Mmmmm, I'm really excited by these mod mod mad slacks. So Mary Quant. And the rubber shoes, like crocs only hipper. As much as I shudder every time I see some innocent wearing crocs, I am all about taking ugly and making it cute. And they're vegan! I'm not, but the shoes are! A pattern is emerging -- color, wild color, hot shapes. Obviously we are in the depths of grey winter.

Herve Leger, mother-of-the-bride appropriate? Your call. Happy Christmas!

Since Savers has come into my life and taken over my wardrobe, the flow of clothes is swift indeed. In and out again, sometimes within minutes, e.g. a pair of "darned" Ralph Lauren jeans that I got for the young one. Introduced from the plastic bag, they were rejected out of hand. Nanoseconds. They are now in limbo in the sell-back pile, awaiting spring. As am I (we are in the throes of the worst winter weather in years, the terrible trifecta of snow, wind and cold). There are, though, a few items that have withstood the cleansing current of wardrobe editing, usually because they are so so outrageous that I have never found anything to replace them or they are so truly classy even I, the queen of vulgar, cannot deny their uplifting quality. The stalwarts are:
--Ferragamo tall leather boots circa 70s, just perfect, always
--Nine West brown loafers with sort of lug soles, sound ugly, are actually outrageously flattering
-- cashmere/wool houndstooth suit with wrap jacket, french cuffs, high waist skirt with pleated hem, if i ever had an interview..., so french, so Carine Roitfeld
-- sheer voile navy fragile frock, maybe from the 30s, all hankie hemmed, wispy, Olive Oyl
-- Old Navy low waist boot cut jeans with no butt pockets, despite the no butt pockets which make your ass look bald
-- a vintage raspberry pink cashmere cardigan, in case I ever live in Westchester County
-- white completely fringed lycra shorts that look like a skirt because of the fringe, with attached gold plastic megabuckle, had previous life on a baton twirler, because I have never ever seen anything else remotely like them, absolutely intense with a tan and teetering heels

These things need, nea, deserve photo documentation. I continue to hope.

I will keep this brief and blessedly desperation-free. Job searching takes up a lot of time but I have maintained a punishing schedule of an application a day. Significantly less pleasant and health-giving than an apple. I am reminded of the selfless journalists who buy nothing new for a year or give up their car for some extended period or hang out in a tent in the winter to experience homelessness. Experiential journalism. Of course, those experiences have been had. But here's something novel -- I get a job, and write about it. There's a new experience!

Still with the lack of camera. Irksome, I know. We are a visual people. But there are times when the veil of discretion is best, and considering I purchased and applied my first ever organic henna color and conditioner last night ($3.95), maybe verbal description can avoid any unpleasantness or judging. Henna Colora, as straightforward as its name, smelled like hemp or boiling cabbage and looked like poo, but I was prepared for this by the saleswoman at William Marvey Beauty Supply, open to the public. I left it on, under a plastic shower cap (7 cents, William Marvey) for 1-1/2 hours. It was grainy upon rinsing and I shampooed per instructions with a fragrant shampoo. Grains banished, stink remains. I trust the eau de hippie will wash out eventually. Onward to color. I bought Mahogany, which was reported to produce a deep copper. True enough on the top half of my hair. The bottom half is, I will admit, a bit crusty and has some residual color from a dye job done 1-1/2 years ago! The bottom half took on a tone that is distinctly cheaper than mahogany, more in the orange to brassy range. It's not all that subtle. My hair's willingness to hang onto color worries me a little when I look at the bottom half of my hair. Luckily, this is the part that gets cut off when you have a trim. I have already booked the daughters for this procedure. Less is more where this stronger version of henna is concerned. Nonetheless, I'm pleased in a general second-glass-of-wine way. Several years from now, when this has washed out, I may try the Burgundy, which the saleswoman said was dark -- and she said dark like she meant to say hideous.
Part II of this post is that I am definitely definitely into high tight collars as an accessory, completely separate from anything below it. It's something kind of naughty but prim for your neck.

So I'm having a spot of hair-pulling trouble with our camera so I could not post the bag-to-bitching redesign I'm affecting on this glen plaid linen dress. The transformation is complete. I have asked Santa for a functional camera that I won't want to throw down hard and beat with a shovel. My next thought was to scan some photos from the May 08 Interview magazine which I have kept all this while because I love these photos so much. Fierce. There I've used that word once and will not do so again. Anyway, as technology would have it, the scanner merely saved many copies of the same photo instead of the many pages of lovely shots I wanted to save. And this blog post will not delete photos, despite offering that option. So here are photos that I love love love love love love. Love. I am digging the very high white collar added to an otherwise girly dress. It's been showing up quite a bit lately. Apparently the technology gods are not with me today so I will quit while I'm a head. Get it? A head?

I feel compelled to stand sculpturally to best illustrate the sculptural quality of this Issey Miyake long jacket. Umhmm, got it at Savers today for $12.99, which was rather a splurge. It was not a yellow tag but it was incredible, so I caved but justified it with the three other yellow tag (99 cents) items I got for resale purposes. The whole raison d'etre for this Monday Savers run was to score big on the 99 cent specials, using extraordinary self-discipline to in fact focus only on those select items. Unfortunately the amazing pleating and spongey, stretchy Miyake magic caught my eye and took hold of my heart and credit card. Those darlings at Savers categorized it as sleepwear and this piece of art was hanging right next to a long, sheer and naughty but nice penoir of the fluffy mule genre. Very pinup and tempting but my ironclad control reasserted itself and I walked away.
The three less-than-dollar deals include a super tiny, extra trashy Hot Kiss puffer jacket that I'm insanely attracted to because of the assymetric, tight around the neck closing. Also some grey wash Paul and Joe For Target jeans and a watercolor somewhat Miami-looking silk skirt from New York and Company. I like them, but I'm not in love with them. I must walk like an Egyptian when I wear this Miyake thing. Ideally, to do the vibe justice, I should be into art, or at least the free cheese at gallery openings, and wear heavy black-framed glasses. I may not be able to fulfill its destiny.