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 THE NEW YEAR IS RINGING ME IN / I AM A WALKING FOREVER 21 ADVERTISEMENT
Fellow tightwads, my first post of 2012 is dedicated to the last outfit I wore in 2011. It was a spectacular event dedicated to celebrating my best friends, who throughout the night gently tugged at my sentimental side to remind me of how much I have to be grateful for. Of these things the massive deals I struck on these clothes, dear friends, are absolutely included. But we’ll get back to that.
2011 was an interesting year, though I can’t say I’m sad to see it go. I’m owning the fact that, if anything, this past year has me feeling equipped me to take on the world.
…No, but seriously. Later today I leave for a monthlong journey in which I’ll explore a number of Middle Eastern countries. Yes, dear friends, that trite expression was used literally! As a soon-to-be sophistcated traveler, am I forgiven? No? Fine, more disgusting puns and expressions for you, man. Ahem.
As soon as the month is up, I return to school to complete my final semester as an undergraduate. I’ve learned a lot in the past year (in and out of the classroom, merp) and I’m pumped to apply my newfound cannon of experience toward anything I possibly can! Especially if it has nothing to do with schoolwork. Or motivation. Or effort. Or applying. So, basically, I’m totally lying, you guys. I just wanna sleep all day and watch Netflix Instant.
I kid, dear friends. Honestly, this year is going to be a good one, with or without Netflix’s streaming capabilities. Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your continued support! You truly made last year a great one for me, simply by reading, reblogging and adding notes.
So let’s do this thing. And by ‘thing,’ I totally mean ‘brokedown.’ Or, more accurately a shining example as to why Forever 21 should start paying me:
…I can’t lie, friends. The second I stepped into the party I kicked off the shoes and slipped on a pair a knee high Batman socks, complete with their own capes. (But wouldn’t you?!)
I’d try to fit in a “Lolz, this is the most (blank) outfit I’ve worn all year!!!!” joke, but I don’t hate myself. Or you. You may thank me later in a formal letter complete with personalized masthead on thick card stock.
Dear friends, I hope you had a pleasant holiday season! You may return to your regularly scheduled gloom and pessimism as you buy things juuuuust for yourself out of spite. Work that greed, fellow tightwads! I promise, in this light, it’s a really good look on you.
If you need me, you know where to fi—teehee, no you don’t, because I won’t be back until January! Don’t cry too hard without my interweb presence, dear friends. It makes your greed look all wrong on you, and I can’t possibly be responsible for that while I’m away.
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.
Grand total, sans tax and a BFF who goes by Leslie Knope: $48
Dear friends, I must warn you…I know I’ve let you down these past few months by posting very scarcely as is, but I’m afraid won’t be able to post throughout the majority of January. I’m fortunate enough to be traveling through the middle east during that time! That means limited computer access, attention span and interest in building a wardrobe that suits this blog’s standards. I’ll try to do a post or two in the next few days, though.
If you need me until then, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the ‘final sale only’ racks.
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 NO SHOWER CAN SCRUB MY GRUNGE AWAY
Fellow tightwads, I remember the first time I was exposed to Nirvana. I was six or seven on a sleepless Nevadan vacation when I stumbled upon the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” music video. Scared silly, I paused long enough to collect my jaw from the floor and change the channel to the seemingly less intimidating “Magic School Bus.” Once I was old enough to understand that music scene and piece together the band’s history, I, incidentally, was also old enough to start dressing myself. (Note: this is a very recent development. Badum ccch.) A few years ago, I made a Gaga-inspired pact with myself to take wardrobe risks at no cost other than the obvious financial ones. Indulging in risk translates to exploring one’s fears, and damn right if I wasn’t scared of Nirvana for most of my childhood. I’ve recently been toying with 90s-era looks but for many, many reasons, I avoided Cobain’s grunge legacy. Why is that, though? Why have I been so hesitant? All great forms of self expression challenge the unknown and unexpected, right? And don’t all great
art pieces outfits tie back to older art pieces outfits?
And, really, let’s break this down: how does the ballerific Miss Frizzle hold a deeper spot in my comfort zone than Kurt Cobain does? I mean, we’re not discussing anyone’s emotional stability or anything deep like that. We’re simply talking about rocking a little bit of plaid and a rich color palette. That can’t be that bad, can it?
Nope, it sure can’t be. So I present to you a brokedown that, though risky, is—with the lights off!—less dangerous:
Grand total, sans tax and a inexplicable marriage to Courtney Love: ~$57.80
Well, dear friends, that concludes this installment of TEN BUCKS IS TOO MUCH! As always, thank you for your patience and support. If you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the “final sale only” racks.