Pardon me, I need to go on a mini-rant.

I’ve recently been noticing the word “style” being used as a verb, and not just in relation to hair. It could be that I’m more aware of it, since I launched Crisis in Denim and so began reading more fashion magazines and websites.

However, I’ve been reading, and even occasionally hearing, the word “style” used in relation to clothes, as in “How would you style this black cardigan?” or “What nice boots. I have some ideas as to how I might style those.”

I hate to sound like an old fogey, but in my day putting a jacket together with a skirt and some nice jewelry and shoes was just called GETTING DRESSED.

It makes me think of something I read in the New York Times not too long ago about how “curating” isn’t just for museum professionals anymore. No one hosts parties anymore, they “curate” them. No one puts together an outfit anymore; no she “styles” it.

I guess the world is getting fancier. Crisis in Denim must keep up.

Ah well… you know what they say about the best laid plans.

I was in New York this weekend, and before my arrival, I had been very much looking forward to doing me a little shopping at Brooklyn Flea.

Brooklyn Flea is not so much a flea market (I’m kind of squeamish about second-hand clothes, and I’m not much into antique-shopping), as a place for Brooklyn artists to sell their crafts. The Saturday Flea takes place in Fort Greene just around the corner from my bf’s apartment.  There’s also a Sunday one, but it’s in a different neighborhood, and we had plans all day Sunday.

But Saturday. That would be Brooklyn Flea Day.

Oh, I was so excited. I’d been trying to get to Flea for ages, but pesky brunch dates with friends and other New York- type distractions always got in the way.

This time, we were going to make it! We’d set aside the whole glorious day.*

*Our day started with brunch at Rice, where we had this yummy (and gorgeous) black rice and veggie curry dish. I know this isn't a food blog. I couldn't resist.

Visions of handmade earrings and beaded necklaces danced through my head! I counted down the days! (Oh yeah, I was also excited to see my bf.)

But, as the day grew near things started to look bleak. First of all, it was supposed to rain. Hard. Second, Martha Stewart had announced she was going to make an appearance at the Sunday Flea, so many of the vendors decided to ditch the Saturday one.

The Brooklyn Flea website all but said only losers would be hitting the Saturday flea, that everyone who was anyone would be going Sunday.

Now, my bf and I had plans upon plans  on Sunday.  Contrary to popular belief I do prize people above shopping, and was not about to cancel our Sunday plans (okay, so I thought about it, but only for like a fraction of a nanosecond).

So I decided that  true shoppers are not deterred by a little rain and celebrity worship. Off to Flea we went, rain dripping off our hoods and puddles soaking our feet.

I admit, the Fort Greene Flea was empty. What few designers there were huddled under their tarps. Still, you know me! I managed some good finds anyway.

First stop: Wreckords by Monkey, where I bought two cuff bracelets made out of old records. The artist, Patrick, sold me two for $20, a discount earned because A is gregarious and he and Patrick got to talking about healthcare reform (with me interjecting every once in awhile: “Public option? Whatever. What I really want to know is– which bracelet looks better on me?)

I then spent some time keeping dry under the tent run by Birdhouse Jewelry, where I, ahem, tried on almost every piece of gorgeous (and well-priced) jewelry, while my bf patiently helped out the designer by untangling some of the necklaces in her display. After much debate, I found me this lovely double-stranded black-beaded necklace that I plan to wear with, well, everything this winter.

However, looking at the pics of the Sunday Flea, complete with sunshine and Martha Stewart, I am a bit jealous. A sunny day, the market chock full of vendors, and Martha Stewart (I’m not a Martha Stewart worshipper, but I do like celebrity sightings.)

Still there was certainly a bright side to the rainy day. Fewer vendors meant fewer temptations…

So a warning: If you aren’t interested in attending my pity party, I recommend you stop reading. Because I’m about to get deep into some serious feeling sorry for myself, and if that’s not your thing, I recommend you open another tab and start browsing Zappos immediately. I won’t be offended.

