Weekend Wear?

Draft:

Earlier Drafts:
I last wore this ruffled blouse with a pencil skirt.
I paired this purple cardi with a neon shirtdress.
I really should wear these cargo pants with something other than this top.
I count these nude flats among my wardrobe workhorses.

Composition:
ruffled blouse (thrifted)
purple cardigan (Martin & Osa)
belt (Ann Taylor)
cargo pants (Target)
nude flats (Jessica Simpson)
red lipstick (Maybelline Color Sensational in "Are You Red-dy")

Usage:
My attempts to dress less, erm, sloppily on days off have resulted in overcompensation, I'm afraid.  I wore this get-up over the weekend to grab pizza with my husband and a friend, but both of them teased me for being "too dressed up" for a Friday night.  Those rascals.  However, since they're both clothing-conscious themselves, I've given their critique some thought.

Maybe it's the shirt's ruffles, or maybe it's the layered cardigan, or the skinny belt, or the fact that I'm not in jeans, but I can see why this ensemble would read as too stuffy for a pizza-and-wine type of evening.  In my pursuit of balance between the casual and the professional, then, I'm wondering about your typical weekend wear.

Tell me, s'il vous plait ... 

Prompts:

• What do you normally wear on weekends, or in any casual/non-professional setting?  Do your dressing habits shift dramatically, or do you maintain continuity between your "off work" self and your workplace self?  (Asking this question reminds me of my dad, who, upon returning home from workdays, announces routinely that he's weary of wearing his professional "costume.")
•  Do you associate specific garments with weekends?  What are they, and why do these read "off work" to you?
• Would you have worn my outfit, or a version of it, on a weekend?  Would you have worn it to work?  What's the ideal context for such a get-up?
• Unrelatedly, but still on my brain: does the juxtaposition of the cargo pants with the ruffled blouse make the outfit more or less appealing to you? 

Let's talk about lace, baby.

Draft:

Earlier Drafts:
These nude suede heels are in my regular shoe rotation for both summer and fall.

Composition:
black oversized vest (Calvin Klein)
cream lace-like dress (Charlotte Russe, thrifted via Plato's Closet)
grey stone necklace (gifted)
nude suede heels (Seychelles)

Usage:
My second attempt at thrifting proved more successful than my last.  Your tips helped!  I didn't peek at price tags and paid more attention to fits.  Along the way, I scored this cream shift/babydoll dress hybrid.  I imagine it will work as well with nubby brown tights and knee-high boots as it does here with bare legs and peep-toe heels.  Transitional wear is the name of the game.

In honor of my latest find, I had prepared a spiel about all things lace.  Specifically, I had attempted to dissect my own attraction to it.  Forget Marie Claire's fall forecast or Venus Williams' daring French Open ensemble.  (Interesting social commentary embedded there, for sure.)  Why do I continue reaching for lace-graced apparel?  Why did I select a lace bridal gown for my own nuptial and outfit my girlfriends in lace-y cocktail frocks?  (That's a story for another time, friends.  For now, let's say I'm anticipating some negative karma in my next run as a bridesmaid.)  Why do I fall for lace -- or lace-like, in the case of the above thrifted dress -- detailing every time?

In writing the post, it occurred to me that many of you might find lace repelling for the exact reasons I find it appealing.  This polarization interests me, too.  Lace signifies "bridal" for some, "boudoir" for others; "vintage chic" on one hand, "pass-the-mothballs antiquated" on the other.  So what does lace connote to you?

Prompts:

•  Mind if I put the brakes on my original lace-related post to collect some data?  Please answer my poll question on the right sidebar!  I'd also like to hear your reason for answering the way you did, so comment away, too! 
• (Side note: I realize that in the far left photo of the above triptych I look a bit, erm, boudoir.  Or a bit "Hey-I-might-be-wearing-only-a-trenchcoat-to-a-large-sporting-event!"  But I figure, it is football season, so in honor of collegiate streakers everywhere, I'm going with it.)
• (I really have no choice.  My outtakes?  They're worse.)

