IN WHICH THE SAGA OF MY COLOR PALETTE / GENERAL AWKWARDNESS / INABILITY TO MAKE SENSE(TENCES) OF WORDS OR WARDROBE CONTINUES
Fellow tightwads, do remember recently patting me on the head and squeezing my hand tightly to reinforce that everything was going to be alright, re: my matching issues? (IE: I hate it but it always end up happening? And not in a polished, big girl-pants way, but more of an Olsen twin way, except I’m mirroring MYSELF and not my
clothes hangar of a sister?!)
Oh, you don’t recall? I suppose that’s because you never did talk me down from that trauma. And thanks to you, I’ve been led even further astray in my fervent quest to be feverishly mismatched. You should be ashamed of myself.
Well, guess what, tightwads, I’ve only been chasing my sorrows into an even more twisted downward spiral since then, and it’s safe to assume that you’re (me) the ones to blame (me, again). Yes, dear friends, that’s right: I recently found myself matching my nails to my shirt collar. (I promise it wasn’t even on purpose.) I suppose I’ll forgive you (me) in due time. Maybe. Probably not. And yet I will still publish this blog for you (me). Goodness, I am so selfless (incorrect). I better earn hella notes for this (still hoping that’s true). Or maybe I’ll just let you foot the bill at my stay at the Clinic For(d) Total Betties. Or maybe I’ll get back to you if my references ever become as fleshed out and coherent as my clothing coordination has been lately. So, never. You’ve gotten away with it again, tightwads. Well, dear friends, I guess I’ll never learn. And that’s probably why I didn’t build a billion dollar empire out of my matching abilities by the age of 6.
Anywho, here’s a brokedown that’s helping me not breakdown while I’m in the throes of thesising, because college and that is final (btw, hey, sup finals):
IN WHICH, SOMETIMES, A LITTLE COMMERCIALISM IS ALL YOU NEED TO SALVAGE YOUR FAITH IN HUMANITY
Fellow tightwads, as an attractive-enough, petite white person born into a lower-middle class family, I have been afforded a great amount of privilege in my life. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, lemme just say that it’s hard out here for a chick, OK? OK. Every function of my life—how much I get paid, which medications are legally available to me, whether or not I’ll feel safe walking home after class tonight because, guess what, the worth of my body is ALWAYS up for debate—is decided on by many, many people who are not me. Yes, dear friends, my fate was sealed years before my birth by a Molotov cocktail of people who are entitled yet insecure, full of just as much conviction as they are cowardice. This is an issue that I care very deeply about, and one I try to remain as active about as possible. However, being bombarded by conflicting media message after conflicting media message—ranging fro JCPenney infamously telling young girls to focus on being pretty and to forget about math, to every other store in the world selling “Don’t feed the models” shirts, to Karl Lagerfeld urging Adele to lose weight, to Twitter users telling Angelina Jolie to gain weight to, to, to…
It’s exhausting. And, quite frankly, I can’t keep up. We’re punished for everything and rewarded for nothing. I see no end to any of it, and hardly any places to escape from it.
And then, just like the fashion blogger I claim to be…I found this shirt. A simple yet powerful message containing the only two pieces of advice anyone could ever need: educate yourself and rise above. All wrapped up in one little play on words.
Of course, just wearing a shirt isn’t going to fix my problems. But the feeling I get when I put it on, knowing that hundreds of other women/girls are wearing this shirt, and that by that logic hundreds of other women AND YOUNG GIRLS have seen this shirt and knows that a message like this, as free from being muddled from objectification and exploitation as a commercialized message CAN be…well, damn. I would’ve paid for this shirt in full price knowing that.
