02.29.08
The New Business Casual
Yesterday, I stood in front of a closet full of cute dresses and killer shoes and ladylike scarves and grown-up trouser pants, and I gave up. Without remorse, I went straight to the laundry basket of folded clothes from two weeks ago and dug out a favorite grey tank from the Gap, a matching grey hooded sweater (also from the Gap), and a ratty old pair of army green A&F pants from my college days. I topped this miracle of business casual off with my fake Uggs.
And that’s exactly how I went into the office.
The thing is, I used to make such an effort. Back when I was an innocent little intern, coming to work on time, working late, exceeding expectations; I’d wear knee length tweed skirts, shirts that required IRONING, and properly matched sweater sets.
I went on to work there full time, spending years building my work experience alongside my professional wardrobe. I fought teeth and nail for that perfect black crepe suit at Ann Taylor during the end of year sale, I became an early investor in the Editor pant from Express, and I scouted out hordes of work appropriate boots and slingbacks and pumps and slides.
But those days are long gone it seems.
Maybe it’s because I’m in the midst of THE WINTER THAT WILL NOT END. Yeah, that’s it- I’m just trying to keep warm. Really.
Okay, seriously, that’s a cop out. I mean, that’s part of it, but that’s not why I’m practically wearing a hoodie, sweatpants, and slippers and calling it good. That is, however, why I wear kneesocks, three shirts, and wrap myself in my “sleeping bag” (i.e., ankle length down puffer coat) as a part of my regular “work” garb.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m the one waddling on the sidewalk toward Union Station. I’m also the one who’s laughing at you stupid chicks in your tights and skirts and flimsy little peacoats. How’s that working out for ya?
Maybe it’s sloppy of me, but I don’t really care what people at work think of how I look anymore. I mean, who am I there to impress really? It’s the suburbs.
I wonder if I can get away with a velour track suit for casual day…
02.28.08
XOXO, Forever XXI
Forever XXI is a valentine to my poor lonely fashion hungry soul. It’s cheap, and at times- okay, often- tacky. And it’s really best, I’ve found, to preemptively cut the buttons off and sew them back on before wearing. And probably opt out on using the dryer. And count it a true fashion miracle to wear the article beyond three months. But….that said, I love it!
After paying EVERY BILL KNOWN TO MAN with my bonus check, I decided to treat myself to said cheaply made fashion. And oh did I ever!
Graphic Designer Friend and I hit Forever hard this past weekend. She shares in my affection for the Forever. And we don’t mess around either. We scouted out colorful sundresses and chunky plastic necklaces and large gauge knitwear on their web site before our trek to the three floor masterpiece on State Street. That thing is so crammed full of jersey concoctions in every shade possible- I swear, they don’t even know what they have. How could they? And the fitting rooms? Good lord, I’d hate to have to sort through all the leave behinds!
Speaking of the fitting rooms, we made no less than three separate trips. And we forewent lunch and spent three entire hours weighing the value of giant plastic gemstones sewed at random on tunics against plaid hooded military jackets. It was awesome.
What wasn’t so awesome was when GDF came up to me while I examined some kind of new fancy sparkly-spangled shirt/dress creation and announced, “there’s puke over there and someone stepped in it- kinda a lot.”
While we debated whether it was someone hung over and shopping for a new bar shirt to wear out that night or someone else who found themselves simply disgusted by their own encounter with a sparkly-spangled shirt/dress creation, a ginormous white plastic partition inexplicably toppled to the floor, taking a rack of fuchsia taffeta bubble skirts with it. Unfazed by neither puke puddles nor the store crashing down around them, shoppers continued to queue up for the fitting rooms and shove into the “puke cove” of black chiffon and silver sequined halter tops and skirts.
Now as for me, well, just as Meatloaf once sang of doing anything for love, I too would do anything for fashion, but I won’t do that. I won’t shop for $16 party dresses while I acknowledge and risk smelling or stepping in a pile of someone’s regurgitated oatmeal a mere foot away.
So with that, our arms shaking from hauling piles of sweaters and dresses and sweater dresses, we called it a day. And yes, it was still light out when we made it out the door. But just barely.
Some Girls
Some girls quietly giggle to an acquaintance on the el. Their hair, shiny, long, and luxe, if slightly tipsy. Their two carat emerald and princess cut rings, beacons in the dark winter night, mocking.
Some girls organize “girls nights,” then talk only of their travels to Ireland with newlywed husbands, calling it a night abruptly to get back home.