Otherwise, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

So here it is:  I’m beginning to wonder whether I’m actually cut out to be a fashion blogger. You see, not too long ago I entered a contest to become America’s Most Stylish Blogger. Now, I’ve said before, I never win anything. Plus, I tend not to put a lot of stock in contests as a general rule anyway, because, well, it’s better not to.

But in reading over the winning entries I realized a few things. First, they were ALL about the pictures. Now, I know I need to learn to think more visually if I’m going to blog. But it’s not something that comes naturally to me. In fact, I almost never remember to take pictures when I’m shopping. What self-respecting fashion blogger doesn’t take pictures of outfits?!

Now, Crisis in Denim focuses a lot on writing. Perhaps too much. Contrast this to most of the winning entrants, who include very little text on their blogs. In fact one had several posts that, well, let’s say just say were so reminiscent of Ulysses that I couldn’t quite catch their meaning. Plus, the writer mixed up “there” and “their.” True, that makes the editor in me cringe. But honestly, if I were a fashion designer, or a model or a stylist– well, I don’t think I would care whether I knew the difference between “there” and “their” either.

Which brings me to my next point:  everyone who won appears to work in the fashion industry, be in her 20′s and be a model. A model! As part of this contest you were supposed to submit a picture of yourself in your favorite outfit. Looking at the winning entries I could DIE of shame, literally DIE, when I look at the picture I submitted.

Me standing in my living room in what I once thought is the most stylish thing I own, which in comparison to the winning contestants’ magazine-quality photos, is not stylish at all. Plus, I am sucking in my stomach within an inch of its life, and I STILL look as though I actually swallowed one of the WINNING contestants.

And now, because I have vowed to think more visually when working on my blog, I shall share these pictures with you.

Now, this is not to diss on the winners. I want to make this clear. This is to diss on me, ME!, because I am not sure that I really belong in the fashionista crowd.

Now, for the positive:  I have learned a lot from entering this contest, and have read a lot of great blogs and seen lots of super-cute clothes. I’ve also generated an idea or two from my own blog… since, as they say, I’m not dead yet.

Okay, the pity party is over. Please go home. Just promise you’ll come back another day. I promise my next party will be much more fun.

Do you ever read something so perfect, just so spot on, you say  ”Why didn’t I write that?”

Well, this New York Times piece inspired just such a reaction in me.

Read. It. Now. It’ll make you seethe over all the insolence and incompetence in the world. It’ll bring up all the times you’ve stood in line listening to two clerks complain to each other instead of ringing up your new shoes, or the time that (as happened to me just days ago) a saleswoman literally turned on her heel and walked away before you’d even gotten out the words “do you have this in another size?”

Most of all, this piece will make you laugh.

Now, a very select few close friends know that every once in awhile, and I mean very infrequently, once in a blue moon, hardly ever, ahem, I feel the need to throw a tantrum when I’m treated badly in a store.

Usually these are not so much tantrums per se, than silent-but-deadly glares, followed up with a phone call to a district manager.

Occasionally, these even net me some swag. I think back fondly on the Stila Cosmetics Crisis of 2004, and the Great Macy’s Coupon Confusion of 2007  (in which the clerk was so confused he didn’t realize he’d be sorry he didn’t honor my coupon, and I, well, cleared up the confusion and found myself with extra coupons and a Guess coat for $83. Okay. So that was an actual tantrum. Anyway.)

My point is, I take being treated well when and where I spend my money, very very seriously.

This writer is my new hero.

If I Had Only Slowed Down: An Ode to the Clothes That Could Have been Mine

I could have bought cashmere all fuzzy and soft
Or a nice pair of pants seen at Ann Taylor Loft
I could have bought Gucci or Pucci or Betsey
Or a handbag that’s one of a kind sold on Etsy

Oh the boots I’d have had, some Cole Hanns, or a Frye
Oh the shoes I’d have got, oh the shoes, I might cry!
For one hundred and seventy bucks I must pay
To municipal coffers in the state of M-A

Since the friendly state trooper , his lights white and blue
Said: you know you were going a brisk eighty-two
In a sixty-five zone. I had no choice, alas
But to pull you right over … you were going too fast

I begged for some mercy, a small bit of pity
Don’t you know, that I just bought a coat . It’s so pretty
that I now need a scarf that will match, and a hat
Just give me a warning, we’ll leave it at that

But the cop shook his head, so I’ll just pay the fine
And mourn for the dresses that could have been mine
But at least I have learned, that for shopping’s sake
I must slow my ass down, and keep my foot on the brake

About a month ago I took the plunge and bought an especially-long-jonesed-for Jones of the Week.

