Clothes Pony

Barbara: I do love the look of beautiful clothes. I have coveted my fair share of finery: silky shirts, cashmere sweaters, comfortable but still sexy pants. But I am so not a fashion maven. In fact, for the most part, I’ve even stopped reading fashion mags—they make me think too much about a world in which I don’t really have time to revel. Argh to the shopping scavenger hunts, to the changing-room fiascos, to the sticker-shock of non-third-world-child-sewn quality wear. But I come full circle to the fact that I also really really love the look of beautiful clothes. If I were to answer my own question about what to do about them from the safety of my keyboard, I would say irrefutably, “I want me some.” But what about actually going out into the real world and dealing?

There’s this closet in my house full of lackluster, serviceable clothes which greet me when I go to pick out my outfit every day. There’s the drab uniformity of the same colour choice over and over again. Or rather: non-colour. I have planted myself in that world of “easy choices”. Everything—almost everything—is black, white/cream, or grey. There’s some brown, some dark blue. Not a lot. But it’s easy, right? Most everything “goes together” and I can always pull together a classic “chic” look if I need on a moment’s notice. How can a black shirtdress with opaque hose and chunky jewelry not work?

The other day I was admiring a friend’s red coat. It looked spectacular on her. She told me that three different people had offered her three separate wise observations when it came to wearing colour. 1) Colour made you feel better. 2) Colour made you look better. And 3) Colour made you look younger. And so then I began to think about colour. If I was going to buy new clothes, didn’t I need colour too?

But colour isn’t always easy to wear, certainly not for me. Secret confession: I’ve often coveted and admired Deb’s clothes and those of my sister-in-law—both are impeccable fashionistas with style in abundance. And both of them have offered me precious items from their collections when they were spring-clearing. Oh, you can imagine my delight and excitement! Beside myself with giddiness, barely able to stop and kiss my husband hello before racing for my bedroom to try on this guilt-free benevolence (aka: I didn’t have to pay for it and they didn’t have to buy it for me). But time and time again, those very pieces that I coveted the most, the frothy blouses, the architectural jackets, the detailed sweaters, made me look (and by extension, feel) ridiculous! I know it’s logical when I say it, but it never feels logical when it happens: how could something look so beautiful and special and right on this person and so overblown and silly and wrong on me?!

And so, with a spring-cleaning ritual ahead of me and the correlating semi-annual itch to refresh the old wardrobe, I find myself wondering about what choices I will make when I next visit the stores. I mean, I have to have a plan of attack if I’m going to make the rare event a success, don’t I? And despite my reservations, I am now coveting colour, I am coveting striking, I am coveting unique. But will it all make me look like a damn fool who’s trying too hard? How do I invest my shopping hours and modest budget with the best results? And how do I split the difference between what I admire, what I wish looked good on me, and what truly makes me feel (and, as a result, look) good? Deb, help me!!!!

Deb: Help is on the way. Here is the deal. Colour is wonderful. The trend is trending for two years and I love love love to see it. But we always have to be true to who we are and how we see ourselves. I see the models in a hot pink silk skirt and cobalt blue top and I love it, but it’s not me. Sooooooo I will buy as I have done this last month, bright yellow shoes and teal blue shoes. I will buy a bright purse. I choose (mostly) to colour block with accessories. Or try a hot pair of coloured jeans. I love the pastels but not on me, so I have red and they rock. Then I play it down with a white t-shirt. Also you can do your own blue jeans (maybe in a new shape?) and just add a great and bright flowing top. Flowered tops are wonderful with ripped and torn jeans. I just got a gorgeous vintage pale yellow background and flowered silk shirt and I wear it with really distressed jeans to mix up the soft and hard. The other night I wore a gorgeous full lace top (so soft and fem) with ripped jeans and vintage doc martens. Or bling it up. I think I was telling you that I have this vintage rhinestone collar and it is a huge piece that just screams fab. I just wore it (as you know) with a vintage Oscar de la Renta cocktail dress but in the summer I will wear it with white crops and a white T.

Go through your closet and toss all the boring that is not classic. DO BUY or borrow your daughter’s fashion mags. Decide which looks you would love to add to YOUR look. Then pick five pieces that can spice up your look. What I have stopped doing is going shopping and buying a million things that I will wear once. I decide what my look for the season will be and I invest in a few “key” pieces. And DON’T worry about trend. Stress what would makes YOU feel good, visualize how you would love to look this spring and summer. And then ... GO BABY GO!