Some girls whisper from across their seafood rustica risotto of “trying for a baby” and that eternal search for the perfect, elusive townhome in Evanston.
Some girls distantly, sympathetically, smile as you joke, in a poor attempt at coping, about your five-year gamble- funny, no?
Some girls don’t traffic in ultimatums, never raise their sylvan voices, never ask “why isn’t it me?”
Some girls are simply lovely- just as they are and for all the good in them that can be seen.
And some girls are caught admiring those girls from afar.
02.19.08
What the HELL is going on in DeKalb?
The first funerals took place yesterday, with more scheduled for today and tomorrow, and a campus-wide memorial service scheduled for Sunday in the Convocation Center- the very place I crossed the stage to receive my master’s degree four years ago.
Yes, I’m an alumni. Still, I’ve been uncertain about whether to write anything. Maybe I’m no better than anyone else offering their two cents, their impressions, their perpective. I certainly wasn’t there and will never know this loss first hand.
But I know DeKalb. I know how people refer to it as “practically a Chicago suburb” even though it’s marooned amidst 45 minutes of corn and soybean fields. I know it as a quiet forgotten college town where the students pack their backpacks and laundry baskets each Thursday and Friday and go home to the suburbs of their childhood. And I know it as a town without a shopping mall, where controversial movies never make it to the screen, and where even chain restaurants are few and far between.
For two years, I lived in an apartment off campus, took seminars in DuSable, fought for parking in the yellow lot by the Rec Center, and taught rhetoric and composition. The students I introduced to intertextual analysis and critical reading are now graduating. And grieving.
And the Westboro Baptist Church is there picketing the funerals. It was this- this insensitive, disgusting, uneducated, and hateful action- that compeled me to finally write. Under the apparent belief that this and other tragedies of this country are caused by God as punishment for our acceptance of homosexuality, their presence at NIU is no different.
I’m dismayed- no, I’m angry…red, hot, pent-up angry that the memories of those five students: Ryanne, Julianna, Catalina, Gayle, and Dan, and the survival of 18 others who were shot less than a week ago- are being treated as a political and religious statement by fanatics.
What happened on Thursday was a senseless, premeditated tragedy. What is happening now at the Holmes Student Center is beyond my ability to articulate. It’s simply heartbreaking.
02.18.08
Bad Bridesmaid: Part 2
Throw out the bride magazine. You’re not getting married. You’re not planning a wedding. Go into the living room, dig it out from under the stack of Vogues, and toss the damn thing into the trash. NOW.
Somewhere over the last few months as I’ve helped friends plan their weddings I’ve picked up a few “harmless” bride magazines. To help with making Mara’s veil, I innocently told myself. Really. To help Junior High Friend find a dress. To help…to help…
I should have known better. I should have known what easy prey I’d be; how quickly I’d get sucked into the wedding vortex. I’m in a five-year relationship and am asked weekly by coworkers and friends if I’m engaged yet. Or pregnant. Or moving in.
But I’m not any of those things. And I’ve been a fool about it. I’ve gotten so caught up in what everyone else is doing that I’ve deluded myself into thinking it was a foregone conclusion for us. But it turns out that’s not where we are at all- where we may ever be.
It sucks to admit that. It sucks to catch myself planning ahead for a future with someone who still isn’t sure about me. Someone who is in no hurry to get on with a life together. Recognizing that, I’m angry at myself for having the stupid magazines in the first place, for setting myself up like that. It’s not my celebration after all. It belongs to my friends.
I wish I was okay with it being that way. But honestly, I don’t think I am.
02.14.08
American Idol: Replacement 401K?
American Idol is good bad TV. It’s a juggernaut (I love that I just got to use that word), so there’s really no escaping it. And really, why would you want to when it provides such a great learning opportunity, and (I suspect in addition to our current foreign policy) one of the several reasons people hate Americans so much.
The thing is (in case you aren’t lucky enough to be informed about the approaching apocolypse on the bus to Nordstrom’s or haven’t been exposed lately to a Tom Cruise monologue) American Idol brings the crazy to your living room, weekly. All kinds of it too. Crazy dressed up as Star Wars characters (see, they’re called characters because they’re not real); grown men wearing white suits of cellophane, glitter lycra, and feathers; bumble bees, pastry, Meatloaf (the singer, not the food)…
These people, of course, just want to be on TV. And, of course, the producers indulge them because it sets tongues to wagging and insights media buzz. What no one, however, seems to talk about or even acknowledge is the very sad and completely INSANE use of American Idol as a: 1) college fund, 2) medical insurance provider, 3) morgage payment, 4) retirement plan, or 5) platform from which to launch total world domination via land, sea, and singing.
