Floral Dress

So I have this dress in my closet that I can’t figure out how to wear. It was super cheap, a cool color, but a mistake. In my defense I didn’t know it was “Final Sale,” therefore unable to be returned. I tried.

It’s a long-sleeve maroon floral peasant dress, completely antithetical to anything I would ever buy, and I can assure you is as terrible as it sounds. I simply don’t know what to do with this thing. Here are five scenarios I came up with:

  • Find an empty field like the one in the picture above and twirl around in it.
  • Dig out my old cowboy boots and go line dancing at a honky-tonk.
  • Put it on when I get out of bed in my forest cabin, like the female lead in a really bad indie movie. I will throw a shawl around my shoulders, wander down to the dock barefoot, and stare soulfully into the sunrise while sipping my coffee. I will also need a golden retriever to pet when the sunrise hits my face.
  • Put my hair up in a really cute bun, throw on Doc Martens, and browse in a used bookstore in London, hoping a Hugh Grant lookalike will approach me and tell me I have “really eclectic literary taste.” I will ignore him at first, because that’s what I do, but I will eventually give in, and we will go out to lunch to debate Shakespeare vs. Marlowe over coffee and scones.
  •  Wear it to buy maroon mums at a garden market, hoping someone will notice that I match the flowers I’m buying.

It’s my only hope.

Brand New Tags-On. I Swear.

Ah, I am so naïve.

So I did another closet purge, right? Purged my closet of dresses that are perhaps too young for me, and, er, too hoochie-momma for someone my age? It felt good, coming to terms with my closet.

I mean, just where in the hell am I going to wear a magenta ruched mini-dress? A navy blue backless caped mini? A leopard print mini?

Exactly. To a costume party only, if I wanted to go as a woman who refuses to act her age. I could go as Madonna. Susan Sarandon. Cher!

Not to denigrate these fabulous women, I love them all. They can dress however they want, they get artists’ exemptions. Not me. I’m immature enough as it is, so I believe firmly in dressing appropriately for a woman my age.

So OUT DAMN POLE-DANCING CLOTHES, I said, using my best Lady Macbeth impression. But now what to do with them? Some of them still have tags on them, since they were bought in moments of rash impulsivity. Many of them were only worn once, with little chance of ever being worn again.

But they’re soooooo beautiful. Some beautiful young person with no cellulite should be able to rock them.

Then I remembered the commercial for Poshmark. That cute girl, who tells us in her delicate little voice that it’s sooooooo easy to sell clothes on the app.

Yeah, right.

I don’t care about the money. Let me just say that going in. I just want these beautiful dresses to be worn by someone equally as beautiful. If you are reading this, I swear to God email me and give me your address. I will send the whole lot to you, then you can do the heavy lifting.

The only heavy lifting I like is in the gym.

Poshmark is not easy. Maybe someone who is good with social media would have fun with it, but it was not easy for me.

I discovered pretty quickly that Poshmark is a dating app for clothes. No one trusts anyone else. If you say it’s brand-new, tags on, all you will get are people messaging you, trying to make you prove your dress is who you say it is.

Then there are the scammers. They want your private information, they are in the hospital and need money, they want the dress for their daughter who is sick in Bolivia, blah, blah, blah.

I gave up pretty quickly. My Poshmarket closet is still up, so take a look if you want: @moves66

We are going to have a yard sale in the spring, and I am going to display the dresses front-and-center, on decorative racks. See if I can sell them that way.

Unless you want ‘em. Email me. And see everyone in November.

Maybe.

Leftovers

In the world of comedy writing, “clams” are phrases that do not originate from the writer. Rather, they are catchphrases that have circulated on the internet for years, or ones that have been heard a zillion times after originating from a sitcom or a movie. Here are a few clams:

You had me at hello. (Or good-bye, or tacos, or beach house, or whatever phrase some hack deems funny, and never is).

NOT!

Talk to the hand.

That’s what she said.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that…

These phrases are so hackneyed that any writer who uses them should be professionally assassinated, and any writer who is not offended by them should find a new line of work. They exist so far from their original origin that it would be akin to saying Funions are onions, or that Cheetos are cheese.

I avoid them at all cost, and as I write my screenplay that needs to be ready for, oh, OCTOBER (gulp), at the end of every page I look back and make sure there are no stinky clams on the page.

But allow me to indulge in one today as I discuss sample clubs:

I was today years old when I realized that sample clubs are just leftover crap that no one will buy. CEOs deliver them to you in a pretty box and call them a “club.” Let’s take a cosmetic delivery club, for instance. Here must have been the conversation:

Head of Merchandising: So Phil, we have six million samples left. What do you want to do with them? No one wants to buy one small hair oil sample, or one mini-mascara.

CEO: Hm. How about selling them as part of a club?

HoM: How do you mean?

CEO: We’ll package ten to twelve samples into a pretty box, and deliver them to “members” every month. Make it seem like a great deal. We get rid of our crap, they think they’re members of an elite club.

HoM: Brilliant, Philly. I guess that’s why you get paid the big bucks.

(That was another clam)

I fell for this trick four times.

Once was with the aforementioned cosmetic sample club, a failure I managed to turn into a success by keeping the hundreds of samples I received in my travel cosmetic bag. Every time I travel, I use about a dozen of the samples. The pile is shrinking considerably.