I came, I saw, I at least tried!

Draft:

Earlier Drafts:
These wedges are some of my wardrobe workhorses!
I found this cameo ring while visiting Savannah, Georgia.

Composition:
mustard babydoll dress (Dear Creatures via Plato's Closet, thrifted for $12)
teal tights (Target)
wedge sandals (RJ Girl via Piperlime)

Usage:
Lately I've tried to become a thrifting girl.  Partly I'm inspired by vintage-hunting enthusiasts, and partly I'm trying to shop without going broke.  Remember this job interview?  You guys helped me assess my outfit after the fact, and, thankfully, the ensemble didn't make the horrible impression I expected.  I got the job (Woohoo!).  I didn't accept it (Womp, womp).  The position came with a one-way commute of an hour and 15 minutes, the same commute I had made for the past two years.  I was tired of driving daily, and I was hopeful to find work closer to home.  So I took a risk and turned down the offer.  Two months of hand-wringing later, I'm still jobless, which means my bank account is nearly bone dry.

This period of tighter financial belting seems ideal for reacquainting myself with thrifting.  I use "reacquaint" loosely, because I've never actually been a serious thrifter.  My past experience involves college and Friday afternoon Salvation Army trips, if that explains anything.  I own several 80s-style taffeta prom dresses as proof of those excursions, but no other gems.  Assuming that my personal ethics have evolved since then, I now brave the world of secondhand shopping with a fresh - that is, more appreciative - perspective.

I remember that thrifting is unpredictable.  In the past it has sent me down several shopping rabbit trails (hence my small 80s-style prom dress collection).  So, for my first foray in eons, I set a goal.  Inspired by Caitlin's yellow houndstooth jacket, Tania's canary-hued accessories, Clare's matchstick pants, and E.'s ode to goldenrod, I determine that I need more mustard in my life.  I set out, focused on yellow.

Which is why I barely tried on this dress after stumbling upon it in a local Plato's Closet!  I didn't even remove my tank top, I just threw on the dress over my head!  Presto!  Declared it a perfect fit!  Purchased!  No refunds!  Done!

I mean, does a more autumnal shade of yellow exist?  Of course I would buy it.

Giddy over my perceived success, I toted the dress home and proceeded to launder and steam-iron it. Not until then did I realize the armpits are snug, and the brown cording hits me above the bust line, and the hem is a wee too short for public.

So what do I do now?  Is the frock salvageable?  And how can I avoid this type of thrifting mishap in the future?

(Happy Friday to all, by the by!  Thanks for rallying around Katie yesterday.  The details are hers to share, of course, but the three of us feel fortunate to have such supportive blogfriends.  Your heartfelt comments mean so much.)
 
Prompts:

• Any ideas for salvaging this dress?  
• What are your fitting rules for thrifted garments?  Is "too big" more workable than "too small"?
• Caitlin recommends spending no more than $25 for a thrifted or vintage piece.  Do you abide by similar pricing standards?  (Speaking of Caitlin, I'll be over at her blog, Frosting and Bows, later this weekend to share about this same shopping mishap.  Do stop by!)
• What are your favorite secondhand pieces?
• Any other shopping advice for me?  I need it!

Too Many Clothes?

Draft:

Earlier Drafts:
One day this sheer, short-sleeved number screamed, "Wear me with olive green cargo pants!"  So I did.
I wore this multi-chain necklace with a fedora.  And also with clothes.

Composition:
white button-down with sleeves (Gap)
sheer button-down with ruffles (thrifted)
multi-chain necklace (Talbots)
pink pearl ring (gifted)
mother of pearl bracelet (gifted)
grey pencil skirt (Talbots, gifted)
nude heels (Guess, a recent eBay score)

Usage:
Last month my mom gave me this fabulously-fitting grey pencil skirt, and I immediately began scheming up outfits for it.  Thing is, I sort of forgot about it after that.  It's been hanging among the other skirts in my closet, sandwiched between I-wore-this-once-four-years-ago and This-threadbare-thing-has-a-memory-attached.  It got lost among never-wears, I guess.

