my new favorite person on earth

So many reasons. 1) She did not hurry away and call the police when I ran after her outside the St. Paul Goodwill hollering and wearing what appeared to be a squirrel on my head, later determined to be my hair   2) She is the friendliest, most delightful person ever to rock leather Lucky Brand pants that already look pretty effin awesome but she is going to bump up by narrowing the bottoms and having zippers installed  3) She has worn out in leopard feet   4) She used to be in Apparel Design at MCTC but switched to radiology because she Has A Plan, and it's so smart I'm going to tell you about it, but I think it's copyrighted so you'll have to contact her before you use it. More than ten fashion-minded girls graduate from design programs and discover they need $500,000 right now.  To get started. Damn.  Jongma (that's her name and excellent thing #5 but I get ahead of myself), who is originally from Minneapolis, wants to live in Italy where she will wear foxy ensembles like this and no one will harrass her outside the Goodwill-a.  Hmmm, how to make a living in Italy?  A. Radiation! Everyone needs it, even Italians.  Radiology does not tax her creative system, so she goes home to her flat in Florence and designs away late into the night drinking good wine which does not give her a headache.  Bella! (that's Italian for lasagna)    5) Her name is Jongma -- the g is silent and the a sounds like er, so pronounced just like it's spelled   6) She's wearing a witchy amulet pouch with a Vince Camuto jacket...

that she got in South Carolina (so there you go) from a Native American voodoo technician woman. It's got a tiny dreamcatcher on the outside and inside there's a leather packet that may or may not hold the whiskers of a three-year-old goat, her paper nametag from when she worked at Opitz Annex, a folded up picture of Keanu Reeves (he is probably reading this so, heads up man) and six tiny but extra witchy ivory skulls.  and 6) she said I looked badass in my All Saints tight pants but I think she meant badskin because when I got home I discovered a big pimple on my chin. 

Some photo notes:  I made her put on the sunglasses and stick out her arm with the big blazing bracelet on it and stand in some shade dappled with atomic sun so I could do insane things with Photoshop.

the business cards

Hurray for business cards!  Say what you will about those little toothpicks-in-a-pinch, Booz Clooz business cards are just dandy for recalling those details between noon and 10 a.m. the next day.  Example A+ above -- stunning, right?  Give me some credit friends; I can stalk with the best of them.  We chatted, she graduated from an accredited apparel design program which I could remember, if I wanted to.  I may have shown her pics from my trip to France, and next thing you know aliens are giving me a complete, and I mean complete, physical aboard their podcraft  I've lost my virginity.  But by golly, I still have her business card.  Hello Andrea. She's a fashion designer. Not only that, she's a fashion maker. She designed and made the very fine fitting mullet skirt. And the dip dyed hair.  She did not make the blouse or the shoes or the bag, so look away, pay no attention to those elements.  Here's the amazing part...

she let me take this photo of her bust. eeyay!  It's leather! It's two-toned! She made it!  No breasts necessary!  That last really got my interest.  No matter how old or saggy or under-endowed or flat-footed or peg-legged you may be, Andrea said she could design and make something that would make you look this smokin hot. I'm pretty sure she said that. So email s.andrea.nicole@gmail.com, and make sure to tell her about the goiter.  Because that's going to require some finesse, and no doubt.

pretty jazzy

What you're seeing here is jazzle dazzle creative cropping.  Reflexive eyeball protection happened but did not in any way affect the splendor in the grass green,  the shorts and top twinkling like the lights of Hollywood as seen from Mulholland Drive, or the Betty Boop point d'esprit legs, so I just chopped off the bad part and shared the rest.  As you would with a piece of cheese or a story.  And guess what? (rhetorical) She assembled this ensemble for less than a million dollars -- no credit cards were injured in the making of this look -- so it can be done.  Just don't scrimp on the breasts sunny attitude.

Idle Child(ren)

Stevie Nicks?  Is that you?  Don't be ridiculous, it's Beck & El, the free spirits behind and in front of Idle Child boho-thes (that was sort of an unsuccessful marriage of boho  and clothes).  idlechild.us. The woman on the left, Beck?, is a repeat befriender on this here blog -- she was the super cool chick in the palazzo pants at Glamorama, back on August-foreverth.  I'm unclear about the division of labor, but somehow or other, these two designed and made the lace sleeved maxi (raise your hand if alzheimer's hasn't claimed you yet) on the right. But only El (?) got to wear it.  Probably because she had the brain harness. There may or may not have been an incident when it came to deciding who got to wear which dress, but they both agreed, long is on-trend and rings should be at least the size of a Hostess Twinkie. That's like their philosophy but even if you've got something short and nasty in mind, they might be open to bespoking it.  They have bespoken as much in our short conversation. Contact them through the website, above, or at idlechild.apparel@gmail.com.

