10919341_898499173515793_2013780022_nThis post is dedicated to the city of Paris, and for all of those affected by the terror attacks last Friday. My heart is with you.

I wanted to be snarky this morning. I wanted to wake up and post a picture on Instagram about how I can hear Monday whispering, “go fuck yourself,” in my ear already. I wanted to post on Facebook how in love I was with Aziz Ansari’s new Netflix show and if I could just keep him in my pocket and take him out when I needed a laugh, I would be the happiest person in the world. But I couldn’t. It didn’t seem right.

I was 14 when 9/11 happened, and the first thought I had was, “hmmm I wonder if TRL will still be on.” My young brain clearly had no fucking idea what just had happened and how the world would never be the same.

And here I am, 28 years old, glued to the TV watching these horrific events unfold in Paris, and I can only imagine this feeling that I can’t quite describe that is consuming me is what adults felt during 9/11. 

I have no connection to Paris. My family is not from there. I did not study abroad there. I’ve never even been to Europe. In fact I was really hesitant to post the Eiffel Tower peace sign across Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra social channels, because I so desperately didn’t want it to look like I was joining the “bandwagon,” since I didn’t have a solid connection.

But I posted it because truly my heart hurt for the people of Paris. Simply because what happened to them could happen anywhere. Literally anywhere. They went out on a Friday evening to unwind, relax, enjoy the city. Something I do every weekend. Something many of us do every weekend. And several lost their lives for that for no reason.

While I know my snark will not be on hiatus forever, in fact I’m sure within the next 12 hours something will piss me off, or my cat will do something ridiculous and I’ll feel the need to Instagram it, but for now I want to focus on being positive. I know this sounds totally fucking weird coming from me, but it’s worth it since we all have so many reasons to be. Really … think about it. 

I hope you’ll join me. It won’t be easy (especially on a Monday when everything hurts and my bed is like a super comfortable vice). And I’m not saying smile all day until your cheeks burn, skipping and handing flowers to strangers. Gross. But it a little something we can do to pay homage to the brave people of Paris. 

UPDATE: my cat DID do something ridiculous and I DID Instagram it. Stella’s getting her snark back. 

Back-To-School Embarrassment

33-clueless-references-you-missed-as-a-kid-1-19630-1389658992-21_bigI found myself strolling through the “back-to-school” section of Walgreens the other day, wistfully thinking about how satisfying a fresh notebook is, and how nothing in life is better than brand spanking new office supplies (do I have issues?). Which made good ol’ back-to-school memories flood my brain. 

I spent a painful amount of time on my back-to-school outfits starting in middle school. Before that I think my mom just put me in a vest and a turtle neck on the first day … and on picture day. A vest. (Why, woman, why!?) But after that, painful amounts of time were spent trying to look like Britney Spears on the first day of school. Sigh. The early 2000’s … am I right? 

I really don’t know what the balls I thought was going to happen if I wore the “end all, be all outfit” to school on the first day. I clearly watched waaaay too many teen movies and was expecting all of the cute boys and popular girls to be all, “wow … who’s that girl? Oh wait! It’s Kate! No way! But she’s so cool now! Let’s be friends forever!” That never happened. Instead I sit here years later thoroughly mortified for making my mother buy me such expensive jeans to impress such clowns.  

I’m sure we all have our favorite back-to-school outfits and memories, but I thought I would share a few of my faves with you in hopes you will share with me yours so I feel less shitty about myself. 

1. Tweezing my brows: Yep. That happened a few days before 8th grade started. I had bushy ass eyebrows that were so bad, people, including my hair dresser at the time, wanted to tackle me to the ground and wax them. But no, I wouldn’t let them, for I didn’t want to grow up. That’s until I started thinking my life was a teen movie, and thought my crush would only like me if my eyebrows were perfect. 

After I removed 95% of them, yes … 95% … making them skinny and uneven, my mother asked me what had I done? I said nothing. Nothing was different. My eyebrows did not get smaller. And I walked away … mortified that I had destroyed my face. And wanting her to hold me. 

