Ooh La La

So maybe I've had a bit of a frisson with the French for a very long time. There has to be a reason for my slugging through piles and piles of French literature with no academic requirement forcing me to do so. Somehow, though, French brand Ba&sh's line has managed to intensify this crush. The pieces err towards classic but always have an edge, whether it be a bold shot of color or detailing in the seams and folds. They're the designs that you throw on, perhaps adding a pair of shoes in the process, and run out of the house still looking effortlessly cool. There are some girls who feel they need to add a belt or a pair of heels to look "complete," and this line takes that idea, sits on it, and drinks some espresso very calmly. Additionally, the line of handbags? Amazing. They'll put a big dent in your wallet but are unique and add a tough angle to the clothes. My personal favorite? Le Sac Jula:

The catch? The online boutique is entirely in French. On the bright side, at least I'm putting three years that won't even amount to a French minor to good use! Also, keep an eye out for the Euro to dollar conversion, because you don't want to overdraw on your checking account and have your bank forget to tell you while they charge you a ridiculous daily fee.

Last note: do you know what should be illegal? Ordering a pair of beautiful Calvin Klein heels from Gilt Groupe and receiving an email, three weeks later, stating that your order cannot be fulfilled due to an inventory error. It hurts. It hurts a lot.

Jungle Fever

I have a weak spot for animal jewelry, though I err on the side of bizarre rather than kitschy. My parents cringed when I returned from a high school trip to Rome sporting a sterling silver snake thumbring. They're the sort to tell me that sure, I can get another piercing - as long as they can do it with their dental drills (which is a surprisingly effective way to keep your children in check). Plus, my mother funds my entire life, so I'd might as well try to avoid driving her completely crazy.
In addition to the thumbring, I have a bronzed octopus necklace and a starfish headband. It only makes sense that I've developed an enormous crush on Erica Klein's designs:

I love that the ram is actually subtle and, if worn among a mess of bangles, would require a second glance for recognition. My favorite, though, is most definitely the lion door knocker ring. It's extremely quirky, very unique, and would make my mother question my taste. There are more options on her website here, though the upgraded materials (emeralds, 18K gold, etc) make for higher prices than on Shopbop. If you can afford the better quality, by all means, go for it. If you're a junior in college with no money making prospects in the near future, spring for the cheaper versions, which are just as lovely.

Monday Morning

Hello lovelies, how was your weekend? Mine was bright, sunny, and a tad chilly - enough to make me climb into to bed at 6:30 on Saturday and nap before catching up on Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution (catch the flash mob scene in episode four - my roommate and I watched it about eight times).

Fortunately, I was able to steal some time in between reading Shakespeare's The Two Gentlemen of Verona and Les Misérables (in French - naturally, my French-English dictionary has been my pillow for the past few days) to come across this pick of the week:

I love the shape of this and how buttons are completely unnecessary. It's perfect for the in-between temperatures of April and May (in Chicago, at least). And the sleeves! Oh, don't even get me started on the sleeves. I would wear this in a heartbeat, barefoot, with a fresh citrus tank and some worn denim shorts. Shoes? Who needs shoes? It's a steamy 55 degrees in Chicago.

Have a wonderful start to the week!

[photo cred to simply photo]

Weekender

(We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars - Oscar Wilde)

This weekend should be more enjoyable than last. I have creative writing submissions to tweak, Pilates tomorrow morning, Sense and Sensibility to finish reading, and a paper to subsequently write about it. Here are some links if you, like me, hope to snag some spare time:

- an endearing spin on videochatting, compliments of my favorite comic strip here.

- a lovely, calming photograph to begin the weekend here; mine will probably resemble this plus a pile of books, a laptop, and smears of printer ink.

- the most beautiful surprise wedding I've ever seen, with a "Recycled" theme.

- a sweet taste test, available in fantastic packaging. I'll have to hunt this down.

- a clever little lookbook featuring spring picks by Aqua.

Have a beautiful weekend!

[photo cred to melt into spring]

How to Wear a Romper

The secret to wearing a romper is this: make it so cute that you don't hate yourself every time you have to pee. Half the time, rompers make a person look as though she's been squeezed through one of those Christmas tree netting contraptions - completely inappropriate and generally frowned upon by any gentrified community. (I guess that this point, I'd might as well admit that I've always wanted to climb through one of them, so take my opinion with a grain of salt).
Let's have a little chat about this:
There are a multitude of sins about this romper. I don't even know where to start. This is no more than a glorified pair of long johns, right? The buttons, the awkward neckline, the disconcerting come-hither glare, the very questionable pairing of boots (BOOTS), and the camouflage shade of green that works to camouflage nothing - they are all available for purchase right here.
If rompers give way to such designs, why wear rompers in the first place? This is why:
You may be paying double the price of the other for this, but who can really put a value on dignity? The color is subdued, which perfectly offsets the cheeky feel of a romper, the draping is impeccable, and I LOVE the haircut. The shoes complement the material, making this piece (available here) ideal for a classy, delicate romp.

Sequins!

Oh oh oh, I love this so much. I could imagine wearing this on those days where I wake up at 10:30 in the morning, cut myself a slice of strawberry shortcake, and drink some tea with a side of champagne. Which actually happens all of the time.

I'm kidding. Of course I'm not twenty-one yet.

Here's the thing about sequins, though. While I am absolutely positively sure that this would flatter my skin tone, I tend to have a problem with sequins scratching my arms. By problem, I mean it drives me out of my mind. Secondly, it costs $495. I have approximately half of that sitting in my debit card account because a) my undergraduate writing career hasn't taken off, and b) I just love falafel, which doesn't happen to be a staple on college campuses.

The verdict? I would say that even if you do happen to have a spare $500 lying around, save it until the dress goes on sale. A sequin, rose gold dress, albeit a beautiful one, is not unique nor innovative enough to merit the price.

A Return

I had no idea that anyone read this blog; I try not to pimp it out on my Facebook because I don't want to become patronizing with it. But when I stumbled across it for the first time in months and saw recent comments, I blushed furiously.

Details of the moment: It is Easter, which means that it is April, which means that because I live several feet from one of the Great Lakes, my hair has reached epic Diana Ross proportions.

Ideally, I would've pulled off this cute number:

And oh, I wanted it so badly. I'm a huge sucker for the French "My hair is like this naturally" look. I struggled for about two hours, armed with a single bobby pin and two hair elastics, before realizing that my hair is about four inches too short. After crying for a while, I consoled myself by trying out a ballerina bun a la Charlize Theron, who is not French but managed to saunter her way into a J'Adore Dior commercial.

I'm not French either, and I also dabble in sauntering. Did it work? No. In my defense, did I have less than four minutes since I'd wasted two and a half hours on the other style? Yes. But this is perfect for those windy, humid days in Chicago; my hair won't whip into my face or reach a two-foot wingspan.

Happily, this correlates to the next post: hunting for a tutu. Why? I don't know yet, but I promise I'll find a reason.