Saturday, November 20, 2010

the verdict

the other day i had a pretty tense discussion about stylists with my friend g., in which i was forcefully - with the fury of a person who sees her, um, way of life threatened - making the point that i would never ever ever ask a stylist to create me a lookbook. while i was waiting for the belligerence to wear off so i could write a calm post about it, i came across, a service that scrambles together a lookbook based on the preferences you manifest in choosing among many many pictures. Sometimes i was faced with Anna Wintour vs Rihanna. yes, luckily there was a 'skip, not my style' button, and i used it a lot. the pale Twilight chick popped up often (hello Fredi), i skipped her a lot too. when i was getting bored and annoyed i was suddenly invited to choose between a glass of red wine and a martini, and began suspecting they were taking a more holistic approach than I had been crediting them with. however, the choice between 'The Magic Mountain' and 'Anna Karenina' never came, nor anything like Bud Powell vs. Keith Jarrett. Anyway, voila:

Casual Chic

Your style is a blend of cosmopolitan and California casual. You're a master at mixing beloved basics with contemporary pieces. A vintage leather jacket and boyfriend jeans could be your daily uniform. You don't accessorize unnecessarily, choosing your frills wisely for a pared-down femininity. Not afraid to add a healthy dose of glamour when dressing up, you've cultivated a Casual Chic signature style that flaunts your simple sophistication.

Close enough so far, but the pictures were a total miss. can't copy them here though. moving on...

based on a sufficiently close to exhaustive grid of shape and color choices (tops, bottoms, shoes), they came up with a crapload of stuff for me to buy and like. for starters, most of the shoes were chosen according to my 'hates' list (they asked for one): very high heels, open toes, ugly strappy stuff. because i said i sorta like Calvin Klein, they rained a bunch of boring black sheath dresses on me. and if it wasn't black, it was like this. then many, many, many black skinny pants, a few feathery dresses, some stuff with shiny butterflies. plus a dozen of gorgeous Alexander McQueens which I doubt I'll ever have the class to wear. out of 150 or so styles, about 130 were no-brainers, and I hardly picture myself in 3 or 4 of the recommended looks. This little dress, for instance, which I'd wear as a tunic perhaps, and this Vivienne Westwood skirt, if my life looked a lot different.

i can't leave this post without a single are two of the mesmerizing McQueen dresses. the first one is a little encouraging, in that lovely DYI-Uniform Project sense (and it's called 'distressed woolen dress'). the second is unapproachably beautiful.

this isn't a 'toldya so' post, by the way. to be continued.

Monday, November 15, 2010


when in crisis, go back to the basics. one of my first posts here was about dolls. i love dolls. always have. they're one of those things that can wind me up when i'm in a puddle of apathy.

so, i'm having a cuteness attack and i'm nearly crying here. just look:

Yes she's conventional, no i don't care. partly because i'm convinced she keeps a grotesque little diary and has a parrot whom she taught various puns. i know i've been demanding, Santa, but not like you brought me anything anyway...!!! I could actually afford to buy her, but isn't this supposed to be one of those hints that everyone turns a deaf ear to and you always remember it as that wonderful wonderful doll which would have changed your life if only dad cared enough?...

I'll sleep on it. But seriously: the effect would be double in the event of a surprise (said she with a sigh and poked the pillow).

And one more, for sweet dreams.

and they all live here.