As I am up here in Never Never Land, I feel like I am missing out on a lot of things in the real world. So I try to make a point of it to venture on to Nymag.com AND nytimes.com daily. I mean I like to know what's going on in the real world both importantly and not so importantly. You can decide which publication I find to be most important.
So obviously I am so excited about gay marriage in New York. I mean what's not to be excited about? A step in the right direction for humanity is alright with me. I hope that every couple (gay straight, whatever) who gets married in New York sends an invitation to Fred Phelps. Because his world must be crumbling to the ground right now and he may or may not need a few hot meals for survival sake when all of his members realize what a piece of shit he is to himself, his members, and all of humanity in this country and beyond. I can't wait for people to stop using the entirely uncivilized descriptor of "civil partner" and can just be husband and husband or wife and wife.But selfishly, I am so excited because I can't wait to see pictures of Elton and David's wedding. I can only hope that it is going to include camels, diamonds, and Stevie Wonder.
More Specifically, I hope that Elton and David ride in on this flamboyant tropical camel....
...Have Stevie sing "I believe" for their first dance, and then invite the guests to have a sing-a-long with Stevie Wonder (!!!!!!!) to old Elton John classics. Now there's a CD I would want, Stevie does Elton: The Hits.
And of course at the end of the seven day long affair, Elton and David would give out rough diamonds and the name and number of their favourite jeweler and invite you to go design yourself a nice piece of something that you love to commemorate the time they became husbands instead of civil partners.
But there are other things going on in the news as well. I have been informed that there are a few new trends out there for resort season. Please continue reading for my take on these trends.
Listen Stella, I know that your father just had to pay a rather large divorce settlement and may not be able to give you the time you need emotionally to drive your designs, but let me tell you something. This is horrendous. I am seriously feeling two things from this outfit. Number one is that Grandma Mimi has escaped from the Assisted living facility in Boca wearing her favourite fabulous but practical two piece, but forgot her purse so traded it to some hipster for a bagel and lox and maybe a cup of borscht. When Mort, her husband finally found her, she was happy in her long underwear at the deli eating her nosh and Mort was upset that she was lost, but happy that her priorities were straight. The hipster went on to add a pair of $1200 shoes to the situation and brag to her friends at drum and bass parties about where she procured her outfit, and no it wasn't from that great little thrift shop around the corner. My second thought is that this idiotic Manhattanite in her mid twenties decided to let the runway dictate her clothing choices and spent thousands of dollars on this awful outfit instead of spending that money on a trip to an island where she could have picked up one of these numbers for about 3 dollars on the beach somewhere.
Oh really? I wasn't aware that designer tevas and wetsuits were ever considered a trend. I'm pretty sure that there is no place for this "trend" outside of the islands of Hawaii and perhaps the runway. First of all, this woman gets paid to make clothes look good and although Michael Kors calls his creation "Snorkel Jackie O." I'm pretty sure that no one can make this monstrosity look good. I have been known to take fashion risks and I love a little sass in my life, but unless you are going to make the following your theme song, I have little tolerance for people walking down the street in wetsuits and I would more than likely laugh at them.
SURF WAX AMERICA
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my rants this morning. Sorry for the sporadic posts...I am busy tending to the needs of two hundred teenagers..
Some days are not all diamonds and Sunglasses, and today has begun as one of those days. As you all probably have already heard (I don't wake up early enough for this to be a breaking news blog), Mr. Clarence Clemons, saxaphonist extraordinaire, has passed away at the stupidly young age of 69.
Of course I think that Clarence was one of those musical figures that come once in a lifetime, but also I have to tell you that his fashion was immense. Vests and nothing else. And he made it look great. And will continue to make it look great wherever he is.
This is a great clip. A young Bruce, Max, and Clarence. Just doing what they do. This happens to be my favourite BS&TESB song, so enjoy and watch at about 5:40 for a great introduction to one of the best musicians our generation will ever see.
I have to talk about something right now. After years and years and years of sacrificing my ears to the song "Low" by Flo-Rida (not to be confused with the place your grandparents retire to play raquet sports), I have realized that unfortunately I will never be the girl that this gentleman with the strangely geographic name(and his friend T-Pain, which I can only imagine means Total Pain or Testicular Pain or Teflon Pan) desires.