I refer here to the contestants who respond to Randy’s “nah, man…not good enough….I like you, but it was just aight for me, dawg” with their own insightful drivel: “This was my only shot, dude…NOW what am I supposed to do with the REST. OF. MY. LIFE?”
To this I respond: American Idol is NOT a socioeconomic program!
I’ve been called a “dream crusher” at least once this morning by a co-worker, so let me assert here and now that I am pro-dream. I’m even for people striving to live the “American Dream.” But the thing is, if that’s what the show is, then it only gets to be one person’s dream (each season).
Given those odds- oh, I don’t know- maybe some form of back-up plan might be in order? At the very least, it might help to defray some of the rejection one is likely to encounter. And then, you know, you might have a regular job or something to fall back on like the rest of us.
I mean, it certainly wasn’t my dream to sit in a cube 40 hours a week, marketing The Meaning of Mundane, but I work for what it enables me to do responsibly to survive and irresponsibly to have fun. Has it become that difficult for the American public to find the means (outside of winning American Idol) to have both?
02.13.08
The Grass is Greenest at Home
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day; a particularly rancorous time of year for Kit and I. Five years of off/ on yo-yoing has shown this quite clearly. Maybe it’s due to the lack of sunlight, the surplus of single digit weather, or the looming tax season. Whichever it may be, our tendency is to break up a week or two before or after Feb. 14. There hasn’t been a single year we haven’t asked ourselves whether to keep that hard-won dinner reservation and risk the penalty of a last minute cancellation.
Tomorrow is no different, I’m afraid.
Though we’ve only been back together about six weeks now, we’re at the same impass as before. It is a universal truth that no matter how many times we part and reconnect, the challenges we face as a couple remain. Time is a great healer, but some things always remain.
Given that, it might not seem worthwhile anymore. For me, however, the worth of the pursuit has been just as constant. The pursuit of who we want to be as a couple, the pursuit of hope, of love and acceptance, of patience, of forgiveness, and of kindness.
I don’t often write of the travails of our relationship directly, and I won’t here now. He’s a reader, so it’s difficult to write openly and honestly and with respect to his own point of view. But today I’d like to step away from my typical misgivings, if only for a moment.
Today I’d like to take the opportunity to assert to him (hi, honey) and to you (my handful of occasional readers) that he is and always has been the most worthwhile pursuit. And that the pursuit instead for someone or something different or better, of something new or “strange” has always fallen away because he is the one I’ve always wanted and fought for, the one I’ve mourned the loss of, and the one I appreciate and adore. He is my home.
And because of that, year after year, I keep our dinner reservation.
Even My TiVo’s Depressed
It’s been a difficult couple of months. I’ve been listless. I’ve been annoyed. At times, I’ve even been desperate. How desperate?
I’ve become a frequent viewer of Deal or No Deal.
As aweful as that sounds, I’m sorry to say, it gets a lot worse. I’ve been brought as low as The Moment of Truth on Fox. (Yeah, I know. Have you seen that thing?) Thus far, however, I’m proud to say I’ve resisted the artfully terrible guiles of Celebrity Apprentice and Dance War: Bruno vs. Carrie Ann, but only because Project Runway and Celebrity Rehab episodes are running around the clock. (I can’t get enough of Tim Gunn or Dr. Drew!)
This is what happens when writer’s strike. These are the lengths to which viewers are driven. I mean, there have been whole nights that I’ve come home from work, turned on the TV, and simply given up. My spirit has been broken. I don’t even want to try to find replacement TV anymore. It’s like when the last episode of Friends aired and people didn’t know what to do with their Thursday nights anymore.
And then, I swear just to fuck with us, NBC will air an errant rerun of The Office or 30 Rock on an off night, teasing us with the reminder of how good we once had it. That’s right: NBC is the unrequited love that you see cooing at his baby in the grocery store. Bastard. (Not the baby, of course.)
In all seriousness though, the current state of things may change very soon. The word on the street is that a deal is being ratified and the guild members voted this afternoon about whether to continue picketing during that process. And the Trib reported today that SNL will be back with writers on Feb. 23.
For now though, it’s off to watch Hollywood week on American Idol for me. At least there’s that…
02.11.08
Bad Bridesmaid: Part 1
I’m skating on thin ice with one of my brides. In fact, I may be the worst bridesmaid. EVER.