That being said, here’s a brokedown that, despite being so low in price (teehee! sorry, bye), will still try to elevate you so that you can make ish happen for yourself:
IN WHICH THIS OUTFIT WAS INSPIRED BY A COUCH, SO I GUESS MY BRAIN IS A FULL-FLEDGED PINTEREST BOARD
Fellow tightwads, a thing to know about me: I am somewhat allergic to color coordination. There’s something about looking, uhm, what do you called it? Pulled together? Yes, there’s something about looking PULLED TOGETHER that screams ‘adulthood’ and ‘responsibility’ so loudly that my eyes can’t help but water and my skin involuntarily produces hives at its mere possibility. As I creep further and further into the real world, I find that there is one antidote that subdues the symptoms. No, dear friends, Benadryl isn’t the answer: it’s playing with restricting options. Truth be told, not much scares me (closet-wise!) more than not being able to play with my wardrobe. I’ve been working consistently in an office environment for the past eight months and if I’ve learned ANYTHING interning, it’s this: if you can make office attire look good, you can conquer EVERYTHING. I’ve been introducing this mindset into other life-y ventures (ahem, just my wardrobe) to get better at facing my fears. As you can see, I clearly have my ish together because one of my biggest fears is wearing colors that are compatible. Oh, priorities, I hardly knew (Kan)ye.
Anyway, dear friends, that brings me to this outfit. The challenges: 1) incorporating my new boots into the equation at all costs and 2) keeping warm on a chilly night. The first solution: wearing one of my only clean sweaters with said boots. The hindrance: blue jeans just weren’t cutting it—I felt too drab. The other solution: MATCHING. The other hindrance: MATCHING SUCKS. The other other solution: mental mood boards. For real. I am like a human Pinterest board, ya’ll. I won’t go into detail, but this post’s title will give you a taste of how I got here. I (kind of) creatively played with my options and came up with something that made me really happy!
Then again, striped sweaters will never NOT make me happy, and it appears that Tumblr agrees with me:
So, uh, here’s a brokedown that will probably be made repinnable, coming to a Pinterest board near you (I had to create one for work, ya’ll):
Grand total, sans tax and a color(block) out of place: ~$34.80
Fellow tightwads, have a splendid week! If you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the ‘final sale only’ racks.
IN WHICH I AM ONLY CONSISTENT WHILE INCONSISTENTLY REFERRING TO ALL OF YOU AS “ONE” AND “YOU,” SO, UH, SORRY FOR THAT ONE, YOU
Fellow tightwads, when a man or a woman really loves themselves, it’s hard not to pay attention to them. Sometimes their acts of self-love are obnoxious; sometimes these acts are empowering; and sometimes these acts are better saved for the privacy of their own homes. And then sometimes I make subtly crude jokes on my blog that I hope I can ever live down. Internet archives, how you livin’?
Anyway, dear friends, sometimes these bursts of identity emit pheromones so irresistible to members of whichever gender ya’ll are trying to attract that one can’t dodge the date requests. (And sometimes I set phasers exclusively to ‘run-on sentences.’ Sorry!) When this happens, one’s newfound confidence may skyrocket, perhaps leading you to be a bit more invested in your wardrobe. That’s all good and well, but it just isn’t currently true for this tightwad, dear friends. Nay, this is not a belated Valentine’s Day post where I recap what I wore on my big night out. Nah. (I FOOLED YOU!) I just have this weird thing where I just really like myself and stuff, so I forgo ‘occasion appropriateness’ and bust out outfits that make me happy all the time. Dear friends, this is actually a post in which I urge you to do the same!
It’s a strange concept, really: wearing things simply to impress myself? What is this madness? How does she even get up in the morning? Not easily, but that’s not because of the aforementioned concept. (I drink coffee and digress.) Nay, dear friends, I’ve found that anytime I’m in an outfit rut—and, with this budget, that happens more often than not—it’s super helpful to challenge myself this way. Also, dressing only for myself is such a simply achieved self-confidence spike. I guess you could say I’m dating myself! Also, myself and I are in a relationship and it’s totally complicated, but like, I just can’t let go, ya know? This wardrobe thing spices things up a bit.
Anywho, here’s a brokedown worthy of only the finest half-priced chocolates Target had to offer the day after Valetine’s Day:
Grand total, sans tax and a best photo booth picture Oscar statuette (topical!): ~$76
Also, I would like to point out that I don’t blow dry my hair and I didn’t have enough time to let it settle before taking these photos. Oops. In case you were wondering, here is how my hair ended up that day:
Not too shabby! Protip: If your hair is malleable yet limp like mine, try curling it with your fingers after you shower. I twist my thin hair into four medium-sized sections, consistently tightening the twists as they air dry. This saves time, energy and your hair from heat damage. I learned this from my best fraind (Drescher) and I will never go back!
