Less Is More Whilst Shopping

Signs-You-Have-Too-Many-ClothesNothing in life is better when you go shopping, end up breaking your arm due to too many clothes to try on, and then end up liking everything. Right!? It’s genius. Well, maybe, it’s kind of a double-edged sword.

But during my first voyage to Century 21 Philly, the stars aligned and I ended up liking 98.7% of everything I brought into the fitting room. And mind you, I could only bring like 8 items with me at a time, and had to swap out clothes three different times. In fact my right arm hurt the next day from carrying it all around (sad, right? Muscles is something I don’t got).

So then I was faced with the deadly question, “can I afford everything I love here,” which was WAY too much shit. Like too too much. I was high on clothes, what can I say. Questions like, “do I need to eat this week,” and “how does one sell their eggs” crossed my mind … true signs of an addict. But I stopped myself because I have a problem called, “quickly falling in love with an item, not thinking it over, buying it, then never wearing it.”

Enter palazzo pants stage right. I bought them in early spring from Zara, red and wide-legged to the max, imagined myself strutting down the sun-kissed streets, hailing cabs and flipping my Herbal Essence-like hair in them and immediately fell in love with the idea. I become so immersed in this vision that I neglected the fact that they were COMPLETELY see-through. Then I just wanted to set fire to them.

These “visions” are why I buy things and never wear them. What can I say, I have a vivid imagination. But during this trip to C21 Philly, I decided to stop this pattern that only wastes my precious dolla-dolla bills, pull over to the side of the store and think shit out.

I encourage you all to do this. I know, I know it is all “go, go, go,” but taking a second to think it over and decide if you REALLY love the piece or if you’re just picturing yourself as something you aren’t (i.e. Kate Moss on a spring day) is UBER important. For the first time, I walked away with really awesome pieces, that I love, fit amazingly, and that I look forward to wearing and styling in different ways.

So before you buy, and end up with a closet full of “meh” items, or if you are like me, ones you want to set fire to, consider these things:

1. Is it seasonally appropriate? Will it keep me warm? Will it be too hot? Can I layer? (Real talk, I almost bought a pair of pants that were paper thin. It is going to be 20 degrees tomorrow. Genius, self, genius.)

2. Is this in my color palette? If you don’t wear pink and things with bows on it, why buy the shirt? And if you don’t have a color palette, work on it, for the love. No one likes looking like ROYGBIV vommed all over them (Side note: I almost purchased a shirt that was pink with bows on it … I told you I was high on clothes)

3. Do I own this already? (We are creatures of habit. I have the same black sheer shirt in 5 different styles … and I could easily buy more)

4. Is this piece see-through, or defective, pulls, rips, stains … and if it is see-through, think about how your under garments can work with it. Do you have to go commando or do you have to purchase some weird ass contraption that will turn this $40 top into a $95 top?

5. How will this piece hold up? Will I need to get it dry cleaned every time I wear it? It is fabric that wrinkles when the slightest wind blows on it. (I have a white button down that I cannot wear because if a mouse coughs, it wrinkles … nobody’s got time for that nonsense). All of these things will add cost, time, and annoyance to your life.

Fear And Loathing Of Crowds

holiday-shopping-crowdI wouldn’t say I have claustrophobia issues. And I wouldn’t say that I’m a recluse who lives in her basement, petting her cats whilst eating canned goods. I’m totally good going out and functioning as a normal human being with the rest of the general population.

That is … until there are crowds.

Yesterday I attended a pre-party for a store opening. Philly is bursting at the seams right now with amazing new shopping venues. Which you would think would make me the happier than a clam, which, in a way, I am, don’t get me wrong. But when the words “pre-party” and “free” and “tote bags” and “alcohol” and “free alcohol” get tossed around to the public, it gives people this idea that they can act like complete assholes in public and not consider their fellow man. So run. RUN FAST.


