|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.