A shame, right?  Because this stretch-cotton number is a great length, and it fits me well, and it sits at an ideal spot on my hips, and it has a sheen that allows me to dress it up, but it can also be dressed down.  Also, it's basically my favorite color in the world, can you tell?  I'm almost camouflaged against the paint shade on my wall.  (Whaddiyaknow, the walls in my living room are one hue darker.  Practically color-matched to this skirt at Home Depot's Paint Center, I'd say.)  So, yes, it's a crying shame this winner of a garment has been, until yesterday, forgotten among clothing toward which I feel half-heartedly.

Which is why I started thinking, Maybe I own too many clothes.  Actually, this thought did not occur to me independently.  Reader/friend Mackenzie - you might remember her insight from this post - steered my thoughts in this direction when she sent me an email that went like so:

I'm finding such an interesting energy between your blog and some of the more DIY or eco-consciousness-focused clothing blogs I follow. ... One thing I'm always struggling with, and which seems to be in the background of the Scholar Style Guide discussion lately, is -- how many clothes are too many clothes?

Great question!  It's one Liz, Katie, and I ask ourselves regularly, especially because we have limited funding and tight closet spaces.  Before now, we've responded to this issue indirectly.  We feel strongly that the "Earlier Drafts" feature in our posts upholds principles of thrift and creativity by allowing readers to track the ways we recycle our already-have garments.  And recent posts, like Liz's report on her shopping hiatus and Katie's analysis of pieces she already owns, also demonstrate our work-with-what-we've-got mentality.

But we don't want to stop there.  No, we're inspired by posts like this one from Young House Love that take closet editing seriously.  Like Sherry at YHL, we believe it's possible and worthwhile to pare down one's wardrobe to a few well-loved essentials.  That's why we've declared next week Wardrobe Workhorse Week!  We're devoting five days to items without which we'd consider our closets incomplete, and we're hoping to answer Mackenzie's question along the way.  The idea is to trim our sartorial fat: celebrate the items we love and donate/consign/discard the items we don't.

Join us, won't you?  We'd love to hear about the clothes you can't live without.  If you'd like to hop aboard the WWW train, comment on this post by September 5.  See you next week!

Prompts:

• What do you think: how many clothes are too many?  How do you know you've reached the limit?
• How do you decide which items to keep and which ones to lose?  Tell us about your methods!  Better yet, join us for WWW!  During September 6-10 (next week!) we're inviting you to celebrate your all-time favorite wardrobe reliables with us.  RSVP here!

Washed Out, Not Washed Up

Draft:

Earlier Drafts:
Blue peasant top, meet blazer.
Does this belt make me look like Jennifer Grey?
In honor of opposites, I wore this white skirt with a black tube top.
These nude heels are closet workhorses for me.

Composition:
blue peasant top (H&M)
belt (Anthropologie)
white skirt (thrifted)
nude heels (Seychelles via Piperlime)

Usage:
After Wednesday's brief departure from my fascination with summer neutrals - I've lately showcased toned-down ensembles here, here, and here - I'm back in the washed out saddle today.

The above look is inspired by the challenging wearability of this otherwise lovely skirt.  Here is my free association on the subject:

"It's the skirt's fault.  The chiffon hangs limp on my hipless body because the skirt has zero shape.  Well, other than the bubble hem and the vertical pleats along the right side panel.  Hm, pause.  Normally, I would consider those elements more than adequate, especially in a thrifted garment.  Why are those details insufficient in this one?  I can't figure it out.  This skirt puzzles me.  Is it the length?  Maybe I should shorten and re-hem it to an above-the-knee style?  Maybe I should add a layer of tulle underneath the chiffon to give it volume?  Maybe I should take in the waistband and wear the skirt higher, at my natural waistline? Maybe I should sprout curves, grow three inches?  Ready, set, go?"

How would you doctor up this piece?

