al frank 'n emma

 

Psyche! We told them we were going to hit the shops, maybe get some ice cream, but there would be absolutely no hiking. none whatsoever. here we are, a mile down in the grand canyon of minnehaha falls, and aren't they being good sports? Emma's hiking attire includes some jackie o sunglasses with extra o, a michael kors bag packed with survival gear like her used up boarding pass, a real bright blue dress to go with the sky and some dressy thong sandals that are perfectly suited to being carried by slaves in a sedan chair. i cut them off to maximize the panorama of nature. once again, this blog is dangerously low on XY representation so i thought to exploit frank as a captive guest and trendsetter. no really. even before i realized the guy deficiency, i dug his kinda tribal/kinda tame sneak-asins.

The sole of a sneaker, the heart of a moccasin -- i zoomed the hell out of these bad boys so you could see the little tiny moca-fringe on otherwise gravel-gripping, rubber-ringed kicks. they're by a company called Generic Surplus. aren't they cute? emma 'n frank too.

one word -- accessories

(those who were up late last night, sunday that is, reading my blog, well bless you. i heart you very much for visiting my odd world, but you have to now reread. i did and it was like an ink blot test that spelled out Stroke Victim. this is my tiny dictatorship, i get to make up the rules, i get do-overs because i'm very old special. this post and the one below have the same great photos, now with text that makes sense!)
She took this simple dress to a place it's never been before with accessories. of course the gladiator sanadals gave the look a roundhouse kick to the pontius pilot -- it is well-known that gladiators invented open toed sandals to show off their pedis. fun factoid for you. i appreciate that she went to the bother to put on that sleek bracelet. not hard, right? then why do i never do it? but what really turns it for me is the Lyndon Johnson/Thurston Howell III/i'm going to the office honey glasses.  she's small and feminine and the specs are big and businesslike...mmmmmmm, contrast. is it meaningful at all that she's standing in front of about 102 vats of delicious alcohol? no.

Coached

 

 Lookit-- jorts! No? Ok ok, sweet vintagey blouse, that's what's remarkable. Wrong again? Lacy earrings? Deliberately messy ponytail? i give up. it couldn't possibly be the iconic vintage Coach bag her aunt gave her.  or the out-of-frame professorial Coach briefcase she just scored at Everyday People. my bag ignorance is deep and wide my friends.

  Here's another thing i don't get -- intentional hair messiness. she has achieved it without a shadow of a doubt because there is six kinds of craziness going on at the top but by the time it gets to the bottom, it looks like it's been cut with a micrometer, it's that smooth and straight and behavin. thinking i'd be a natural at the messy ponytail, after scrubbing my head back and forth across a pillow (polyester foam) for eight hours, i scraped it all back in a binder that once held the newspaper. there were some stubborn bumps and the requisite disheveled look up top, but where her ponytail ends in sleek perfection, mine fuzzed out in the classic comic finger-in-electrical-socket way.  but more hideous and less funny. it also highlighted my eyebags that rival this woman's Coach holdings in total. 

this is an outrage. some tasteless person put this in my bag from Savers. who would do such a thing?

 is it a goth kids slip n slide? is it like a full-body scanner but less dignified? will it encourage bacterial flora? yes yes and yes! i was also at Everyday People trying to unload this gross miscarriage of fashion. Rejected. again. like me, you're probably puzzled as to why Everyday People would not welcome this into their Future of Air Travel section since it produces suspicious explosive-like bulges all over the place and makes pat downs a breeze. Like all bad things, this one is waiting for a a moment of weakness on the part of some consignment store. in the meantime, i'll be wearing it to the co-op, picking up some kale and whatnot.

booking down Cretin

 

 Maybe late for work? She was making about 40 mph down Cretin Ave. Let us not take for granted the late summer color -- earrings, neck party, skirt and flats. It won't be long before this sort of thing will be novel. Did she purposely coordinate with the green green grass and trees? Annual-bright color notwithstanding, the quiet neutral sheer blouse is like a zen moment. Breathe. Focus. Gird your loins for the daily battle.

