I know, right?! SUCKS.
And the worst part of it is that I can’t get a new one until July. Freakin’ JULY. Because they cost like crapping six hundred dollars and since I used up the two-year free upgrade when my phone got soaked last semester… well I can’t afford to buy a new one out of pocket. So here we are.
Finally made a Goodwill run on Friday, THANK GOD—it had been way too long. Got something like three shirts, an XXXXL men’s flannel, a really nice pair of James Cured by Seun jeans, this sweater (which I found out after I bought it was maternity? that’s not weird at all), a teeny tiny sweater from the boys section, and a cashmere BR pullover. Oh, and a vintage Chanel purse. NBD.
NO BIG D. YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I SAID.
Here’s how that shit went down. I spied this older lady with her mitts on it at Goodwill so I started using The Force in my head, going, WALK AWAY, LADY. PUT IT DOWN AND WALK AWAY. And clearly my jedi mind tricks worked on her because she did! She put it down and walked away, and I swooped in like a angry badger and just SNIPED that purse. And now it’s mine. Happiness is MINE. ALL MINE.
And now for a gratuitous amount of photos celebrating my love for this material object which brings me great pleasure by stroking my ego and inflating my own importance. Speaking of which, you should follow my blog. Yeah, you should do that.
sweater – thrifted Old Navy (maternity…HA) // tee – Madewell // zip crop jeans – Madewell // bag – thrifted Chanel // flats – Old Navy // nail polish – Sephora by OPI in “Ocean Love Potion” // belt - JCrew
I LURV THIS GIRL.
Not only does she have an incredibly refined sense of dress, combined with a sick-nasty haircut and the most amazing collection of sunnies, but she also makes a living designing jewelry. AHH. Life envy, much?!
These are some of my favorite shots from her blog, The Glamourai. Specific wants: those clear Lucite shades, that green dress, taupe nail polish, a slouchy gray beanie, suede knee-high boots, her white tie-front blouse…
sources: all glamourai
I acquired this fabulous hand-made vintage skirt from a relative back in December, and I had originally taken it with the idea to shorten it considerably in time for spring. Clearly I never got around to doing it—surprise, surprise. However, I put it on the other morning, paired it with black tights and a sleeveless white henley on a whim and life just gelled. (Are you gellin’? Like a felon.) The fabric has such a fabulous print! It’s the kind of thing that half makes you want to frantically run in the other direction and half boil it in a pot and hummy it down for desert. (I can’t think of anything else halfway intelligent to contribute here.) ME LIKEY.
The nail polish is by Sinful Colors and it belongs to a friend who lives upstairs… It’s HIGHLIGHTER-NEON-RADIOACTIVE orange (that’s not the real name), but sadly these pictures don’t do it justice. I was at a party last weekend and my nails were glowing. Literally glow-in-the-dark. So amazing. Tragically, I can’t find that particular shade online or at the local Walgreen’s here in Williamsburg… I plan to continue the quest when I return home to the north in two weeks. WHADDUP SPRING BREAK.
In other news… my hair is no longer blonde! Yikes.
shirt – Madewell // skirt – vintage // belt – thrifted // demin jacket – Madewell SALE ($15) // bag – vintage // CRAZY ORANGE nail polish – Sinful Colors // boots – Kensie Girl
An old outfit I never got around to posting…
I’m currently sitting in the dorm social lounge playing catch phrase in Spanish. I don’t speak Spanish. Makes me think of this song by Yolanda Be Cool. BAP BAP AMERICANO.
Lots of mid-terms coming up—excuses excuses. But actually, I spent the weekend pulling handles for ceramics and studying organic chemistry and basically just being super productive (HA—that’s a joke).
dress – Ann Taylor Loft
boots – Kensie Girl
scarf – Da Mum
IT’S UP. *EXCITED SQUEAL*
Get your butt in gear (hence, “GITTTERRDUNNN”), and go check it out. See the main page here and LIKE MY LOOKS here.
I’m SUPER SEXCITED (yes that was intentional—it adds emphasis) to be a part of a new application bringing fashion to Facebook that launches TOMORROW MORNING! It’s called enstyle, and blast-off commences at 9 AM EST on Monday, February 21st.
Above is the promo vid for enstyle, with music by Nathan of Friendly Ghost, and photos from all of the bloggers who are the (and I quote) “dream-team-first-and-selected users” (end quote). You can see me for approximately 1 nanosecond at around 1:21 (wearing the outfit from this post). Oh boy do I feel special.