It starts out well --- he calls his dream woman Shorty (or Shawty if you want to get Phonetic about it). I'm thinking this is great, he wants a short woman. I'm short and I don't mind being addressed according to my physical features. So far, it's looking like there is going to be a Fox/Rida Wedding. It's going to be great, because obviously he is going to be taller than me and the pictures will be great. He loves diamonds (which he refers to as bling), so he would obviously want me to have a lot of diamonds as well. So pretty much after the first word of the song, I am already planning the wedding...
...And then something bad happens...He doesn't just want a Shorty (me), he wants a Shorty with Apple Bottom Jeans and boots with fur? Way to be particular. First of all, I didn't know what an apple bottom jean was, so I had to look it up on urban dictionary which is my favourite website. Apparently they are jeans for women with large posteriors. And they are designed by Nelly who actually sings my favourite rap song:
I love this song because he talks (raps) about Street Sweepers, Smokin on dubs, Cocoa Puffs AND Donald Trump. AND he refers to rollin in a Range Rover and a beemer, which means the man has great taste. I only wonder if him and Donald sometimes roll in a street sweeper while smokin on dubs and muchin on cocoa puffs.
Apparently they are designed for all shapes and sizes of women. But I'm pretty sure that "all" is not inclusive of my sized booty. It is pretty small. In fact, I have a hard time fitting my booty into jeans for people without large posteriors from the likes of J.Crew and Madewell --- even Seven for All Mankind make my tush look like a drowning firefly.
And then we've got "the boots with the fur." Now, if you refer back to my post, you will see that I do love boots. I love Riding boots, I love motorcycle boots, and I love Uggs on cold nights when my toes are about to freeze off. The boots with the fur? I don't really love those so much, and thus I don't wear them. I don't understand the appeal of wearing what looks like a dead fluffy dog on your feet (although I hear you can get them in every colour of the rainbow - to match every pair of ABJs you have)...
At this point, I'm kind of waiting for Michael Buble to show up and start singing "Lyndsey got them Citizens of Humanity jeans and the tory burch flats..." Because that's how out of fashion I feel. I feel hurt that Flo wouldn't consider me a good match because of my choice in denim and footwear. I feel like getting down and begging, "But Flo, we both love tattoos and diamonds, this has to work!"
But it's okay. we're only one line into the song, I still feel like some hope exists.
BUT THEN --- he starts talking about baggy sweatpants and reeboks with the strap? Baggy sweatpants? Reeboks? Listen to me, Flo. You have to make up your mind. First you want my butt to look as big as possible in my apple bottom jeans and now you want me to wear baggy sweatpants to accentuate my lack of assage even more? Well guess what? I am a liberated woman and I am not going to bow to your every whim. If I want to wear Lululemon yoga pants and the Nikes with the swoosh....well then that's what I'm going to wear. I'm not going to let you dictate my activewear. I only let the skinny blonde women at the gym do that to me. I hate that this is what you want from a woman, Flo. We could have been so happy with our diamonds and love of Jimmy Hendrix.
I am flexible, which is one of his next specifications -- but I don't think that I would use that talent in the way that he wants a woman to use it. I mean I got really excited when he was talking about birthday cakes, because as you all know I am a pretty good baker..but then I realized that most people do not talk about birthday cakes as a plural and he may be using that to illustrate a part of the female anatomy. I appreciate his creativity, and his taste in desserts...he could have said cinnabons, and then we really would have been over.
We've got another problem only a few words later. He wants me to drink X&O...which maybe he thinks that I really enjoy because I sign everything with X's and O's. But he doesn't really know me or else he would know that the only brown liquor I drink is Canadian Club, and I only drink it when I have a sore throat and because I love their ads.
I would probably never drink cognac...Although I do love those purple bags that Crowne Royale come in...We used to have them in the house all the time growing up. And even worse, I would hope that if Flo and I ever met, he would know to order me a bluecoat gimlet. But I fear that this is not the case.
And right when Flo gets me back with "Patron on the rocks," he loses me again by likening food, drink, and automobile to sexual positions. And I feel for my friends who drive any type of Rover, because I will always feel like a 70s porn star when I ride in them from now on. And he never mentions a Subaru, Saab, or Volvo so he really doesn't know what he's missing.
Flo, every time I listen to your song, I feel like a woman who will never be desired. Maybe you could learn to love me for who I am with my Citizens for All Humanity Jeans, Tory Burch Flats, Men's Oxford Shirt? Maybe you could even write a song about sexual positions that remind you of a subaru? I think it would be wonderful if you and Amy Ray and Emily Saliers could collaborate. I could totally see a songwriters circle happening.