I don’t know what I was expecting, a butler wearing white gloves serving me a chilled glass of champagne as I walk in, greeting me with a, “welcome kate, your shopping destination awaits,” escorting me in to another butler who hands me a tote bag filled to the brim with branded good and gift cards. The aisles are cleared and the perfectly organized designer goods on the glimmering silver racks wait patiently as I prepare to shop. A few lovely, calm people in pristine outfits flutter about me, shopping quietly as they sip on their champagne. As I make my way to the second floor, another butler in white gloves notices my champagne needs to be refreshed as I make my way to the shoe section. As I go to sit down to try on a pair of Louboutins on sale for $100, the butler comes over and offers me a lovely shoulder massage.

And then I woke up.

In real life, pre-party store openings aren’t like that. You think it is all exclusive and shit, but it isn’t. It is like walking into a jungle. You need to take off any extra layers, remove your hoops, and go in ready for battle.

I wish I had a pic of my face the minute I walked into the store. First of all it was 100 degrees, and second of all, there were SO many people, I could barely tell if I was staring at men’s clothing or women’s clothing. And no one moved. No. One. It was like I was having an outer body experience and didn’t exist to these people. I started walking around just to well, walk around. I think I was scared that if I stayed stationary too long someone would try to buy the clothes off of my body.

The only way I could describe the look in these people’s eyes was ravenous. You could tell they would do anything and everything for the free goods and insane deals before anyone else got their hands on them. I literally was a bumbling fool, wandering around in circles, making my way through people (which was no easy task) as “excuse me” didn’t work, and pushing past them only led them to offer me with a lovely, “ummm bitch” comment.

I looked around and saw some people had their shopping bags filled to the brim with goods, and I wondered how they could shop in such conditions. I contemplated exploring the accessories section, as it looked much calmer than the rest, but the idea of picking up a statement necklace and having some crazy broad bite my hand off (literally and figuratively) freaked me out far too much. So I went to make my grand escape.

I shoved through people, who, again, literally did not give a shit that I existed, only when I went against what I believe in and shoved past them without an “excuse me,” which awoke them from their shopping haze to notice that I was, indeed, a bitch messing with their space. Yikes. I ran to the exit, only to find that it was only an “entrance.” What? There is clearly a door to exit here, but no no … I’ll walk across the entire store through these crazy free shit hungry bastards to the OTHER “real” exit, no worries. I’m sure I’ll emerge unscathed.

I took a second to find a safe path, free of crazytown shoppers, which entailed a lot of zig-zagging through racks of unimpressive men’s clothing (these people probably thought I was the crazy one). I finally made my way to the real exit and was greeted by a man who met me with a, “I hope you enjoyed shopping with us!” I rolled my eyes at him and shoved through the revolving doors, wanting to rip off my clothing as I was sweating profusely.

Annoyed. Hot. Overwhelmed. Anxiety-ridden. And not a new piece of clothing on my person. I was straight up miserable. You would think all of that commotion happened in hours, but it truly happened in less than 15 minutes. I won’t give away the name of this store because I do adore it, and look forward to the day I can shop there in peace. Without the free goods. Without the insane people.

But for now, until everyone gets over their “new shiny penny” syndrome, I will be calmly and quietly shopping at the old dusty stores people are SO over. Because one thing I learned about myself is mama cannot handle shopping crowds.

Malls Give Me Anxiety

CluelessAliciaSAs a teenager, hanging at the mall after school was never my thing. I believe my generation was more into going to the movies or hanging in someone’s basement. I looked at going to the mall without my source of money (my mom) sheer torture, so what was the point? Even if I asked to go “chill with my friends at the mall,” my mom would have said no because at that time only derelicts of society hung out there, shopping at Hot Topic and buying out Annie Anne’s and such. Luckily we saw eye-to-eye on this hot topic.

Some odd years later, as a grown adult, I have no desire to step foot into a traditional mall. Now I’m not talking about the gorgeous outdoor malls you would see in Miami with beautiful architecture, clean sidewalks, and high end stores that have soothing sounds of Sia remix playing. No. I’m talking the old school malls with glass ceilings, fake trees, and kiosks selling hair ties that say your name in over-sized blinged out letters lining the walk ways.