I bought the Orla Kiely mini check stem shoulder bag. I’d been wanting some version of an Orla Kiely bag for going on about three years now. It was time. I bought myself a little back-to-school present of sorts (the best part being, I don’t actually have to go to school).

I admit, I was nervous I would experience  buyer’s remorse, brought on by reduced purchasing power and high opportunity costs (yes, I took Psychology 101 in college, and believe I failed the final because I was off by one row when I filled in the Scantron bubbles with my number 2 pencil. It’s a memory I try to repress.)

It was certainly possible I would not feel satisfied; that even I, the most intellectual of clothes-horses, would not be able to resist the all-too-human tug of disappointment brought on by finally getting something you really, really want.

Well, I’m happy to report: no buyer’s remorse here. Every time I pick up my Orla Kiely lovely in the morning, I feel a little thrill. No morning after regret. I’m in love.

An update, in case you were wondering. Now, as you were.

Practically every time I have to get dressed up I find myself trotting out an evening bag I bought 14 years ago. It has dangly beads and sequins, and at the last wedding I attended, my friend’s husband called it a sea creature.

With a pull here and a tuck there, I’ve managed to convert it into a wristlet that’s big enough to hold everything I usually need, like makeup, a hairbrush, my iPhone, a camera, my business cards, my ID, some cash… You get the picture.

This bag actually looks good for its age; 14 in handbag years, as in dog years, is pretty old.

I know I need a new bag. And it’s not like I haven’t looked, and even auditioned replacements over the years. It’s just that nothing ever seems to look as good, AND hold as much, as Sea Creature Bag.

My Sea Creature Bag. It's hard to give it up.

However, it’s time to retire this old beaded standby. Frankly, if I have to carry it to one more wedding, I may cry.

But here’s the problem. What’s in style now are clutches. They’re everywhere. Adorable little envelope-shaped bags you hold in the palm of your hand. Great. Except, I don’t know about you, but at parties, I need one hand free for a glass of pinot noir, and the other hand free for, well, a glass of pinot noir. Or for handing out business cards (“You haven’t heard of Crisis in Denim?!  Here’s my card.”).

Mom says : “Didn’t you watch the Oscars? All the stars carried clutches.” To which I replied: “Yes, and they all had personal assistants and maids and nannies and waitresses to hold their clutches while they drank their wine.”

Sigh. I can’t afford a personal assistant. But I’m probably going to have to get a clutch anyway.

Now, I know there are bags with wrist-straps out there, but the ones I’ve seen are no bigger than wallets.

The bags with shoulder straps usually have long gold chains and scream ‘granny bag.’

Of course, I’ve started doing a little online pre-shopping and here is what I’ve come up with:

There’s this Michael Kors clutch. I love how the buckles make it casual, but the shininess makes it dressy.

… Hmmm. I see there are some cuties out there. Maybe entering the world of clutches isn’t so bad….

Of course, I lovey-love the Kooba one at  Bluefly. It’s basic and simple and will go with almost any outfit. For now a bit out of my price range, but hey, a girl can dream.

…Okay, okay my spirits are lifting already….

Oh, and look. Here’s a funky black and white creation I discovered on Etsy.com. I can think of three outfits already that it would look great with.

…I think I may be a clutch convert….

I can’t promise anything, but if we end up at a party together, I’ll show you my new clutch. In fact, would you mind holding it while I take just a teensy sip of my wine?

UPDATE: Because I know much sleep has been lost over my recent dress dilemma, I thought I would go public with the fact that I’ve decided to return one of the dresses. I won’t keep you in suspense. It’s the purple and grey tweed one.