Maybe I read into your opening line too much. Maybe you shouldn't lead a girl on so much. Maybe instead of shorty, you could say "short girl who has a big booty and likes Reeboks." If you had said that, I wouldn't have gotten my hopes up. You're an asshole for leading me on.
Maybe I'm not your type, but would you mind sending me some diamonds anyway?
Today I had a stroke of genius for which I am entirely grateful for. Rat Tails happen to be one of my most favoured fashion statements and while I understand tha that most people will disagree with me, I will stand my ground.
The rat tail is one of the time honoured American traditions. In case you have been living under a rock since the New Kids on the Block released this:
a rat tail is a "tail-like" element of hair growing from the nape of the neck down the back. Wikipedia is telling me that some people grow multiple tails, but I don't believe it. The tail is favoured by those who damn the man on a daily basis. It was hip in the 80s, and fell out of vogue in the mainstream but has garnered popularity in various fringe cultures over the years. The thing is, every time you see a rattail on someone, you get excited. It makes you smile. You kind of say to yourself, "Well, okay this guy (or girl) has balls (fallopian tubes of steel)." So that in of itself makes it rad. My personal favourite is the braided rat tail. But rat tails come in all shapes and sizes. Here is a brief photo montage of rat tails:
He's not really into it. A ratail in it's infancy. If he decides to keep it, hopefully he will braid it or dread it. It's just boring now.
This guy on the other hand is in it to win it. He knows that a rat tail has to be your number one priority at all times. You can't have a rat tail without it taking up at least 65% of your daily life. He might have a hard time attracting most women, but I would be attracted to his ability to commit.
This is the elementary school rat tail. A lot of boys had them when I was in elementary school. The larger tuft of hair enables better styling value. You can add a bow or have more to pull on when you are anxious. It also offers nape protection from the harmful rays of the sun. His mom probably cut this into his hair.
The Pageant Rat Tail. For those of you who don't know, I loathe the tendril situation. And no, I never had an updo that involved tendrils so you can't blackmail me with that. Anyway, this combines my favourite and least favourite style. Do you think that this Beauty Queen knew about her RT? Or do you think her scorned stylist was playing a dirty joke on her? Either way, it makes me snicker.
This is not a RT, but the tail of a headband on further inspection. Still, this makes me giggle. In fact, if you are not giggling while you are looking at this picture, you aren't human and a robot has hacked into your body. Sorry.
DEVESTATION aka I got a job at IBM and they don't allow RTs. He wanted a job at Apple just so he could keep his rat tail.
This one. Girl-fro plus RT? Amazing. She also probably has lots of cats with rat tails.
Baby RT: Gotta Start them young. It's like instilling a religious or spiritual background. These parents know where it's at. At some point, cool parents always give their baby a mohawk, mullet, or rattail just so they can laugh at the irony of it all.
I will be back in the next week with a legit update, but I hope this keeps your laughs loud and your eyesarolling for the time being.
It's called LLBean Signature and it is like the anthropologie of LLBean. I would never kid you about something like this.
As many of you know, I love LL Bean and I have on occasion been known to get lost in the flagship store in Freeport for hours. I find every little thing that they sell in there pretty interesting -- except for the women's apparel, which leaves a lot to be desired for the woman who loves nature and shooting guns and kayaking (so much so that she has her own, pretty commonplace up here actually) but also wants to look amazing all of the time - so that she can head to cocktail hour straight from her romp in the mud. I love looking at all of the guns, and the books, and the ridiculously expensive outerwear that is necessary for the frigid winter months.
But here's the thing, the clothes are awful, so when I heard about the new LL Bean Signature, I was pretty thrilled. It kind of takes the old hunting aesthetic and brings it up to date (kind of like Barbour) but with a very reasonable price tag attached. In reality, I would love to buy the whole collection, but here are a few things that really excited me:
I'm living for this blue drop waist. Perfect for late summer into fall...I would wear it with brown riding boots and fab gold jewels or hot pink flats and a big pink lip.
This watch is amazing. I really want to buy it right now. Someone should please buy it for me for a belated birthday early Hanukkah present. I'm so ready for it.
I have an addmission to make: I am addicted to the way loafers look on men. There is nothing better to me than a man in loafers. And these are killing it. I love the dark upper and the natural sole. It really gives a hip vibe to an "outdated" shoe. You can wear these with a suit or jeans or if you really want to give them something to talk about ---bust out the old critter shorts, put on a linen shirt and let the haters hate.
