As I’ve discussed briefly here, I’m (with some hypocritical exceptions, no doubt) a firm believer that people should do what makes them happy — short of murdering strangers, etc. — and that the people who hate them for doing what they want to do and loving what they want to love should probably find other ways to occupy their time. It made me happy to learn that Jordan Reid agrees, and to read her kickass post on the topic (spurred, not surprisingly, by a holier-than-thou commenter). An excerpt:
When it comes to fashion, to literature, to art, to music, you love what you love; there are no absolutes. But the best way that these people have to make themselves feel awesome is to make sure that you know that your opinions are wrong. They make you feel scared to say that hey, you kinda like Hootie and the Blowfish, or that you think that rockabilly hairstyles are pretty cool, or that you enjoy reading paperback thrillers sometimes, because they’re going to laugh at you, and mock you, and otherwise shut you down. They’re going to tell you that your taste is terrible, that your job is unimportant, that your ideas aren’t good enough, that you chose the wrong life partner or house or diet or freaking dinner plate pattern.
And that is a crappy thing to do.
If you don’t read Jordan’s blog, Ramshackle Glam, you should start now. It’s one of the best — and certainly the most aesthetically pleasing — out there.
Here is a Youtube gem! Brought to my attention by our Seoul correspondent, it is sure to impress. The clips come from a 1992 documentary about Wildwood, NJ. Just watch. You won’t be disappointed.
These actually render me wordless (which rarely happens), so I’ll just post the pictures.
Wowie.
Wow.
Wow.
PS- If you want to buy these beauties and just love the idea of a built in sparkly whale’s tail, they’re made by Sanna’s of Brazil and they’re only a hundred bucks! So sexxxxxxxy. You’ll for sure be the flyest girl at the club! Bye bye Banana Republic, hello Sanna’s!
In just a few days, I will be embarking on a crazy adventure to South America. (Have no fear, dedicated readers. SWTCTW will be getting a guest blogger!)
I can’t wait.
In my mind, I had visions of looking somewhat cute in my pictures. My rose-colored legit backpacker’s backpack, cute hiking shorts and a tank top, chilling in my Rainbows with a nice tan. You know…looking like a really cool world traveler in her twenties. Then reality hit me like a case of food poisoning while shopping at EMS today– I’m going to look absolutely heinous.
This ugly realization happened while perusing the shoe section. I looked at the hiking running shoes. Ugh. All repulsive. I usually mock people who wear these shoes, but in my defense it’s because they unnecessarily wear them as everyday shoes. I would actually “need” them. So I tried on a pair that was less offensive than the rest. After deciding I could live with them, I asked the guy if they were good for backpacking. “You will die if you wear those shoes,” he said. Quite forcefully, too. DIE?! I’m scared enough as it is! I don’t need your fear-mongering on top of my parents’ completely-expected-but-still-a-little-confidence-rattling paranoia, EMS dude. He then pointed me to a pair of shoes that made my stomach lurch. Yes, the ones pictured above. I was panicked. He told me I was going to die if I didn’t get these shoes!
The truth is that I’m just not that hardcore. When I say backpacking, I mean exploring the continent with a backpack…not spelunking and scaling mountains.
And I’ve changed the mental picture I have of myself traveling. I’m not looking to sound or act prissy. So what if I’m wearing clothes that aren’t the most flattering? So what if I don’t look my absolute best? Who am I trying to impress? I’m just glad I’m going. I’m going to see the world and I don’t care what I have to look like to get there.
But those shoes? NO WAY. My old pair of kicks will just have to do.
So I quasi-live blogged the show with the hottest cast EVER, quasi-not.
Quick thoughts:
Croquet, pastels and cocktails. It’s GG. And it’s on crack–and by crack I mean the Hamptons. Thirty seconds in and these crazy kids are already getting it on! God I missed this show. Rawr. WHY WAS I NOT THAT HOT AT 16? Or 17. Or 18. Or 19…this is getting depressing. Whatever.
Oooh Dunkin’ Donuts product placement on Rufus’ tour bus. My New England trained eye could spot a DD logo anywhere.
Drama with Blair and “Chuck Basstard” about a pin. What is this? 1950? LAME.
Speaking of Chuck. I think they’ve taken this “I’m Chuck Bass” thing a little too far. Taking good characters from the first time around and putting them on steroids for all subsequent appearances is a common mistake. I like to call it the Stifler Syndrome. In the first American Pie movie, Stifler was absurd yet oddly believable. And kind of funny. I mean, he does get peed on. With each AP movie, (AP 2, American Wedding) he became a caricature of himself and utterly obnoxious. He is practically the star of American Wedding. Teevee God (aka script writers and producers) help us. I WANT OLD CHUCK BACK.
Let’s take a second to acknowledge Serena’s hair at the White Party. She looked like a goddess, for sure. But the hair was so over the top. It looked like golden snakes wound in with the Jessica Simpson and Ken Paves lovechild hair extensions. Her hair = a hot tranny mess. Despite having hair of the Medusa persuasion, Blake Lively is stunning and I want to be her. (Blake and Penn–never ever ever ever break up. Ya’ll are the new Seth and Summer/Adam and Rachel. Don’t fail us like they did.)