ahoy pardner

Like a dog with a bowl, i'm over the nuts for stripes! and mixed metaphors! sailors on the prairie and cowboys below decks! i can use as many exclamation points as i want! holy chicken! up is down, down is yesterday! it's chaos! i've come to trader joe's without a list! i might end up with a lot of apple smoked bacon! or smokin' bacon apples!

eeeeeeeasy big fella. i'll be ok. like this woman, i cannot resist stripes and cowboy boots, and i've worn stripes recklessly without incident. the same cannot be said of cowboy boots. i'm kind of having a flashback right now of me striding tall across the urban range in the late fall with my hard, apparently waxed and polished leather-soled cowboy boots and encountering a single flake of snow... too soon. still a little fragile.

Mac again

 

First assuming, below, and now not giving the 1-2-3 photo countdown -- it's like i was on a mission to break every rule of journalism within a two-block time frame. and this is really a disservice my friends because she has a smile that could easily stand up to this harsh midday light. does it make you very happy when i tell you what you're missing? i assumed it did. but look over there, an open weave sweater! (what i learned in journalism school was to create a distraction and then skedaddle out the back. or maybe i learned that at pizza hut).  what sold me was the sleek little ankle boots worn with jorts. speaks to me of being at a brooklyn flea market, all hipster'd. her mom got these boots in Cambodia or Taiwan.

Mac is back

 

Never assume -- it will make an ass of u and me. That was the first commandment, written on the blackboard when i walked in to Journalism 101. Millennia later and i'm still aggressively flouting this cornerstone of my profession. Example A, above: Because of the retro shirtdress she scored at a garage sale, because of the subversive lip ring mashed up with docile side-parted hair, because of the cute embroidered flats, because we are standing in the shadow of Macalester's new fancy building, i'm going to go ahead and assume she's a Macalester student here for an enriching semester of experimentation and gratis happy hour food. Maybe i assume too much. Maybe i've made an ass of u and me.  Like that's a bad thing.

calling all child brides!

or katie mcg even though she is a committed shacker upper (she is on her way over here right now to kick my ass). twelve years old? no worries cuz this dress makes it all worthwhile. i got it at the salvation army in rockford, il and it has the tags still on it -- As seen in Bride & Home circa 1957 and Emma Domb of Caifornia, size 10!!!. i feel like someone got stood up and there may be a good story behind this frock, but there was also some yellowing and nastiness of the ages. can you effin believe it, i stuffed this vintage bridal dress right in the washing machine. but right before i possibly ruined it forever, i tried to wriggle into it, to see how it was supposed to look pre-ruination. not happening. couldn't get the zipper over the waist and ribcage region without removal of several ribs. which i was ready to do with a butter knife but i couldn't find a clean one. ick. really beautifully cut with the wide neckline hitting at the very tip of the shoulders. but whose boobs are that high? were mine ever up there? psyche! i've never had boobs. but the dress calls for some or at the least a very robust bra. things to note: excellent damask fabric which is apparently machine washable (after the wedding rave, wear that sucker to Cub), built-in crinoline to exfoliate your legs, nicely piped seams and hook-and-eyes all the way down the zipper so it won't gap under the 6000 PSI even a child bride would exert once she was drugged and stuffed into this very pretty dress.

Caribou, pre-latte

Oh my gosh (lookit, i went to the trouble to write it out, don't you feel special), huge discovery!!! i had not yet had caffeine. i had not poured caffeine in my camera, therefore we (the hello kitty camera and i) saw the same thing! we were attracted to the shiny slave-girl sandals and the striped dress, although it strobed a little like nothing i've ever seen before-- holy toledo is that a topographic map or what?! if you move this post up and down real quick while looking at the dress, you'll hurl for sure! sick! but our eyes (lenses) were not open wide enough to capture the top of her head and her feet in one stare. this is revolutionary! cameras need caffeine too!

ok fuck it, i'm a hopeless photographer. she had this really cute graduated bob haircut. bob graduated with a BS (i slay myself).  but seriously folks, she was cute as the dickens at crying dark-thirty in the morning and i believe i may have intruded on a job interview in taking this photo. i like to discourage gainful employment when i can. anyhoo, she demonstrates a great deal of poise because she was stopped by a street style photographer when she was 18. years old. i gotta check her references because that whole secretary of state thing smells fishy...

