Kyle and I just got back from Los Angeles last week, where we played one of our new favorite games called "complaining about the weather". Being from Chicago, we are used to things like - rain and snow and stay-inside-because-its-too-cold-to-go-outside temperatures. When Chicagoans complain about the weather, we are complaining because the air hurts our faces and our cars are stuck in a pile of snow somewhere.
When people in LA complain about the weather, they are complaining because it's, like, kind of cold. And is it... raining? Is that rain? Oh, no. "Geez! What is with this weather?"
That's what the bartender at our hotel asked us while we sat downstairs one night for a drink. "What is with this weather?" He asked, referencing the light drizzle outside.
Okay, so it was a little more than a light drizzle. It was raining. Maybe not "build an ark" rain - but full-on "it's gross outside", "get your umbrella" rain. There was also some lightening.
"But at least it isn't snow!" <--- That's what people in the midwest say. Because people in the midwest are familiar with snow and all of the delightful, messy problems it can bring to the party. But you can't say that when you're in LA, because it literally never snows in LA. So if Los Angeles-ians want to talk about the weather, a rare rainy day is their golden opportunity. Unless they want to say, "Can you believe how sunny it is today?", "I know. It is SO sunny."
Alternative title: That Time in High School When I Wore a Poncho and Everyone Was Like: "Why Are You Wearing A Poncho?"
It was a pink poncho. I should clarify that it was a regular, Fashion-y, "Fall wardrobe-y" type of poncho, and not one of these plastic rain-proof things that you'd wear at Niagara Falls. (I don't know if that really needed to be clarified, but I didn't want you to get the wrong idea. I wasn't walking around school wearing a giant plastic bag all day.)
I went back-to-school shopping with my parents every year. And every year they'd make me buy a new pair of tennis shoes (or "gym shoes" as they called it, which also doubled as "everywhere-shoes"), and like, four pairs of jeans. And some sweaters. And if I tried buying anything that was a little too "out there", my mom would usually speak up by asking, "Don't you think that's a little too... out there?"
She did not say anything about the poncho. She could have. She had her chance. I'd picked up the poncho, I had it in my hand - and even at the time, I was still looking for validation. While part of me wanted to look like the model on the poster - wearing said poncho with a matching pink headband and frolicking through the desert - the other part of me was like... dude. It's still a poncho.
I was inspired to write this post because I *didn't* buy a jacket.
Back story - I have fifteen thousand jackets at home. Probably. I haven't counted, but I know that when I open up our "coat closet" (also doubles as our laundry/shoe/vacuum/Swiffer closet) most of the coats that I see in there are mine. Maybe three of them are Kyle's. And one of those I bought for him.
This post could have just as easily been titled "Confessions of a Shopaholic" or "How to be a Crazy Coat Lady" - but honestly, that's a little embarrassing and - based solely on my experience today - I am clearly turning a corner outside of my consumerism mindset.
Exhibit A: I did not buy a jacket. I *almost* did. But then, I didn't! Yay! (Isn't this a great story so far?)
You know how grocery shopping has that cardinal rule about "never go shopping when you're hungry"? God forbid you end up with an extra bag of potato chips.
Sephora should have the same rule. Never go shopping when you're... feeling... shall we say, less than confident. Like, super-model-hot confident, particularly about your face. Because once you get in there.... well, that's it. Suddenly everything you see becomes THAT THING YOU NEED to be mistaken for a dewy-glowy Victoria's Secret model.
This concealer is $80, and claims to have "pore vanishing" powers? It also has the word "clinical" on it, so it must be legit. Everyone knows 'clinical' means 'doctor' - so buying this is kind of like having plastic surgery - for ONLY $80! That's a bargain!
This stuff is called "Poreless Finish Airbrush Powder"... Airbrush powder! Like how they airbrush supermodels on magazines? So if I wear this, people will believe that I look like a supermodel in real life? Well, YEA, duh.
I'm not making fun of people who shop in Sephora like this. Because I genuinely shop in Sephora like this.
This foundation is called "Your skin, but better". So, people will think it's MY skin - just, better. Natural. Naturally flawless skin. This foundation is going to CHANGE MY
LIFE... Face. It's going to change my face. Yay!
I'm not saying I'm PROUD of it, I'm just saying... I am easily swayed by marketing.
When I hear the term “capsule wardrobe”, I immediately think of it as a “time capsule” wardrobe. Not in a weird way – I don’t imagine putting all of my clothes into a box and digging it up in fifty years. But there’s something about the idea of a “capsule” that makes it feel timeless. Like Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly. Not so much ‘the trends’ - just a classic, elegant style.
I’ll tell you that’s what I strive for – a ‘timeless, classic’ look – but what I’m not telling you is that I’ve been on a mad hunt over the past three weeks for one of those winter beanies with the fur pom. Or as I’ve been calling them “you know those hats with the fuzzy ball? Yea, I want one of those.” I don’t know if that look falls under “timeless” or “classic”, but I LIKE IT. Even though I'll be looking back at pictures with my grandchildren in fifty years and they will ask, “Why does your hat have a fuzzy ball hanging from it?”, and I’ll be like, “I don’t know. That was the style back then.” *Shrugs*
For the record, I couldn’t find one. The department stores swept those winter hats clean in January when they made room for their Spring collections. So, I’ll just have to stick with my regular, old, BORING, non-fuzzy-ball winter apparel until next year.
My parents sent me a stun gun as part of a care package in college.
I figured I should open with that, so that when I say, “I found my stun gun in a shoe box in the back of my closet over the weekend” – ya’ll don’t think I’m the kind of girl who:
A) knows where to buy a stun gun, and -
B) keeps it in a shoe box in the back of her closet. Nestled next to a scarf and a pair of high heels.
Because that’s where it was. Who knows why. Who packed that box when I was moving?
Me. I packed it. I packed all of my boxes. And when I ran across that stun gun, I was probably like, “Well, I don’t have a box marked ‘Weapons’ …. sooo let’s just put it in this shoe box. That should be fine.”
That makes about as much sense me having a stun gun in the first place...
I'm searching for a new purse, "for winter". A black chainlink cross-body purse, to be exact. I don't know what winter has to do with it - but I saw some girl in a movie wearing a grey peacoat with a black chainlink cross-body purse and big sunglasses, and I was like "That's it! THAT'S what I want to look like this winter!"
I don't know where this comes from. I don't know why I see a random stranger in a made-for-tv movie and think that I have to change up my entire look for a season. It just happens. It happened with Peyton Sawyer on One Tree Hill when I suddenly decided I needed a leather jacket. It happened with Serena Van Der Woodsen on Gossip Girl when I decided that my "new style" should be "boho chic New Yorker-y". It's even happened with YouTubers. After watching two hours of Carly Cristman videos, I committed to only wearing neutral colors for a year. A WHOLE YEAR.
My entire wardrobe has been decided by fictional characters and people that I've never met in real life. That's probably normal, right?