2. Wear a bra, Kate: I mean I knew life sucked in a strapless bra even before I wore one. Because my mother walked into my room the day 7th grade started and insisted I wore a sports bra to school. I was mortified. I literally just wanted to cry. And for the rest of that first week of school … and probably the next month or so, I would go into her room in the morning and ask her if I had to wear a bra, praying she would say, “no, Kate … your taas aren’t growing at all. I was just kidding. Free ball for the rest of your life.” Yep. I was a freak.

3. How low can you go: Fast forward to high school, when Britney Spears made it super cool for your jeans to rest right above where your vagina started. AKA sitting and bending down was impossible. I, again, made my mom buy me these amazingly expensive jeans from Lucky that had faded pockets on the ass and said “lucky you” when you pulled down the zipper. Looking back … it was a little whorey. But that is neither here nor there. I wore them on the first day, and when I sat down in my homeroom, realized my entire ass crack was out. Not just the tip of the crack. I mean FULL. CRACK. Say crack again. CRACK.

I remember slouching so badly in my seat that I mine as well have been horizontal. I seriously still have lower back problems because of those damn jeans. Did I stop wearing them after that? Uhh … did I mention Britney Spears deemed uber low risers super cool? With that being said, all of my high school saw my ass crack every day from 2001-2005. You’re welcome, world. 

So there are my embarrassing tid-bits for the day. Now whatchu got? 


Be Kind


Perhaps it was the outpouring of love and memories on social media, or how he was such a large part of my childhood (I’m pretty sure I watched Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Jumanji until my VHS broke), but the passing of Robin Williams struck me hard.

This ridiculously talented man, who made so many laugh and brought so much joy to so many lives found no other answer but to take his own life. I had the same reaction when Alexander McQueen died. And it truly hurts my heart.

Alexander McQueen, Loren Scott, and now Robin Williams. I read a tweet by Maria Shriver yesterday that said, “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” And nothing has ever resonated more with me. One of my main messages throughout a lot of my posts is showing kindness to your fellow person. Share compliments and stop being “mean girls,” for the love of God, because unfortunately, that shit still happens after high school.

That snarky email you want to send today for no reason, that eye roll, that silence in the bathroom instead of saying “hi,” or “wow you look nice today,” because you feel too awkward to say something, your crutch of “resting bitch face,” your neglect for the people around you … today I challenge you to make a change. Because one compliment, one acknowledgement, one smile, can bring an uplifting moment to someone who needs it more than you will ever know. Hey, I’m guilty of all the things I just listed. Hell, I eye rolled an innocent mother on the train today because her toddler was screaming bloody murder. But truly, we are all human. Perfection isn’t obtainable. And we need to remember this and change.

I know I rarely do “real talk” on Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra, but depression is present more than you think … and it’s unfortunately deadly. It is also something I care about deeply. That woman you work with who you think is the biggest snobby bitch in the world who you can’t stand, may be dealing with an unimaginable battle, whether mentally, physically, at home, or elsewhere. Put yourselves in other peoples shoes before you judge and take the “mean girl” route. You have the power to help others in need, whether you know they need it or not.

I beg of you to be kind today … and hell, most days. Step out of your awkwardness and remember you’re dealing with human beings. Talk to the girl you loathe. Smile at a stranger on the street. And if you yourself are suffering, please know there are a myriad of people who want to help you and want to listen, myself included.

Robin Williams will be a massive presence who will be missed dearly. But your presence is just as important. Know that and never forget it. Take the proper steps to get help if you need it.

The “Just For Funsies” Methodology

d2eb25d88a86b94229ace14408e2b411Shopping is no easy task … I don’t care who you are. Say you go out shopping for plain t-shirts, right? Well, if you are anything like me, you will return home with a bag full of everything except plain T’s (what can I say, I get distracted quite easily … ooh something shiny?!! EEEE!).