I know what you’re saying: ‘But it’s so cute?!”

I know, I know. But I tried it on in three sizes, and not one of them fit well. A little too snug here. A little too loose there. Back to Nordstrom it goes; I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding a thing or five to spend that money on.

Bummer is, The Stylish Eye actually went through the trouble of devoting an entire post to recommending shoes for each one of my frocks. She’s a talented stylist, so I love all her suggestions. However, I adore the shoes she paired with the purple tweed dress. I was excited to wear the ensemble, the crystal flower on the shoe echoing the crystal center of the flower on the dress.

I may have to distract myself from the grief of this ensemble-cut-down-in-its-prime, by instead buying the boots she recommended for the black and white dress.

Life is tough.

—————-

Would you ask a librarian to line up beloved volumes of Shakespeare and choose whether to get rid of the sonnets or the plays? You wouldn’t ask an Oenophile to choose between red and white and stop drinking the other forever, would you? Would you, dare I say, ask a mama duck to give up her least favorite duckling?

So how can I choose from among three beautiful new dresses? But I certainly don’t need them all.

This is how I find myself in this predicament:

I have a wedding coming up. I realize the wedding is, gulp, two weeks away, and as it’s an afternoon wedding I realize I don’t have anything that quite works.

Thanks, guys,  you couldn’t make it black tie? I’ve already got three dresses for that!

Guess I’ll just have to go shopping. You know how I hate that.

But I actually set out with a sigh, because dresses never fit me quite right. Either the top half fits, or the bottom half fits, but both? Almost never. I prepare to wrestle the retail beasts for several hours.

Instead, I come home with four dresses. Four!  Three of which I can’t bear to part with.

From the “it’s so crazy it just might work” files, there’s the stretchy mod-style shirt dress, with a floral and geometric pattern in black, white and  accents of crimson.

This looks cute on me, surprisingly. The long legs and blonde hair are not mine, fyi.

When the saleswoman at White House Black Market brought it over I said something pleasant like “that stretchy fabric usually makes me look like the poster child for the obesity epidemic. But sure, I’ll try it.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Maybe the crazy pattern hides my, um, flaws, but I actually fell in love at first sight.  Plus, hello? Twenty-five-percent-off coupon? I couldn’t leave THAT beauty in the store.

Then, from Nordstrom, a purple and grey tweed short-sleeved plaid dress, very Mad Men. The best part is that it has a jaunty little flower pin with a purple crystal center. I had seen it the week before and passed it up, then found myself thinking about it. A sure sign I had to go back for it

So, two dresses, very different from one another. Fair enough.

But then, while I was at Nordstrom, I couldn’t resist trying on a Tahari dress, also purple, also Mad Men-esque, tailored on top, narrow knee-length skirt with a slim patent leather belt around the waist and a cute little button at the collar.

It looked perfect.

The two purple dresses are similar enough in color and style that I can’t REALLY justify both of them. Or at least, so says my archnemesis, Really Irritating Internal Voice.

RIIV: That  Mad Men thing is going to go out of style soon, and you’re going to be sorry you got all these dresses.

ME: I know, but it’s so hard to find dresses that fit. I should strike while the iron is hot, no?

RIIV: You could also burn some hundred dollar bills.

ME: I really think I will find places to wear all three of these dresses.

RIIV: You have four.

ME: The grey one that doesn’t fit. I’m returning it.

RIIV: Still. Three dresses. Don’t ask me to bail you out of debtor’s prison.

ME: There’s no such thing as debtors prison unless you live in a Dickens novel.

The thing is, once something has come home with me, it’s hard to give it up. I’ve already made it… well… part of the family. I’ve paired it with shoes and tights. Introduced it to the earrings.

So choosing which of the two purple dresses to return… well, you wouldn’t ask me to choose between chocolate and ice cream, between red and white wine, between Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets… would you?

To help Crisis in Denim better serve you in the future, please take the following survey. It should only take about 30 seconds.

Jump to Comments