I Got My Mom Shorts On and I'm Ready to Party...

Blazer (Zara - last seen here), Camisole (Topshop, similar here), Shorts (Zara, similar here), Shoes (Zara, similar here) Necklace (Dogeared) 

The high-waisted, drop-crotched, fupa-producing silhouette of those shorts worn by Girl Scout cookie pushing moms of America or say by those middle-aged, tennis playing, waspy Hamptons types, is one best handled with care. It's tricky territory for sure—things can easily go awry—but that doesn't mean that one shouldn't endeavor to take a pair of these bad boys for a spin.

The "mom short," as I'll call it, (I realize this characterization is potentially offensive, but I really don't intend it to be, as it's merely observational, and furthermore, we're talking about some great shorts here) along with other mom favorites like bermuda shorts and hell, even culottes, were popping up all over the place this summer. Designers re-imagined these formerly dowdy silhouettes and presented them within new contexts, forcing us to rethink our previously concluded conceptions of these bottoms. And we did. And really, they can look rather chic if one is thoughtful in their undertaking (see here and here as a start).

I like the idea of wearing them with (surprise!) a blazer—especially one in the same color or print as said mom shorts or one that shares at least one color—because it reads as suit-y, a look atypical of the mom short aesthetic, and also because it lends some much-needed structure to the placid sea of fabric circling your pelvis. And of course, with a pair of pumps, one couldn't farther away from the soccer field.

I'm not saying I don't have my reservations, because I do. No matter what you look like, if cut the wrong way, or worn carelessly, these high-waisted wonders can make anyone's legs look like KFC drumsticks (not to mention, the previously glossed over eminent danger of a raging FUPA surfacing). I'm just saying, give them a try, and steer clear of the thin mints and the tennis courts when doing so. 

Taking a Cue from TTH...And S&M

Blazer (Zara - old, similar here), Dress (Tinley Road via Piperlime - old, similar here and here), Shoes (Zara - big time on sale now, similar here and here), Necklace (Nadri via Nordstrom, similar here) 

Wearing leather is always fun, but wearing leather, lace-up heels, and spikes sounds a lot more fun, doesn't it? 

It is.

Taylor Tomasi Hill, artistic director of Moda Operandi, street style slayer and crimson-haired fashion fairy, is a consistent and delightful source of stylistic inspiration for ladies far and wide (myself included). And this outfit of hers in particular managed to carve out a space in the nether regions of my mind and camp out in that spot since I first saw her in this look. So it was only a matter of time before some version of it made its way out of my subconscious and into my outfit rotation.

Only I took an ever-so-slightly more Star-Trek-the-Next-Generation-meets-S&M-mistress approach with this shoulder-padded, spike-bedazzled blazer. Wearing an outfit that is comprised of a few nods to dominatrix fashion during the daytime (and out in public) is easier than you may think, if you're into that kind of thing.

The important thing to remember is to not go over the top with it. There's a fine line between stylish so-and-so and BDSM streetwalker. Sure the leather dress is, well, leather, but the silhouette is clean and classic (a shift dress is one of the most flattering and versatile pieces a woman can own in any fabric), and even a tad sweet. And sure, the blazer is in fact spiked, but it's only a fraction of the whole piece that is armed and dangerous, and the cut of the blazer itself is slim and flattering, clean lines in a classic black with nary another spike in sight anywhere else. And the shoes, well the shoes are where you can do your thing, and that's not to say that these are necessarily ho-y—they're involved and eye-catching while still being straight-forward and chic—but it's on your feet where I feel like you have free reign to be a little bit more naughty at times and always more out-of-the-box. 

Lastly, the fact that the entire outfit is one color—black at that—played out in different textures, means that you can have a little bit more fun with it. The monochromatic nature of the look keeps things from getting too out of hand, spikes and all, while still making a bold statement. 

I say, use it. The next time you have an intense meeting scheduled with your boss, where you want to, I dunno, demand a raise, or do some heavy lifting in the upward management department, strap in, lace up, slap on some leather, throw on some spikes, and grab your whip.

Get Down

Dress (Cooperative via Urban Outfitters - old, similar here), Blazer (Bebe - so old, similar here and here), Sneakers (Converse - you can seriously buy these everywhere), Watch (Marc by Marc Jacobs), Necklace (Dogeared)   

My usual view (read: unwavering gaze of scrutiny) from atop 5-inch heels, stomping around at 6'2'' feels a lot different than the view from down here in these sneakers, where the air is much less intense, and considerably more blithe. And while normally I reserve my flat-wearing exploits for matters relating exclusively to running, the beach, and/or the grocery store, in recent months, sneakers have been sneakily (<— pun intended, but not because it's a particularly good one) making their way into my shoe rotation, despite my better efforts to stay altitudinous.

I think this mostly has to do with the fact that there are so many goddamn cute sneakers out there these days, and the fact that earlier this year, I was forcibly flattened (as it were) when I stupidly sprained my ankle falling down my stairs—NOT wearing heels, mind you! I am much more stable in stilettos than I am in flats. (I got really good at figuring out how to make a limp look like it's a part of your outfit, by the way.)

Whatever the reason for my tennis shoe fetish lately, the outcome is the same, and pleasantly amusing in that I've taken to mostly wearing sneakers with dresses and skirts, a trend perfected by Leandra Medine, and 4-year-old girls everywhere who choose their own outfits. And those toddlers know what they're doing, with that kind of carefree spirit—a youthful inhibition—coupled with a sense of purpose that makes them say, "I'm wearing my purple princess dress with my light-up sneakies today, Mommy!" (I realize children probably don't sound anything like this). Which makes me think, maybe the reason sneakers have been peppering my outfit lexicon as of late is because my subconscious knows they're somehow good for me.