Beautiful. Perfect size for people who don't carry small animals in their bags like me. I wish I could enjoy this bag, so someone else buy it and let me love you for wearing it so well. How can you not love? Rope handle? Leather body? Gold accessories? I hope someone knows CPR in this place because I am short of breath just looking at it. A touch of that fine leather might put me over the edge...Or maybe I have just had too much coffee this morning...
I would wear these every day if my legs were about 6 inches longer. I would wear them and listen to Buddy Holly and wear cuffed jeans and white tees and big swingy skirts. I would take hubby to a date to the soda fountain and then we would make out in the back seat of the car. It would be wonderful. But unfortch, I believe that this shoe craze has been made for those with long legs. And although my legs are long in comparison to the rest of my body -- We would never actually call my legs long.
White. Sateen. Tuxedo. Blazer.
Please save me (my bank account) from myself.
Do you remember those old Diet Coke commercials that had the topless construction men in them (if you don't, I have included it at the bottom for your enjoyment) ? Well I lived for those commercials when I was little --- until I noticed that their awful steel-toed boots that they were wearing. Whose wives would let them leave the house like that, little 8 year old LCF thought to herself. No husband of mine would ever leave the house like that I concluded.* So if maybe one day my husband needs to do some construction, these are the boots that he should wear under his snug 501s.
Please note the amazing perms, mu-mus and glasses that the women are all wearing...somehow as an 8 year old, I was much more concerned with the slight flash of steeltoe at the beginning of the shot.
*At 8 years old, I was also convinced that I would most likely marry John Travolta. My first choice was Danny Zuko (obvi) but I would have settled for JT as the dirty cab driver in Look Whos Talking.
I bring you this special nighttime storm edition of FLF because I am feeling especially inspired and passionate about this. Vogue Italia has put three plus size models on the cover. Beautiful women who are not ashamed of their bodies because they don't look like Kate Moss or Blake Lively. Women who were blessed with bodies that made Botticelli famous.
Somehow this news came at just the right time for me personally. After seeing some unflattering photos of my problem area, I regressed and had a little breakdown. Now, obviously I know that I am never going to be a thin person. I never have been a thin person and really it's just not in the gene pool for me. And usually, I'm okay with that. I eat well, I work out often, and I am who I am. But for some reason this time I got really upset and had to depend on my husband to continually tell me how beautiful I am...which I love, but would like to be able to see it on my own without his rose coloured glasses.
So, no I won't wear a bikini. And I'm never going to be that petite girl. I am and have always been as strong as the boys for better or worse. And although my shoulders are broad and my calves are more muscular than lanky, I am still a woman and I still deserve to be treated with respect by people and by the industry. If the industry only knew how much money I spent on clothes each year, they would respect me. Please produce clothes that fit me as well as they fit my friends who wear size 2. It's not that difficult. A few changes to a pattern makes a world of difference. Maybe I should go back to my first career choice and just start designing fabulous clothes for women who will never be a size 2.
And the worst part is that sometimes I feel like people respect me less because I am not a size 2. Or that people don't want to be my friend because I don't look like a star on the CW. And I know you are reading this and saying to yourself "she's crazy." But the crazy thing is that this is true. There are days when all of us feel so bad about ourselves for one reason or another. And it's ridiculous. I know that this blog is about being fabulous and in love with you self (which you all should be), but there are days when we all are low. I want people to like me for who I am, sometimes I'm shallow, sometimes I eat Kraft Singles out of the fridge, and sometimes I cannot articulate how I am feeling in a way that you will understand. We all have our neurosis. But body image is a hard thing to shake when you are constantly surrounded by the media telling you how you should look and friends who also seem to have been granted the LnL (long and lean) gene.
But back to the point: This spread in Italian Vogue is amazing. The women are magnificent and glow with the knowledge that they are making women worldwide breathe a sigh of relief that there are women that look like them. And that they can be just as luminous as their LnL friends.
As many of you know, every summer of my adult life, I have spent the summer in the middle of nowhere in Maine hanging out with teens. I work at a summer camp for adolescents and through the years, I have done just about every job there is to do. I have obviously worked as a cabin counselor, hanging out with the ladies talking about everything from fashion to boys to AP history. I taught ballet, fashion illustration, cooking, powerwalking (don't laugh, it was one of the most popular classes in camp history if I am not mistaken). And you know eventually I earned my stripes and worked my way into an office job, first planning the evening social activities, then coordinating travel, and this summer I have probably reached the apex of jobs that I can do at camp and will be making sure that everything and everyone is where they need to be when they are supposed to be there. It sounds simple, but it is like an ever changing logic problem. There is no exact answer, well there are answers, but then something or someone changes and the answer must change as well.
