Bathing Suits and Cowboy Boots.

My mom could not dress me. Well, she would attempt to, at which point I would apparently remove said clothing and put on whatever I wanted. And I would change outfits multiple times a day. It still pretty much holds true, actually. I'll put something on for awhile, get sick of it, change again. Maybe that's why my outfit posts on here are so sparse...I never stay in one ensemble long enough! I was looking through some pictures my mom had scanned, and came across these choice fashion moments. I guess I believed that bathing suits could serve as outer wear once paired with tights? Also included (just because) is a great shot of my dad circa I don't know when donning a white suit and strange mustache. It's all about class in my family.


I really need those sunglasses.
I should consider reviving the navy tights sometime.
Interesting choice of hat...and I am definitely rocking the off the shoulder look. Nice!
What a bad ass.

I'm not a stripper.

During the summer, I get strong, unusual cravings for tragically campy cinema. For the past four or five summers, I have gone to the video store (do they still call it that?) with my family seeking out horrible and hilarious movies. Typically it ends up being a horror film (I stand by the original Amityville Horror being THE funniest of the horrors), but once in awhile, something outside of the horror genre will produce glorious, golden camp. I give you Showgirls. If you haven't seen this movie, please, go watch it now. Well, maybe not all of you, considering it is NC-17, but you should at least catch the edited for tv version they show onVh1. The 1995 film stars Elizabeth Berkley (you know, Jessy from Saved by the Bell? Who can forget!). "A young drifter, named Nomi, arrives in Las Vegas to become a dancer and soon sets about clawing and pushing her way to become the top of the Vegas showgirls." (thanks, IMBD) As if that shouldn't lure you into seeing this film, I have found upon recent viewing that the 90's threads Nomi (what a name) acquires after reaching some stardom are really kind awesome in the way that only early ninetie's clothes can be. She has a penchant for Versace, all things body concious, and fringe...or really anything that adds a strange urban cowgirl element to the ensemble. Unfortunately, there are very few photos of some of the costuming, so I decided to compile a little collage of WWNW -- what would Nomi wear? Try not to be too dazzled by my paint skillz, now.
I don't know how many strippers, I mean, dancers, should actually serve as inspiration for any wardrobe. But damn it, if loving Nomi is wrong, I just don't want to be right!

"It's like...a totally important designer!"

Ahh, the nineties.  Being a kid was fantastic during that decade.  It meant I could wear whatever I wanted and people would smile as I was a funny and charming little girl, not a seriously deranged young adult.   I was introduced to grunge by my older brother and suddenly found it imperative that I wear the same combination flannels and converse--hot pink high tops with tweety bird, of course.  A Green Day shirt was worn probably every other week of third grade.  I sported my side pony-tail with pride and a scrunchie.  I donned an oversized t-shirt and leggings with my socks scrunched up over them and was so hip-happening (in my opinion).  However, I had a fashion epiphany after the viewing of a certain film that somewhat snapped me out of my Teen Spirit obsession.  

It was 1996, and my mom purchased Clueless on VHS for me.  Cher Horowitz became my style icon.  After viewing it multiple times and sufficiently memorizing the script (my first introduction to Alaia!), I wanted to appear as if I had stepped right of of Cher's Beverly Hills High School--even if I was only seven years old.  White knee socks and pleated skirts dominated my wardrobe, and I became strangely obsessed with plaids and argyles.  Luckily, I didn't gain a penchant for odd fur covered accessories ("It's faux!").  

So today,  I looked down at my black over-the-knee socks and thought about Clueless, and how my seven-year-old self would be so jealous of said socks.  My life doesn't look like a Noxzema commercial, but since I can get that pleasure from sliding the same VHS (yes--VHS!) out of the beat-up-but-loved box, it doesn't have to!  So whether you prefer, "fashion victim or ensemble-y challenged," there is absolutely no reason any fashion-loving human being with a sense of humor should by pass seeing Clueless.