Salty Girl

I was a bit vexed today to read one woman’s derision of wardrobe blog poses as “catalog.” She suggests ANTM style “high fashion or couture” poses instead. Personally, I’ve avoided much fashion photography inspiration because (a) those poses usually only look good on the very thin and photogenic (and require exacting lighting) and (b) the purpose of wardrobe blog photos is to display the clothes (just as in a catalog). Still, the criticism was rattling around in my head this evening, along with pressure from myself to take more interesting shots, especially as I prepared to go to my photography class. So, the result: you get my take on the Morton’s Salt girl and a poll.

Umbrella, Alexander Julian. Sweater, Mossimo. Tee, Steve and Barry's. Skirt, Billabong. Wellies, TJ Maxx. Earrings, No Boundaries. Salt, Morton’s.


When it rains, it pours.










I’m no longer in the running to become America’s Next Top Model.

What posing style do you prefer on a personal style blog?
	Catalog
	High Fashion
	Other (I'll tell you in the comments)
pollcode.com free polls

To Match a Room

Cardigan, Moda International. Tank, NY & Co. Jeans, To The Max. Necklace, Target. Pumps, Colin Stuart. Watch, Louis Arden. Martini glass, gift.

Here I am in Audi’s inspiration room, drinking a slightly dirty, vodka martini.

And, le sigh, back to real life and a glass that’s actually filled with water, not booze. (But I have a cold beer off camera.)



Jacket, Dex. Bag, No Boundaries.

Hook

Jacket, Odds ‘n Evens (thrifted). Dress, Lani. Cami, NY & Co. Sandals, Nine West. Bag, No Boundaries. Headband, Forever 21. Ring, Target.


I like how it appears as if the coat hook is protruding from my head in the above two photos. That would hurt, but it might be a nice place to hang your purse.

Props Mistress

Jacket, swap. Blouse, Jovovich-Hawk for Target. Jeans, Lucky. Ballet flats, Steven Madden. Headband, Forever 21. Beer, Miller Lite. (And that’s Sammy the Cat in the background licking his unmentionables.)

Being props mistress is a tough job. For instance, I’ve had to drink all this beer in order to refill the bottles with water to use as props. It’s a real hardship.


This is the first time I’ve done props for a show, and it’s given me an appreciation for grumpy props people I’ve dealt with in the past. In Mrs. Bob Cratchit’s Wild Christmas Binge, our props lady started the run by bringing in fresh hamburgers and fries for a scene in which we ate McDonald’s Happy Meals. Now, eating on stage is tough. First off, you’re simply not hungry. Secondly, you really have to watch how much you put in your mouth so that you are ready to deliver your next line (although that didn’t stop our Tiny Tim). After Mrs. Props yelled at us for not eating the food, we got buns only and cold fries for the rest of the performances. Yum.

Now I’m grumpy props lady. I want the actors to DISPLAY my props. Especially the tabloid covers I just whipped up:


I’m hoping the next show I do props for requires an empty ice cream carton or pizza box. I’ll gladly take care of the contents. (That's of course, assuming, they'll have me back as props mistress. I'm such a diva.)

Double Bowed

Cardi, No Boundaries. Dress, vintage, swapped, and shortened. Belt, The Limited. Pumps, Oh Deer! Ring, Forever 21. Earrings, Target. Purse, Liz Claiborne. Scarf, swap.

Days of Wine and Roses

Blouse, Daytrip. Skirt, Moda International. Pumps, Delicious. Jet bead necklace (wrapped around wrist), thrifted. Rose bracelet, Forever 21. Rose brooch, thrifted. Hair clip, self-made. Cat toy, Cat Crazies.


Yeah, it’s a little picture, but it gets bigger if you click it.

Sunblock is great, but nothing (except maybe a parasol) beats a hat to keep the sun off your face. Today, I’m going out at lunchtime to buy a few props and complete my photography homework. Maybe I’ll see you out and about downtown Cincinnati on this lovely, sunny day. You’ll know me. I’ll be the one in the hat.


I’ll also be the one wearing a silly expression

Saturday

Hat, Betmar. Tank, Merona. Skirt, Dex (swap). Fringed thongs, SM. Necklace, Anthropologie. Bag, MCI (thrifted). Watch, Mudd.

I sort of cut my feet off in the lead photo, so here’s a close-up of my fringed flip-flops (and other accessories):


And I did not cut my feet off here either:



Yeah, Smunch gets some camera time.
I attended the third session of my digital photography class on Thursday. I’m definitely in the slow learner group. We were all supposed to bring in a flash drive with 10, correctly exposed photos to share with the class. At the end of class, they were shown on the screen and critiqued. I was last to go and everyone before me had absolutely gorgeous photos that they had taken on the entirely manual setting. I had five crappy shots I took on either shutter or aperture priority mode. While everyone else got comments like “Wow” and “Perfect,” my pictures were greeted with silence. I’ve got to do better on my homework this week.