Even though my mall I have gone to since I was a young person has done some major renovations and now has a Nordstrom, two-story Forever 21, and Henri Bendel … it doesn’t really take away the “ick” factor for me. They even tried moving the food court far away from all the “trendy” shops in hopes it would attract the shady balls elsewhere, but I’m going to go ahead and say that didn’t work.

To me, a stroll through the mall is straight up overwhelming and brings me one step away from an anxiety attack. You have the women with double strollers taking up the entire aisle so you can’t pass and have to walk at a snails pace, the people walking down the wrong side of the mall making you play a ridiculous game of chicken, the mixing scents of leather, food, and Abercrombie and Fitch swirling magnificently together, the punk kids who are loud and obnoxious (shaking fist), and the kiosk people who basically come at you with a hair straighter exclaiming that your hair looks like shit and how great they can make you look in a thick accent.

Ps. If you know where this image is from, we are officially best friends.


And you will always see someone you know. That saying, “always dress like you are about to run into your worst enemy,” is basically for people who frequent malls. It is the perfect place to play, “this is your life.” “OMG Kate is that you!?” is the most terrifying statement in the world when all I want to do is find some God damn leather over-the-knee boots and go home to watch Will and Grace reruns. You want to run, you want to pretend you had a tragic scuba diving accident and have lost your memory, but you can’t. Insert torturous small talk here. “Yeaaaaaah it HAS been a long time since pre-K :::rolls eyes:::”

And kids … the kids. The crying kids. The parents who let their kids scream bloody murder. It is like the bad elevator music of every mall. “SUZY! IF YOU DON’T STOP CRYIN’ :::mother continues to shop as daughter continues to scream her brains out::: I SWEAR I WILL TAKE YOU HOME RIGHT NOW!” Jesus. YES! Take her home. How can ANYONE shop with a screaming toddler? Seriously. Yet I see it all the time. I don’t even have kids, but when I’m shopping and I hear a kid start to scream and carry on, I vacate the premises immediately. I’m getting a headache just writing about it.

The idea of having everything in one place may seem like a dream, but something happens to the general population when they step foot into a mall that I just cannot take. I don’t know if it is the bazaar and abnormally hot temps or the absurdly loud techno music from Abercrombie, but everyone just gets a little crazytown. A little too crazytown for my liking, if you ask me. I blame Abercrombie.

Outdoor malls or even city shopping is much more my jam. I think it is because when you vacate a store, you get a breath of fresh air, literally. You get to remove yourself from the crazy for a mere moment until you find your next destination. And if you had too much crazy, you don’t have to walk through another wave of ultimate crazy to get to where your car is. Kid is crying like he/she is being murdered in the store you’re in? Go outside, there is probably a park somewhere to sit and meditate and get your brain waves back in order. It’s genius.

Down with indoor malls. We have all these innovations in life, yet we still shop like it is 1985. “Let’s like ditch and go to the mall :::twirls hair/pops gum::::.” Nope. NOT up in here … NOT. UP. IN. HERE.


Bitch, I’m Stealing Your Look

CaptureWhen in elementary school, or middle school even, sharing a look with a friend was completely okay and insanely cool. Much like “On Wednesday’s we wear pink,” I would call my best friend up and exclaim, “tomorrow let’s wear white crew neck Gap t-shirts and Gap boot cut jeans!” (Yes … I actually literally did such a thing) And we would walk down the halls thinking we were the bees knees when in real life we were the biggest bunch of clowns that had ever existed.

Even if I saw a fellow classmate, you know one of the “cool” girls, rocking a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes that I coveted, I would have no qualms going out, buying them, and then sitting next to the girl wearing the same thing. I saw nothing wrong with it.

Nowadays, in this place called “adulthood,” that shit don’t fly. If you go out for drinks with a friend and find you are wearing the same thing, it is mortifying. Simply because well A. you look like you’re auditioning for Deal or No Deal, and B. all night you will deal with drunk assholes slurring being like, “jjjjuuusssguyys twinsssooorr ssssumthhiinn”?

