What Would Jilly Wear

08.17.11

Cornflower blue.  I’ve grown to hate cornflower blue.  Yesterday I walked up Eighth Avenue and witnessesed a brigade of cornflower blue shirts.  The four men weren’t marching for a cause.  They weren’t showing camaraderie or looking to stand out as audience members of a stand-up comedy performance they had tickets to.  They weren’t looking to stand out at all.  In fact, the four men dressed identically in cornflower blue didn’t even know each other!  Their “uniform” was a tacit demonstration of working in Corporate America.

I looked down.  I too was wearing cornflower blue.  A cornflower blue oxford shirt care of the good folks over at Brooks Brothers.  An undelicate, right-sized ruffle decorated the collar and let passerbys know that, even though I was dressed in the same colour and boxy shape as the passing platoon, I was female.  This is the level of creativity that goes into dressing to impress.

It’s a sad day when feelings of loathing wrap themselves around an innocent hue; a beautiful hue perhaps!, one that occurs in nature.  And as I sit here, acid scorn rolling through my mouth and washing over my face, a man sits beside me.  He’s wearing cornflower blue, too.

Next week: the gray slacks I just bought at Banana Republic and why I hate them.

05.21.11

A-ha!  So it isn’t just me!  About Blake Lively and LeoDiCaprio’s budding romance, DListed DClared, “Blake Lively’s Publicist is Damn Good.”  This, of course, comes on the heels of my lamentation on Blake becoming the face of the chicest house in fashion.  Mon amie Amy and I (what?  If a beach blonde like Blake can embody Chanel, why can’t I cherchez le French?) joke around about our publicity agency in which we manufacture fame by pairing people (Ryan Gosling and Clemence Poesy is my pièce de résistance thusfar), scheduling pregnancies, and identifying the perfect charities for celebs to align with.  Did somebody say Sparah?

05.17.11

Life is better when the mercury’s north of 70.  You know how I know?  Today I felt the little lobster claws of static electricity clinging desperately to my skirt.  Not even a sprinkle of water could convince them to defect.  Oh well, I thought cheerfully, a stronk chinook swirling waist-high.  At least they’re keeping me from being overexposed.  When the sun is beaming on your face, it’s hard not to have a glass half full kind of day.

05.15.10

05.14.11

04.30.11

04.27.11

I try to keep WWJW positive.  I have felt the indignant flush rush through my cheekbones and send a prickling, fever-to-chills sensation as it penetrates the rest of my body, upon reading a hurtful, hateful comment from a cowardly flamer; one of their malices has lingered in my psyche too long after such an occasion.  Some of my experiences blogging and putting myself out there have given me a sensitivity to the criticism that public figures endure.  Surely I’m not comparing the exposure I receive on my silly little blog to that of an A-List — or F-List even — celebrity.  But I do try to keep it complimentary because it’s simply small-minded to dish out spiteful slander in a public place.

That being said… I do have a grievance I can’t keep quiet any longer.  The last straw came when Blake Lively was named the new face of Chanel Mademoiselle.  Baz Luhrmann helped Nicole Kidman for Chanel win me over.  Fresh, French, and having played Coco herself in a biopic, Audrey Tautou was easily likable.  But Blake Lively?  Last I checked the credits to her name include a gossip girl, a coke fiend, and a sassy soccer star.  Sure, she’s hot, but shouldn’t the face of Chanel be chic?  Coco Chanel herself said, “A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.”  Though Blake Lively may very well embody those traits, I can’t concede that she is the perennial example.  Chanel’s not Dior… it’s not Dolce & Gabbana… it’s not Gucci.  Chanel is in the upper eschelon of fine fashion.  Their representatives must have that enduring extra special something to be just right.  Blake Lively is a stunner for sure, but I’m not convinced she’s The One for Chanel Mademoiselle.

Karl Lagerfeld, take note.

…And now, someone who’s definitely not chic enough for Chanel.

04.24.11

Happy Easter!  Today is one of those serendipitous days where what I wore corresponded with where I left off in my backlog (backblog?) of outfits.  Feels like the good ol’ days… except a lot less creative.  I’m still wrestling with how, exactly, I go about maintaining my unique fashion fingerprint and upgrade my level of professionalism.  This kelly cardigan feels more like something Kate Spade might wear, or my friend Sarah, with her fervent loyalty to the colour green.  In fact, I told her she should take it… then reneged, realizing that I should probably do a better job of incorporating pretty, polished pieces like it into my wardrobe.  Sarah, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry I’m an ersatzgiver*.

*It’s pretty outrageous that a people that were generous enough to give up  Manhattan for $24 in beads would emerge with a reputation as anything but fair.

04.17.11

GREAT NEWS!  VH1 called and said they want me to audition for a show.  It’s called Ugliest Week Ever.  Here’s my highlight reel:

04.15.11

Off to Chicago! Now there’s a city that rubs me the right way. Why can a person say “rubs me the wrong way,” and nobody bat an eye, but that same person says “rubs me the right way,” and sound totally inappropriate. Let’s try that again.

Off to Chicago! My favourite American city. I don’t even mind the winters; Chicago’s always been kind to me when I visit in January. This time’s no different.

While my company is based in NYC, the team I’m working with is located in Chi-town. I was lucky enough to be invited out for an event as well as some general office hours. I flew out Sunday afternoon, abandoning Nick (an Eagles fan) in a room of Packers fans. I hoped wearing my Michael Vick jersey would propel his team to victory, but alas, no; they lost to the future Superbowl champs.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday I dressed for anything. That’s something I quickly learned about working in a city, be it New York or Chicago… you never know when the weather might flipmode on you. But as far as Chicago being colder than New York? I’m not buying it. Especially not this winter! What about the wind, you say? Believe it or not, Chicago earned its reputation as “The Windy City,” as a result of some gusty trash-talking, not any shears slashing off the Lake.