I would LOVE to help you with this. I WOULD LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Okay, somebody stop me; I could go on and on and on and on and on.

Okay, one more thing. Go shopping in your own closet. You may be surprised that a little piece you bought years ago will work well NOW. I save things that I love and I wait like a fashion tiger to pounce on them when their time comes around again. And by that I don’t necessarily mean trend-time but rather when I LOVE them again. And mix it up. Some of your clothes may be boring to you because of the way you USED to wear them. Mix them up!!! Introduce that little cashmere sweater to a different skirt, pant or shoe. You may just fall in love all over again. And only after you have done that ... you go shopping to fill in the blanks.

Okay, I will shut up now, but I will still be thinking about it while I work out. Then I will call you and then I will pester you and you will regret opening this can of couture! xoxo 

Hueing It Up—Realized

Deb: I realized that I had not officially followed up on my INSTYLE influenced “Hueing it Up” blog-post. I know that I posted some photos from Newfoundland, but they were more about fun and NFLD beauty and not so much about fashion.  So that is my offering this Wednesday, September 28, 2011! It is a largely pictorial post.

I would be a filthy lying slut if I did not admit to you that I am also posting this particular post because I am having a “crazy getting boy ready to move to Montreal” week and I am grasping at straws. And not the straight up straws, but the mental crazy curly straws.

So for what it’s worth, here I am in “Runway vs Real” world workin’ m’ nautical theme and making use of as few items of clothing as is possible in Debland.

The Boy is stalwart photographer. His tribute includes:

1. Never rolling his eyes once.

2. Always being my fashion “go to” for approval and advice.

3. Being secure in his manhood with both tasks. Xo

Barbara: Deb, you are my fashion yoda. I love to watch your style in all its genius, so I’m happy to blog this way today.

Hue-ing it Up

Deb: Over the last few years I have employed a packing concept that is working wonders for me. I am hue-ing it up. I am choosing two, maybe three colours and coordinating them for ease of packing and choice.

I used to be the gal who packed 9 pairs of shoes to go with 15 different colours to go with various pants styles, lengths cuts and on it goes.

So I started easy with NYC when the boy moved there. I chose black, grey and cream. If I am feeling sassy (always) I will throw in an accent colour, usually red.

For our holiday to Newfoundland I wanted to take it one step farther. I decided to embrace a theme. So I am going nautical, babies!  That’s right, Seaman First Class McGrath is going to rock it for all the sailor girls. What better place to go nautical than during a visit to The Rock?! My colours are blue (jeans included), white, and red.

I decided to take a page from INSTYLE magazine and pose my pre-suitcase clothes on the dining room table in various combos showing how I can mix and match.

Do I have too much time on my hands? No, actually, I don’t. Just got excited with this idea and decided to have some fun!!!

So the following are pictures of my clothes, and with the boy as official trip photographer I will post shots of me wearing these co-ordinated beauties on the trip.

I should tell you two things:

One: this was born of my attempts to stop buy buy buying every single thing I see, and love love love the clothes I already have. This has been pretty successful.

Two: Everything I took on the trip was 3 to 5 years old, except for five items, which for me is pretty darn good. I span the range from Alexander McQueen to Winners to my fab find in Vancouver—a little blue dress with navy stars that I snapped up for $19.

I have always been good about keeping pieces that to me are classic or that I simply adore.

So please enjoy this silly little exercise and please forgive the pictures. As I am only five feet tall, I could not get high enough to take great shots. Thought of using a ladder as I was drifting off to sleep.  Ahh well.

Barbara: Deb, this is frickin’ genius!! I am a terrible packer. First I hate it, and second, my habit is to throw everything in the bag like some capsized-ship victim who believes she can save her wardrobe as well as herself. It’s panic-packing, even when I have lots of time to prepare.

I love this concept of coordinating the clothes to mix and match. Of creating “outfits” that look good and feel comfortable. I am so going to try it next time I pack (which doesn’t include the latest trip to move my daughter to college—no, that was panic-packing at its most frenetic).

I want to see lots of pics, Missy, of your fashionable exploits rockin’ The Rock!

I’ve Won The Battle With Cellulite

Deb: Got your attention, didn’t I?

Yes, it is true what you heard, I have won that battle. And I didn’t win it with creams, machines, or plastic surgery. I have been looking for five years to find a way to conquer this bodily bubble wrap. It’s too bad it’s not like the shipping bubble wrap, although if it were I would never leave the house, all day pop pop popping.