teen angels

Where to start.  Young. Beautiful. Attending Envision pure of heart and liver, to watch their other BFF walk in the show rather than for the likker (oh for legal).  Accoutered in an A-list of designer duds as deep as that Balenciaga bag (right) and as high as the Louboutins (left).  And not that quick with the pepper spray either.  So after we introduced ourselves -- mom's piece o' fox and Alice + Olivia bedazzled dress on the left and be-sheerly-ed top from Argentina + Parker skirt + science project-sized Balenciaga bag + MuiMui sandals -- I started feeling sort of uncomfortable for accepting fashion candy from children.  When asked outright, they said they are juniors, in high school.  Are you, like me, thinking, Wow babysitting must pay better now than it used to?  I wrestled with the idea that Forever 21 was the official wardrobe provider for the under-age set and stumbled over the pile of fancy duds before me. Being shameless curious, I pressed for the name of the high school -- "a downtown high school."  I know what you're thinking -- Edison, and their exclusive International Baccalaureate program for Life on the Streets.  Logical as this may seem, there were a few elements that just didn't add up. Here they are..

The iconic scarlet sole reveals The Blake School, the foundation of a solid education in couture.

smashing, despite my best efforts

They look hotter than a frickin Bikram studio with a gas leak, despite the fact that I am a poopyhead and suggested they stand outside in a brisk straight-out-of-the-icy-heart-of-Canada wind. Sorry ladies! They probably had some kind of awesome pact whereby the smartypants on the right would arrive both comfortably warm and effortlessly chic and then change into the Valentino tulle ballgown she has in her bag. The scandal on the left's ankles were toasty, inspiring many Fifty Shades of Grey fans to rethink their Crocs and tube socks. She planned to put on those mustard colored overalls once inside, with a nametag that read D'Wayne.  I'm kidding --  there was no nametag, sheesh.

Envision organizer skedaddles in faux leather pants

I was on my way to loiter outside the Graves 601 where Envision Artopia (envision fashion + art before and after seven cocktails) was happening when I spotted Nicole making 60 mph in the opposite direction. Let's not characterize it as a get away, really.  See, Nicole played some role in organizing this throwdown, a role which shall remain lost in my gray cells, bumping into other bits of information like non-immediate family birthdays and the French phrase for No no, a bigger cup with correspondingly more coffee in it.

Anyway,  she assured me she was not evading a verklempt fash-tastrophe but had, in fact, completed her mission and was on her way to another party.  And what perfect partywear.  The Piper Lime studded flats are super effective at clearing the way through stubborn knots of drunkards hanging around the beer bong.  And toward the end of the evening, when salsa and mojitos and six kind of bodily effluents are splashing here and there and on your pants -- no worries.  That polyvinyl hoses off like a Motel 6 mattress. She's got two par. Wears em all the time. I am not wondering about her social life at all.  Just about social lives in general.

i like hair

Obviously, she's in Macalester's prestigious math + pinkology program which merely prepares the undergraduate for master's level classes in theory + extensions.  Most students go straight through and get their Philosophy of Dip-dyeing.  But seriously folks,  though she did just re-pink yesterday, I got a little crazy with the saturation function.  It's maybe not that atomic in real life.  She's had pink tresses for about three years, which coincides with the amount of time she's been at Macalester.  Hmmm, do you think there's any connection?  Here's what I don't -- care. 

I declare

I like hair

well done or rare.

I also like her boots.

headless but not heedless

I'm pretty sure she told me to cut off her head at the exact level of the top of the fence so it would look like there had been a gruesome hedge-trimming accident.  I aim to please.  Anyway, she's using the old missing noggin because she prefers not to have her image on the Internet. Which I respect.  

And I've got a funny story about that, later. So there's that to look forward to.

But for now, enjoy with me what you can see, and that is her beautifully textured and artisanal looking sweater, worn as a tunic. It was gifted by her mum, from Switzerland.  The sweater and the mum, both from Switzerland. She grew up in Switzerland, speaking French. Being rude shrewd,  I said, Hold your lederhosen Heidi. You don't sound Swiss or French. You sound Macalester-ese.  And then she had to go into detail about how her parents were offered sweet jobs in Switzerland and so they moved there when she was very small. Because of the Alps. And the muesli, I assume. 

