Perhaps that sentence evokes images of a perfect, waif-like Park Avenue princess striding regally through the store, tossing buttery-soft silk and cashmere and leather into her obedient whipping-boy Franz's arms whilst the sales staff groveled at the very sight of her and fought each other to be the one who got to bring her an ice cold bottle of Evian and a bag of mixed nuts.
Heh, mixed nuts.
Anyway, you could not be farther off.
I slink in wearing my extremely conspicuous bright yellow thrift-shop trench coat (but I was also wearing my one nice pair of Wolford tights, and I wanted to scream "LOOK! I'M WEARING EXPENSIVE TIGHTS! BE NICE TO ME!" at the employees so they would stop evil-eyeing me) and try to avoid the suspicious eagle eyes of the fabulous salespeople (why are all Barneys employees cool? How do you become cool enough to work at Barneys? Is there a tutorial class? Can I enroll?) whilst covertly fondling expensive fabrics and imagining my alter ego, Amme (It's Emma backwards. But surely you got that) swathed in the stunning gowns and absurdly cute minidresses and shiny patent stilettos, being adored by pasty yet intimidatingly cool male Gucci models. Like him.
I spend a few minutes stroking sumptuous, stunning stuff (do I win the alliteration prize? And can the prize be one of these things?) like this Marc Jacobs lace dress which should totally have a passionate, raunchy affair with these vintage Frye boots (not from Barneys... they hail from Mirror Mirror vintage), and it would be a total Baby-and-Johnny,
other-side-of-the-tracks secret-lovers kind of romance, and the dress's father (or in this case, Marc Jacobs, the dress's designer) could disapprove and the boots would get fired but would show up at the end-of-year dance and say to Marc Jacobs, "Nobody puts Dress in a corner" and then they would dance together to "(I've Had) The Time Of My Life" and it would be really hot and amazing and...I may not be mentally stable. If any psych majors are reading this, tell me- is it psychologically questionable to personify a dress and boots into the main characters from Dirty Dancing? It may be that the dress and boots together would be less adorable and more insufferable, pretentious Mischa-Barton-esque hipster, but...LET ME BELIEVE IN LOVE. I HAVE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE. ThisDVF pencil skirt frankly makes me want to grovel and suck up to the wearer (or in this case, the mannequin) like a Gretchen Weiners. "You know a year ago she told me I couldn't wear DVF pencil skirts anymore? She said DVF pencil skirts were HER thing? So, for Hannukah, my parents got me this really expensive DVF pencil skirt, and I had to pretend like I didn't even LIKE it, and...it was so sad!"
However, on a more painful note, this 3.1 Phillip Lim double-breasted coat goes for a hefty $645. This is completely and totally reasonable. After all, it's not like this exact flannel shirt (perhaps minus the kicky little belt-bow thing) has been hanging in my grandfather's closet since 1972.If there is one thing my long and painful bout with the Lanz nightgowns I used to favor as a young girl during my "I am Anne of Green Gables" delusion taught me, it is that you can't sex up flannel. And correct me if I am right, but haven't these Marc Jacobs jelly flats happened every year for about four years? Isn't it time for them to QUIETLY SLINK AWAY TO THE ISLAND OF LOST FLATS THAT WOULD HARDLY FLATTER ANYONE WHOSE LEGS DID NOT APPROXIMATE THE WIDTH OF COCKTAIL STIRRERS, BECAUSE, COME ON, THEY'RE WEE LITTLE SEE-THROUGH SHOES AND THE WHOLE WEE-LITTLE-SEE-THROUGH-ANYTHING THING SHOULD REALLY BE COMING TO AN ABRUPT HALT BY NOW?
So, after I'd viewed all that Barneys had to offer and become increasingly more and more depressed about the barren state of both my closet and my wallet, I slunk out of the store and drowned my sorrows in a) gelato and b) online shopping.
Although my alter ego, Amme, was still happily swaddling herself in $500-a-yard fabrics and feasting on Russian caviar (while retaining her perfect figure), I decided to say "Screw you, Amme!" by showing you all these little gems which are both fairly affordable and will make you look cool enough to earn an approving smile from the demons at the Jeans Bar at Barneys (no offense to any Barneys workers reading this. It's not you, it's me- I'm a jealous shrew who envies your perfection and employee discount. Can we be friends? No, really, can we?)
First, from the fabulous Suzabelle...
Good googa mooga, that is a hot little sweater. The crotchety, cat-having, eyeglasses-wearing, young-whippersnapper-hating English teacher inside me loves a good cardigan.
