The Wind Beneath My Whines

Trench Coat (H&M, similar here) Sweater (Zara - old, similar here and here), Jeans (J.Crew - self-cut because they were too damn long and they look better this way, similar here), Sneakers (Converse - sold basically everywhere since basically the beginning of time), Ring (Blanca Monros Gomez via Of a Kind) 

We were getting pretty cocky there with that seemingly steadfast warm weather (or at least I was, with my bare legs and my silky tank tops that seemed to evaporate at even the slightest of touches), but this is still San Francisco after all, and this city is nothing if not temperamental, drought and all. What's a jaunt home from a long day at work without the sour face sensation of stinging gales slapping your body around to remind you that you're aliiiiiiiiiiive (!!) and that walking is hard? I ASK YOU.

Between the scores of plebs that have permanently lost their ability (did they ever have it to begin with?????? I wonder..) to walk in a straight line at a healthy pace, and the tempestuous proclivities of the air here, moving about the streets of this city can be damn near impossible at times, depending on your location and your constitution. 

As such, my finely tuned capacity to hate things, both acutely and expansively, has been further honed over the years as I've frequented these streets. And whereas previously, in more cynical times, I would have kicked and spat and clawed at the gusts of human particles the city was throwing at me, these days—because along with baby smooth skin, an abundance of maturity and wisdom, and fewer physical ailments, aging also brings with it an increasingly sunny disposition, especially in the face of conflict—I simply greet the wind with a smile, and a thick sweater. 

ELL-OHH-ELLLLZZZZZ.

Give Me the Blues, Please

Blazer (Zara - old, similar here and here), Blouse (H&M, similar here), Jeans (J.Crew, similar here), Heels (Nine West, similar here), Necklace (Dogeared), Bracelet (Nadri), Ring (Blanca Monros Gomez via Of a Kind) 

Apparently the thing to do this Spring is get the blues. And not the Muddy Waters kind, or the compulsory, overly styled hair emo kind either. But rather, the kind that requires a lot less angst, slightly more money, and more often than not, garners feelings opposite of those associated with the two former incarnations.

Which is to say that this season, we should most definitely swathe ourselves in a multitude of delicately azure'd hues, and do so for the solely indulgent purpose of it feeling so deliciously good. Have you noticed this? There is something about beholding a blue that lives anywhere on the spectrum of Icy to Cerulean that is undeniably pleasing—easy on the eyes as it were. And it feels even better when you put it on your body. 

At least this is what designers were telling us with their Spring/Summer 2014 collections. We saw nearly every kind of blue on the runways last September, but a particular emphasis was placed on, or rather, a particular attention was paid to, those of the Periwinkle and Soft Sky family, as seen in collections like Kenzo, Alexander Wang, Rebecca Taylor, Delpozo, and of course the breathtakingly dreamy Burberry Prorsum collection (just to name a bunch).

Sure, pastels for Spring is anything but earth shattering, but I find this season's particular incarnation—an infatuation with all of the complexity and beauty that blue has to offer us—to be novel in the sense that, contrary to their popular idiomatic and musical trappings, blues are in fact quite the effective mood elevator. And couldn't we all use some substance-free pick-me-ups from time to time?

Waist Deep

Shirt (Zara, also love this one from Zara here), Trousers (Sessun via Urban Outfitters - old, similar here and here), Shoes (Zara - Birthday present from my mama, similar here and here), Necklace (Dogeared)

When formulating this outfit, I asked myself the following: "What, other than a jolly little jig, goes with sailor stripes?" Without thinking I was immediately drawn to a pair of high-waisted, navy Sessun trousers hanging in my closet because...well...because that pairing is one that's been carved into our minds for decades, mostly thanks to Gene Kelly and Jerry (of "Tom and" fame), and maybe some other people too, but probably not. (That "Anchors Aweigh" routine is one of the best dance sequences captured on film if you ask me--click on the link and watch...you won't be sorry).

In addition to Gene, this high-waisted-bottom-cropped-top combination is a silhouette that's been floating through the runways and the streets recently. Of the blogger vertical, just recently both Leandra Medine of Man Repeller and Danielle Bernstein of WeWoreWhat showcased two very different, but cut from the same cloth conceptually, looks demonstrating this insouciant match-up.  