So it’s with a teensy bit of smug satisfaction that I share my epiphany with you.

It all started in Italy four summers ago. It was a steamy day and husband, boy, and I sat at an outdoor cafe. My lovely summer blouse measured specifically partway down my arms and my shorts, partway down my legs, conspiring with me to keep bubbles at bay.

Shifting weight from time to time to prevent the sun from casting shadows on any offending area, I suddenly looked up. Coming towards us was a sexy early 50’s Italian woman dressed in an outfit that can only be described as so beautiful, so chic, so perfect, that she doesn’t care if you like it or not. In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t. There she was, just owning the street with each cobblestone click. And then I saw it. Her arms were covered in cellulite. She was bubbling over.

I said to my husband, “Why do I think my cellulite looks so horrific and yet she has it and still looks so hot?”  My husband said that I was an idiot, which is his sweet and sarcastic way of saying that he loves the way I look, bless him. So I vowed then and there that I would never ever ever cover myself up! That I too would own it.

And four years from that moment ... I was transformed.

You see, I woooooooooouuuuuuuuuullllllllllllddddddddd have done it sooner and I tried. I mean, philosophically I was behind it one hundred. But as a public practice I couldn’t make a full commitment. And every time I would get ready to bare arms, I would catch a glimpse in my full length mirror as the sun was softly setting ... aaaaaaaaaaaaand-no.

And yet this summer, I am just feeling so summery and so free, I brazenly donned a bathing suit in front of friends who had never seen my dimpled goodness lo these past years. And as it turns out, no one sneered, shunned or scorned, even though in certain light my upper left thigh looks like Shirley Temple eating mashed potatoes. I’m sure they noticed and yet they did not shun, not even a little. Mind you, given the number of middle-aged friends we have, it is remotely possible they actually didn’t see it.

Whatever the case, this has been an almost five-year battle for me, one I was too vain to be sensible about. And now I’m outed and free to play in the sun with the other kids.

I mean let’s face it, ten years from now with aging’s new charms and surprises and looking back on this 57-year-old Deb, I will be awestruck by my crazy-ass hotness.

So I figure I might as well just think it now. Too humid for insecurity. 

PS And if you think you’re getting a picture with this one, think again. I’m not insane. But in the meantime, enjoy this lovely picture of a cloud.

Barbara: Hey, my Yoda Master and my birthday near-twin, I’m having a similar sort of summer as you! Haven’t worn shorts and even skirts the last few summers (not just cellulite woes, but those new, shocking eruptions of extra meat where once was lean). But this hot and hazy summer has been all strapless this and swishy that. I feel AWESOME! Sidelong comments be damned. And, thanks to our lovely readers here and their encouragement, I’m getting so much better about not giving a shit about that shit anyway.

On another note, maybe when it comes to the body-confidence arena our hot-climate sisters have it over us cold-livin’ gals because too much coverage in warm weather is uncomfortable at best and suffocating at worst. Let’s face it, when you’re hot, you’re hooooot. 

Clothes Dork

Barbara: The other day, Deb and I took a little road trip down to Buffalo. The impetus was a business meeting with dear Annette (of our latest 3-way), but we couldn’t go all that way without also checking out the local piece de resistance. Nirvana in all its glory: the American outlet mall.

Shopping as it was meant to be: good, assorted, and seemingly endless.

As we told you a long time ago, I’m not much of a shopper and Deb is not much of a “sale” person, but we found ourselves in a perfect storm of opportunity. Mine being that I’d received an unexpected check JUST BEFORE WE LEFT THE HOUSE. Do you hear me, people?! About to walk out the door and a not-insubstantial, completely unaccounted for windfall appears in my mailbox … just in time to wink its sly eye at me and say, “Going to the land of plenty, baby? Well, go for it. You deserve a little indulgence.” (I know, I know, my windfall sounds a little like a cheap whore in a tattered corset. Anyway…)

So there I was amid a veritable cornucopia of women’s wear and I begin the time-honoured pilgrimage enjoyed by many women (and men) everywhere: eye, choose, pile, try on. And all the while I know a sweet, enabling cheque is just burning a hole in my wallet, just begging to help make me gorgeous and happy.

As I pull on the first outfit, I’m fairly daring it to disappointment me. I mean, for once I am karmically ALIGNED to conquer the clothing and return triumphant. But as I stare at my reflection, all I see is a tired, lumpy, misshapen (middle-aged) woman. Um, I am NOT tired, lumpy, or misshapen. At least I wasn’t the last time I looked! But it happened again with the next outfit. And the next one. 