Seven sandals

These are Arlene's feet and Seven sandals. Arlene is one of the Sisters of My Sister's Closet and easily the most stylish person i know. and yet i've never seen her in anything but jeans on her southern half.  like one of those people who can make chicken 120 ways, arlene has probably 365 ways with jeans.

two women looking cute in a recession

Ok i know i cut off the woman on the right's elbow. big effin' deal. don't start with me because i'm in a recession. so are you. sheesh. we're recessed. like testicles in some rare cases. but here's what i've noticed over the last 2,732 or so posts -- people, and i'm like jerking my head and turning my eyeballs  real discreetly at the two above, still look decent. when i ask where they got their clothes (times have not changed, this is still rude), target, for-fucking 21, gap, payless is more often than not the answer. even the fine feathered folk at glamorama were wearing the rough thread. they just bought it smaller and tighter so it looked more glamorous.
i think i had visions of a big socio-economic message here but i got distracted by something bright and shiny. or red. how do people write books?

put together on Selby

I had to do some janky stuff with the photo because i couldn't remember whether the photographer was supposed to shoot into the sun, back to the sun, red sun in the morning... Let it be known that both subject and photographer should have been at work at this hour of the afternoon, so this bad stuff is merely karma that no amount of photographic skill could have overcome. 

Karma or no, one of us had it going on. I mean look at this -- checkerboard bag, cute origami folded dress, pointelle sweater and Seychelles retro semi-wedges (see below).  That's one, two...four things and her hair was combed. I'm assuming underwear, bringing us up to six things composed for this delightful look. 

See what i mean by checkerboard? Oh wait... see what i mean by semi-wedges? Count me a fan.

But seriously folks, how do people manage this? I know she works at_____(clothing store, sounds like apostrophe...some people lead productive lives after a small stroke and others have a blog....), so maybe she gets ideas there.  And i've heard having a job of any kind can be quite motivational in terms of getting dressed. 

in shocking contrast, i was careening around town on my bike in three items of attire (cannot count hair as it was not combed and looked like roadkill). the first 20 minutes of my ride were dangerous as i was distracted from such things as braking and oncoming vehicles by the feeling that my ass was hanging out.  and yet i'm sure i've biked in this very same jimi hendrix-inspired tunic before.... can't...put..my...finger...on...it...When i had passed about 2,683 people including some sisters of carondolet and a road construction crew and was as far from home as possible it came to me -- last time i wore this with bike shorts underneath, like in third grade so i could do handstands. or what i called handstands.  still turning tricks, i guess. shit. well, one of my Big Three was underpants, big tall suckers. so relax sister.

the mainstream is very exciting

I rushed up to her all breathless over her real silver sandals glinting in trader joe's sun, and she was like, Target clearance.  Wow i am slipping. ok but the jeans...? Terrrrrrget. Ouch. 0 for 2 and i didn't even ask about the shirt. i had to go in and buy a jug o wine and take a hard look at my observation skillz. of course i got distracted by fruit and forgot all about it until now. i have two explanations for this weak showing: 1) she would look good in zubaz and an XXXL coors t-shirt, and 2) my entire existence is outside the mainstream, kind of in this murky retail backwater, weedy and pungent. i don't do target. so when i see things that are shiny or clean or not previously wedged under someone else's armpits, well it's quite exciting.  that's my story and i'm sticking with it.

St. Paul farmer's market

Here's a local shopper, farm-fresh in a robin's egg blue dress from local vintage shop, Lula's. The bright bag, cute mocs and locally grown child (she produced this one herself!) complete this Saturday morning idyll. Obviously this woman is merely indulging her daughter with the pink kiddie crocs, just as i allowed many bad things in pink and purple to happen on my watch as a parent. Overprotective parenting is not the answer. I found that letting appalling affronts to fashion happen was the quickest way to eradicate them. Tough love, my friends.