I do have a method to my madness whilst shopping, though. My number one rule is I try not to fixate on the one or two things I need within my wardrobe. If you go in saying, “I need a black maxi dress and only a black maxi,” think of all the goodness you will overlook, right? Tunnel vision is a bitch, let me tell you. So I believe in walking into a store with an open mind. Take a deep breath, and start combing through the garments.

But I also believe in a little thing called, “just for funsies” whilst shopping. What is that, you ask? Well, let me explain. This past weekend I went shopping with my best friend, who was looking to jazz up her style a bit, which is always fun because it is like an untouched canvas. But you know when you are shopping and come across a piece that you DIE for, but say, “oh I could never pull this off,” and put it back down, only to lust after it secretly for the rest of the day? My question to you is, umm why can’t you pull that shit off? How do you know? You’ll never know unless you embrace the “just for funsies” methodology.

Just for funsies [juhst-fawr-fuhn-ies]: Trying on a piece of clothing that is out of one’s comfort zone.

For example, I came across a pair of wide-legged satin red pants. I adored them instantly. We were instant lovers. But I was saying to myself, “oh I can’t pull these off. Where could I wear them? Will they be flattering …bitch, bitch, bitch whoa as me?” as I shamelessly flirted with the material through my fingertips. But that’s when I thought to myself, what is the harm in bringing them in the dressing room with me? What, I could look like a clown and the dressing room attendant will point and laugh at me? Umm no. So I grabbed a couple different sizes (as I had no idea how they would fit and loathe having to get dressed and run back out to grab a different size), and decided to give them a whirl. Long story short: they are my new favorite thing. If I could make out with them I would (but that would land me on that weird show on TLC where men make out with their cars).

My “just for funsies” methodology is a great way to step outside of your style comfort zone. It is also great for a laugh or two, especially if you are shopping with your girlfriends. My best friend and I peed ourselves laughing over micro mini skirts that barely left any vagina to the imagination and unflattering dresses that made me look like a 1950’s housewife, and not in a good way. Even if you are shopping by yourself … Jesus put doors/curtains that close off dressing rooms for a reason. Have a laugh at yourself if you tried something outside of your comfort zone that makes you look a hot mess. I feel like dressing rooms should be a “safe place” or “judgement free zone.” Talk to yourselves, ladies. Laugh a little … for the love. Clothes are meant to be tried on.

My “just for funsies” methodology won’t kill you, I promise. It will let you embrace styles you never in a million years could pull off, but, realistically, can … sometimes. So for that, I accept your praises. Don’t be shy … send them my way. You’re welcome in advance.

The Bright Side Of Being Sick

Photo Credit:
Photo Credit:

If you’ve been following me on Instagram, you are probably wondering, “why is this bitch turning into a full blown cat lady?” For the past three days it has been all about cats, simply because, well, I got poisoned by something I ate which landed me in the hospital. Yes. The hospital. None of it was cute. Not that any illness is “cute” per say … but I would have preferred to have to discuss the symptoms of anything besides food poisoning with a male doctor who is a stranger, and probably my age. Ugh … I lost a piece of my dignity for sure.

And because I’ve been trying to pretend I’m a different more fantastic human soul than I actually was the past couple of days, I’ve been forced to shine a light on the positives whilst dealing with such a non-chic illness. So here is what I’ve come up with. And hopefully, if you (God forbid) end up not feeling your finest, remember the following things … ahem:

1. I’m giving my skin a break. I haven’t turned the light on at my makeup table in literally three days. Nothing but moisturizer has touched my skin in literally three days. Normally I would be mortified that my naked face would frighten children, but alas, I am just straight chillin’ with my cats. This is a perfect opportunity to purify and just get “au natural” if you will.

