Thursday, June 26, 2014

crow's nest.


Zara top; H&M pants; VAS Spanish answer to 'stocks; Badgley Mischka bag
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I have a staring problem, but because I feel so well-intentioned in it, I am hesitant to change my ways.  I stare because I love what you're wearing.  You're killin it today, and now I'm sorry but there is just no minding my own business.  I'm Cam Jansen-ing the shit out of you.  The way you've tied your scarf, your cuffed jeans and flats combination, how you layered those shirts --- the front of my brain is like, "Damn, lady!  Good work!" and the back of my brain is like, "REMEMBER THIS! STEAL THIS!"  I am the girl peering at you across the aisle of the train from over the top of my book because your skirt is so good.  I whip around on the street like a creep when someone awesomely dressed walks by just to snag another look at what they did with their chambray button down.  It's not subtle.  I passionately complement strangers.  "Whoa, your bag is incredible," I say to the lady waiting at the crosswalk.  She's either super flattered or she clutches it to herself tighter for fear that the strange girl talking is gonna snatch it away.  It's whatever.  You have to learn how to dress somewhere, and I've never really been one for magazines.  Pinterest will do in a pinch, and sometimes I let Tommy Ton and Scott Schuman do the work for me, but I am most inspired by fashion when watching real women on the street.

In Madrid, for example, apparently nobody overheats ever, because deep into June's 80 degree days, women are slaying the pants game.  This is an all-pants-all-the-time kind of city, derived probably from Spain's overwhelmingly modest dressing tradish, and I love it.  I am learning so much about pants.  Occasionally my body begs me to be freed into a flowy dress and I comply, but for the most part I am having fun pretending to be things I am usually not, ie: structured and semi-classy.  And then today I was a sailor.  So.


(Side note lemon olive oil cracked pepper Maldon basil pine nuts BYE)

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