Rascal RIP

My Facebook friends, both of them, will be very confused as this is my profile picture. All along they thought i became a writer because of the big nose and facial hair, and that i was doing quite well for not having thumbs.  All true.  But i am an impostor. No one could wear a Scottish tam with attached red hair like our Westie, Rascal, recently released from his earthly bonds at the age of 17. He is the real inspiration for this blog, and for all other fun but wrong activities. He was a wonderful sociopath, delightfully criminal, and a frequent clotheswearer. Some have gone so far as to suggest that his walking around the block in a sportsbra was the root of his psychological malaise but they are under-informed h8ters. he had a full body unitard (with tail hole thoughtfully cut out) but, always a minimalist, we all agreed the sportsbra was all he needed.

Bangs! Face-flattering, yes, but they grow out so quickly!

The Mr. Peabody sweatshirt jauntily tied over the shoulders that you see imitated all the time now? The original. As always, classic with a twist.

One-piece? What were we thinking?  Shortly after this photo was taken, he went under the deck and scraped this faux paw off. It's still there.

 A somewhat rougher Nativity scene than we're used to seeing -- Joseph looks like she's going to beat the crap out of someone, the only thing Mary is contemplating in her heart is the last fudgie oatmeal bar and baby Jesus looks like he might bite.

i have one word for you -- accessories.

 

See the dress the American Girl doll is wearing? See Rascal not wearing anything? Yet.

Dang I'm in trouble for posting this photo.  Blameless as he was, there's a certain amount of guilt by association.  I may or may not have had something to do with the crimes going on here. In hindsight, Rascal may have looked better in the midnight-raid-on-the-warren-jeffs-compound that emma's rocking.  Live and learn, right?

another life-sucking Forever 21 episode

There's a hint of fall in the air and Kaitlin (how many spellings of this name can you think of) feels it. Her ensemble, except for the glad-dals which are from Nordstrom Rack, is A) eye-catching, B) graphic and C) sucking our will to pay more then $10.99 for any one item of clothing because it's from Forever 21. But we are powerless to resist this ruthless brand of merchandising. i know i am. Before i wax too too philosophical about a skirt and sweater, Kaitlin works at Elite Repeat in St. Paul, so she knows a thing or two about value. Gosh i hope no one takes those flower urns, right?

oh my goodness

Well for ass-less chaps, i need to get out more. He's doing a mullet-inspired dapper on top, run to CVS on the bottom look and he could do it again tomorrow and for about 15 days after that because he's got a whole collection of hats. and leather stuff, including the bro-let and man-lace. that's because he makes the leather goods for Cockpit Minneapolis, and i thought, oooo artisanal and local. i got on the information superhighway once i got home to my quiet st. paul neighborhood and had a cup o tea.  and went to bed without benefit of handcuffs.

the Artragiest Queen of Glam!

 

She is my penultimate favorite. End o story. Other than to quote the newly crowned Queen of Glamorama-- "I thought the lipstick was a little drastic but then I thought, it is Artrageous, right?"

So right.

my second favoritest Glammers

If Miss Artrageous, above post, cannot perform her duties or like makes a sex tape or wears something from Talbot's, these two can easily take over for her. I was suffering from implant overload and faux Leger-itis by the time they showed up, kicking A and taking names -- i could have knelt down and kissed her All Saints (maybe?) boots. Look -- witty, elegant, fluent, high/low, take-no-prisoners cool. Loose and flowing with army boots! I get it! Stripes with crochet and gala neck party! I want it! Their bits are covered and they still look hot! Amazing! My rods and cones were so busy jumping up and down and fluttering their little hands like when you have to go real bad, i mostly forgot the retail details-- Free People flowing dress, locally made jewelry including the mega-turquoise, Rag & Bone crocheted sweater, waxed pants by ____(brain fart, blanking)___.  Thank you, thank you.