I have a friend who believes Blair Waldorf is his soulmate. Best of luck to you, friend, because a) she’s not real and b) this bitch is back in full force. (Is it just me or did she look like she got into a nasty brawl with a spray tan booth? Ummm Blair it was the White Party, not the Orange and White party.) And dating a British lord who pretended to be an American that went to Princeton so that people liked him for his pretentious, rich American elitist self and not his pretentious, rich British elitist self? My mind is blown. First of all, this makes me yearn for the days when Prince William was still a dreamboat (sigh). But really, GG? You’re going to give us all false hopes that this tomfoolery actually happens? And that a British Lord wants me to like him for him and not just his title? Disney already ruined me. This might break me.
As Kristen Bell’s voice familiarly closed the episode with “You know you love me. XOXO, Gossip Girl”, I have to say, I don’t think I did love this Gossip Girl. The scripts were never good, but this was dreadful. I love me some bad teevee shows and my expectations are wayyyyyy lower than they should be, but I at least expect the dialogue to be tolerable at best.
But the clothes were amazing. And I’ll still watch next week. Mission accomplished.
On another note, I am obsessed with the song played in the opening scene. It is my new favorite summer/end of summer (wahhhhhhh) song and I am embarrassed. I am embarrassed because one half of the band, Shwayze, is Mischa Barton’s ex-bf. Remember Cisco Adler? Yup. Now he can be known for something other than looking like the younger brother of Weird Al and being the former lovah of the worst character on the OC and a Keds spokeswoman. Basically this song is the 2008 version of LFO’s “Summer Girls”. Stop judging me, jerks.
Happy Labor Day, ya’ll! I hope you’re enjoying the three day weekend! As I was contemplating how I DO NOT have today off, I realized that I had no clue as to the real meaning and history of Labor Day (Wiki that) other than it’s the end of summer (wahhhh) and I can’t wear white until Memorial Day. Ugh. This is especially distressing to me because I have a killer pair of white pants that I didn’t get to show off this summer. Well, I tried to show them off. What happened to me was very traumatic. No, I didn’t spill anything on them. It’s even worse.
I realized that time was running out, so I brought said pants to Denver, for the D amazing NC. Saving the best for last, I waited until Thursday to wear them. So I woke up a little late on Thursday and got dressed. White pants, classy black top. I felt good. Like vintage J-Lo. My mother walks into the hotel room. She’s wearing white pants and a classy black top. A wave of panic hit me harder than when the Spice Girls broke up. It’s okay to admire your mother–it is not okay to dress like your mother. At least not when you’re 22! Am I becoming my mother?! I thought I had more time before the transformation took place! Haha. In vain she tried to tell me it would be alright, that nobody would notice. But I could already feel the judgmental eyes on me as I walked next to her on the street. I’d even mock me. I quickly changed into an inferior outfit, and the white pants were thrust back into my suitcase, untouched by the summer sun.
Yup, that’s it. I have been trying to think of some way to turn my white pants story into an allegory of sorts, but I’m afraid it’s too shallow for that. There is, perhaps, some message here. I might have better off if I had just listened to my mother and worn the white pants. Or more likely, it didn’t matter at all. 🙂 Yes, I just emoticoned. What of it?
While today is not its official end, I hope that you all had a lovely summer. It went by so fast, didn’t it?
Now I’m aware that the fashion gods decided that platform shoes are in again. I also must acknowledge that I tend to love Free People, as it is a brand that enables my not-so-secret desire to be a hippie. (A fake, well-dressed hippie, of course.) But those shoes! Look at those things! I don’t think the Spice Girls would have even worn them back in the ’90s. And according to their description, they have a terrifying four-and-a-half inch heel. As a 5’11” girl with a general dislike for heels, height like that is enough to make me woozy. (The image that just popped into my brain as I pictured myself wearing the monstrosities: a just-born foal with its wobbly little legs, stumbling all over the place.) So uh, anyway, these shoes are hideous, happy Friday, and will someone please bring me a breakfast sandwich?
Hooker heels for babies? Ha! What will they think of next? I’m currently trying to think of a play on the phrase “baby mama”, but nothing good comes to mind that doesn’t make me feel pervy and like I need to go to confession for just being a bad person. (Catholic guilt will always get you). I could never put a baby in something slutty, but this soulless, pagan, oh-so-cleverly called Heelarious, company has no problem with it. Here is what they have to say for themselves:
“WARNING: May cause extreme smiling and hysterical laughter when in use (this is completely normal).”
The nerve! Clearly, people are screaming left and right about children being pressured to get sexier at a younger age. Hey Miley, good job fueling that fire! You crazy kid!
I say, what the hell, I could have used the practice. That’s a joke people, but then again, so are these heels and I get that. Calm down and don’t get your diapers in a twist.
Wowie.
six words to change the world. 