So… be sure to tune in HERE on Monday for the link to the official page, where you can like others’ looks and post your own! I HOPE YOU’RE AS SEXCITED (credit to Ashley Brykman for that clever turn of phrase) AS I AM.
My mother sent me the link to This Blue Heaven’s new single “Slow Dance Slow,” I watched it, FREAKED OUT, and responded as follows:
Rhiannon Ecsedy to Brenda at 4:36 PM (9 minutes ago)
this is SO GOOD
like SO GOOD
I LOVE THIS
I didnt think i would. but its REALLY good.
The cool thing is that I know the pianist from This Blue Heaven, Aaron Rosenthal, because he’s the accompanist and assistant director for my church choir, and part of the video was actually filmed in the church basement! Which I think is WAY COOL because I spent a significant portion of my childhood at preschool playing dodgeball and hide-and-seek-in-the-dark in that basement… Plus THAT’S MY CHURCH. But aside from all that nostalgia, the song is REALLY FREAKING GOOD. Like I’m obsessed.
Dearest Adrienne (My RA who lives next door), I sincerely hope you also like This Blue Heaven, because you’re going to be hearing quite a bit of it through the wall (on repeat and max volume, of course).
Now I’m off to listen to the rest of their music… See their website here, but try to keep your cool while doing so.
I’d been contemplating going short again (I’d taken the plunge once before, in seventh grade) for a while before I actually went through with it about a month ago. I’d spent many an hour online googling “short hair” and “pixie cut” looking for inspiration, for something to convince me one way or the other. Because the truth is that bleaching my hair really wrecked it, and I was desperately looking for an excuse to get rid of my gnarled tresses. It was at about this point that I came across this provocative article by former Elle contributor Johanna Cox, on the effect of short hair on one’s love life. I’d read that Alexa Chung felt un-sexy with her hair bobbed, and I’d heard other horror stories of girls with pixie cuts feeling boyish and unattractive, but to hear Johanna relate the story of her boyfriend revealing he was no longer attracted to her with short hair was downright frightening:
That boyfriend and I ultimately parted romantic ways, but we remain good friends. After all, it was his brutal honesty that prepared me for the next two years, when I would experience what it feels like to be consistently passed over by a majority of men simply because they, like him, believed they could never be attracted to a woman with supershort hair. … A self-righteous attitude, as opposed to my body language or sense of style, was now the first impression I made on most men. As a result—and it was immediate—the nice guy, the skeevy married man, even the construction worker left me alone.
I personally can’t help but read that and think, well then, f*** ‘em! But it’s still scary to think that committing to something like this, something I couldn’t reverse and would have to live with for a year, minimum, could cause me to turn into a single, social pariah. At the same time, I understand where Johanna’s boyfriend was coming from, because dating a girl with short hair could, to the mans’ ego, seeming call his sexuality into question. But why does hair length have to be identified with sexual orientation? Or gender? I was under the impression that this was the twenty-first century.
Which brings me to the bit about how I hate the idiotic but somehow all-pervasive notion that all girls with short hair are lesbians. Joking or not, guys love to ask of my drastic change from super long blonde to platinum pixie, “Does this mean you’re gay?” At which point I retaliate by punching them in the balls and laughing while they write in pain. Not actually, but kind of. But then the logical line that should be inserted at this point in my narrative is “not that there’s anything wrong with being gay,” just so you all know I’m not some obnoxious bigot. And obviously there isn’t—like, DO YOU, you know—but that’s not really the point, is it? The point is that you’re judging me and my sexuality based on something as superficial as the length of my hair. No one much seems to care, for example, that they personally know my ex-boyfriend or that I consistently comment on how attractive I think the male RA down the hall is. It’s like a switch gets flipped in some people’s brains and they forget everything else and automatically assume, “OH EM GEE SHE HAS SHORT HAIR SHE MUST LIKE BOOBS.” Don’t be stupid. Like, really? Really now.
But the sad truth is that people are going think what they want to think. Someone once told me, “Ultimately, you can’t change other people. You can only change yourself.” So here I am, trying to change my self-perception, and my perception of other people’s perceptions of me… Should I just grow a tougher skin? Learn to let it all just roll off my back? Or am I in the wrong here? Is there actually a reason why girls get so much flak for having short hair? Will my lack of hair really ruin my life? WILL I BECOME A FRIENDLESS HERMIT??