Ok i am so sorry. i pushed the little crayon-carrying cats in my camera too too far, and i had reached clinical stage, wantonly hatcheting heads and feet in the same photo. True, this guy was tall so he had it coming. I should have quit and gone home, but her satiny full-sleeved art nouveau cool drink -- what would you do? Again please note-- debbie did not do dallas in this dress. It's sophisticated and gorgeous. not part of my white trash realm but i've read about it in books and was delighted to see someone actually playing it off.

If you're going to be Artrageous (damn, maybe i forgot to say, that's the theme of this year's Glamorama) you'd better hurry out and get some big stripes into your life and some jewelry that makes you question your core values, clamp a hat on top and throw back a red-blooded cocktail.

 

If you want to see the top of her head just look in virtually any Twin Cities media outlet -- Twin Cities Lures N Bait was amongst the clamoring paparazzi shooting this woman, so don't start with me. I documented the relevant data: the shortettes/Indian-inspired, mirrored and embroidered underpants of the raj (Kate Moss for Topshop) were correctly worn with a totally off-hand chambray shirt that she just threw on, and gams. i am taxing my imagination right now, thinking how many units of this particular product Topshop sold. You know very well, the other two cheek warmers are being enjoyed by a drag queen in Winston-Salem, NC and a poodle in Texarkana. Well meeeeow i'm just being catty -- obviously this woman wore them best. Her friend is also doing every little thing right in Missoni and, is that the red sole of Louboutin i see?  is that the green flash of resentment i feel? if you're looking for a place to park your impotent hostility at the unfairness of it all, i can't imagine a better starting point than here.

warmer, waaaarrrrmer.....

 This bunch of photos represents a higher level of love. I do like to play favorites, and i will. My favorite mom/daughter pair were these two. Like any unprincipled, self-loathing, youth-obsessed label ho, i first noticed the babe on the right. She had the good graces not to blow me off too bad but steered me to her quiet compatriot who tends to disappear, know what i mean? The reason her dress is so remarkably wonderful faery-esque and dreamy is that she got it in Soho. Not the one in DesMoines, the one in Manhattan. Her sandals are LAMB. PUPPY LOVE.

 She was the only other person (until my very best favorite next post) than me working shorts, but hers were not black with white piping delineating the cheeks like mine were. She handed me a very nice business card that says Kreea's Exclusive Handbags, Boho and Chanel which leads me to believe she is Kreea and that bag is Chanel. Her card was made from heavy stock with a satin finish which you will not be able to appreciate at all by going to kreeas.com. The man resists being a man-cessory by doing some upscale dressing of his own. The country club salmon polo and knit blazer are kinda gay nice but turn your eyeballs downward mofos...

minutes-old Prada high steppers that don't even stink yet, although they may if he doesn't wear socks to absorb the sweat. Can you see the tiny all-over perforations? Prada invented those.

Glam keeps going

 The frickin' fringes were from somewhere like Brooks Brothers (no kidding) and her betty boop bow-tie shoes are from Bebe. After they signed their black & white pact, the woman on the left dialed up asos.com for her architectural wonder. Her striped pumps were like Manolo or something so i made sure to cut those off.

 Wow, look at those black pants! i am so effing funny. Two of these are the actual sisters behind My Sister & I, handmaker of head-turning genuine leather bags crafted right here in Minnesota! Tote that 26" pizza and a boatload more locally!  These chicks are everywhere-- mysisterandidesign@yahoo.com, mysisterandiinc.com, etsy.com/shop/bellevache, Liquor Lyle's... oh wait, that last one only before 9 a.m.

This Sister is unspeakably delighted to be rocking a peace-loving bag and to be styled by Elsworth Menswear.

 

Holy local designers! Emma Berg's understated style motto is Go quietly and wear underpants. She snuck in under the radar in her own red lace habit with leopard pumps and some metalware subtly tolling the hour from the sides of her head. She also designed the simple blue lightning bolt on the right. Max Lohrbach designed but decided not to wear the dress on the left.