I'm determined to coax a flirty femininity out of this gauzy number, so today I'm pairing it with a peasant top whose billowy sleeves mimic the skirt's own relaxed personality.  Since the skirt will inevitably fall to my knees without it, a chunky belt cinches around my middle.  And the nude shoes theoretically elongate what little leg shows beneath the skirt's hem.

Not-so-ironically, I'm devoting the afternoon to writing cover letters and sending out employment applications.  In the oppressive temperatures of these long days, I sense myself lapsing into a state of jobless anxiety, so I take frequent breaks to pep-talk myself out of feeling washed-up.  (Angsty much, right?)  We're not done yet, I tell myself.  My cover letters and I - and my chiffon skirt - just need a little editing.

Happy Friday!

Prompts:

• How would you wear this skirt as is?  How would you edit it?
• Tell me about your garment-editing projects!  Which alterations have worked for you, and which haven't?
• In reading your blogs, I'm inspired by your own garment-alteration and -creation endeavors.  I'm not sewing savvy, so I welcome your advice.  Any tips you'd like to offer as I tackle this skirt as my weekend project?

Quick Change: Black, White, and Brown

Draft:

Earlier Drafts:
I wore these boots with a wrap dress.

Composition:
black draped tube top (Shopmamie.com)
turquoise bib necklace (Shopmamie.com)
white chiffon skirt (thrifted)
white capris (Gap)
brown boots (Steve Madden via Marshalls)
brown wedge sandals (Nolan by Faded Glory via Macy's)

Usage:
Sorry I'm running late today, blogworld!  I'm at home writing my final essay for the semester, and I'm in need of socialization, even if it is merely virtual.  I haven't blow-dried my hair (yes, it's naturally curly!), I'm not wearing makeup, and I only just stopped to analyze this morning's dressing choices. 'phew'  So, here it goes:

I recently purchased this black tube top - one can never have enough black pieces, says I - and I've had fun experimenting with its silhouette.  Pants and shorts of any cut, like these white capris, seem to pair well with it.  By slimming the legs, they emphasize volume on top.  However, coupling the tube top with skirts requires a bit more creativity.  Some of my skirts are too short and don't make enough of a statement under the top's fabric; others, especially the A-line skirts, look too full under it.  So imagine my delight when I rediscovered this thrifted number hidden in the recesses of my clothes rack.  Several years ago, I located this white skirt while bargain-hunting with my mom.  I barely glanced over it, but she insisted that I purchase it.  Until today, I had yet to locate what seemed like the best top for it, so year after year this forlorn skirt ended up in my "To Donate?" pile.  Year after year I saved it.  Now I'm so glad I did - the tube top has redeemed the skirt, and I've created a fun new outfit from two hard-to-wear pieces.

In addition to experimenting with silhouettes, today's outfit also toys with a hotly debated fashion "rule:" Don't wear brown with black.  Katie questioned the validity of these so-called tried and true style codes several weeks ago when she challenged the No White Before Memorial Day standard.  You weighed in, concluding that rules were meant to be broken.  With this outfit, I echo you with a hearty "Here, here!"  I think women should pair brown - especially brown leather things and khaki-ish things - with black frequently and without reservation.

Here's a caveat, though: my husband, upon seeing my outfit, asked, "Does this mean I can wear brown with black too?"  What do you think?  If the brown-and-black palette works for women, does it also work for men when, say, they want to pair brown dress shoes with black suits?  I'm inclined to think that the black-and-brown palette looks sophisticated as long as it maintains enough contrast between the two shades.  For instance, these camel colored boots are not only separated from my black tube top by a neutral piece, but they also differ significantly in color from the black top.  My husband - and other guys -might achieve a similar look by executing palettes like this or this.  The point, I said, is to look intentional, not colorblind.  I could be wrong, though - do you think wearing black-and-brown well is a matter of contrast?

Prompts:

• Which fashion rules do you love to break?
• How do you wear black and brown together?  Do you think wearing them well amounts to maintaining contrast between them?
• Have you ever surprised yourself by creating favorite outfits from neglected or hard-to-wear pieces?  Tell us about 'em!