Speaking of photos on the Internet and some top cropping that was not done on a couple royal glands, the kumquat and I were soaking it up on the French Riviera at about the same time, and twice, the both of us scandalously swam topless. I have not seen any photos yet, but proactively, I'd like to talk to any paparazzi about judicious use of Photoshop.  My hair was at an awkward stage and I looked like Roy Orbison, ok?

wedding bells are NOT adinging

I have no explanation for my recent and completely unique-in-my-experience interest in wedding gowns.  I've had two just occasions to get into that genre -- my own traipse down the aisle and older daughter's Big Day -- but did not reach the fever pitch of involvement and allotment of mental space others have described.  My energies, like many hippie chicks of the day, were directed at consummating the marriage -- the wedding itself was by my mom, for my mom. All mom all the time.  She and I devoted one entire morning to shopping, which is how I ended up with a long off-white bedazzled t-shirt.  It was on sale!  It had short sleeves and a crew neck. Perhaps if I'd run across the three-ring circus above in our two hours of shopping,  it would have ignited my imagination. Or something. 

Now, with no wedding in the offing, I've started seeing dresses.  Gowns for sexy brides, sassy brides, princess brides, pregnant brides (shotgun not included), Greek goddess brides, Jersey Shore brides, second brides.  And the hootenany above. Also my niece, Ava, started designing frocks for Olia Zavozina (zavo-wha?) in Nashville, where weddings are BIG and so are the brides flowers.  Here is the link, oliazavozina.com.  Strapless strapless strapless,  I'd like to see a bit less shoulder and a lot more creativity.  I like the pitless look. It's sexy and completely sweatproof. How about peekaboo elbows, or an alluring lace panel over the knees?  I'm going to sketch something up, send it to Ava. For the oddball cat-fancying skink-like bride.

the semester is young

This fine young aerospace major dresses sharp every day. So far.  What's that big ugly thing creeping into the photo stage left?  Oh, that's my cynicism.

urban pants

Starry starry draped pocket urban pants-from-somewhere-else met red-blooded cowboy shirt and the mixture precipitated love.  From me.  The somewhere else is South Korea.  I call these urban pants because the snugness about the calf and looseness about the crotch and hips is a silhouette that is restricted to melting pots of humanity, places where you can get a cab. You will not find it in Williston, ND, so I can save you that trip.

flower gold

Heh heh, the title of this post may require some explanation. Because the thousands previously have been so obvious?  Anyway... when our younger daughter popped out like a six-pound pumpkin seed, her older sister, four years old and still under the sway of my hippie zeitgeist, suggested the most beautiful name she could think of -- Flower Gold.  In the end, we went with something less likely to be involved in a cult.

The woman above is very beautiful (thus flower) and shining like the last day of summer with gold (you're on your own) -- the wealth you see and a coupla earfuls you can't see.  So I'll just tell you (because that is very satisfying) that on the left she has a little fork earring.  Being the unimaginative sort I am,  I craned my neck and strained my eyeballs to find the corresponding knife on the right.  No such. Whoa. But the exercise did make me look extra creepy.

I don't care if she was carrying around two mini-aquariums of sweat on the end of her legs, I heart-- not all boots with jorts-- but specifically those boots with jorts.  A little bit motorcyle-y about the strap, a soupcon dandy about the toe, 100% on the job of kicking ass even when the rest of the ensemble appears to be relaxed and chill.

back to school

This is a refresher course for those of you who are new to my blog and, heck, for me to re-examine what the holy jumpsuit I'm doing here on MNstyle. This old photo, from Cinco de Mayo 2009, is one of my favorites and shall be example A.  A+  if I may be so bold.

This is a street style blog. So if you thought this was about food or politics or dudes' hairy legs (see masthead way above) you're in the right place!  Because, not only is street style more interesting than any of those topics, my version of it sort of bleeds over into a lot of related categories.  Like woodchucks. 

I hatched this blog because I have a bike and a camera, and quite a bit of time on my hands! Also, my blood pressure goes through the roof when I see how people (there are some up in ex. A) decide to cover their naughty bits. Or not! I could hurl some stuff like, Clothing both covers and reveals, but that's BS.  I hate when people try to smarten style up.  It's pretty. I like it. End o story.  Always, the reason I fall off my bike and totter over to unsuspecting innocents is BECAUSE I LIKE THE WAY THEY LOOK.  I put that in caps because that's the take-away.  Oftentimes I drivel on about particle physics or other shit that was going on outside the frame of the photo. To give you a little perspective. I don't always say I AM ABOUT TO WET MY PANTS BECAUSE HER TIGHT JUMPSUIT IS A METAPHOR FOR OPHELIA, AND PITH HELMET + TIE + PEPE LAFITTE SWAMP TRAWLERS?  PIMPIN FABULOUS!  That is understood. Like cocktails at 4:00.  A lot of times, my victims subjects are rocking some Forever 21 piece o trash.  I don't care. It's the way they're wearing it, or their attitude, or fuck it I'm just going to out with it -- because they're good lookin. I have absolutely no priors with the SPPD, by the way.  So to recap,  I do not take photos of clothes.  I don't make a laundry list of what the subject is wearing and, sweet jehosephat, I don't ask them to describe their style (like asking a kid to smile, you get the devil incarnate that makes you want to barf). I take photos of people in clothes and chat them up a bit so's I can share what I dug about the whole dang tableau with you.  And that's what MNstyle is all about Charlie Brown.

