Friday, August 29, 2014

The Right Angle

hat, Goorin Bros / dress, SwaneeGRACE / jacket, thrifted / jewelry, estate sale / sandals, Birkenstock

When I tell people that my husband is from Gary, IN, they all say the same two things; "Murder capital of America!" and "Michael Jackson!" Yes, both were once true at one point, but to reduce an entire city to two simple (and depressing) statements is ignorant, and sometimes hurtful to said husband who grew up on the city's stretch of beautiful Lake Michigan shore. I mean, I could write an essay on how even the most politically correct people's opinions on certain cities have racist roots that they unconsciously or otherwise allow to paint an image of said place and to blame it's problems on the people who currently live there instead of the city's founders and history (i.e. white people and their actions), but this is a fashion blog, and you didn't come here for all that. So instead I'll implore you to take these photos, which were taken on Gary's Miller Beach, and my word for it that every town, like every dumb old fashion blogger, has it's good side. You just have to find the right angle. 

Friday, August 22, 2014

Leave Well Alone

hat, Goorin Bros / vintage dress, Dear Golden / vintage Coach bag, antique mall / sandals, Sam Edelman / bracelets, estate sale and Clyde's Rebirth 

So it just dawned on me as I uploaded these photos that this outfit is almost identical to the last outfit I posted, which was almost a month ago. I'm a shitty blogger two times over. While I'm going to start posting more frequently again (I miss it!), I can't promise that I'll change up my outfits all that much. I seem to have hit a groove with the whole boho dress, big hat, leather bag, no makeup/dirty hair thing. Oh, and lets not forget the contact lenses. It's my big (read: only) style decision I make when getting ready these days. And I like that. I'm sure once fall rolls around I'll be back in lipstick and trousers, but until then I want to look like I'm simultaneously coming and going to the beach.

Anyhow, how have you all been? My summer has been packed with weekend trips, vintage hunting, running, and listening to jazz with my dog (you have to follow me on Instagram for that last one to make sense). I used to listen to jazz a lot, and even play it when I was high school (baritone saxophone, Lisa Simpson style). Once when I was a freshman, my parents came home one evening to find me in our formal living room, laying on the fancy sofa we never used unless people we didn't know came over, listening to a John Coltrane record with my eyes closed. I opened my eyes to find them standing over me, staring at me with the confusion and intrigue one might apply to an alien. While I was over the moon for John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, and James Moody, the concept of any music without words was foreign to people raised on 70s love ballads and 80s hair metal. "Oh, sorry, I'll leave," I said, figuring I was busted for resting my feet, still in their dirty shoes, on the arm of the couch. "No, it's okay," my mom said. "You look peaceful." Just then my little brother came running in to see what was going on. "Don't bother your sister," my dad said. "She's listening to jazz." I didn't realize it then, but while my parents often struggled to understand me, they did the next best thing. They left me be.