2. I torture my hair on the reg. All day err day I’m taking 450 degree torture devices to my follicles, straightening and curling and de-frizzing, and dying, and de-tangling. I’m a straight up hair abuser. But not in the past three days. My hair hasn’t been touched by a brush, nor has it been touched by any styling devices. It basically hasn’t left bun form. Sure, it may look like a rats nest, but it is getting rest, just like my body is. There is nothing better than styling your hair after a few days of giving it rest. It’s like buttah … trush.

3. I’m sure we are all guilty of not drinking enough water. Lucky enough for me, by doctors orders, I was told I had to drink water … or bad things would happen. What those bad things were, I have no idea. Dehydration? Fainting? Who knows … but I wasn’t about to mess with it. And like Zoolander says, “moisture is the essence of wetness and wetness is the essence of beauty.” Beautiful skin and complexion just doesn’t happen without being properly hydrated. That lesson is learned with age, ladies and gents.

Aaaaaand that’s about it. I wouldn’t wish what I had on my worst enemy, but alas, at least I took advantage of the situation to give my entire body, and beauty regime, a rest.

Most of all … I’m looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning and making myself look a little less like this. It’s starting to get worrisome …



What’s In A Name

CaptureI remember when I was in 7th grade, I had to get a palette expander installed across the roof of my mouth. It probably was one of the darkest times of my days as a teenager. Not only was it extremely painful, as my mom had to hold me down and turn the thing everyday with a key to “expand” it, but it drastically inhibited my speech. Oh yeah … and one day I woke up with a massive space in between my teeth, but that is neither here nor there (I’m not damaged from this experience at ALL). Anywho … back to the speech issues. I couldn’t say my name with that thing in my mouth. My name is Kate Concannon, and with the palette expander it sounded like “Kace Cocaon”. I’ve never hated my name more then in that moment.

Now in my post-palette expander days, I don’t hate my name as much as I once did, as I can clearly pronounce “Kate Concannon” properly. I do remember. pre-palette expander, begging my mom to let me change my name to “Cate” with a “C” when I was a tween (Cate Blanchett had just become ultra famous and I wanted my name to stand out). Or perhaps I craved a cool nickname like “CC”. But I always wondered what my name would look like in lights, or rolling off the tongues of E! News hosts. “Kate Concannon, pregnant with Justin Timberlake’s baby? Find out only here only on E! News!” So blah, right?

One day I came across something about January Jones, and I said to myself, “no way could that be her real name.” Some agent found her in LA as “Jessica Jones,” a doubty brunette or something and said, “I deem you … JANUARY Jones. Now off to the salon!” Welp, turns out joke was on me, her real name is January Jones. Bitch must have some super cool parents or something, am I right?

Then again there are some celebrities who I could see sitting right next to me in my office. “Hey Justin Timberlake, can you forward me that email when you get a sec.” “Tina Fey … can you grab me a pen when you go to the supply closet?” See! Totally normal … yet they are mega-super famous. But then again I could never in a million years see Kim Kardashian working in an office and filing papers. “Hey gang, this is Kim Kardashian, she will be our new receptionist. Make her feel welcome.” Hmm. No. Although it does excite me slightly to know the Kris Jenner would totally adopt me as my name would be “Kate Kardashian.”

I believe a person makes a name. If you have the right personality, style, charisma, etc. … you have the power to make “John Smith” stand out in lights. I, personally, don’t think I could go through with changing my name for the sake of stardom. Even for the sake of marriage! The whole idea makes me sweat. I’ve been Kate Concannon my entire life, and now I will be someone else? The whole thing perplexes me. I know it’s tradition and blah-blah-blah … but what? Seems a little dusty to me. A deal breaker to some, but a dusty deal breaker.

I remember an episode of Full House (yes, I’ve literally seen every episode like 20,000 times), where Stephanie wanted to change her name to “Dawn.” And then Danny Tanner went into this whole Dad spheal about how special she is and so on and so forth :::cue the sentimental music::: and she decided, “hey, I’m Stephanie Tanner and I’m okay with that!” It’s funny … I can’t remember what I did five minutes ago, but I remember that episode of Full House verbatim.

