[Summer staples: black manicures + Need/Supply finger cuffs + Dolce Vita shorts + Rag & Bone hat + Joie booties + Isabel Marant things far, far out of my budget.]
Neither out of a sense of being overcome by one’s good looks nor habit (vanity maybe, though), I went the way of Cher Horowitz and documented a few times I put fabric on my body over the last stretch of weeks. And now you can review this + my questionable facial expressions with Life en iPhone—a look into the life and times of me and my upstairs toilet.
First, above, we see a return to bourgeois stripes when I found this shirt underneath another shirt on the same hanger. I then wore it for 6.5 days straight. On the left, and out-of-context photo prior to a dinner on the patio at En Su Boca w/ lace shorts, Need finger cuffs, my favorite Marant beaded bracelet, and blue suede shoes; on the right, prior to the annual Chardonnay (“No Butter, No Bull”) tasting at the Barrel Thief, French-ed up with some Isabel Marant heels, rolled shorts, a scarf and a men’s belt + a tube of mascara.
[Joie Elaine cross-strap sandals, or, how I remembered I was a woman this summer.]
When these grey Joie slut slippers came into my life, things changed. And not because I had to ice the tops of my feet while Rob rubbed my ankles after nights out—but because I hadn’t allowed myself to wear really sexy, high, elegant heels in so long, I’d forgotten how it felt. Booties for days, if memory serves. And, true to form, I changed nothing else and wore white shorts, belts, and shredded t-shirts to compensate for the foreign femininity.
On the left, prior to a mini-high school reunion, with an iPhone charger, a smattering of V. Mooney feathers, a fleece cardigan, and an ancient A Wang shirt littered with tiny holes; on the right, prior to a weekly Lizzie reunion and ramen binge with old cutoffs, a B-Low the belt beaut, LNA sliced-neck tee and a scarf Roberto got me.
But it’s not all fun and games.
I had a few work-related things to attend so had to shelf the sports bras and smelly t-shirts for a bit.
On the left, looking grumpy yet passable for a client’s evening launch event (only thanks to Rochelle Behren’s The Shirt’s secret button, more here); on the right, business shmasual for a copy meeting in Soft Joie, B-Low the Belt, chambray, and a positive attitude.
This was a Wednesday. I was wearing Wildfox. And drinking wine. While walking.
Not just that, but: the wall + the Rosé in my cup = perfect t-shirt palette matching and worth recording. [The shirt says “Lost.” and has a little palm tree skyline that makes me feel distant and thoughtful on good days.]
Shameless, but maybe the one photo and outfit I’ve sincerely loved without compromise in the last year. Prior to a night drinking draft beers and watching World Cup with Roberto at The Camel. Also, the beginning of my Rag & Bone awakening. Best hat; best scarf. Case closed.
Then, we went to a concert and, knowing I’d be generally 5-10 years older than the average attendee, I decided to up my game a little: neutrals, white, and 7 lbs of metal sequins on this Gryphon vest. Moody between sets with a vodka soda; typical.
Work got in the way again, even though I was generally unemployed this summer. After working a grueling Saturday through Monday of Memorial Day weekend, while watching 88% of Instagram bemoan the official end of summer, I spent Tuesday soaking up a 94-degree day in this flimsy, totally inappropriate tank top. I’m a sucker for Wildfox graphic shirts; as long as this is true, I won’t make any other claims to my sartorial senses.
On two days of vastly differing temperatures (ok, 7-8 days), I wore the same Free People slip and same Isabel Marant clogs with varying degrees of sweat and gauges of sweaters. On the left: I can’t remember, enjoying unemployment and air conditioning? On the right: post the Broadbent Selections portfolio tasting, pre- a grand lecture about the mid-Civil War election of 1864. Welcome to Vreeginia, yall.
With all this summer shizzle out of my system, we can press on with fall—and Rob’s imminent Oregon departure, which means… winery photos!
Cheers.
-C.
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