I don;t know if you can picture this, but I walk around all day with a walkie talkie on my back pocket (it makes wearing dresses kind of a pain in the tush) and a clipboard in my hand (well sometimes I just do that to look important). And I sit in an office all day that overlooks the beautiful Lake Stanley:
Anyway what I wanted to talk about was the difference between winter clothes and summer clothes. Now I may be biased about this because for my entire adult life, I have only really worn summer clothes in the middle of nowhere Maine. This could be entirely different for someone who works in an (uggghh) real office during the summer!
So as you all know, during the winter I am a total Glamazon (see:http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=glamazon&defid=5586536). Please refer back to my post (http://foodlovesfashion.blogspot.com/2011/02/fashion-wednesdays.html). You know, I get weekly manis, and bi-weekly waxes. I straighten my silky dark hair contour my cheekbones like Kevin Aucoin has risen from the dead (RIP you talented man you). I wear my blacks with my navys and accessorize with bangles that could be used as necklaces for very fashionable babies and rings that even Elton (John) would be jealous of. I apologize for ending that sentence with a preposition. I listen to Depeche Mode and Recovering the Satellites and Kanye's newest album...it serves as a good conversation piece during the winter months when you can't just go jump in the ocean when you don't know what people are talking about.
This is the kind of fashionable baby that would wear my KJL tiger bracelet as a necklace. All of his/her (androgony is the next big thing and they ALREADY know that) friends would be jealous. Wondering what's blasting on the cans? I can assure you that it's either MIKA (don't even hate) or something amazing and indie like Rilo Kiley pre-2006. They are telling all of their friends what a great find this is and how they were going to say that they liked them way back before Jenny Lewis was Jenny Lewis.
I like to consider myself a Glamazon during the summer months as well, although I know that it is more questionable. However, I have developed quite the LCF look during the summer months. And yes, it does involve tie dye and birkenstocks (I've got two pairs bitches, matte silver and patent red) and buying used Subarus (oh you just wait for the new post/photo shoot when we get ours). It also involves highlights, air drying and feather extensions. I tend to keep myself fairly tan with a mix of fake and natural. My cheekbones are usually only as contoured as good old God has created them (really only as good as Scott and Patty could come up with, which is not as contoured as I would have liked, but I'm not going to complain too much). My eyelashes are only coated with one coat of mascara, and my toes are always pedicured with Malibu Barbie Pink. My apparel changes drastically as I prefer Bermuda shorts and denim cutoffs to leather leggings and lace trimmed tanks with seersucker blazers to expensive shirts that need to be drycleaned after each wear. I enjoy wearing handmade friendship bracelets around my usually unadorned ankles. I have yet to reach the toe ring phase of my life, which is one of my worst nightmares. Not as nightmarish as this:
THIS IS MY WORST NIGHTMARE. I HAVE NIGHT SWEATS. AND DAY SWEATS. IF I EVER WEAR TEVAS WITH SOCKS, PLEASE PUT ME ON TLC'S INTERVENTION. I WANT THE WEIRD GUY, NOT THE SWEET OLD LADY. I WILL NEED SOME SERIOUS HELP. AND SEND ME SOMEWHERE IN LA WHERE THIS TYPE OF THING IS SERIOUSLY UNACCEPTABLE.
And I listen to Jack Johnson and the other Counting Crows albums. I get dirty and don't care. I wear long maxi dresses with havianas and cowboy hats. I carry a Kleen Kanteen as an accessory. You can usually find a stick or leaf or piece of nature of some sort in my hair. I stop and look at the sunrise, the sunset, and the way the wind makes the lake ripple. I laugh more, love more, and think more. Summer is actually the season that makes me the happiest. The sweatier, the better. I live for a cold beer at the end of the day (although I'll never say no to a gimlet, no matter the season) and a good chat around the campfire.
I know some people think I turn into a dirty hippie during the summer, but it is indeed quite the opposite. My inner Glamazon comes out during the summer, so I don't have to work so hard on my outer Glamazon. In fact, I actually enjoy the gap between my teeth and the freckles on my face during the summer. I embrace me during the summer. I hope you embrace yourself too.
PS. Next time, I will tell you about this one time I urinated on my RayBans while on the Appalachian Trail.