It's a rather fetching combo, and it doesn't always work, but it's something I've been trying out (on?) a bit more recently, and on days when I have no idea what to wear, starting with the high-waisted-bottom-cropped-top silhouette as a guiding principle has lead to some interesting, if not pleasing, results. Take it for a spin, and pretend you're time-stepping with a cartoon mouse at your side. 

Ballet Skirts and Nostalgia for Your High School Self

Sweater (Gap - so old, similar here and here), Skirt (H&M, similar here and here), Shoes (Nine West, similar here). Necklace (Dogeared), Ring (Blanca Monroz Gomez via Of a Kind)

I hung up my pointe shoes (along with my tap shoes, and all other dance-related accoutrements and abilities) after I graduated high school—DEAR GOD THAT WAS ALREADY 10 YEARS AGO—in the way that a really devoted Bob Ross School of Painting disciple might hang up their palette of happily mixed hues and lazily buttoned chambray shirt; that is to say, unceremoniously, but not without longing or reverence. And since then, my encounters with barres and leotards and the like have been few and far between, and usually end with my tears and clenched fists and many fervent assertions about what I used to be able to do.

But my pangs of nostalgic yearning for days of balletic agility gone by, and the subsequent pain that follows, mean that I still like (read: need) to pretend that I'm a ballerina. Such is the genesis of this particular outfit, which also may or may not be—ok, definitely is—born out of a subconscious quotation of this outfit (see: 0:43 seconds). 

Maybe I grand allegro'd my way to the train station in this outfit, and maybe I arabesque'd in the ladies restroom at my office when no one was looking, and maybe it felt fucking GREAT???? Don't worry about it. 

The Lightweight Trench

Trench Coat (H&M, similar here), Shirt (H&M Men's - old, similar here), Denim (Uniqlo, similar here and here), Shoes (Aldo, similar here), Necklace (Dogeared), Ring (Blanca Monroz Gomez via Of a Kind) 

It's Spring! Huzzah and hooray and skipping and flower prints and baby colors and all of that good stuff. One thing Spring means is that if coats weren't already strictly ornamental for us Californians and our drought-ridden winters, then they definitely are now. Hence the $30 trench that weighs little more than the puff of cotton candy I'm thinking about eating as I stand, hip knocked, pockets swallowing my hands, smirking to myself because a denim waist that high just feels so. damn. good. 

When the Juices Aren't Flowing

Coat (Zara, similar here), Shirt (Zara, similar here) Jeans (J.Crew - old, similar here), Heels (Nine West, here's my dream pair), Ring (Blanca Monros Gomez via Of a Kind), Necklaces (Dogeared) 

Despite the fact that I fancy myself otherwise, I think that in real life (in this case, real life means my endeavors to dress myself) I am actually not a creative person. Like, at all.

Please! Quiet your objections! I know, it's difficult to believe because according to my hair, I should possess Ms. Frizzle-status levels of innovative ability, and should also be loosely related to Lionel Richie's Jheri Curl circa any moment in the 1980s. 

But alas, each morning as I stand butt-naked before my closet, bewildered and frustrated by the prospect of having to clothe myself in a combination of things that thoroughly fools people into thinking that I am stylish and capable, my inability to conjure anything close to a formative idea, along with my subsequent knee-jerk reaction of reaching for the same blazer and the even more same pair jeans, reminds me that I am in fact completely devoid of imaginative faculties when it comes to what I wear. 

Which is why I'm over the moon for these white pumps. They've single-handedly revolutionized (overstating maybe?) my outfit-compiling process, in that they seem to make everything I wear not lame and boring by exacting a certain sharpness that elevates, say, an otherwise dull grey sweater to something that maybe a stylish someone would don.

They are a recent purchase, which means my relationship with them will go something like this: I will wear them over and over again on such annoyingly consecutive schedule as to induce eye-rolling from everyone that knows me, until my face falls off and I am so utterly sick of them that I hurl them at the floor and in disgust swear them off completely, until 6 months later when I rediscover them in a fit of closet cleaning and I fall deeply in love with them all over again. 

Except that won't happen with these because they're better than that.