The Hills Are Alive

Shirt and cardigan, J.Crew. Jeans, Banana Republic. Flats, Browns. Purse and sunglasses, street vendor. Daisies, Sunset Beach.


When I debuted these tattered skinny jeans around my parents, their reactions were nothing short of predictable. Eye rolls were followed by touching the fabric and poking at holes (to make sure they were real?) and the typical snide remarks: "Did you get tangled in barbed wire?" or "You must have spent a fortune on them. I'm guessing they're priced... by the number of holes?" And still, I held my head high. For one thing, I'm used to it (see: predictable). Secondly, my parents are not always (dare I say it?) wrong. Why, only ten years ago I was leaving the house in a black tank top and an unlined, skin-tight beige mini with a zipper down the front and a zipper down the back. I repeatedly ignored my dad when he asked if I was wearing lingerie but finally decided to retire the skirt when a somewhat slutty girl in my Precalculus class asked if she could borrow it on a date, "for easy access." As offended as I was at the time, I can't help but feel gratitude looking back. So thanks, Somewhat Slutty Precalculus Girl for helping me put two and two together and slowly start changing my somewhat slutty wardrobe.
In conclusion, I still stand by these jeans (for now), but I'd like to point out that I cautiously added a touch of class with a prim cardigan and a rather Victorian blouse. Throw in a pair of ballet flats, freshly-picked daisies, and a demure smile and I've safely avoided another cautionary tale ten years from now.


I seriously doubt they're laughing at me.

Photos by Seda U.

Linked Up

 

 Cardigan and skirt, J.Crew. Blouse, Banana Republic. Tights, Hue. Shoes, Ralph Lauren.

Over the past two years, I've accumulated an abnormal amount of guilt over rarely wearing this mini skirt. It was a very thoughtful gift (bright print, my alley, enough said) from the Mecca of preppy/nautical/conservative/well-made apparel, known as J.Crew. Why? I guess it would have to be the "mini" part. Once a favored length (see also: plunging neckline a la J.Lo and fire-engine red hot pants), it is not as feasible after a certain age. A) It requires thigh coverage via tights. B) It clings to hips and rides up as I walk, thus undoing said coverage. All this may lead to unwelcome stares and catcalls (real or imagined, and you won't believe how fast I can walk past construction sites!) and the ongoing fear of having a twelve-year-old boy sneak up on me and flip my skirt inside out, like an upturned umbrella - true story, serves me right for pairing it with roller-blades. Wishing to put all these "childish" concerns behind me (after all, I roller-blade around adults only these days), I pulled this mini out of my closet on a windy, rainy day of walking to a not-yet-chosen restaurant (much like a caveman hunting for his dinner and I honestly don't see much difference between his loincloth and mine). This act of bravery bought me a few guilt-free hours in the company of the Skirt Gifter and a new-found tolerance of my younger self (yes, fire-engine red hot pants, I cringe a little less now). Next stop? The gym, to tone up for future heroic acts of thigh exposure. One can only dream.

A Tale of Two Sisters

Once upon a time, not that long ago, two sisters lived with their parents. The sisters were best friends and watched MTV (and sometimes even CMT!) all day long. The only sadness in their lives was that they did not have a place of their own with a marvelous walk-in closet, away from their well-intentioned-but-somewhat-smothering mother. One sister was plump, while the other was slim, but still they dreamed of the day when they could share all the treasures they had scoured from sales racks in malls across the land. 

(...)

And so, even though they ended up ruling over two different coasts, the two sisters remained best friends and texted each other often. Their dream of sharing apparel came true, for one sister slimmed down while the other plumped up. And they each got dressed happily ever after.

THE END.

This is the story of how I get to raid my sister's closet from time to time. 

 Jacket, scarf, skirt, my sister's. Tights, Hue. Flats, Geox. Purse, street vendor.

Montreal.

 

Ludic lighting. 

Happily-situated hydrant. 

Practically invariable

Haircut, Tina at Luscious Salon in Yaletown. Sweater, Banana Republic. Necklace, street vendor. Skirt, thrift-ed. Belt, Eddie Bauer. Tights, Hue. Shoes, Nine West.

This is the ideal version of the outfit I wore to an art exhibit last night. In reality, I replaced the black peep-toes with black rain boots in the war of glamor versus practicality. Vancouver wins every time! The rain, the steep hills, the fact that I'd rather walk everywhere than buy a bus pass - these are not conducive to strutting around in heels. Mere strutting, however, is variable-free (all right, maybe not in a swampy area), so I try to indulge as often as I can.

THREE

Dress, J.Crew. Shoes, Geox.

 

OK, so I didn't actually ingest anything while wearing this particular L.B.D. She was purchased 3.5 years ago, in slimmer times and although it still zips up, food consumption is forbidden and sitting is frowned upon. What could I do in it? Browse the winter coat section at The Bay, of course. Other possible uses: a cocktail party where nearly everyone is standing (it could happen!), family photo shoots (a Christmas card comes to mind) or lending it to thinner friends (silk taffeta, anyone?). 

Photos of me by Ravi U.  

Quebec City

Peacoat, Isaac Mizrahi for Fairweather. Shorts, Banana Republic. Sweater, RW & Co. Scarf, Icici. Tights, Hue. Flats, Geox. Sunglasses, street vendor.

Quebec City in October! Cool, crisp, and yes, quaint as can be. Homemade sandwiches were consumed by way of a picnic in the park, surrounded by fallen foliage and the somewhat bearable odor of manure: a small price to pay for the old-fashioned appeal of horse-drawn carriages. We forwent museums, castles, even... restaurants (my Kryptonite) and instead walked spryly about town, mouths agape. I'm still digesting this trip, or should I say... Je me souviens.