Nevermind that, despite having the flu, I traveled for a “wedding weekend” to attend a bridal expo and shop for the (tackiest, 80’s styled) bridesmaid dress with her. We’re talking black iridescent taffeta strapless with a bow. And a BUBBLE skirt. A freaking bubble skirt. How is that “cute” or “pretty” for anyone? The thing looks like the saddest deflated balloon (that I anticipate being stuck to the sides of my legs during her August outdoor wedding).
And nevermind that I’ll be traveling there no less than THREE more times before her wedding for various other bridesmaidly duties. Or that I’ve already helped her find a reasonably priced string quartet (like that exists!), consulted my Graphic Designer Friend for invitation ideas, and offered to make her veil (I don’t even know how to sew!).
Like I said, nevermind all that. I just sent in my regrets to the (apparently mandated) “bridal party weekend” in the Ozarks. Carpooling 20 hours, over the Fourth of July holiday weekend, for four days, boozing it up on a pontoon boat, playing poker, riding Harleys, puking, with 16 strangers, for the low-low price of $500. How seriously appealing.
I told her I couldn’t make it because we (Kit, his son, and I) will be traveling. The honest to goodness truth is, I don’t fit into her new life, with her new friends, in her new town. At all. But how do you tell that to someone? How do you tell that, no less, to a BRIDE?
I’ve struggled with it for four days now, and have even consulted my married and engaged friends. All of them have individually said it’s a lot to expect, especially when she didn’t even check to see if anyone was available on those dates.
That said, I still feel terrible about choosing not to go. And I feel worse that she immediately shot back with a complaint that nothing could be “life-threatening” enough to keep me from coming to her “one and only bacherlorette party.” (Is it just me, or is it more important that I be there for the wedding?)
With six months to go, I’m worried that I’m one bridal shower away from getting my bridesmaid pink slip. And if that’s the case, I just hope it’s before and not after I buy that stupid dress.
02.10.08
Project Runway Finale First Looks
The Project Runway finalists showed their collections Friday morning, which can be viewed in their entirety on the New York Magazine’s site. If you’re not interested in seeing what the finalists’ designs looked like, DO NOT SCROLL DOWN…
Because I’m about to show you.
I told myself this year I wasn’t going to peek and ruin the surprise. Alas, I couldn’t keep myself from looking for even a day…learning that ALL 5 designers ended up showing collections, although only three will be considered for final judging (no, I do not know which three and please DO NOT tell me if you do). That meant that Sweet P, Chris March, Rami, Christian, and Jillian each showed collections.
Sweet P’s collection was disjointed. She seems so nice on the show, but I don’t really like her style either. So when I looked at what she put together, it wasn’t so much that I didn’t like it, but that her colors and fabric choices just didn’t make sense as a collection. As Nina would say, “what’s your asethetic?” or “there’s no cohesion.” Exactly. I had a difficult time trying to figure out what the “story” was behind her 13 looks. I think she was right on the money with this chartreuse dress though (a number of designers showed one or two looks in this shade and this fabric- a trend for fall?):
While I was ultimately confused by Sweet P’s work; I very much did not like what Chris March showed. The whole thing brought about a general “YUCK” from me. And it’s unfortunate because I like Chris M. and think he is very good at producing a garment. Plus, he cried when SJP was the guest judge! But his taste is questionable at times–and this is one of those times. I couldn’t even go along with the collection as “high fashion” because it wasn’t even that. It just seemed irrelevant, and a bit tacky. Case in point:
Rami’s was probably one of the more professionally produced collections of the five, I think, but of course…(use your Nina voice here) “very Ramiiiiiiii”. His designs however showed like a collection from a designer who’s done this for years. It was extremely well thought out and had a clear and logical progression from start to end, where it evolved into goregeous Ralph Lauren-esque eveningwear.
And then there’s Christian, who I am partial to. He stuck to black and neutrals and experimented with texture, shape, and embellishment. His collection looked like it took the most amount of work and came across as very European, very sophisticated. I’m not sure that it was my favorite, but it was definitely very strong.
Jillian is not to be forgotten either. After looking at the collections all week, I’m surprised to see how now her work actually is. Her designs are in keeping with much of what I’ve seen from countless other designers for fall, and yet still evocative of her personal style as a designer. I think she did so well that I think she may be the dark horse here.
Although I didn’t love any one particular collection, it was nice to see such variation between each designer’s work. I think it’s going to be down to Jillian and Christian and Rami.