what to do about long skinny legs

Always a problem.  Speaking from the fevered dribbling of my over-active tasteless cells personal experience, barely being able to see your shoes way down there (they're small as far as you know),  not bending at regularly sanctioned intervals, putting on runway samples that fit, being called leggy and having mean kids holler out, "Hey why don't you do some modeling already" -- it's a trial for sure.  Our friends above have made lemonade with their affliction by exposing some shank, as if to say, lump it stumpy.

agents for Urban Apparel outed

Cutest mug shot of all time!  We've got 1. crocheted dress with low back and (thank you!) white bit cover, 2. sheer shirt (again saucily foundationed) with rib-cage warming shorts and Hunger Games braid that makes me jealous of people with hair instead of fur, and 3. jacked up shoes with Jeffrey Campbell aspirations and beribboned hairette. All of this, less than a macchiatto away from its provenance at the retail intersection of Hennepin and Lake.  Wholesome as charged.  Apparel-ently (I slay myself), their employers put them up to this, making the innocent passerby imagine maybe underpants and American Apparel aren't mutually exclusive, and maybe the music in Urban Outfitters won't be as bad as having your teeth pulled out with pliers.

obi nice

Kimono-ver to the Japanese Garden at Como Park for a sumo-sized smackdown of sushi on a stick. 

 This is gonna get worse before it gets better, fo sho(gun).

As these geisha demonstrate the traditional dress and people-pleasin skillz of cultured ladies,  I demonstrate what happens when you take a photo into the Rising Sun.  I will stop before there's an international incident.

extreme cheating on mirror fast

See, I made her put on her sunglasses, inside, so that I could get a tiny, vague and distorted glimpse of myself in her lenses.  At least I hope it's distorted. My nose isn't that bulbous...

You've heard of this mirror fast thing, right?  Stupid.  I say, if every time you look in the mirror, Angelina Jolie is looking back, obsess away.  Especially if you're a guy.

No, we were in my favorite loitering spot, My Sister's Closet, and I made her put on the shades to complete the fun retro theme she had going on. Then when I cropped out all the distractingly nifty clothes in the background,  I could make her really really big so you can appreciate her high-waisty shorts and her big wide belt and the intricate pattern of her tights. And if you strain your eyeballs, Angelina Jolie in inappropriately scanty running clothes in her lenses.

this woman cares about style

She's wearing cute orange flats with decorative luggage straps on them to walk the dog. The dog that she brindled by hand with varying shades of warm medium brown and honey gold L'Oreal.  This is a woman who cares about style.  Though abstract, we both felt her top suggested oceanic flora, like anemones or coral. Something floaty and beautiful but nonpoisonous.  Admire, but don't even think about buying any of this stuff because she got it all in Taiwan.  Except for the pooch, which I think she got at Paint Your Pup. 

omg, perfect summer!

Geez, these two could make having a BFF and golden summer evenings and long hair and cotton clothing in shades of blue and being on summer break from Central High School seem like a good thing.  In addition, they make a very strong case for vests with shorts and tank tops and backward baseball caps which have never seemed appealing until this very minute. In fact, such is the sweetness and innocence and essence of everything good, real or (mostly) imagined, about summer in this photo that it is my new BPF.

lotta pinterest here

Just trying to keep you mofos current with the Pinterest reference.  Here's what I know about that cyber bulletin board: I don't get it, even more than Facebook, but it seems real heavy on fancy braids and clothing (Marc Jacobs, I die! Or just feel very bad for a minute!) The photo above seems a likely candidate, with more going on behind her back than Ellyn Woods'.  Her hair, all inwardly, outwardly, sidewardly, was done by her mom. Which takes the fun out of saying, Your mom does hair.  See because her mom does do.... sheesh.  Also, where I like to display a big swath of sweat, she opted for rococococococo (pronounced: very fancy) lace.  You go ahead and Pin this on the interwebs -- I don't know how.

best dressed of 63,487 people at Sea Salt

I'm just trying to put Jane's very limber sense of style in perspective.  Even more impressive stats, she raised six children and has four grandchildren and was, even as we spoke, Nanna-ing it up for two weeks. Pretty tall order any way you slice it.