When I was young, I was completely fascinated with Russian nesting dolls, which I’ve recently learned are called Matryoshka (matrëška) dolls. Say that five times fast. There was something so ordered and logical about that perfect series of hand-painted wooden dolls of decreasing size, placed one inside the other, like a tight knit family where everyone knows their place. I would carefully place each in the correct order, only to take them all out and start again.
I can’t lie – sometimes I derive power from my clothes. They give off a definite vibe and imbue me with a certain sass. For no reason other than it’s the place my whacky mind goes sometimes, there was something about the color scheme of today’s outfit that took me to Wonder Woman. I think we can all admit, that’s not a bad frame of mind to be in when charging into the fray.
There are certain items in every woman’s closet that simply bring out the va va VOOM. Regardless of the events of the day, some dresses will fall out of my wardrobe and onto my person and there’s never an ounce of doubt that it’ll fit fabulously. Their secret (and a feature I keep my eyes peeled for in vintage shops): The Corset Ties. And I’m not talking about the lingerie variety…
Sometimes, for no reason at all other than it’s Tuesday, Mr Dressed Aesthetic and I will get all dressed up and go out to dinner. And he is well used to the fact that every time he sees me, my skirt will have somehow gotten pouffier. When we went out to Atrium awhile back and I donned this ensemble, I stayed true to form. Seriously, I need to watch myself in crowded restaurants so the frothy layers of tulle don’t knock things off tables…
Life is short. BUY THE SHOES. It’s no secret that I love shoes. I have a relationship with my shoes, to the point where they cheer me up when I’m having a bad day and can just as easily bring me to the depths of despair. They listen to my woes, coddle my feet when they need coddling, and occasionally attack my tootsies with a torrent of blisters not known this side up of purgatory. But I always forgive them, so deep is our love for each other.
So, my mom has become quite the vintage huntress of late. She’s one of my biggest blogging cheerleaders and has been out and about, finding treasures that I might like to include in posts (I do nothing to dissuade her, as you’ve probably guessed). So, you can imagine my excitement when an Easter parcel appeared on our doorstep a few weeks back and it was packed full of vintage goodies! Some she had found in her travels, some were her own that I remember admiring as a child, and some stunning pieces belonged to my beloved grandmother, who we lost early…
I am a frequent visitor of vintage stores (shocker, I know). I love the hunt, the feeling of discovery. My husband says I have a sixth sense and can sniff out the perfect dress in a sea of nice-but-not quite-right. I flip through the colorful racks with practiced precision, my eye towards the next great undiscovered beauty. And I’ve also come to notice an interesting phenomenon about the way I shop.
A week of leisure means I have a chance to catch up on a lot of things that get pushed to the bottom of the pile when life gets crazy. This week I’ve been catching up on blogging, on some sewing projects for myself and for my niece (who generally always gets a mini-version of anything I make for myself. Yeah, I’ll pay for that one when she’s 16…), and enjoying a lot of great (bad) tv.
I’ve come to realize that I probably wouldn’t fashionably survive in a place like New York City. Not that I am not fashionable, because I definitely rock my style to her fullest potential, but because I am fundamentally opposed to wearing all black clothing. And the New Yorkers are alllll about the all black ensemble. I’ve tried before…and I literally can’t do it. My fingers start twitching and I have to add a pop color somewhere to avoid my own madness.
I have to say, life has been absolute madness lately. It seems as if there’s no time to stop and enjoy what’s around me, because I’m always running from one place to the next. And the problem with being constantly on the go, is that stopping somehow feels wrong. In academia (aka, the world in which I dwell), you constantly have your eye on the next paper, the next project, the next deadline to meet…and as such, I have done a whole lot of working and not nearly enough lounging…