Glamorama minus the store-bought balloons and stripper shoes

Can i just say one thing before i upchuck my whole experience, in a manner of speaking? Ok two things. One is that there is a dear generous person named Marcy out there who gave me (gave, as in expected nothing in return) a ticket to Glamorama because she had an extra and i was too damn cheap to pony up. We know the real show is outside this dog fight but me and my butt crack-highlighted shorts had a real jolly time. She's super sorry now she enabled all this, but love ya Marcy, mmmmmwa.

Thing #2 is that porn star is still the standard for glamor in our fair cities. DDs, shiny and new and atomic, pressure packed into lycra-rich upholstery that ends within sight of the naughty bits, the whole do-me sideshow tottering around on stripper shoes. Not that there's anything wrong with that. i just see it as more of a day look -- walking the dog, loving your Cub, volunteering up at the grade school. bike riding. 

I've edited all that smarminess for you and present here the style standouts who were too slow to get away or polite to tell me to get lost.

 

Middle woman said it was hard to do glamor when you're going to be sitting down but she handled that conundrum. Her crew is adorable -- slit sleeves to the right, flower ring to the left, love!

 Mother-son Glam -- scrapbook this!

 Sole sistas rocking, from left, Betsey Johnson, vintage cowboy from Heartbreaker(?), Taryn Rose.

I saw a lot of mom/offspring Glamming it up. I'm trying to imagine my daughters going with me to Glamorama.                     also i think it would be really hard to get three free tickets.

low hanging fruit

An adult dose, and that's for sure. In case you didn't know, my pet peeve with The Sartorialist and even Garance Dore (who can't claim testosterone) is that their blogs are as filled as can be with off-duty models, the young and the taut with shoe budgets that rival what i spend on wrinkle cream in a week... wait, that didn't...if...i...could...just..reach...(gasp! Pernod gone!). 

Exiting The Last Waltz at Pepito's un-airconditioned Parkway Theatre with the other saggy ex-people of the weed attractive has-beens, my eyeballs stuck in the stare position and i knew, in a biblical sense, why those pervy street style bloggers shoot tall thin long-legged stunning women. it was so dang easy. for example, i didn't even press the button on my hello kitty camera. i lurched over to her, babbled incoherently, she smiled, the camera came up, framed itself, button pressed, flash went off, another perfectly gorgeous shot and she went on her way to meet her agent and sign a multi-hundred $$ modeling contract and i staggered away thinking, i just wholesale sold out and abandoned all my principles and it was quite easy and pleasant. 

how not to look like a ho

Before we get too far from the title, let's be clear, this is how not to look like a ho. I ran into this woman (thankfully not literally) at the Lake Street Savers and in many ways she is my philosophical doppelganger -- note, philosophical, awful h8ters. Obviously, we're both shopping the toxic aisles of thrift that provide exactly the right lighting and ambiance for choosing your post-atomic world wardrobe. (do these capris make me look undead?) She got her vintage skirt at My Sister's Closet which we both love (we both love the skirt and the shop which has two locations, so that would be love X 6), and we both agreed to whisper and blush and die a little bit that her cute back-button blouse is yet another cheap ploy by Forever 21 that we fell for (sucker X 2). And she follows The Sartorialist and such (but now she's going to follow me and name her first three kids sarah) but instead of going all the way to the meatpacking district and outing with the bags of gold to buy Margiela, she gets her togs on the cheap. Except for the witty and comfortable sandals that she got at Schuh in St. Paul. Again with the sandals from Schuh (see post of a week ago or so). 

BUT, and this is a big but (ha), some weird and horrible brain chemical mutation happens when i mix with the whole thrift store milieu. She comes out of the experience looking like Heidi of the Alpensonnenblumen, and i look like Rita of Reno. see below...

this is honestly the scrap of skank i came home with. Heidi and i were in the same store at the same time, shopping the same merchandise. well ok i says to myself, ok. i can change, i can turn over a new fig leaf. i'm going to try to look classy or at least more expensive. lucky for me and my $10 budget, savers delivered with this...

for $7.99. but i had a frequently offensive discount off that. you be the judge...

what's that saying about silk purse and sow's ear? is that good or bad? what the hell, exhausted by the effort, i've buttered myself and put rita back on. see ya at Likker N Things!