OBSESSED?

I maintain that all young people have a fear of being taken too seriously.

He was pushing my buttons.  Texts after midnight saying all of "heyy".  My friends told me to give it time, let him figure out I was through with our friendship, but I didn't have the patience.  The truth of it was, he wasn't a nice boy.  Immaturity, along with misogynistic jokes, dripped from his every word (call me old-fashioned, but since when did bitch become a synonym for woman?").  I wanted to get rid of him and I knew just the way.  After awakening one night to five unread texts, not entirely an unreasonable amount, but in this case most sincerely unwelcome, I answered, "why are you obsessed with me?"  And wish granted!  Not a reply text in sight.  Was I a bit harsh?  Sure, but in an interesting experimenty kind of way, it helped prove the point that even the suggestion of caring too much about something or someone will send even the most self-assured whippersnapper into defensive mode.  Because in the world of the 20 somethings, is there anything worse than being too wound up, or god-forbid, uptight?

SKIN TIGHT

During the time of my sexually formative years, I was developing this theory about women's clothing, a theory encouraged by my then Abercrombie-wearing sister, that certain clothes were intimidating to men and if I wanted a boyfriend I better stop wearing patterned lace tights under my capri pants and stick to jeans and body hugging t-shirts.  Because why would I want to draw attention to my ankles with a cool pattern when I could opt to show off my blooming little ta-tas and, on the off chance they were big enough, even snatch myself a boyfriend?  At 14 it was really that simple: big tits equaled infinite power (arguably true at most ages).

Now at 22, a whooping nine years out of junior high, and I'm starting to rethink my theory.  Men still like breasts and women still like breasts.  That hasn't changed and fortunately never will, but the funny thing about men is that the good ones mature, and around the same time I stopped buying mini skirts so short that my bare ass touched the chair was also about the time I started meeting boys who thought girls were attractive with or without tight clothes and that being able to see the curve of a breast was not the end all be all of hotness.

I whole heartedly agree.

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"HOW-TO" AVOIDING

The most popular post I see on fashion blogger's sites is the "how-to" post.  "How to wear all black in the summer" or "8 ways to wear bows".  Considering the fashion blog as a petal from the rose of inspiration, the how-to makes perfect sense, and, as most readers will agree, the list format guarantees at least a skim through of major points.  But here is my thought on the matter:  Frankly, I don't need to read anymore how-to lists.  If I wanted to know how best to wear pastel pants I would pick up a magazine or read something impersonal like vogue.com.  Blogs are not magazines; and we often don't have the man-power to become one.  But wait, before you start beating me like a judgmental horse, let me explain what I'm leaning toward.  Now I'm finding myself in unfamiliar territory being a new blogger, but I know what I like.  When I go internet troving, I'm attracted to my fellow fashion blogger's perspective, insight, and wit (extra points if you're a little obnoxious).  It's 10 times more entertaining to read a blogger's honest-to-god opinion than a list of instructions.  There is a reason so many Ikea desk sets take weeks to put together.  Why cocoon yourself into a formula already saturated by fashion media, or worse: forget your potential powerhouse voice?  If you work alone on your blog, sans collaborator, partner, or supervisor, you're in control, you lucky bastard.  Speaking as one who worked at a college campus magazine, compromise can be a bitch and trying too hard not to say anything offensive can turn into not saying anything at all.  Being able to spew my uncensored thoughts, relevant to fashion, was one reason I started blogging.

Those are my thoughts.  Now tell me yours.

5 UNFORTUNATE FACTS ABOUT LIPSTICK

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.  It is so freaking hard to wear lipstick almost all the time and yet I don't really hear anyone else complaining about it.  My older sister used to tell me that lipgloss was for girls and lipstick was for women.  (Which am I at 22?)  Anyway, lipgloss has always bequeathed to me one problem: that of the wind and the blowing hair.  Lipsticks, my preferred method of lacquer has several, slightly less detrimental, but equally annoying problems.