I love it. I don't own it. As Liz Lemon would say, "Blergh." Blergh indeed, Liz. Blergh indeed. P.S. Still searching for ONE BLOGGER WHO WATCHES 30 Rock. Come on, out with it. SOMEBODY? ANYBODY?
Do you even KNOW how good this georgette top would look with that DVF pencil skirt? Or slim black pants? Or scrub pants, for God's sake? Okay, so it's not quite that versatile. But if I had this shirt, my reputation as "that girl who has bits of food on her shirt and falls asleep in public places" would be instantly replaced with "that incredibly classy, gorgeous girl with the perfect hair who is always alert and awake in public and never drops her obscenely messy tote and screams expletives whilst scrambling around on all fours trying to get all her stuff off the street on Madison Avenue".
I got the pleasure of seeing this dress in the flesh at Le Frock in Seattle, and was going to buy it (it is, to date, the only satin/silk garment that hasn't given me an extra phantom ass) until I realized I wouldn't wear it as much as the tunic top I DID end up buying. Still, whenever I look at the picture I kick myself in the shin. Which is painful. Maybe someone will leave it on my doorstep in a wicker basket with an adorable little baby blanket and a note saying "Take Care of Me". You know, like in the BSC book where the baby turns up on Abby's doorstep and it turns out it's, like, her long-lost cousin. Not that I remember anything about the Babysitters' Club books. I'll just say this- Claudia Kishi is my cult goddess. Did anybody out there NOT want to be her?
I lust after this dress like every heterosexual male in the world apparently lusts after the girl from Fantastic Four. Even though her head is disproportionate to her body. But whatever. Hey, dress? Call me sometime. Maybe, you know, if you're not busy, we can get a beer. Or something (wiggles eyebrows suggestively).
God, waist-belts are flattering. Not the huge tacky shiny Pussycat Doll ones from Mandee's (I've christened them "the anti-chastity belt), but cute ones which emphasize your cleav, downplay your stomach and make your legs look thinner in proportion. I feel like the belt on this stunning swing dress would serve all 3 of those purposes. Plus, me likey the color. Midnight blue. Rawrrr. You know what shoes would look hot with this dress? These Miu Mius. I feel like a footwear pimp.
Now, this could go either way. It could be either your diabetic Aunt Edna who thinks men and women should ride on separate city buses and gives you the evil eye when you turn up at her house in- horror of horrors!- a TANK TOP, or it could be a painfully cool and stunning Parisian outfit that you wear on a rainy Sunday to visit art galleries solo, because you're that cool and aloof, while men throughout the city fall in love with you. Let's all hope for the latter.
Meanwhile, over at Popgloss...
When I find a gray vintage "scooter dress" online for $13, I do a little dance of joy in my computer chair. Especially since the model actually looks happy, and not like she's having sewing needles jammed into her cornea.
Can you think of any occasion in which these shoes would be declasse or inappropriate? Okay, maybe. But my God, I want them anyway. I would wear them with my vintage black BCBG dress and the dark purple belt I got at a thrift store for $2.
This is supposedly called a pill bottle dress, which I find perplexing, but not enough so that I stop imagining myself wearing it with various stunning shoes. It is entirely possible that it could make the wearer resemble a poorly upholstered sofa, or, indeed, a duvet cover (because who hasn't had the horrible experience of being stuck with that ugly couch/duvet cover/armchair that is utterly without charm and makes the entire room it inhabits look like a holding cell, yet is shamefully comfortable/a valued family heirloom and therefore Not To Be Removed/too cumbersome to drag out the door? And so it lives on and on in your house, slowly sucking out the appeal of every piece of furniture you subsequently buy). But I like to look at it anyway.
God, I love cute tote bags. They cost nothing, they hold everything, and when you own one you can legitimately excuse carrying around four different hardcover books, three dog-eared copies of Elle, an instruction manual for an espresso maker you don't own, assorted beads, sparkly things, dots of glitter and shards of glass (ow), multiple pairs of "just-in-case" socks, a random green flip-flop, the receipt for everything you've ever bought, enough business cards to build a new Space Needle out of paper, random Chinese food takeout menus, wind-up toys, assorted Jelly Belly beans, a burned CD of "Begin To Hope" in case you are in a place where you need to hear Regina Spektor and there happens to be a CD player lying around, and the odd spoon or two, because hey, you've got the room.
A bag shaped like a telephone! A RED telephone! This excites me in a way that only a girl who has 9384923843 bottles of red nail polish, more red lipsticks than any woman should ever own, red socks, red miniskirts, red hair pins, red chopsticks, red coffee mugs and, as a child, watched The Red Balloon over and over in a trance could ever be excited.
