Blazer, Banana Republic. Skirt, vintage. Sandals, Nine West.
If your retinas are burning from this print overload, I may need to send a check to your ophthalmologist. Modern etiquette is tricky - where is Emily Post when you really need her? I suppose we could venture further into the clan and consult Peggy, Peter, Cindy, Anna, Lizzie, Daniel, or Elizabeth, but is this kind of social sensibility genetic? My retina-burning question aside (a burning question in itself), I'd much rather learn about the Post offspring with the recessive gene - the black sheep who put their Belgian shoes on the coffee table, slurp their café au lait, and play Angry Birds during a performance of Swan Lake (in a loge, no less). Now, that's a SLICE TV show I could get behind.