And in the office when you walk in wearing the same thing as a fellow employee, you smile and exclaim “twinsies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” and maybe take a pic and post it on social, but deep down, you know it sucks and is uber annoying. And not because you think you’re the most original person on the planet by wearing a black maxi on a Monday, but strictly because you are an individual who detests every five seconds hearing, “omg Susie in Accounting is TOTALLY wearing that outfit, too. You guys should take a pic.”

But this weekend I found myself falling back into my elementary school ways. Scrolling through Instagram, I stumbled upon the most perfect pair of heels that ever existed that my friend Sarah had just purchased. Drool dangling from my mouth I commented, “I want to go to where those shoes are.” And like that I had started the “bitch, I’m totally going to steal your look” process, something I hadn’t done since I purchased the same pair of Puma slide-on sneakers as the coolest girl in the 8th grade.

The difference was … I asked. I asked my friend Sarah if it was okay. Yes it is a free country and yes I had every right to purchase said shoes without her blessing, but to me, fashion is sacred. When you buy something as fantastic as these heels were (see above) you do so because you adore them and can’t live without them and find them to be something special. By not asking her if I could steal her look, I felt like I would be destined to strut around in them with some bad ju-ju. You know, falling face first into a puddle, the heel cracking off and spraining my ankle … normal stuff.

When I asked her, which felt like I was proposing marriage, her response was quite refreshing … “I take it as a compliment when people want to steal my look, go for it, girl.” And then I jumped up in mid-air and ran off skipping and kissing said heels. No that didn’t really happen, instead I kept asking “are you sure, are you sure, are you REALLY sure?!” until I was REALLY sure she was going to hit me.

So I bought the shoes. Now we are shoe twinsies … we should take a pic and post it on social (psyche). But no in all seriousness, it is normal to covet another person’s look. I do it all the time. Strangers on the street? Bitch, I steal their look all day errday and never ask. “Excuse me kind lady, may I go to the store and buy those shoes you are wearing, pretty please?” Umm no. But when it comes to friends, co-workers, your dog walker … you ask. Because that is the right thing to do. Otherwise you are tacky, my friend, straight up tacky. Admit that you envy their look and want it so badly you can’t stop drooling. It will make their day AND you’ll get something you desire out of it as well … without any bad ju-ju.


Stress Shopping

tumblr_mbnhm9ULPH1qcuglxo1_500When faced with a confrontation, or find yourself stressed out to the max, or perhaps receive an email that makes you want to pull your hair out slash punch your fist through the wall, do you ever just want to … shop? Some people work out, mediate … I shop.

This past weekend I found myself in a situation where I was so annoyed that I just needed to be surrounded by style. I didn’t even know what I needed or wanted, I just needed to be in a store to relieve some stress. All of a sudden I found myself driving to Old Navy. Why? Because I love their jeans. To die for. And they are like $20, you can’t beat that … aaaaand I happen to be in the market for a white pair of jeans.

But what I found was over stimulation. Holy colors and graphics, Old Navy, holy colors and graphics. I tried to take a deep breath, close my eyes, open them and take my time sorting through the insane amount of clothes, but it was too much. The large volume of people, and the lights, and the strange hipster music was literally making my head swirl.

My breaking point was when I tried to get into a new section of the store, and was blocked off by a mother, pushing a cart, with two rambunctious children, immersed in a conversation with her friend. First of all, why do clothing stores offer carts? Are you REALLY going to buy THAT much product that you need a damn cart like you are shopping for Thanksgiving dinner? Come on. Last time I checked they only let you bring like six items max in a dressing room. So hence my confusion around the cart convo. All they do is clog aisles and make fellow non-cart using customers, like yours truly, infuriated.

So back to the cart lady blocking the aisle. I politely, with a smile on my face, said “excuse me,” which got no response. Her children still danced around me like candy possessed nightmares as she yelled to her friend, who was at the end of the aisle, to “get her the right size, NO NOT THAT SIZE, THE OTHER SIZE. YEAH YEAH … THAT ONE. NO NOT THAT COLOR.” I said “excuse me” one more time, which still fell on deaf ears, when I decided to suck in every ounce of fat on my body to squeeze past her. Only then did she acknowledge me as I snaked past her, which made her send me a look of death that probably would make babies cry. Really? Seriously? Did you not hear me … oh whatever.

