Head’s up; this essay is sponsored by Zenni. In second grade, wearing pigtails and saddle shoes, I tried to fail my vision test.
When welcoming any new season, I tend to get a bit squirrely with my wardrobe. There’s never a shortage of voices announcing the latest must-have ankle boot or toting this fall’s newest cut of denim. For an unapologetic lover of getting dressed, there’s always the temptation to upgrade.
When I lived in L.A., pre-HGTV.com days, I worked as a fashion stylist and production assistant for a series of high-end sample sales. We’d phone our carefully-culled list of independent designers and rescue their leftover garments from end-of-season demise, then rent out a boutique hotel ballroom to display the gathered merchandise over the course of
The dog days are here. Yesterday, I passed a trio of towheads sitting cross-legged on a grassy front lawn, electric blue popsicles dripping down their chin, elbows, knees. Bikes piled haphazardly in the driveway, garden sprinkler a flurry.
Hair, of all things. I’ve never been blessed with a sense of consistency in the beauty department. As a child, my own grandmother often failed to identify me in family photos due to a near-constant rotation of (admittedly terrible) hair choices: the leave-in Perm, the impromptu bangs, the great Sun-In overdose of 1994.
I used to get dressed in the winter, used to rally against the cold and put together a somewhat-presentable uniform for my weekly grocery run or a library return. Once, lifetimes ago and certainly pre-children, I dressed myself up for an afternoon matinee, heels and all, a double layer of mascara. What’s the occasion? the
Head’s Up: Sponsored by Zappos The cucumbers are rotten and the news is all bad and it’s just that we really, really need each other. — This summer was a hard one over here. This summer was a hard one everywhere, I think, and we’re all still a bit raw from the scorch. The fires,
(Start here.) I’m a denim girl through-and-through, both for their ease and durability, but when summer starts to shift into fall, I find myself reaching for a welcome substitute: linen trousers. WHY? Call ’em cropped pants, or culottes, whatever you’d like. The fact remains: they’re the single-most versatile replacement for denim I’ve found to date.