Fashion for Writers

First, the good stuff. I’m talking big cumulus clouds floating above your head for one minute in the middle of a dead week good stuff.  I’m talking dreaming of infinite feasts in your sleep and waking up to eggs, coffee, and banana bread already set out on the table good stuff.

+ Giveaway!  See post below to enter for your chance to win one book from YOU ARE REMARKABLE.

+ I found this skirt in my closet after looking for months.  It used to be my mom’s.  I feel tender toward the combination of the purple flowers and white polka dots.  I also found two pretty ice blue bracelets from the vintage store in town, but one of them broke immediately. The last time my mom was in town, she bought me this necklace that looked like a torture chamber for miniature aliens and I loved it fanatically for one week and then it broke.

+ Here’s the bracelet, and here’s a ring Michael got me in Istanbul, and a ring Michael got me from a vending machine at the World’s Largest Truckstop:

Black keyhole blouse from Minnie Wilde, mom’s skirt, pink bow belt from Catherine’s, bracelet from Artifacts.

+ I went to my first estate sale last week and my second one this week.  I think my standards are now set way too high. A seven year old girl wearing a unicorn sticker on her cheek gave me a soda as soon as I stepped into the yard, and then this lovely elderly lady (dressed immaculately in a silk-wool cardigan skirt two piece and a pair of heels with little cut outs at the toe!) grabbed my arm and showed me these amazing jackets from the turn of the century, including this beautiful Victorian silk jacket that her husband’s mother used to wear to tea parties on their lawn. It’s available for purchase here.

+ Here’s a lovely wool sailor top from the 20′s (at least that’s what I was told) available for purchase here:

+ And also this darling little 60′s hand-knit cardigan, and this amazing Victorian cape, which I’m calling a capelet, and pronouncing ‘capulet’ like the Capulets and the Montagues.

I already wore the capelet out for no reason at all, and felt weird walking around in a mini-cape.

The estate sale I went to this Friday was terrific as well.  I think I scooped up more than twenty dresses from the 1950′s, but a lot of them are summer dresses so it’ll be a while before I add them to the store.  There were a few wool cardigans and one lovely black jacket with embroidered flowers that I’ll show you soon enough, as well as these amazing sheer nylon blouses that I took a gamble on and bought without stopping to think how difficult and even ridiculous it would be for me to incorporate sheer nylon blouses into my wardrobe.

I was so excited by these estate sales that I immediately started searching for more estate sales I could go to and flea markets (none are open until spring,) which led me to discover a town not too far from here called Coon Rapids.  I’m sure there’s someone reading this who is from Coon Rapids, or someone who is thinking, “What’s wrong with that name?  Why should anyone be offended by it?” and I can’t even get into that without becoming violently agitated, but I will say that this line from the wikipedia entry for ‘Coon Rapids’ encapsulates everything that makes me sad about the way we understand ‘racism’ and ‘offense’ and ‘political correctness.’

A proposed name change suggested by the Councilman sparked an uproar among local citizens, and the proposal was dropped. (From wikipedia.)

Uproar?  Really?  It made me think immediately of this excellent Racialicious article that so astutely discusses entitlement, misplaced outrage, and the dishearteningly frequent situation where the person who feels he or she has been unjustly inconvenienced or offended or insulted is the same person who denies others their right to feel insulted, offended, or oppressed by racism and other systems of oppression.  Which reminds me that I like Kim Deal, but did she really have to tell everyone that “Gigantic” is about a white woman falling in love with a black teenager and his gigantic–you get me.

Which also reminds me that I went to see 2012 (please don’t ask me why,) and not only was it awful, as expected, although I appreciate the opposing bombast of this review (thanks Tony,) but the ending was a COMPLETE COLONIALIST ALLEGORY.  Actually, it’s way too transparent and superficial to be an allegory.  Can I just spoil the ending, seeing as how there’s no way anyone could possibly reside in the conjoined oval of the two Venn Diagram circles– ‘I like the blog Fashion for Writers,’ and ‘I like the movie 2012?’

Firstly, the movie does not mention the continent of Africa at all, and it seems that not a single person from Africa makes it onto this big stupid steel ark, which is supposed to protect everyone from the end of the world, except that the ark has huge GLASS WINDOWS, which somehow are not damaged even though the entire sea floor rises up and rains down on these GLASS WINDOWS, and then 180 days later, the people on the ark learn that Africa has not been completely destroyed and then a roomful of Americans/Europeans jump up and down because they can go ahead and settle that land for themselves.  Sorry.  It’s too easy to hate this film.

Why bring up this vile movie at all?  Because I wore my sailor dress to the movie with my new favorite Hansel from Basel pom pom tights, and the lovely Kaitlin from My Vintage Secret was sweet enough to feature me and my sailor dress on her blog with four other far more stylish than me ladies in vintage.  It feels extra nice that she choose the very first picture I ever posted of myself on Fashion for Writers.  Her blog is super cool–she recently just blogged about the Cosby sweater!  Although personally, I prefer how Biggie styled his Coogi sweaters.  I’m kind of in the mood to watch Notorious, even though the movie, as a whole, isn’t so good, but it has some nice moments, and Jamal Woolard has such potential and talent as an actor.

The only image on the internet I could find of Biggie in a Coogi sweater?
Left: Jamal Woolard playing Biggie Smalls; right: Biggie.

My sailor dress isn’t nearly as cool as a pastel paisley Coogi sweater, but here it is again:

Have I ever shown you the back?

I’m listening to Throbbing Gristle in my car so much that I end up sitting in parking lots waiting for the track to end and walking out of my car in a daze. I also stared at this photo of Tracey Emin and felt maybe seven different things, but I can’t even explain even one of them right now.

“I’ve Got It All” 2000 from the Saatchi Gallery

Michael wants me to credit him as the photographer of my outfit shots.  Thank you, Michael for taking the outfit photos.  But he didn’t take this picture.  My timer and a pile of books and my index finger and my running in ankle boots with cut outs that you can’t see to the other end of the room took this photo:

Yellow cardigan from Shanghai, h&m t-shirt, shortened vintage silk skirt with pockets

Listen, I promise I do get Vitamin D from time to time and am not always indoors. I just don’t have a tripod, and Michael is not always available during that sliver of morning (9 AM to 10:30 AM) when there’s actually some sunlight in this cockamamie place.  I went snooping around the other day in my new cape and my many sheer nylon blouses, and I just got my Mandate of Heaven playsuit in the mail (the fastest package ever!) and I love love love it to death.  I’ve been romping and tramping around the house in it–wearing it makes me want to be a professional gadabout (who never needs to pee because boy is it hard to get in and out of a playsuit.)  More details forthcoming.  All I’ll say for now is that my playsuit has heart pockets!

And enter the giveaway!

Love, Jenny