I don’t dare bring in my outfit photos for the group*, but it is a good time for me to practice. I took the above photos on the shutter priority mode and went all manual, baby, for my jump shots:


The pictures aren’t perfect, but I wouldn’t have been able to take them at all in manual mode just a few weeks ago. And concentrating on ISO, shutter, aperture, and white balance completely distracted me from the fact that I did about 40 jumps, after swimming 3650 yards. Who knew that photography could be such a great workout motivator!?

*I'm a big fan of that last photo and might dare to bring it in for class, even though I didn't shoot it in the prescribed RAW format.

Feather in My Hair

Blazer, Charlotte Russe (overdyed by me). Tank, Apt 9. Skirt, Thailand. Sandals, Nine West. Metal cuff, Pangaea. Wooden bangle, swap. Feather pick, Home Emporium.


I’ve commented before on the fact that I work in a very tolerant office. I get away with some pretty crazy getups at work. But that doesn’t mean that people don’t stare. Silly me, I forget that I’m wearing something outrageous and wonder why people are watching me walk up the corridor. I wonder if perhaps I’ve tucked my skirt into my underwear or if a booger is hanging out of my nose. Then I say to myself, “Oh, yeah. I’ve got a big ol’ feather sticking out of my hair. No wonder they’re staring.”

Weight and Size

I sometimes get comments or emails from readers who want to know what size I wear or how much I weigh. Other than the occasional rant about inconsistent sizing or pouting over pants that don’t fit, I consider these topics off limits.

The number one reason I don’t share my size or weight is because it’s usually asked so that the reader can compare their own numbers to mine. Striving to match someone else’s size or weight is a dangerous path to tread. There is no universally ideal weight or size.

There is certainly a “healthy” weight range (BMI), but even that isn’t fool-proof. If you’re heavily muscled (dense), you may be over the recommended weight range, yet at a healthy fat percentage. Conversely, some people within the range can still be unhealthily “fat.” I would advise anyone seeking their ideal weight to first consult the BMI chart, and then to have their percentage fat measured by a health or fitness professional. If you are still concerned, see your doctor. Weight is influenced by multiple factors and simply comparing yourself to someone else isn’t the right way to find your healthy weight.

Sizing is fraught with even more perils. Consider this: in 1983 the Sweet Valley High twins wore “a perfect size 6.” In 2008, they wear “a perfect size 4.” This illustrates both our cultural penchant for naming a “perfect” size and the fluidity of sizing. Not only have clothing sizes shrunk (“0 is the new 2!”) but the shrinking is inconsistent. Old Navy’s sizing is predictably generous, but I’ve got Forever 21 garments in everything from “small” to “large.” And be prepared for a sizing shock when going for a gown fitting at a bridal shop, where sizes haven’t shrunk at all. But who cares what size you wear? Size has even less relevance than weight. There is no “perfect” size, other than the one that actually fits your body.

All this sage advice is not meant to imply that I’m personally immune to the cult of thinness. I have my own insecurities to struggle with. I see my body’s flaws and wonder if they might disappear if I could just lose five pounds. I long to fit in those smaller jeans just to know that I can wear that size. I have the same body issues as any other woman. In all honesty, my own insecurities are the second reason I don’t share my weight or size with the internet at large. I’ve been flamed on the message boards for everything from my hairstyle to my makeup to my shoes to my age to my egomania and even my weight. I’d rather not give the haters any more ammunition. I may be an egomaniac, but it still makes me sick to my stomach to read nasty comments about myself online.

The third reason I refuse to disclose my weight or clothing size is that women can be so very competitive about those numbers. It’s a vicious, hurtful game in which no one wins, so I refuse to play. Perhaps a boycott will end the game’s popularity?

Finally, this is a style blog and size is not germane. Style can be found at any size. (See a good discussion of this issue on Wardrobe Remix’s Discussion Board.)

My weight and size are personal and I won’t share them. I do my best to maintain a happy and healthy weight and attitude and wish the same for you. Let’s not be overly fixated on the numbers and have fun with our wardrobes instead.

Little Bird

Cropped jacket, No Boundaries. Tank, Merona. Dress, Lipstick. Peeptoes, Wild Diva. Necklace and bracelet, Pangaea. Bag, Prague (thrifted).

Someone, please, ban me from entering Pangaea. I do not need any more jewelry. I bought this bird-in-a-tree pendant there, along with the wooden Zad necklace.

I rarely caveat my photos this way, but: this looked better in real life. My hair, although damp in the photos, did not look better IRL. In fact, be prepared to view many more bad hair days as I have been banned from coloring it until my appointment in June. I don’t see much point to getting a trim before then, either.


See ya.

Bad hair days, here I come.

Last Day

Cardigan, J G Hook (swap). Blouse, Forever 21. Trousers, Moda International. Pumps, Oh Deer! Pendant, thrifted. Sunnies, Rampage. Handbag, Franco Sarto. Tote, Tommy Hilfiger.

Today is the second (and last day) of a training event I’ve coordinated. I wore this cardigan on Day 2 of the training last year. I guess it’s my serious, academic look.


I almost wore the same skirt, too, but this blouse looked really stupid tucked in.
Look at all this patent! I was even further burdened by a coat, an overnight case, a handcart loaded with training materials, and eight lunches. (No, I didn’t eat all eight.)

I love ruffles. And pink. And magnolia blossoms.