1. It is near impossible to eat lunch food with a bright color on my lips.  I want to keep the pigment on my lips and off of my sandwich, bagel, or (insert complicated food item here).  This is quite a difficult problem to overcome unless you are comfortable holding your lips away from your food while you eat, and that's just silly.

2. How do I get it to go on evenly?  If I moisturize right before applying, the color doesn't soak in enough and my lips look greasy.  If I don't moisturize my lips become too dry which leads me to my third problem.

3. Sometimes my lips peel when they get dry and then the color comes right off with it.  There is nothing worse than pink, red, or purple lip skin coming loose.  Don't even pretend it doesn't happen to you.

4. How do you kiss with lipstick on?  My man friend and I have developed a system of the lightest lip graze ever when he sees my lips a little less naked than usual.  But what if I feel really passionate and want to throw myself on top of him?  I could wipe my lips off first (r.i.p. beautiful lips), or I could just smush my lips onto his and get it on both of us (r.i.p beautiful lips).  

5. The red pigment in lipstick is made from cochineal insects.  This is not actually that big of a deal, however, when you consider that far worse ingredients are consumed when eating... just about anything.

This hasn't been a very educational post (it's really just downright complaining), but then again a little perspective on the crazy stuff we paint on our faces can be nice too.

Got any lipstick suggestions?  I want them all!

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LET'S LOVE LONG: ODE TO A DENIM JACKET

Don’t you love it when you find that you still own a jacket, pair of pants, or ____________ (fill in appropriate item of clothing) from over eight years ago, and it still fits?  Personally, this never happens with my pants because I always seem to gain enough extra flubber around my midsection to make said pants sit somewhere around my thighs.  On the torso end of the spectrum, however, I’ve had great luck in the form of an Old Navy denim jacket.  The purchase occurred in the in the fifth grade, making my jacket an 11 year old relic which I once wore with the purpose of hiding my mosquito bite breasts before wearing a bra became a necessity.

Moving onward.  How in the world does it still fit?  I’ve come up with two reasons:  1. The jacket is a testament to my old insistence of buying everything one size up in the fear that I would outgrown it the next season.  2. Such miracles should not be over-ridden with thought.

Your turn.  Any clothing from your past you want to share?

HOW I FEEL AFTER READING A FASHION MAGAZINE

Like I need everything in the world and right now.

A good portion of my teenage summers were spent on my parent’s back patio in a straps-left-dangling-around-my-breasts swimsuit.  My skin baked so I can achieve the perfect tan; achieve it again and again. And because baking skin is not a comfortable feeling, a lap of fashion magazines helped to break up the time between my front and my ass.  There was Seventeen, Allure, Marie Claire, and InStyle.  And being my closet-doubting self, a hideous disease in it's own right, I compiled a list of future purchases gleaned straight my favorite mags. 

My latest episode, with a tragic copy of Marie Claire, happened this way: I saw a photograph of a woman in a casual checked blazer with slicked back blonde hair.  I pictured my closet in front of me, my clothes, or what I could remember of them… What did I have, even?  A few blazers that I loved but never wore.  But, I’ll wear checks and can wear it without a top, just a lacey bra, and jeans, and look like I’m not just a kid, and maybe to a big event!  I could dye my hair too.  My listing binge left me feeling only a little inspired and a lot like my brain could not rest, because I needed more than just a checked blazer to look fashionable.

A few years later and I say fuckity fuck those magazines!  I may look at your pretty pictures, but I won’t fall under your evil spell!  No.  No.  But thanks all the same.

So, what now?  If I was over fashion, I wouldn’t be writing about it.  And make no mistake, I am not over it, don’t let my pretending fool you.  But I am trying to be over letting fashion magazines cause me, and my closet, to feel inadequate.  Frankly said, I'm spending less time teetering on the edge of irrational clothing worship in favor of independent thought.  And in the spirit of this freedom fostering post, there is of course always the promise that if I'm able to get out of my pajamas in the morning (sometimes an usually hard task), I get the chance to create, buy, and wear on my terms.