It still amazes me to know that so many celebrities have changed their names. And my curiosity is endless about how that process works. Does an agent not sign you if he/she demands you change your name and you refuse? And what qualifies as a “star-worthy” name? I like to think my name would look amazing in lights … at least on a billboard? Okay … maybe printed in a magazine or a book. Let’s be real, that’s where it belongs. Hell, we all belong somewhere!

Now a list of celebs who aren’t who they claim to be … ahem:

Bea Arthur: Really … Bernice Frankel

Carmen Electra: Really … Tara Patrick

Judy Garland: Really … Frances Gumm

Bruno Mars: Really … Peter Gene Hernandez

Spike Lee: Really … Shelton Lee

Natalie Portman: Really … Natalie Herschlag

Louis C.K.: Really … Louis Szekely

Olivia Wilde: Really … Olivia Jane Cockburn (Yikes, I kind of understand this one)

Portia de Rossi: Really … Amanda Lee Rogers

An Interview With Me, Myself, And I

5cf15ebda54c470e2d5631b0158cd12fAhh to be a celebrity … excuse me while I put my hand to my chin and daydream whilst staring out my window wide-eyed in Never Never Land. Something you should know about me … I have a secret obsession with celebrity culture. For example I was walking out of Starbucks this morning on my way to work and saw this black SUV with blacked out windows and immediately assumed Justin Timberlake was inside … clearly. I had my fingers crossed that he would roll down the window as I strolled by, ask me my name, and then casually ask for my hand in marriage after he divorced Biel … but :::sigh::: that never did happened.

But it is fun to imagine yourself as a celebrity … someone who sits in blacked our SUVs and gets swarms of people wanting to interview them. And after reading an inspiring article from Man Repeller, I got to thinking about how another writer would portray a play-by-play with me if I happened to be worthy of an interview with Vogue Magazine … :::swoon::: could you even imagine?!

And after a little thinking and getting in touch with my awkward tendencies, here is how I believe my interview would go, coming from another writer’s perspective:

“Kate strutted into Starbucks with full-blown Bitchy Resting Face, phone in hand, bundled in all black like she was heading from a funeral in the North Pole, and an awkward piece of hair sticking straight out between where her ear and sunglasses arm met. It was clearly bothering her as I watched her fail numerous times as she tried to tuck it away. She barely made it to the table before slipping on the slick marble flooring, but casually caught herself and played it off like a model who just bit it on the catwalk and had to keep going. The shame was hidden by the sunglasses … but the embarrassment was exposed by her bright red cheeks.

The RBF washed away from Kate’s face the minute she removed her sunglasses, smiled, and attempted to shake my hand, but realized she was now holding her cell phone AND sunglasses, so instead went for a strange side, half fist bump with the opposite hand and laughed off the awkward encounter.

After she sat down and got comfortable, she placed her iPhone next to her tea glass, and compulsively kept checking it like she was waiting for a phone call, text or email, but in reality just seemed like a twitch because, alas, no one was calling, texting or emailing her. Every 10 minutes or so she was uncross her long legs and would hit her knee on the table, causing her pain that she tried to hide, even though I heard a soft “son of a bitch,” escape her sigh almost every time. In between questions she would take a sip of her black tea, which I assumed matched her outfit and soul, and a little would slip through her lips and onto her sheer top, which she tried not to cause attention to by crossing her arms in an attempt to wipe it away.”

I’m a classically awkward celeb, aren’t I? Anyways it is fun to dig deep into your true self and express how you would handle a big time interview. Of course all of us would love to stroll in, on time, dipped in Chanel with every perfect answer ready to jump off our red lips that wouldn’t lose their color whilst we sipped our tea, am I right? But the cookie doesn’t crumble like that. The cookie, indeed, leaves crumbs on my H&M blouse.

Now it’s your turn, how would you handle being interviewed?