Merry Kris

 Tuned in as I am to the excruciatingly subtle gestures that pass for individuality in the chestnut-sporting gender, i nearly missed Kris. Or maybe i was in a J Crew-induced coma. Anyhoo, by the time i got him in my sights, Vixens were prancing on my sugarplums and i had to stop, drop and roll to save my retinas (once i played retinas on a triple word score in scrabble -- dominating) from the hellfires of Pendleton.  Observe, he's already taken precautions. Based on the leather buttons, the put-your-pinecones-in-em patch pockets and the Stewart plaid that was clearly hijacked and infused with a mixture of plutonium and red dye no. 97 by their sotted scottish neighbors, i judged this to be a vintage Pendleton from their New Hampshire collection -- live loud or die. something like that. also Kris' savvy stylist/woman friend told me this very thing. i didn't just make this shit up. How much do i wish Kris was holding a long narrow tray of green olives stuffed with pimento -- that's all i want for krismas.  He bears full responsibility for the newsboy cap because, holy irony, he's the COO and MIC of a news site, http://woodbury.patch.com.  Whatdya know, a fellow journalist. The difference is, he has readers.

Yves goes to the Walker

Hold onto your high brows mofos because i have made an art reference, regarding her beautiful Yves blue  ensemble. Probably she was going to the Walker so as to stand next to the Yves blue exhibit and blend in seamlessly. One of these things is not like the other though -- give up? it's her Belgian booties which the tiny hamsters in my hello kitty camera have not properly colored in. they're pleated at the ankle and spectatored at the toe and chock full of not-available-here chic. 

I was at the Walker as part of a fun family activity and, surprisingly, i enjoyed the graphic arts exhibit but immediately upon leaving that comfort zone, my enjoyment plummeted as i ran into flabby sacks, i.e. nylon stockings hung from the ceiling in vaguely phallic shapes. ick. this is neither enjoyable nor art. also dolls, human hair and/or bodily fluids on a napkin pinned to a backdrop. what the holy fuck? 

hot enough for you?

 As of this post, i'm taking a little festivus break. Miss me. Mwaaaa.

this is not Tavi G.

You know how you've only "met" someone by talking about them on the phone with their dad, and then the person walks into your favorite shop, My Sister's Closet, (who absolutely did not pay me to say that) just as you're being boggled by a navy Yves St. Laurent jersey with gold sparkly bits, and the tiny hamsters that spin the wheels upstairs get a little kerflempt, which is verklempt when you're really in it, because not only is it the person you were writing about only minutes ago but the person is rocking a believable school blazer + Norwegian thing that you never expected? Yeah well, that probably happens to you all the time, but not me. You know how, the harder you try not to sound like a pervy stalker, the more you seem like one? What I like to do in uncomfortable instances when I've just met an unaccompanied minor is to out with the camera.

Meet Clare who is a very fast runner and also writes for her school paper. She agreed, as you do to calm people who seem to have gone off their meds, that 850 words is not very much space, and she loves StyleRookie blogger Tavi Gevinson. People say she looks like Tavi

What do you think? The one on the left. 

Ha.

But soft, puppets. That photo is minutes old. I gnashed my teeth and cursed my ineptitude with the googlenets that i could not download this recent holy-eyeliner-and-red-lipstick photo and interview with the G-train, http://nymag.com/daily/fashion/2011/09/tavi_gevinson_explains_her_new.html. Boy, she sure is smart. Clare/Tavi, I mean.

hi-lo dressing with pinned hair on the side

Hi-lo. You know, kick-ass pumps and a secretary skirt mixed with a ski parka. It's irony, people. sheesh. It's also practical when you forgot your shiny hi coat at work but, come hell or high water, you had to run out and get pre-made pizza dough. (in fact, i often go lo-lo to trader joe's because i forgot my hi clothes when i escaped from the home at work. yeah, that's right, at work). 

Don't be too awful hard on yourself if you don't look like this in the deli aisle though, because meet Anita, the new co-owner of Design Collective in uptown. Explains a lot, doesn't it? She (un)did her side-swept upkept 'do with a few strategically placed bobby pins. i tried this once. someone said, your hair's coming out. did they mean the pins were coming out, or....? well, it is thin and sort of stringy...
p.s. bonus -- i happened to document a run on the bathroom at trader joe's and i didn't black out anyone's face. that's why they call it a public bathroom.