That’s when I said, “I’m out.” Before I made it out the door, my frazzled self became eye-to-eye with a bohemian-style maxi dress. I stood there for a bit figuring out if it was “me”. Does it go with my sense of style? Could I pull it off? Before I knew it I was waiting in line to check out with said maxi that I was still unsure about. I didn’t even try it on. I just bought it. What in the hell? The funny thing is … almost a week later … I STILL don’t know if this maxi is “me.” Do you think this maxi is “me”? It’s so not me, I’m probably going to return it.


The fact that this silly maxi dress that I purchased for $39.95 at Old Navy is hanging in my closet is due to a little thing that I like to call stress shopping. Although this specific experience was stress on stress on stress due to ignorant women and insane children running amok. Oh yeah … and carts. Those damn carts. Can’t a girl just shop in peace?

If you need me I’ll be at Old Navy making a return.

What A Gal Needs To Holiday Shop

mediateYou would think I would say a bottle of Jack and Kevlar … but you’re sorely mistaken, my friend.

I personally don’t believe in handwritten lists. I loathe them. I loathe them because I take precious time to write them and within seconds it is like they get sucked into a vortex never to be seen again … therefore I’m back to good ol’ square one. But going holiday shopping blind or with a mental list is just as bad. “Oooh there is the shirt my brother wants, but I need to get a shirt for my sister, too … EEEE something shiny! Squirrel.” Yeah … listless, that is what goes on in my head.

So if you are like me and hate writing lists, but don’t want to torture yourself by going out shopping blind, buying things on random ridiculous whims … there are certain things you can do to save your sanity. Organized shopping means quick shopping. It also means the less you have to interact with the insane holiday shoppers traditionally acting a fool.

You’re welcome, in advance.

Tweet-a-le-dee: If you don’t believe in Twitter, I can’t help you. But it is wise to get yourself a handle and start following your favorite stores/designers. They tend to post sales, special offers, hidden gems within the store. And yes, some may even respond to you if you have questions or concerns, or if you want to show them a little love and tell them how much they rock … or want to partake in a bitchfest about how much their customer service sucks. Ahhh sweet technology. What can’t you do?

Booze: I was just kidding about the lack of Jack above … CLEARLY. After shopping, cocktails are always a must. Or if you are really going into the shopping trenches, maybe pack a flask. Just sayin’ …

Today Will Be a GREAT Day!: If you are in the slightest bad mood, do us ALL a damn favor a stay home. No one wants you out. The deadline for holiday shopping, in my world, is Dec. 24 11:59 p.m. Trust me, if you aren’t thinking positively, you aren’t going to accomplish shit. Instead you are going to get frustrated, start honking your horn for no reason, and saying things under your breath like, “no … seriously, I’LL move out of the way … that’s right … your huge cart with ugly things definitely deserves to take up the entire aisle. My apologies. Let me just kill myself scooting around it so you can add more to your pile of crap properly … whore.” Seriously, bad mood equals staying at home and binging on a really great TV series … not interacting with sales associates and innocent shoppers trying to make Santa dreams come true.

New School Lists: If you absolutely can’t go listless, use the Notes function on your iPhone … or whatever notepad function other phones have (hi, iPhone snob here). I know it seems like common sense, but I would be useless without this. I have numerous pages of random nonsense written down, that probably doesn’t all need to be written down, but when I need it … it’s there. I literally have a list that is like blog inspiration, blog topics, buy shampoo, Comcast log in information, and cat bow tie. Not lying.

Map It Out, Yo: Plan your route. Think about the stores you need to go to, what order is the best to visit them, and exactly what you need and where in said store they are located. That way you are in and out in seconds. My only other piece of advice would be to not make eye contact with ANYONE … that way you are sure to avoid any obstacles. No. Eye. Contact. Ya heard?

