032.

I was so impressed with myself for keeping up with this blog. Hah. Well, here I am three months later, again pondering style and not wanting to clutter up my livejournal with it. So I come crawling back here, hoping that I'll get taken back.

As penance, I come bearing thoughts I had about the movie Holiday Inn, which, being available On Demand and starring the illustrious Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire, as well as being a Christmas-y movie, provided the entertainment for my household last evening. Overall, other than the fact that Bing is awesomer than awesome, the movie wasn't that great, except for this amazing tap number by Fred: Say it with Firecrackers.



The man is a genius. Not only does he dress well (the starry scarf around his neck; those socks!), the way he incorporated firecrackers into the dance routine is dynamite. Here's the full performance on YouTube.

022.

Why leggings and I will never be BFF: cold ankles.

019.

I caved and bought a fashion magazine today, Marie Claire, even though I told myself I would stop. It's another one with Maggie Gyllenhaal on the cover.

I've been trying to cut my consumption of fashion magazines ever since Elle pissed me off a couple months ago. It was the "body" issue, and the subtext throughout the entire issue was that of "of course you want to look like a model, and lament the fact that you never will". Which is pretty much modus operandi for fashion magazines. But. They ran an (actually pretty intelligent) article by a man who explained that he would rather date real, flawed women instead of perfect models. When I read it, I was really grateful that the magazine took the time to acknowledge that the majority of its readership does not, in fact, look perfect. But later, when I had time to think it over, I realized how pathetic it was for me to be lapping up the one article, just two pages, that the magazine provided. In a sea of thinspiration, the magazine threw out one bone of sanity, and I gobbled it up happily. That's bullshit. If a magazine is going to embrace women of all different shapes and sizes, they better spread it allll over the magazine.

I stopped buying Vogue a long time ago. There's too much of a whiff of the old lady who wears ostentatious furs and the attitude "I know you can't afford this, and will never be able to, but this is how you should be living, you plebe."

Marie Claire started off the entertainment section by giving me a "food pyramid" of my August tv shows. Not suggesting. Not promoting. Telling. I don't take well to being told. Especially by a magazine. (Also, given that the tv I'll watch this month runs more along the lines of Buffy, Firefly and the Olympics, I doubt I'll ever turn on Californication and The Wire.)

Nylon is okay sometimes, but gets a little too vapid and consumeristic for my tastes, not to mention thinking that it's way more indie than it really is. And I still really like Teen Vogue, because it really doesn't try to be more than just a "how to" guide for teens with no money.

I really should have just saved my pennies for an Elle UK. Dang.

009.

Last Wednesday I bought a pair of shoes (the Berlin by Star Ling). I am so excited; they're my first pair of 'grown up' shoes, and I think they're a good investment. The leather is so soft, and I love the cut of the heel strap--it's so sensual (for lack of a better word).

When I realized I have never walked with them on hard ground, I started wondering if they're a soft heel or hard. Most people wear rubber-soled shoes everyday (especially on a college campus), so their footprints, while noticeable, are not as pronounced as Foley artists make them seem in movies. Hard-soled heels, however, can make an incredible racket (especially in a tunnel or between to tall buildings when the sound reverberates). Whenever I wear my boots I can just feel everyone staring, wondering why that girl is calling attention to herself through sound. (Consequently, I never wear those boots when I know I'll be walking alone at night.)

Sometimes the uniformity (and utter lack of ability to think of anything but) in the way people dress astounds me.

005.

It always makes sense in theory, but the idea of getting inspiration for the way one dresses from a book or movie always baffles me in practice. Well, it did. Now I understand it.

Take, for instance, the season two finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Drusilla, Spike and Angel are all wearing black and red (oooh, how very vampire of them). And Buffy always wears cross necklaces, as any Slayer should.

I found my own cross necklace (which I previously would never wear because I hate the connotations it has with girls who wear them but don't act Christlike) and started wearing it because fandom is cool. I bought a red dress at Nordstrom Rack the other day, and wore that with the cross and black tights. Voila, instant outfit inspiration. And it didn't feel costumey or dorky or forced.

I suppose it's like watching Gossip Girl and wearing a headband, only applied to more clothing.