deep in anthropologie

Yes friends, we are in the remotest reaches, the sale room, of the vast new Anthropologie store in St. Paul and dressed for the expedition.  i was barely able to raise my arms i had so much on,  pressing the button with my mittened paw. the difference is, she looks cute and warm and i looked homeless and warm. i got a lot of help from the sales staff by touching stuff.
it was not, by the way, all that cold in the store. it's just that, once inside, your body becomes a handy coat tree, leaving your hands free to pick up stuff. the sweat won't soak through to the outer layer until maybe the fifth or sixth store, at which point it's time to go home. at least that's my m.o. -- i thought it was indelicate to ask if she was just going to dump the accumulated sweat out of her little furry animal boots when she got home and let em dry upside down or what.
p.s. i never imagined it would be possible to feel inadequate about the coasters in my house until i visited this shop. i didn't buy anything. i didn't steal anything either.

uptown camo

It's a wonder I saw her at all, perfectly camouflaged as she is with the light and shadow, cement and brick. You know how I dig her byzantine blanket coat (shop local-- she got patterned across the street at Urban Outfitters) but I'll give you a quarter if you can find her other arm. The exhortation to Stay Warm is kinda fun and ironic. See, she has a warm coat on and...

Respective of nothing but my love of zoology, I was inspired to add this photo of camo at work in other neighborhoods.

extra shot o' dude

The dude 'do (messy ponytails are here to stay!), the deconstruction boots and those fab tattersall trousers with sick jodhpur-esque inseams that you cannot appreciate due to the atomic blast of sunshine had me careening into a coffee shop for the second time in an hour. I will deny ordering another depth charge with an extra shot of adderall. Though my heart rate was in the hummingbird range, and I could hear dog whistles.
Here's something you may not have noticed unless you also are strung out smart: the last two posts, both in coffee shops, feature remarkable pants tucked into badass boots creating a delightfully red-neck swagger. Scroll down. See? And then up. And then down again. Now sing I Enjoy Being A Girl.

Pow!!!

Heads up oatmeal camo-ed pantywaists. Kickin A. and taking names, this is an adult dose for sure, tucked into bad attitude boots. I like. There is a 9 out of ten chance I'd hurt myself practicing roundhouse kicks in these bad boys. Oof!!

this post has more pattern, less talk

I've been yapping toooooo much. Must...speak...like...Captain...Kirk. Coat Karma. Beaded belt holds it all together. But didn't come with belt. So much pattern. So...much...pattern. Like...a...party. It's...her...party...and...she'll...cry...if...I...keep...this...up.

Giant...hand...'bout...to...bitch...slap...me. Turquoise...transporter. Over and far out.

we are the pants

Isn't she the cutest? I may or may not have had a crush on her (mom on mom is one part icky but mostly all too rare because moms are too busy judging, tigering or drinking to form a crush, not that i would know, just an observation, h8ters).  Charm is part of her job as official spokesperson for the pants. She speaks for the pants. Actually the pants first spoke to me -- the crazy diagonal seam, the postmodern patch pocket, the unaccountably flattering fit (I mean, they are just art teacher sweatpants, right?).  Normally I don't roll with my J Jill-wearing sistas so i panicked and thought some crazy new hormonal imbalance was turning me on to loose elastic-waist shit with exposed seams. As a test, I averted my eyes to the other long-cardigan-with-one-ashtray-sized-handmade-button-rocking womyn in the room (oh snap, pottery sale), but no. Same old gag reflex accompanied by eye-bag twitching. Whew.

So i went to the QR code which is this swaddled woman (i recognize another chihuahua when i see one).  They're Universal Pants. and i was like, well they're not that big. No no.  That's the brand name of the pants, referring to how Universally flattering they are to every body (group hug, cue a stage full of has-been stars including Carole King, Carly Simon, Joni Mitchell, Whoopi Goldberg and Neil Diamond swaying and singing We Are The Pants to soaring orchestral backup). oh god, i'm all misty. ok ok, so UniversalPants.com will answer a lot of your FAQ but not this one, Q. what is Universal Pants' motto?

A. Impressively correct pants to the people -- no two alike. Allow me to enlarge. The reason these pants look and fit so awesomely is twofold (ha, that's sew punny!) -- they have no bulky side seams and they're bias cut so they hug and drape and forgive and forget like it's their job. which it is. Clothes cut on the straight are instruments of the devil the 2D accounting department. Clothes cut on the bias are partners with 3D human beans in our jumping-in-the-minivan-buying-tofurkey world.  Also who among us signed up for side-seam pockets that add another zip code to the hips? Not a part of Pants Universe. These clever angles allow prez and chief Panter, Liz Plambeck, the opportunity to boldly mix fabrics since she makes up the rules in Pants Universe. In fact, as a comrade in Universal Pants, you can ring Liz up at 612-824-2169, head on over to HQ which is near Lake Nokomis, pick your own fabrics from her vast selection and, bing bang, custom anti-sweat pants.

i'm over word count, overheated and underbrained. Anyhoo, just know it's not a hormonal calamity -- it's Universal Pants!