Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Feelin hot hot hot

When it's stifling outside, I hardly know what to wear. Luckily, the sundress has prevailed as the must-have item of the early summer season (and no, I haven't found a white one yet).

A local supermarket has launched a cheapie, relatively fashionable clothing label. My cousin Janet and I bought identical sundresses for $12. How the hell can a dress only cost $12? I don't want to think about it. Anyhow, the dress is quite cute. It's a sepia colour with large pink roses, which sounds douche but really it isn't. It's got little buttons on the side, and little vertical seams under the bustline. Luverly.

The day after we bought them, Janet called and told me she thought it was actually a nightgown. It's got kind of a loose fit and stretchy pink spaghetti straps. I retorted that I saw the dress in a fashion spread on sundresses in a shopping mag, so it can't be a nightgown.

Then I discovered it's almost completely see-through. No wonder it's only twelve bucks.

So I'll just wear it around the house I suppose. Problem solved, for the indoors anyway. Now, what to wear outside?

My favourite outdoor neighbourhood footwear is a pair of light blue Crocs that were given to me. Yes they are ugly. Yes my neighbours stare. I don't care. They might be garden clogs, but they are the new Chinese slipper, trust me.

When Chinese slippers were in, women I knew said, You can't wear those outside.

Then the same women started wearing them outside.

Same with the Crocs. Everyone is saying You can't wear those outside of the garden.

Well, just watch me.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

The White Dress

I'm looking high and low these days for a white sundress. I was telling a friend of mine that I'm lucky, this season the White Dress is everywhere. Most years if you weren't getting married no way in hell would you even think about buying a white dress unless you were a total show-off skanker or a bride.

So there are lots of white dresses out there, most of them quite simple, some strapless and relatively straight, some country and button-laden, but none are detailed enough for my liking. There's something a bit off with all of them, bad hemline, too skimpy, too see-through.

It's so terrible when you've imagined an item of clothing and you can't find it. The other side of that is when you've imagined an item and you find, only better than what you envisioned. When that happens it's like OMMMMM or some other heavenly sound you'd associate with clouds and cherubs.

I'm looking for layers, a bit of structure, a bit of ruffle (I love ruffle), a soft but thick material. Oh, wherever will I find this dress?

The search continues.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Miss Selfridge is my friend

Miss Selfridge is my friend

Actually, Miss Selfridge is a U.K. shop, but if she were a real person, she’d be my best friend. After a day of London high street shopping, teasing myself at Harvey Nichols, and coming up empty-handed at TopShop, I stepped into the Miss Selfridge shop. I thought I was in heaven. Every which way I turned I spotted something to try on. It was perfect, it was…me.

A flapper’s string of light yellow beads I’d imagined, and was hoping I’d find somewhere? Found, at four quid. I was so inspired by the lovely ruffly antique dresses on display at the Victoria & Albert museum, and what did I find at Miss Selfridge? A sweet rumpled dust-coloured blazer with flared three-quarter sleeves and darling ruffles on the back. Loved it, bought it for 40 pounds. Also bought: mint green open-toe Sabrina heels in a faux snakeskin, on sale for 12 pounds. They were a tad trampled, but I really didn’t care.

Let’s discuss Harvey Nichols. Harvey Nichols is amazing. If Harvey Nichols was a man, he’d be my boyfriend. Or perhaps, more financially accurately, my sugar daddy. Chloe, Lanvin, Balenciaga, even Smythe jackets from Toronto, they’ve got it going on. Though I did notice a lack of certain items on display – they wait-listed ones, like the Balenciaga Lariat bag, which I did see displayed prominently in Paris.

Which brings me to Parisian women.

Niall the fiancé and I took the Eurostar to Paris after visiting London for five days.

Parisian women, as far as I can tell, don’t seem to buy into any of this wait-list nonsense. The women are stylish to be sure, but it’s still this old-world neatly done-up pantyhose-and-conservative-colours look. Or else they look like students. But they never look like fashion victims. One thing I’ve noted, when a woman in Paris looks chic, she really looks chic and not in an of-the-moment tight-jeans-stuffed-into-boots way. You notice her, and the clothing she was wearing stays on your mind, like a woman on the Metro wearing simple white t-shirt tucked into a pair of well-cut camouflage cargo pants, topped with a jean jacket. Nothing new here, but she looked so fresh wearing it. For some reason I imagined her as a young, clever doctor off to do a shift at the hospital.

Monday, May 15, 2006

I hate skinny jeans


The English Rose is quite something, isn’t she? When I visited London In March of 2006 she was still in narrow jeans tucked into boots, a la Sienna Miller -- defiant as to whether or not she possessed Ms. Miller’s whippet-like figure. Or she was in abovesaid skinny jeans with ballerina flats, like Kate Moss. You’ve got to love that kind of attitude. Personally, I hate “skinny” jeans. Convince me that they weren’t created by the devil. First of all, what kind of a depressing name is that? Second: Why would I accentuate the fact that my thighs are bigger than my calves by about threefold? Yes, I admit, it’s a nice look if you can pull it off. Which means weighing in the vicinity of 90 to 100 pounds. I’ll stick to my Citizens of Humanity Ingrid’s and Kelly’s for now -- I need a bit of flare to balance my upper legs.