In the Buff Round 2

Draft:

Earlier Drafts: 
I sported nude suede heels.

Composition:
cropped cargo pants (Target)
white sheer top (thrifted, from forever ago)
nude suede heels (Seychelles via Piperlime)

Usage:
Yesterday I wrote about my newest fashion interest, the flesh-toned shoe.  In the post's Prompts, I struck with a mere glancing blow at the concept of what I'm calling "dressing nude."  Here's what I asked:

I'm also wondering how the nude shoe trend acts as an extension of the nude makeup trend, which Katie alludes to here.  Does our collective fashion conscience think nude equals most beautiful?  If so, why?  Do we feel an impulse to down-play our assets or do we simply like our au naturale selves enough to gesture at them in our dressing habits?

Liz requested an elaboration on the subject, so here it goes.

I suspect that the nude shoe trend is merely an extension of a larger "dressing nude" trend.  Make-up fashionistas recommend substituting the painted red lip for a barely-glossed one, for example.  This season's awards events showcased several actors boasting flesh-toned frocks, like Diane Kruger in this Herve Leger number.  It's early in swimsuit season, but we've already seen photos of Kim Kardashian in a skin-toned suit.  And, lest you think I've forgotten that flesh-toned everythings generally coincide with warmer weather, I present as a rebuttal Garance Dore's photo of three women in full-on, cool weather beige.

The trend isn't a new one, of course.  Before there was Bo Derek, there was the nude bather of the classic art frieze. So, to answer my own question: yes, our collective fashion conscience seems to appreciate a bare or bare looking body.  That's no surprise.  I'm wondering, what does the trend signify now?

Here are some conclusions I'm considering:
1. Perhaps, as I suggested in the comments section of Katie's makeup post, we "dress nude" in defiance of marketing messages that state makeup and clothing are necessary correctives for our numerous flaws.  We quite like our flaws, so we combat the 'done-up-ness' with the suggestion of minimality.

2. We feel slightly guilty about our assets and therefore shy away from full-on glamor.  If this is the case, why?

3. Maybe we subconsciously consider those who require less effort in dressing - those who can go 'bare' - the most beautiful, so we emulate that notion of beauty.

Here's a tangent for you.  As I've thought about this nude trend, it has occurred to me that most often the terms "flesh-toned" and "nude" refer to whiteness.  This article describes how one Associated Press writer referred to Michelle Obama's beige gown as "flesh-colored."

Generally, what's your take on my observations?

Prompts:

• To which cultural phenomena do you think the "dressing nude" trend responds or speaks?
• What's going on with our terminology?  How do you assess the "flesh-toned" family of labels in regard to race?
• Any other insights to offer?  Please share!

Thrifting chic

Draft:

Composition:

Brown Top (thrifted)
Taupe Skirt (Ann Taylor Loft)
Grey Heels (Steve Madden)
Pearl Necklace (gift from husband)

Usage:
I love the look of genuine vintage clothing, but I so rarely execute the look in modern ways.  This year, I'm determined to master the art of thrifting, not only because it will help me conquer my vintage styling hurdle, but also because thrifting habits suit my scholarly budget.

This outfit represents my return to the thrifting world.  The brown top, which I spotted in an out-of-town consignment boutique, is not only comfortable, but it has already proved versatile.  I've discovered multiple ways to incorporate it in my wardrobe, and it pairs just as easily with skinny jeans as it does with this wool-blend skirt.

Here I've paired the top with pieces that boast flirty details.  The skirt's lace underlayer and the shoe's ruffled T-strap, topped off with the pearl necklace, all maximize the top's vintage charm while still remaining current. Or, maybe I should pose the question to you.  Have I executed the look well?  With which items would you have paired this top?

Prompts:

• How do you incorporate thrifted pieces into your wardrobe in contemporary ways?
• What are your vintage shopping secrets?  Where and what do you buy?  Do tell!