Fellow tightwads, I’ve missed you dearly. I’m working on another new post, so watch out for it! If you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the ‘final sale only’ racks.
IN WHICH MY TRAVELS EQUIPPED ME WITH ENOUGH CLASS FOR SCHOOL
Fellow tightwads, in case you were wondering, all of the rumors are true: I have returned from my travels filled with more culture than this Earth even has to offer. I am (extra) worldly now, dear friends, and all of the cheap and easily broken jewelry I purchased abroad will prove it. I know that you’re waiting for me to say something exhausted and saccharine about my adventures and—fear not!—I won’t disappoint. Although my monthlong journey has come to an end, I’ve gained an indispensable breadth of knowledge and experience that will stay with me for a lifetime. (This is clearly because I plan on living twice. I’m not selfish enough to ask that these memories carry over to my next life. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you mortality, friends!!!!!) My jetlag will stay with me for just as long, though. (If not longer, if this week has been any indication.) In all seriousness, the month I spent traveling is something I’m greatly humbled by, and it’s not just because I didn’t speak the native language of any countries I visited.
Anywho, dear friends, I basically stepped off the plane and into my last first day of school ever (for now), which excited me just as much as my adventures abroad did. Not only does my last-first-day represent nearly everything I’ve worked toward achieving, but I packed really lightly while I was gone and I’ve been anxiously anticipating wearing something other than my Abbey Road t-shirt for a really, really long time.
So, dear friends, I decided to go Middle East-Meets-West Coast with my last back-to-school outfit ever (for now). So I present to you a brokedown, which is a word that means the same thing in every language because I made it up:
IN WHICH I DON’T LET A LITTLE SIZING ISSUE STOP ME FROM BEING THE DEFENDER OF GOING OUT INTO THE DARK AT (K)NIGHT
Fellow tightwads, there are three things you should know about me: my dog, Kanye West, and Batman. These are three things I can never say no to, ever, and three things I care about very much. The first two are understandable, though, given that my dog is my baby and Kanye is my marital partner. Batman, however, is an entirely different story. Unlike marriage and family, I have never had an obligation* to loving the comics and adoring the movies. This obsession translates into an inability to pass up any merchandise that I cross paths with.
My compulsion recently bought me a STELLAR bat signal t-shirt in a men’s size small.
“Huzzah,” I said to myself, pawing through the Target men’s section. “I can deal with an oversized tee shirt. Why even bother trying it on, it’s such a perfect little snowflake,” I told myself as I absorbed the foam excreting from my lips with my sleeve. “It is delightful and it will be my companion from now until forever.”
And a wonderful companion it is. I am so enveloped by my relationship with my new shirt that, well….I’m absolutely enveloped by my shirt! As you can see, I sort of drown in it. But what’s a girl to do? Return such a striking sight? NAY, dear friends. This girl fashioned her companion into the mini dress of a lifetime. And with that, a brokedown that will never breakdown, despite the curveball life throws it. (Or its parents…).
So, uh…you wanna know how I got these
scars scores? :
Grand total, sans tax and a Harvey Dent of my own to believe in: $49.80 (Where’d YOU learn to count?)
Well, dear friends, until next time…if you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the ‘final sale only’ racks…in Gotham, though, obviously. And if that doesn’t work…feel free to take a cue from my shirt and alert me in a similar fashion.
*I would like to clarify that I do not feel obligated to love my dog. He is honestly the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Not to be a THAT kind of pet owner, but spending time away from him is painful. Living hundreds of miles away from him is terribly difficult and I hope he never thinks otherwise. I was merely making a bad joke about marriage. Merp.
IN WHICH THAT’S SO THIS HOLIDAY SEASON
Fellow tightwads, I’m all about holiday cheer and whatnot, rocking all of the season’s topical colors as a special holiday shout out. (This is, after all, the only time of year in which “that’s so suchandsuch season” ACTUALLY applies!) That being said, I’ve decided to take my Christmas eve outfit in a different direction this year, dear friends.