Popgloss.com is pretty much the niftiest little website ever. And when I use the word "nifty", you know I mean it. You can find anything from Christian Louboutin pumps to hats made of Lego. Visit it RIGHT NOW. I found this little Chloe dress on the site, and the part of me that's longing to wear my hair in braids and listen to Joni Mitchell is saying, "Save up for it! You know you want to!" as well as this Vivienne Westwood sweater- very the '80s meets Sonia Rykiel in Paris. What a pretentious sentence. But it's true.
But the number-one expensive item I would sell my internal organs for are these Miu Miu patent pumps. I saw a pair in a much more attractive dark swirly black-red shade and literally spent a full half hour looking at them. Then I searched for the shoes in that exact shade for TWO full hours online, but alas, it was in vain. I really, truly think I would be a better person with these shoes on my feet. And I'm not just saying that. So if some wealthy millionaire is reading this with his bifocal, stroking his Monopoly-guy mustache and saying "Hmmm, I need to get rid of $415", well, you know who to make the check out to. I promise I'll start doing charity work. Or something. "Hmm," he thinks, "I must reward Emma for her mediocre behavior with a fantastically expensive pair of shoes. And perhaps a Jacuzzi filled with hundred-dollar-bills and Crunchie bars. And a diamond pony. And Paul Rudd with a gift ribbon tied around his head."
Have you ever had an item in a shop that you fell swiftly in love with and started visiting in the store, murmuring sweet nothings until your friends start to worry that you have actually lost your last tiny shred of sanity because you are making a hajj to a pair of shoes/bag/coat/whatever? Tell Mama all about it. What was the item? Did you ever buy it?
THE MUSIC, TV, & MOVIE CORNER- I went to see Superbad. And I walked out. No, ne me quitte pas...wait. I have no problem with bawdy humor (in fact, I love it- not for nothing am I the only girl I know who watches Reno 911), but it should be just that...humorous. I just got tired of the constant penis jokes, you know? It was like paying twelve dollars to hang out at a frat house. Maybe I'm getting wiser in my old age, I don't know. [REDACTED- SUPERBAD IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED]. Anyway, the only other movie I could sneak into was Stardust, which is so not my thing, but I liked it. Sort of. Jeez, I want to look like Michelle Pfeiffer when I am Of A Certain Age, even though she does spend most of the movie looking decomposed. Am I the only one who was rooting for her to get her youth back throughout the movie? Screw Claire Danes. Why do I like her again? Oh, right, My So-Called Life. Shut up, you watched it too. Some of my fondest memories are renting every episode of this show from Blockbuster when I was nine and feasting on the only good ABC show ever made.
"So how would you describe Anne Frank? " "Lucky." "Is that supposed to be funny, Angela? How on earth could you make a statement like that? Hmm? Anne Frank perished in a concentration camp. Anne Frank is a tragic figure. How could Anne Frank be lucky?" "I don't know. Because she was trapped in an attic for three years with this guy she really liked?" - Angela ( in a bad mood ) & teacher
Wrong. And awesome. Oh yes, they went there.
I just discovered Kate Nash. She's kind of Lily Allen 2.0. Well, I don't really want to decide which one's better. But I like Kate a lot. This is one of her few songs that I actually love, but the video is lovely.
Tila Tequila should be killed. I mean, if she ever is, I didn't do it. But God, she makes the skin under my fingernails itch.
SIGHTINGS- Conan O'Brien's taffeta boxer shorts, is it hot in NYC right now. Accordingly, the people are dressing somewhat skimpily, which sometimes works (girl in Sheep Meadow wearing airy little blue cotton minidress, assorted vintage-looking bracelets, and white espadrilles which I coveted) and sometimes, well, doesn't (woman at Island Burgers and Shakes in tiny gold tank top and white vinyl micromini with clunky black gladiator shoes, I'm talkin' to you). I, myself, need some good suggestions for places to buy really cheap and cute tights. I will be switching to a new and uniform-free school this upcoming school year, and I plan to debut the Tights-And-Dresses-And-Boots thing to celebrate my freedom from itchy wool kilts.
CURRENT ATTIRE- Purple cap-sleeved top from Buffalo Exchange in Seattle, darker-purple belt cinching it at the waist, short black vintage BCBG skirt, violet tights (actually...they're LEGGINGS. I was so pissed when I bought them at Urban Outfitters and despite the fact that they said "Low Rise TIGHTS" on the front, they had no feet, meaning that I can only wear them with boots from now on. Hence, my need for a new tights shop) and black suede boots. It's actually cool enough outside to wear this outfit. And I love it.
P.S. Do we likey the new header?
P.P.S. Where the hell did Touche19 go?