far from what you'd call a "feminist"; however, I do believe women should be given equal rights in the workplace.

Thankfully, things have changed since the 60s--although, it's still difficult as hell to land any job at an agency--much less, a creative job.  Believe me, I'd settle for a starting position as a secretary at an ad agency any day of the week just to get my foot in the door.  Little did I know how cutthroat an industry I'd chosen.  Imagine my naivety as a college student with big dreams of a becoming a copywriter at a well-established ad agency in a fancy corner office with a view.  To this day, I can't tell you the number of times I've scolded my mother for allowing me to choose advertising as my major.  Even knowing what I know now, though, I still don't believe I would have gone any other way.  I truly have a passion for all things creative.

I'm sure the TV show glamorizes life at an agency.  I mean, who really drinks bourbon at 9:30 a.m.?!  Ad men in that era drank on the job, smoked a couple packs a day, took long lunches to wine and dine clients, and then left the office early on occasion with no one to answer to for doing so.  What a life!  No wonder they could crank out amazing creative for account after account.  Of course, they probably all have lung cancer and saddlebags for faces by now.

In reality, or at least today's reality, (from what I hear) agency life is some serious hard work.  It's all about deadlines, writing and then re-writing (and re-writing again) to please the client.  It's many late nights and lots of weekends.  You practically sell your soul when you commit your life to an agency.  But how exciting to do something everyday that you love and that you're truly good at.

While I'm thankful to have a current position as a copywriter for a large retail company, I still long for a creative, agency job.  I guess I need someone like Roger Sterling to give me a chance to prove myself.  So if anyone reading this blog has connections (wink wink), hook a girl up!  In the meantime, I'll just continue to dress in vintage-style clothing and head off to my office job in a 6x6' cubicle everyday with dreams of someday making it to the big leagues as a MAD WoMAN.

The "Blinc" of an Eye

I don't typically write many beauty product reviews, although I have used my fair share of products in my lifetime.  I'm a self-proclaimed product junkie, so I've actually used many people's fair share.  Since my last blog post was about the backwoods brothers of Duck Dynasty, I felt the need to return to my fashion and beauty roots for my next article...thus, a review of my new fave mascara, Blinc.

Not only have I tried almost every mascara on the market, I've researched and sold many as well.  I know every drugstore favorite and higher-end prestige brand and their reputations from fellow junkies.  Until a few weeks ago, my long-standing favorite mascara was Definicils by Lancome--despite its hefty price tag of $27.

I recently asked a girlfriend to share with me her favorite brand of mascara, and I was disappointed to learn it was Benefit's Bad Gal Lash, which I had already tried and soon after regarded as simply "eh."  She asked if I'd ever heard of the kind that tubes your lashes.  What's this?  A new product I've not yet heard of?  How is this possible?  I was shocked.  Please tell me more about this tubing mascara called Blinc!

Apparently, it's a big seller on QVC, which I don't make a habit of watching very often.  It's not as though I need further encouragement to shop.  Well, I looked up information and product reviews on Blinc mascara's web site and was interested to learn it's not like your typical waterproof mascara.  While it is, in fact, waterproof--it easily washes off with only warm water.  You see, it actually creates a "tube" around each individual lash.  In order to remove it, all you have to do is hold a warm, wet rag on your lash line for a few seconds and then wipe the tubes off.  Each tube actually slips off.  In fact, had I not read about the removal process, I may have mistaken the tubes for my actual lashes and freaked out over the immense hair loss.

Since I wasn't blessed with the natural lashes of a diva, I must rely on my Shu Uemura lash curler and some hard-core mascara.  While Blinc mascara truly separates and defines each lash, it doesn't help enhance the curl.  I find myself curling my lashes, coating them with a single application of Blinc mascara and then recurling once the mascara has had time to dry.  My only complaint with Blinc is how wet it goes on, so you really have to be careful not to smudge it onto your eyelids.  Other than that, it makes my lashes look better than they've ever looked before, and it doesn't rub off or run.

Not surprisingly, Blinc mascara doesn't come cheap, but I also am a firm believer that you get what you pay for.  It's not absurdly expensive at $26 a pop, and the site offers free shipping in the U.S.  I've searched near and far, high and low, for my holy grail mascara, and I think I've finally found it in Blinc.  I feel like shedding a tear of joy--but it's okay, my mascara is waterproof.   ; )

www.blincinc.com