As I’ve grown older (washed up at 21, they grow up so fast!!!), I’ve enjoyed taking attention away from myself during the holidays. I’d rather have someone extend a meaningful gesture my way rather than buy me something, so subconsciously my Christmas eve outfit is a bit more subdued. You know, as a reflection on this new lifestyle choice and such. Or whatever.
This sweaterdress in a nice compromise on staying comfy but being completely respectful to my family during our big holiday meal. However, my rebellious spirit pulled out my combat boots as a nod to my Jewish homies (AKA, the other half of my family). It must be noted that these boots probably represent my lifelong inner conflict of being faithful to both of my parents’ religions. Personally, the way I’ve made ends meet is by keeping all of my Jewish guilt inward, but I suppose that mixing up my outfit may be a better solution. Who really knows, though?
Anywho, dear friends, I should probably, ahem, wrap up this post and get straight to the brokedown. Perhaps I can get to it by way of chimney? Yeah? Yeah.
Grand total, sans tax and lumps of coal: ~$57
Dear friends, may your next few weeks—no matter what your beliefs!—be fun-filled and warm (and that means bouth your body temperatures and in a loving way). I’m peronally having a blast catching up with my best friends, my family and my dogs. So have a pleasant weekend! If you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the ‘final sale only’ racks.
Oh, my dog would love to wish you a happy holiday as well! (Jax, the tree and the boots make this a safe greeting for both the Jews and the Christians.)
Ho, ho, ho, merry cheapness!
IN WHICH I’VE BEEN LIVING IN SWEATPANTS, SO PLEASE PARDON THE LACK OF UPDATES
Fellow tightwads, please forgive me, re: updating and re: comma abuse, as I finish up the first of my last two semesters of college ever.
I completed my final final last night, which explains why I haven’t updated in three weeks (whoops!). In the final stretches of finals, I always wish that I could host 24/7 screenings of the inside of my eyelids or hook up caffeine IVs to my veins, but both of those options always seem to be out of stock (shopping joke!!!!! Because I’m back!!!!). Since neither of those notions are attainable, I usually have to choose between my homework and watching cute animal clips on youtube. I’m very fortunate for the quality of my education, so what better way to acknowledge my privilege than to waste it by watching foxes licking windows or corgis running on treadmills?
Let the record show that I never refused to acknowledged how fortunate I am for the quality of my favorite youtube videos, dear friends. Trivial privilege: checked. Feels good to get that off my chest! I guess, sometimes, we just have to get by through pounding Red Bulls and clicking the next link that exploits the adorableness of the animal kingdom. Or, like, writing papers and whatever.
Anyway, dear friends, finals are over. I have absolutely no excuses anymore. Wait, no, that can’t be right. My dog ate my laptop?
…And, without further ado, I present to you a brokedown that is well-versed in late night coffee runs, early morning red bulls and not a whole lot of sleep:
Grand total, sans tax and a normal sleep shedule: $58
Fun fact: I only ordered that top because it was part of Wet Seal’s bi-daily (or whatever) BOGO For a Penny sale, only to find out 10 minutes later that its paired item was out of stock. Couldn’t have told me that BEFORE confirming my order, huh? Damn you, Wet Seal! I should’ve known not to trust you after what you did to my dear friend Buster Bluth! (Or whatever.)
Anyway, dear friends, I know that this is a stressful time for all of us. I sincerely hope that each source of your worries, whether they be academic, financial or holiday season-related, are resolved in due time. Keep in mind that, ultimately, hardly any of this will truly matter and that we aren’t saving lives. Well, unless you currently ARE saving lives, in which case I urge you to get the eff outta my blog because WHAT ARE YOU DOING I AM FLATTERED BUT PLEASE CONTINUE WHAT YOU WERE UP TO BEFORE YOU IRRESPONSIBLE MONSTER THERE ARE HEROIC ACTS TO BE HAD ARE YOU SERIOUS?.
Uhm, ahem. Chin up, friends. You’ll pull through. I swear.
If you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the “final sale only” racks.
I was featured in the college newspaper’s online edition!
I really don’t do much in it, but just in case you’re interested, my wonderful friend Elizabeth is just as talented of a writer as she is a thrifter. Check it out!