Dress for Tropical Temps: Jesus. CHRIST. I was in American Apparel and I thought I was going to faint. Rainy and cold outside, equator inside. Not cool … and not a surprise why I have a sinus infection right now. Bastards. But I’ve come to realize that I would rather be freezing my face off walking around, then sweating inside a store when I’m trying to accomplish holiday shopping tasks. There is nothing worse than having your hands full, standing in line with a bunch of clowns, sweating to death, waiting as the woman checking out is contesting $2 on a damn pair of tights. All you want to do is hurt someone. Like badly. Wear a sun dress and shut up.

Hello, Interwebs, Is It Me You’re Looking For?: Listen, the more people shop online … the less insanity we will all have to deal with. Doesn’t the thought of being curled up on your couch in your Snuggie, with a warm cup of tea, Christmas music playing in the background … taking care of your holiday shopping with just a few clicks? No crazy bitches. No heatwaves. No non-enthused sales associates drooling. No people running you down in parking lots. Just Bing Crosby, your credit card, the Interwebs, and you. :::Sigh:::

Holy SPANX! A Strapless Bra I DON’T Hate?!

pSPXNA-217_BLACK_packaging_e500Strapless bras and myself have become known arch-enemies. Tom vs. Jerry, Dr. Evil vs. Austin Powers. Kate vs. Strapless Bras. We just don’t like each other … well, more like I don’t like them and they don’t give a shit because they are inanimate objects. It’s quite unfair, if you ask me.

And since launching my blog years ago, people have asked me why I loathe the garment so much. Why would I go to such extremes as to naming a website dedicated to my pure hatred of them? Well … number 1, we aren’t all about strapless bras here at Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra (read my About section for further explanation), and number 2, it basically comes down to:

1. They cut off circulation, yet still manage to fall down

2. They do nothing for knockers … of any shape or size

3. They never fit properly under clothing. Like Never. Never ever.

This massive feud I have brewing in my life has a silver lining to it, though. This feud … has proven to me that there is still good and genuine kindness out there in a world when sometimes it is hard to believe that people still care about one another. Yet people surprise me every day by suggesting shiny and new strapless bras to try out that may heal my negative feeling towards them. And as much as I appreciate these kind gestures, they just never end up swaying my opinion.

But my lovely friends over at SPANX were not okay with me feeling like this. They wanted me to lock eyes with a strapless bra from across a field of poppies, slow motion run towards it,  embrace it with open arms, and swing around in a pleasant little circle with it.

Enter the SPANX’s Bra Cha-Cha stage right. First of all, I’m a sucker for a product with a fantastic name … and this little number is a sassy bitch in the best way. Second of all, they call it the “stay-put strapless,” which trust me, when I saw this, I gave it one of my epic eye rolls accompanied with a, “psshhyeeeaahh right!”

I won’t give you a play-by-play of my entire experience wearing this bra. You don’t want hear about how I walked to the train and it didn’t fall down, or how I went for cocktails with Bra Cha-Cha and it didn’t fall down even more … or as SPANX refers to it as “jug tug,” which honestly, I mean can we get a slow clap for that.

I will explain it to you like so. My experience with the Bra Cha-Cha was much like …



And this:


And that:


Oh and totes this:


Mmm hmm …:


And of course …:


But let’s not forget this happened:


Disclaimer: I will not be changing the name of my blog. And I still hate strapless bras … except this one.

Going Old School With ModCloth

modclothInspiration can come from numerous places. Street style, flipping through fashion mags, a day of shopping (or what I like to call my cardio regimen). But recently I found myself fascinated with the fashions from the 1950’s. Perhaps it is the vintage furniture store by my house that makes me lust after every piece in there, or maybe it is my borderline obsession with the new show Masters of Sex on Showtime. I’m more obsessed with the wardrobes though and how timeless everything is. A little rigid and out of touch with today’s lax society … but classic and beautiful.

As much as I adore being able to rock jeans everywhere I go from work to fancy restaurants to parties, I kind of wish I got to experience what it was like to have to throw on your best dress, pearls, gloves, and hat for outings like going to the mall. I’m lucky if I even brush my hair when I go to the mall.