And the next one and the next one and the next one and the next one.

It was as if I’d got caught in an endless dressing room loop of bad Woody Allen impressions. And I was the bad impressionist.

Me, trying to rock my changing room look

S’okay. I blame the clothes and not myself (even if I was the arse who picked the wares).

Deb: There is no possible way in the universe that Barb could be a dork or an arse, least of all a clothes-picking arse. Everything she chose was wonderful and stylish.

But I have the answer to why nothing worked on her. It was just NOT her shopping day.

It happens to everyone. Not to me. Everyone. Not to me.

I have never had a “not my shopping day” day in my entire shopping life.  Would that I did once in a while, says the voice in my husband’s head. I have ALWAYS been blessed with great Shopping Karma. Even way back in the Barbie days. I would go to the store with my Mom and I would concentrate on Barbie Geisha with the black lacquered geisha slippers and removable headpiece or Barbie Picnic with the straw hat and little velvet trimmed straw bag and they would both appear as if from nowhere, last ones on the shelf!

I can be insecure about many things, but never ever my Shopping Karma! I would not do that to something that has been so true to me all these many purchasing years. It has been my stalwart friend.

Yesterday was only a small example of what my Shopping Karma is capable of. This  trip supplied me with not only what I was looking for, but fab fun bonus items too! I have to say that even in my shopokarma haze, I was obsessed with Barb finding something wonderful and kept encouraging her whenever she picked out something lovely and chic.

But ... she just didn’t have the Shopping Karma in her pocket. It happens. Not to me. But it happens. I LOVE new things SO much. I think I give off that scent in the store. I mark my LOVE TO SHOP territory and the merch virtually lands in my lap, just to have a sniff. 

Dirt Cheap

Barbara: I’m not a sucker for sales—it’s not like I can’t pass one by without gorging, BUT…if I need something, say a shirt or a new pair of jeans, there’s something about getting it on sale that turns me into the proverbial rabid dog. 

I feel this inexplicable joy at being able to nab that perfect item—or near-perfect (because, yes, I will throw “perfect” to the wolves if “near-perfect” is good enough and 50% off)—from the sales racks. 

But this is the part that kills me—I can’t leave self-satisfaction alone. If someone notices and/or compliments something I’m wearing, I must share, rejoice, and celebrate my purchase-triumph. Me, breathlessly: “You like it?! Well, this dress was originally $250, but then it was marked down to $120, which was already great, but when I got to the cash, it was only $87!!!!” Even as I hear the exultation pouring from my mouth, I have begun to cringe at the sound of my own joy. It’s so embarrassing. To the poor gal-pal I’ve cornered, I must sound like either a gloating Braggerton or a Cheapie McCheaperton. Why can’t I just say “Thank you” and leave it at that???

Deb: Oh to be you! I would save a fortune! I admire you, I really do. But when I compliment something fabulous on someone and they say they got it on sale, the item is instantly lowered in my estimation. I think, “Clearly something was wrong with it to go so cheaply.” 

When I shop I love to see each piece on its own mannequin––featured and standing proud––saying, “Look at me, I’m brand new and sexy, right off the runway. You need me!”

Sales are so very sad to me. Pieces once so full of promise are now squished and tossed on tables with no regard for seasons or ensemble-looks. “Oh, look a Michael Kors evening jacket!”––yeahbut, COVERED IN DEODORANT STAINS, with FINGERPRINTS and DRESSING ROOM CA-CA on the hem. Poor bastard!

I may have to eat mac and cheese for a solid week, but I’ll stick with my shiny new clothes. They are out there, waiting for me.

Barbara: And I wish I had your commitment! Purely intellectually, I see how it’s good for those creative geniuses who design the clothes and for the tailors and crafts-people who construct them that I save my money in order to spend it wisely in support of the best quality stuff. But my inner-commoner can’t help thinking, “To hell with it, what’s a little dirt and dressing room ca-ca when there’s the gentle-cycle at home and an iron, and it’s ON SALE!!! And anyway, if I don’t buy it, it would only go to that sad, lonely world of Unwanted Clothes where it will die a tragic and unnatural death. I am here to save it from obscurity and ruin!”

I am the Green Peace Warrior of clothing.

… No?

Deb: Yes! 

But I’ve been meaning to tell you that your new half-price linen jacket is missing a button.

Barbara: Shit….