IN WHICH I’D DEFINITELY PUT A RING ON IT IF JAY Z HADN’T GOTTEN TO HER FIRST
Fellow tightwads, let’s be real: the most beautiful woman on the face of this earth, second only to my mother, is Beyonce. To paraphrase her freaking husband Jay-Freaking-Z, her beauty is so, ahem, alarm-ringing, she should star in her own museum exhibitions. More importantly, she is also incredibly graceful, gifted, driven, well-spoken and self-assured. It’s easy to say, “Well, if I were Beyonce, how difficult would it be to feel so confident?” And to that I say…aaaah, touche, but we can all learn a thing or two from unlocking our own inner Sasha Fierces. (Because we’re worth it!) We all know how much I adore the 1960s and Queen Beysus’ “Why Don’t You Love Me” video, right? Well, did you know that B’s video, “Countdown,” has 15 million views on Youtube? Yeah, neither did I until I realized I accounted for at least 10 million of them.
Anywho, dear friends, as I was watching “Countdown” for the twelfth time in a row last night (no, but really), I though about the many ways one can infuse Sasha Fierce-ness into their day-to-day. The Sasha-inception can be so subtle, in fact, that it took me a full day to realize that an outfit I wore last weekend was yanked directly from my favorite “Countdown” look! (BTW:OHMYGODGETITBEY)
Which was, of course, was an homage to the inspired, talented and giving Audrey Hepburn:
Why I’ve ever dressed like anyone other than these two is beyond me. Anyway, dear friends, I gotta say…rocking this outfit gave me a self confidence boost like no other. I’m telling you, Lady Bey-owolf ain’t messin’ around. In the immortal words of my arch nemesis/future best friend Jay Z, I think I got my swagger back—truth! OK, even I can tell we’re drifting off course. So, uh, without further ado, I present to you a brokedown that ‘s all up in the club with (t)his chick (me!) right beside it:
Grand total, sans tax and some black diamonds on a chain: $53
So…am I Beyonce yet? No? It’s cool, I’ll wait. Until then, you know where to find me if you need me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the “final sale only racks” in the Bay Area! Yes, dear friends, I’m home for Thanksgiving break and it feels so. Damn. Good. I have a lot to be thankful for, and TEN BUCKS’ strong following is a big one. Once again, let me extend my sincerest thanks to all of you! I really appreciate each and every one of you. Well, probably.
Enjoy your holiday!
IN WHICH MY HAIR BANGS ITS WAY TO THE TOP OF THE CHARTS
Fellow tightwads, I’d been considering a semi-drastic hair cut for quite a while. This past weekend I finally decided, Nike-style, to forgo all triteness other than the following phrase and…”just hairdo it.” Or maybe I didn’t —I really don’t have anything invested in this pun, no mater how badly I needed to type it.
Anyway, dear friends, that hair cut didn’t happen. I took myself in a totally different direction: over the course of one salon appointment, I gained much more than the length I had intended to chop off. Dear friends, I know you’re looking at these photos and wondering to yourself, “Why does she look so familiar?” No, it’s not because you’ve read this blog before and recognize my other posts. As fate would have it, I walked out of the salon and straight into the career of a semi-successful EurAsian pop star. Ah, yes! Shears and a flat iron are far mightier than the hair brush. Not one hour before this ‘do I was on the fringes of, if you will, total irrelevancy…a mere minion in the eyes of the industry. Now, dear
friends fans, I’m famous…and you can trust my career as far as you can throw in some auto tune.
Yes, yes, you can tell your friends you knew me “when,” but no pictures, please. (The images above are actually hyperrealistic fan-made paintings, sooooo…)
In the spirit of popular demand and giving the people what they want, here’s a brokedown backstage pass:
Grand total, sans tax but with all the critical acclaim it deserves: $24.50
Well, dear friends, I’m afraid that’s all the blogging this international pop star can handle for today. I’ve been ordered by
my doctor critics that I need to go on an indefinite vocal rest, so I’ll probably just go to sleep because whenever I’m awake and not singing, I’m usually screaming at my handlers. Ugh. MINIONS, am I right?! Anyway, enjoy the rest of your day/evening/what have you! If you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, pretending to hide from the paparazzi.