So when my friends over at ModCloth.com came and asked me to style this lovely Remarkable Without a Cause dress from their private label collection, I immediately saw a golden opportunity to turn it back old school.

All women look good in red. And if you don’t think you do … it’s probably because you are too chicken to try it out. Yeah … I called you a chicken. A red dress, especially this one, is a classic show stopper. One, if styled the way I did, you could wear to work, a date, dinner with friends, or even out running errands, if you want to return to the classic days of beauty. Hell … Chris DeBurgh made an AMAZING song about it. If you don’t think you look good in red, I want you to click this link, listen to this song, and ponder this red dress. Go on … do it.

My inspiration came from Lizzy Caplan … better known as Janis Ian from Mean Girls, but currently has taken the role as Virginia Johnson on Masters of Sex. She’s a single mom, aspiring to be something other than a homemaker, which back then was like saying you fancied worshipping Satan in your free time, and she’s pretty much an overall bad ass chick portrayed in the 1950’s.

What I love about this look that I created is that it immediately ignites confidence. I just imagine a woman dressed to the nines in all of these items, throwing on the shades, grabbing her black patent handbag, flipping her God damn hair and storming the streets. And not to mention it is a great piece to invest in, since it is timeless. A dress cut like this will never go out of style and will forever flatter most body types.

So I hope you have enjoyed my styling for ModCloth.com … it was a little too much fun, and a couple of things may or may not have ended up in my closet whilst styling … you know … by accident. And you know what … I’m not ashamed.

All items can be purchased on ModCloth.com here: Dress: Remarkable Without A Cause, Shoes: Woo Cute Heel, Bag: Smart Maneuver Bag, Tights: Pin-Up To You, Shades: Take A Glint, Hat: Artistic Accolades Fascinator, Cape: Plethora of Poise, Gloves: Not to Worry

One Shoe Blues

ep50_carrie_tripping_runwayThis weekend I started doing an audit of my shoes since it’s almost boots season (eeeeeeeeeee), and I noticed that some, if not all, of my flip-flops and sandals need to be burned. Clearly I did some walkin’ this summer. Which brings me to what I call Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra story time. Gather around, kids … this is a story about probably one of most monumental wardrobe malfunctions of my summer:

As a preface, I would like to state that I was 87% sober when this event occurred. 

Picture it: Labor Day Weekend 2013. Made in America concert. Well … outside of the Made in America concert. My friend and I made this genius assumption that since there was only an hour left until Beyoncé went on stage ticket prices would absolutely be lowered from $150. Genius. Until some intimidating sales person told us, “NOPE still $150, ya comin’ or goin’, ladies?!” Cool. I wasn’t too bummed, though. The sea of trash trucks blocking off streets like something out of Batman (Christian Bale Batman, not Michael Keaton Batman), concert goers wrapped in American flags, girls who looked like Urban Outfitters threw up all over them throwing their iPhones at me to snap a pic of her and the beeeeeeessssssssssties in front of the Made in America sign … um yeah … let’s just say we backed away slowly.

So we decided to walk on down the Parkway for a nice stroll. A stroll that ended up us pretty much walking around the entire city, but I digress. More importantly, a stroll that my Forever 21 sandals that I had worn for two summers clearly couldn’t handle.

Now before you guys roll your eyes at me and say, “listen, I totally know where this is going and you are a damn fool for buying shoes at Forever 21,” I would like to say to you … CHILL OUT, MAN AND LET ME FINISH MY DAMN STORY!

Ahem, where was I? Ahh yes, the Parkway. It was a lovely humid evening, and the farther you got from the concert, the more the city felt completely abandoned. I found myself looking at black SUVs and wondering if young Blue Carter was inside with Momma Bey. Checking out the beauty of the museums. Enjoying light conversation about where to find margaritas close by with my friend (I told you it was really humid out). And then it happened. Mid-sentence I, out of nowhere, trip. In slow motion (at least in my head), my sandal literally folds in half as I lean forward preparing to fall (I probably made a really awesome face during all of this, too). Luckily my cat-like reflexes stopped me from actually falling, but when I looked down, I found the thong part of my sandal hanging on by a literal thread. How poetic.