Grounding oneself (literally) with a pair of sneakers worn with say, a party dress, or a blazer (or both!), knocked down off of your high-heeled pedestal—your place of carping, does sort of give you some perspective (figuratively) in the sense that you can't really take yourself—or anything for that matter—too seriously when you're prancing around in a polka dot dress and a pair of high-tops (it's reeeeally hard to act huffy when your shoes squeak—trust me, I've tried). 

But maybe a forced mood of "eh-I-guess-it's-not-that-big-of-a-deal-I'm-wearing-tennies-today!" insouciance brought on by a happy pair of rubber-soled sports shoes, is a dose of perspective we all need every once in a while in the midst of our overly urgent and upsetting, EVERYTHING'S SUPER IMPORTANT ALL THE TIME ALWAYS day-to-day lives. I know I need it. And so what if it's a pair of ground-hugging gym shoes that reminds me to chill the fuck out sometimes and happily shrug something off?

Sometimes you've got to get down to get up.

Candy Corn

Dress (Plenty by Tracy Reese via Anthropologie - so old, similar here, here, and here), Blazer (Forever 21, similar here), Shoes (Zara - old, similar here, and here), Necklace (Dogeared)

Ages ago, back when I was a certified Anthroholic, daily I would pour over the Anthropologie website with a kind of diligence and devotion found mostly only in crazies—Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory status. I would chuckle to myself as I read the names of their cleverly-titled wares, with their obscure Art Historical and cultural references, and their expanded color palette (e.g. "Marpesia Kimono Blouse" and "Cerulean Dream Dress"). The fittingness of these names was undeniable (if you understood the references), but at times the copy could get exhausting—SOMETIMES YOU JUST WANNA SHOP WITHOUT A HISTORY LESSON—and slightly full of itself. Not to mention, no one would ever look at your blouse and be like, "Mmm that shirt...it's so fabulous...it's sooo...ancient-Greek-Mythological-co-ruling-sister-Queen-of-the-Amazon!" "I know, right?!" Whatever.

Anyway, this dress was appropriately named "The Candy Corn Shift," and the funny thing is, every time I wear it—and I mean every time—at least one person who is not my sister says to me (unprompted), "You look like candy corn!" which I always take as a compliment, rightly or wrongly. And I smile, because that random copywriter intern working for Anthro's website 4 years ago decided to call this dress what she did for whatever reason, and people everywhere, ever since then, seem to agree with her decision. I just find that kind of amusing. It's a stupid story, but it's the story of this dress, so there you have it.

C.R.E.A.M.

Gurrrl, lemme tell you...

Don't make a habit of crossing the street with your eyes closed.

T-Shirt (Urban Outfitters, you're welcome), Pants (Free People - old, similar here), Shoes (Zara, similar here), Watch (Marc by Marc Jacobs), Necklace (Dogeared), Bracelets (Madewell and Asos - old, similar here and here) 

Cash (really does) rule everything around me, guys. The mantra still holds true, even off of the streets of Staten Island, and in the manicured meeting rooms and mansions of Silicon Valley and San Francisco (especially if you let it...which I do). But we're not here to talk about real estate trends or per capita income statistics. We're here to talk about t-shirts.

My sister will tell you that I am slowly, but surely, trying to take over the world one cheeky t-shirt at a time, but I see my t-shirt domination as slightly more localized than that. I'd rather just rule the room I'm in, or the sidewalk I'm on. Nothing major.

My obsession with t-shirts has grown steadily over the last couple years, as designers have begun to incorporate the tried-and-true basic more and more into their collections in new and exciting ways, and as bloggers and street style stars have begun to creatively posit the t-shirt more and more as an outfit focal point.

This is all great. But you have to remember you can't just wear these guys willy nilly. Their simplicity requires that there be some forethought, some personal meaning and contextual consideration behind your t-shirt decision. (Yes, I just said that.) With the bazillions of random and more often than not annoying t-shirts that are out there now, it's easy to throw one on because you think it "looks cool" or "sounds cool" and end up looking like a douchebag (if I see one more "Keep Calm and something something" or "Frankie Says some bullshit" t-shirt on one more self-important, clueless teenager, I'm going to scrape my eyeballs out with my fingernails...and what I mean by that is really I'll probably just brood and stew silently beside them and throw shade so hard my face will hurt). So choose your t-shirt wisely and deliberately and probably don't buy it if you don't know who Eazy-E is.

So let's talk about this awesome t-shirt. My romance with rap is a (relatively speaking) longstanding one—trust me, I do not even try to pretend like this makes me any less of a princess from the 'burbs because it does not—and at the top of my list of lovers is The Wu-Tang Clan, with "C.R.E.A.M." sitting resolutely atop my list of all-time favorite tracks, ever. So when I saw this shirt, the desire that rushed through me was so immediate and all-consuming that I had made the purchase before my mind even had a chance to catch up with my hands. And despite the fact that the sight of this shirt on a Disney cartoon look-alike in 5-inch heels, with Shirley Temple hair and chicken arms probably makes most people laugh or think that I'm wearing it ironically or maybe also makes them feel sorry for me, I find myself unable to muster up the energy to care. They don't get it and they don't have to. Because I'm kicking their ass in the secret sidewalk t-shirt battle they don't know we're having anyway.

Photos © Rose Garrett