Who am I if not bold and sometimes brash? I’ve never been the soft-spoken, mysterious girl so often coveted in the dreams of the lost hero onscreen. I usually let my mouth get the best of me. For the most part, it’s worked out. I have found most of my regrets stem from affections un-said, opinions un-voiced. I may lose at the whole perplexing-princess, ingenue trope, but I don’t think my clothes would fit in her wardrobe anyway.
One must be of the audacious variety to snag a seat on a downtown 9 a.m. train to the Financial District, or triumph over combative taxi drivers at a crosswalk, or get a job in NYC where everyone is vying for the same “American Dream,” carrying equal amounts schooling and exceeding amounts connections.
I don’t think I’d call this yellow-printed pants set brash, but audacious? The sea of morning commuters part to make way for the woman drowning in analogous yellow print, or so I imagine—maybe I just smelled bad. It takes a bold personality to carry an all-over print, since you’re certain to garner a doubletake or two.
I added a black, leather jacket and black pumps to my Zara set to streamline the color palate, but could not resist a bold lip a la Nars, Fast Ride to finish off the “don’t think about turning right on red-it’s my turn to walk-I look fierce-plus I can’t walk any faster because, these heels hurt” look.
Bold gets you a job in New York. Brash helps when your broker’s fee isn’t comparable to his services.
You couldn’t rip these $20, Forever21 jeans away from me if your life depended on it. They’re perfect and comfortable and I don’t have to unbutton the top button after a large meal. Boyfriend jeans are a way of life, one that says “I know my backside is unflatteringly flat and it looks like I have cankles, but those are the kinds of things I can forgo when I want to look slouchy-chic and don’t want seam lines embedded in my skin when I take them off.” Boyfriend jeans don’t care if you don’t have a boyfriend and you bought them at a teen wholesale store. They’re the IDGAF of jeans, they’re the pair-me-with-sexy-sandals-to-create-an-ironic-dichotomy-jeans and they’re here to stay for every season. I just decided.
Halfway through this post I realized I already wrote an ode to these jeans, but I guess I’ll keep going to show you I’m not a quitter. Here is my summer interpretation in which I add a breezy button-down and sleek sandals to up the down-town chic factor, but I also wear them with muscle tees and Birkenstocks; so don’t be fooled.
New York’s still beautiful, if you were wondering. I’ve been spending a lot of my time in the East Village with my soon-to-be roommates and I can’t help but take fashion inspiration from the silent fashionistas that seem to always have their nose in their phones. This trait helps me to look a few seconds longer without feeling intrusive. This down-town chic is a mix of neutral cropped sweaters and frayed denim, platform sandals and textures hair-dos. I’d be lying if I told you my hair wasn’t an attempt at the perfectly undone look the ladies of downtown sport.
Thanks, Mazie for the photos.
It certainly has been a while. I guess I’ll just chalk this up to one of the more personal posts, as I usually focus on personal style and the like. I am in New York City with no ticket home. (Except for my best friends wedding, but I’m coming back right after so that doesn’t count. I think.) It’s exhilarating and scary and everything I’ve ever wanted in my short existence as a fashion-forward, liberal-minded, 20-something. Gag. I’m terrified. But the kind of terrified that usually ends up being the best decision you ever made kind of terrified. I’ve only been this scared one other time and it ended up landing me a couple of awards and a spot on CNN. So it’s good. I think.
I am in Brooklyn job-searching and apartment hunting with a few of like-minded thrill-seekers. Gag. (I’m giving myself way too much credit. I never seek thrill. I just think you have to do the whole jobless, air-condition-less thing before you “make it” in this soul-devouring city.)
I’m bad at this whole personal post deal. So far I’ve just used a bunch of cringe-worthy millennial speak I usually make fun of, so I’ll be real. I drink a lot of iced lattes with the money saved up from school and write a lot in my Macbook Pro…edit tests, journaling and the like. I’m lucky. Thanks mom and dad for your support. But it is scary not knowing what my next move will be, but I guess that’s good. I think.
So here’s to going on three weeks in the city. Heres to the Jamaican food I ate on Saturday that will go down as the best meal I’ve had in the last six months. Here’s to the fun, supportive crowd I get to spend my time without AC with. Here’s to the Birkenstocks I bought to help feel a part of the bigger picture in the NYC blogger scene. And here’s to the unknown.
I can’t leave this post without a pinch of fashion-related material, so below is an accurate portrayal of what I’ve worn while wandering around the city. Sorry, I haven’t found a personal photographer yet. Plus I had to leave my camera at home, as my one suitcase had already exceeded the allotted 50 lbs.
After graduating from college and all that the mile-marker entails, I am trying to tone down the Forever 21 tutus and cat sweatshirt purchases and instead look for more job-friendly finds. Madewell’s sale section has become my go-to for grown-up-gal looks that suit both my style and my desire to look like a trustworthy, job-holding member of the adult world. I plan on this striped tunic dress being in constant rotation in my professional wardrobe—dressed up with a camel-colored blazer of course.
I don’t think I will ever own a skirt suit, unless it has polka-dots on it and I can wear it with a turtle-neck, cropped top. I’ve only really worn my plain black pumps to Christmas Eve Mass. And nude tights will never be in my winter repertoire. I think I will always show a bit of spunk in regards to grown-up clothes. I figure I have a good 20 years before I need nude tights to cover whatever leg blemishes you get post-children.
Also. What’s a semi-adult look without an exaggerated neon-blue cat-eye? Probably not work-friendly, but what really defines work-appropriate? Not neon? Ok.
Thanks Madewell, for always being on point with your casual, kind of adultish clothes. Keep up the good work.
Thanks, Daniel for the photos.
Turns out this is the most flattering thing I’ve ever put on my body. Girls, women, ladies: a-line midi-dresses are everything, despite their proverbial house-wife nature. Today I choose flattering shapes over sex appeal. But who am I kidding? Sex appeal rarely infiltrates my wardrobe decision-making. Leandra Medine is my soul sister.
Maybe I resemble June Cleaver, but I’d like to think the ASOS chain choker and BCBG black sandals would make it impossible for me to vacuum or cook a roast. Cheers to ’50s fashion and braided updos. Drinks are on me, because I’m definitely planning on wearing this for a night out. Maybe it can be a game. Let’s see how many drinks are purchased for the lady in a calf-baring, gingham dress and German school-girl braids. I like where this is going.
Thanks, Daniel for the photos.
I can’t tell you the last time I put on a dress with frills or was able to put my hair in a top knot. I suppose this weekend was monumental. Zara is on point with their subtly feminine pieces and I figured I needed a for real LBD if I wanted to graduate college a real woman. And yes, if you don’t own a sexy-ish black dress then you aren’t a woman. Just kidding, you probably just like brighter colors or not conforming to predetermined fashion must-haves. And what’s an embroidered, leg revealing dress without beat up Chuck Taylor’s?
Probably elegant, but I am not about to host a party in heels. There are drinks to mix and strangers to entertain and I was not planning on tripping while doing so. Also, any tips for bras and backless dresses are appreciated. I ended up having to summon the courage of Hannah Horvath and hope detailed embroidery would work as chest armor once the AC came on.
As for the top knot, I about squealed upon discovering that the baby hairs at the bottom of my hairline almost gathered into one handful. With the help of 17 bobby pins, every hair on my greying head was neatly hair-sprayed to the side of my scalp with a few hairs to spare, creating a knot of sorts at my crown. Almost two years of pixie-growout and I am able to participate in the hair trends of 2012. One small step for my hair, one giant leap for my heart.