There I was. At the end of the Parkway with my one sandal in ruins, picturing myself walking around the city barefoot, contracting numerous flesh-eating viruses as onlookers pointed and laughed, and desperately praying that Payless would pop up magically.

Since I had one thread holding my sandal together, I decided to use what the Gods gave me … and walk on, with my head held high. Well … I’ll use the term “walk” lightly. I ended up having to do this really strange swagger, and no, words just wouldn’t do it justice. I’ll let you use your imaginations for that one. Enjoy.

So the point of all of this is that I want to give Forever 21 a slow clap, and at the same time I would like to do a touchdown dance in front of all the Forever 21 shoe haters, because that sandal that was hanging on by an actual thread didn’t break for the rest of the evening. The little guy stayed strong. I was in awe. Sure I had to walk like an idiot for the rest of the evening, but at least I didn’t have to go barefoot and die. Am I right?

So the moral of this story is, Forever 21 shoes are not only cute, cheap, and awesome … but can pretty much withstand anything with a little hope and a lot of awkward swagger.

The end. 

Walking Away From Things That No Longer Serve Me

Screen shot 2013-05-16 at 8.49.50 PMWhat is this pile of nonsense in the photo to the left, you ask? Well … I’ve been putting off spring/summer shopping. Reasons being that A. I can’t find anything that I really lerve, and B. I’ve become one with my closet. Instead of just shopping to shop, I’ve gotten very creative, with the help of Pinterest of course, with what is already in my closet. Repurposing old looks. Pairing different things together. But as I’ve been bonding with the clothes I already have, I’ve noticed these pieces that I haven’t touched in maybe over a year … just sitting there, never touching my body … EVER. Just taking up space. And I realized the only reason why I’ve kept them there is because I like the diversity they add to my closet, like magazine editors are knocking on my bedroom door to photograph them or something, and of course the age-old saying that leaves these stale pieces in our closets forever, “I’ll totally wear that one day.” No you won’t, shut up, fool.

So I’ve made a deal with myself. I’m not allowed to shop until I weed out these “filler” pieces. Hence why I immediately have a pile of clothes that no longer serve me on the floor of my room. Why do they no longer serve me? Well … they are pieces of clothing that have stains or rips on them. That are faded and no longer fit. Poorly made pieces of crap that are missing buttons, and other items that I just associate with bad memories. Oh … and let’s not forget all of those “sleepy shirts” I have. These are shirts that have my college logo on them that ended up in my dorm room at some point that I kept out of pure nostalgia. Or shirts from bar crawls that say stuff like “I’m Drunk Betches!”, or shirts I picked up AT bars that have “Bacardi whore” written across them. Bu … bu … BYEEEEEEEEEE.

When you get to a point in your life when it seems like everything and everyone is against you, where people are only interested in breaking your heart and walking away for you to clean up the mess and make sense of it all, or break down your confidence so severely that you no longer know yourself … you know it’s time for a change. Some start with finding Jesus … I start with my closet.

So the rules of this closet cleanse?

1. If I haven’t worn you in a year … you are gone.

2. If you remind me of some emotional bitch slap … you are too, also gone.

3. If you no longer fit right, yet I just love your color and style … gone.

4. If you are a poorly made piece of crap … see ya.

5. If you are stained … but I so desperately wish you weren’t stained … sweet Jesus, bye.

So there you have it. This is just the beginner pile. I may end up with like five pieces of clothing left, but at least it will be the beginning of a fresh start I so desperately need. Or maybe I’ll end up like those obnoxiously annoying chic ladies who literally have 10 pieces of classic staples in their wardrobe that they somehow magically transform into numerous different looks. Ha I could never live like this, my only hope is that I will be reasonably able to shut my drawers.

So there it is. If any of these garments interest anyone … I will be happy to send them your way as a token of my appreciation for you being a loyal reader of my nonsense. But be warned though … some of these pieces are poorly made pieces of crap. I won’t call out specific garments … but if you can guess which ones they are … bonus points for you, my dear reader!