I found the answer to this question the first weekend back after break—about three weeks ago now—when I went out with my friends to a party at an off-campus frat house. By the time I got there, the alcohol was pretty much gone, and everyone was already pretty well toasted, which is relevant because drunk people speak their minds. Drunk people are easy to understand, and their motives are always clear because they are no long capable of subtlety. (I like drunk people. They make sense to me.) Myself being sober, this was the perfect scenario to test out the powers of my new haircut. All of those lurking questions flared up again in my mind: Would guys still hit on me? Would anyone mention my short hair?
In fact, I have never felt more attractive. There was no shortage of attention paid to me and my friends. Multiple people I’d never met before told me they liked my hair. I could almost feel the power I was wielding, the kind of power every girl dreams of having, of being able to captivate a man’s attention, of lighting up a room. I felt it. I’m not saying I felt it because of my haircut, but I’m also not saying I felt it in spite of my haircut. No, that was all me, and the haircut had nothing to do with it.
My biggest fear in chopping off all my hair, conceited and immature as it is, was that no boy would even look at me ever again. I think I can safely say that fear has yet to be realized. Like Johanna, I have noticed a change in the way that some boys react to me; my lovable but ignorant-as-dirt guy friends make dumb comments about my sexuality or my sometimes “androgynous” look, and I’m sure some guys will pass me over because of my hair (or lack thereof). But honestly, this is where I get to say f*** ‘em and have no qualms about it. For one thing, I love androgyny! I think it’s one of the chic-est and most fashionable of modern aesthetics. And furthermore, if anyone is going to judge me because of my hair—and this goes for everyone, both guys and girls—then that person isn’t worth my time.
Johanna notes that it the set of men who showed interest in her after her haircut changed drastically, but certainly not for the worse. As I interpret it, the quantity of men that hit on her may have decreased, but the quality actually went up, producing more confident, a la mode-savvy males who appreciated both the personal style and guts behind such a haircut. I’m not sure I can really confirm this increase in “male quality” with my own experiences, but I can say that there is more to life than being chatted up at a party by some cute dude. And those things don’t definitely don’t change with the length of your hair.
A reader of this blog sent me an email a few weeks ago saying:
“I have been toying with chopping my hair like you did for a while..but am so scared Ill regret it the second I do it :/ Any regrets?”
In answer to her question, I said:
“I have no regrets. There are certainly moments of weakness when I wish I still had the boring normality of my long hair to hide behind, but there will always be times when I feel insecure, even if I hadn't cut my hair. So in the end, it was a risk I wanted to take and I took it, and I'm glad I did, because I like the results. The worst that could happen is that you won't like it, but it's not like you won't rock it anyways, and it'll definitely grow back.”
So what’s the verdict? Well, I want to go shorter. How about you?
But personally, I find this a little weird. “Vena Cava Backstage: Nail Polish Reinvented” from Refinery29.
Feeling like a hipstaahh.
Still rocking the bubblegum pink nail polish. Which reminds me of my first ever AIM screen name (“SN” for those cool enough to know)… It was “bubblegumpop364.” I was so popular in fifth grade. Really I was.
And a brief note of actual fashion relevance: neutral top + neutral bottoms works because of the POP of color in the prison-orange tee underneath.
And a brief note of actual legit grade-A creepiness: those papers you see taped to my bed on the right of the above photo… those are from assassins, the game I told you guys I was playing with my hall in this post. As an update, the game lasted a little over a week, and my roommates were the last two left “alive,” so they won. But anyways, the game started to get REALLY intense—I mean like REALLY effing intense—and it came down to my faux-roommate Ashley (She’s never actually appeared on this here little bloggy blog, but I’ve mentioned her before I think…? Affirmative: here, here, and here) and sort of Julia (same story except you can actually see her here and here and she’s photographed for me here and here) and this other girl who lives upstairs—we’ll call her Alberta. So basically SHIT GOT REAL and we started stalking poor Berta via Banner, which is the online service the college uses for class registration and grades and whatnot. Anyways, we knew Alberta had class at a certain time of day so then we’d use Banner find what classes were going on at that time and find out exactly which building it was in so we could be there as she walked out the door. We even followed little Bertie to a sailing meeting one evening, dressed in disguise; we waited in the woods, we followed her to dinner… I almost hid in the upstairs bathroom for several hours before class one morning on the off chance that she would also be getting up early… almost. I’m actually quite glad it’s over so that I can actually eat at the caf again without getting whiplash from all the times I’d have to keep checking to make sure there was no one sneaking up behind me… And now we understand that I take these things WAY to seriously.
Pants – Madewell // Sneaks – Bensimon // Shirt – J Crew // Sweater – Loft // Bag – vintage // Faux-Bans - eBay