The second time was the J. Crew Shoe-of-the-Month club, where I received a new pair of shoes every month for one year. I never knew what the shoes would be, just that they would be “professional.” It was outrageously expensive, but all I wanted for Christmas. I still have some of those shoes, as they were Italian made, and therefore last forever.

The third time was a Healthy Snack Club, where you receive pre-portioned calorie counted snack packs every week with items like dried fruit, nuts, and dark chocolates. I liked this club. When my snack packs would arrive, I could just throw them into my school bag. Then I realized I could make my own snack mix much cheaper.

The last time I fell for this was Stitch Fix, a company that sent me a box of ugly sale clothing once a week, clothing that no one would even buy when it came out new. I was horrified by the cheap merchandise, and quickly shut down my account when in my second box I received boot cut jeans, a peasant blouse, and clunky cowboy style boots.

I had filled out the questionnaire, and I thought they knew me. No personal stylist working for me would ever think I would wear such a get-up.

Did I say that out loud?

Hair Disaster

Sorry there was no post on Wednesday. I had a hair emergency. I won’t go into much detail, because I intend to use the experience as a sitcom episode.

I’ve had a string of bad luck with hairdressers in the last two years, but last Friday took the cake. All she had to do was follow what was in the computer, and use the chemical combinations in my profile. This odd woman had unkempt rust-colored hair and turned out to be the owner of not only that salon, but of another one with the same name down the road. I mention this only to further character motivation.

Considering the way I left the salon that day, I have narrowed it down to a few possibilities:

One: She was trying to ruin my life.

Two: She was on drugs.

Three: She didn’t use the right numbers on the computer.

Four: She deliberately screwed up.

Let’s take them one-by-one:

One: She was trying to ruin my life. How do I know why? Jealousy? Bitterness? To get some kicks on a Friday afternoon? Being a natural conspiracy theorist, of course this is my first choice.

Two: She was on drugs. She acted strangely. Nervous, hands shaking, strange ambling stories about, well, nothing. Did I make her nervous? If yes, why?

Three: She couldn’t read the computer. The owner of two salons can’t read her own computer? Unlikely.

Four: She deliberately screwed up. I was only in her chair for ninety minutes. The normal amount of time for me is three hours, minimum. I remember her telling me that, “I am fast and efficient.” Yeah, right. The way she worked wasn’t “fast and efficient.” It was, “I want you out of my chair as quickly as possible.”

I hated it when it was done, so what did I do? I wrote a big check to the salon and handed her a tip, of course, figuring I would get used to it. I didn’t. I called Monday morning and left a nice message, asking if I could come in and get it fixed, but guess what?

No phone call. And we’re back to #1.

I found a lovely young girl in a local salon who fixed it immediately, and made me ME again. I considered cancelling the check I wrote, but I decided against it. One of my favorite quotes:

Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.

Enjoy the weekend.

Ships A-Hoy

It’s nautical sweater season.

I love nautical sweaters, and fashion houses start showing them in their spring lines for spring break travelers. Nautical sweaters are jaunty and warm and versatile, and every time I think I have found the perfect one, I see one I like better. I have one I nabbed at a Nordstrom sale for practically nothing, sitting at the ready on my shelf to go to Tampa. It’s the perfect tunic-length to use as a cover-up at the pool bar, which is where you will find me when I’m not in workshops.

Here are my favorite ten out right now:

Breton from Saint James ($275). Yeah, I wouldn’t pay that either. I’m just saying that the nautical Breton shirt is the one-and-only classic nautical sweater. Some women refuse to acknowledge any other brand. So I wanted to offer it up. On to more reasonable prices:

Vineyard Vines (73.99). Hurry, this is on sale, and won’t last long. But don’t worry, that little pink whale always has something stinking cute to offer in the nautical sweater category. This one is the stinking cutest.

Garnet Hill ($139). I’m in love. I want it. But the one going with me to Tampa is extremely similar to this one, so watch me exercise some self-control. What little I have of it, that is. I love the wispy lightness of this, and the hood, and the thin stripes, and the four jaunty colors, and the….oh my.

Gap ($59.95). A different spin here. This light sweater has a deep-V neckline, and is meant to be worn slouchy. Super cute and super affordable.

Etsy ($38). When’s the last time you browsed around Etsy? They have so much good stuff, and this nautical jumper is a good example. Fits big, L and XL.

Amazon (34.99). This Nautica sweater actually has an anchor on the front. Cute!

Macy’s ($89.50). Lauren Ralph Lauren. Classic, elegant, and sleek. More for dinner at the yacht club with a soft pencil skirt than for boat drinks.

Banana Republic ($70.99). Fine, I just ordered this, but let me explain. With my Gap points and my Athleta rewards, this sweater just cost me $20. I love my sweaters bulky, so I got this in a large. Hurry, they won’t last long. The mock neck is to die-for, and this modern mariner soft sweater draws inspiration from the traditional fishermen styles of Breton, made modern with a ribbed-knit stitch, wide-cut sleeves. Just yum.

J. Jill ($54.99). Another great sale and there are plenty of sizes. I love the asymmetrical stripes, and the longer silhouette. The textured pullover is knit with yarn-dyed stripes that are finer at the hemline and cuffs to create a color-blocked border for an update to the classic nautical style. It’s an easy-to-wear style that looks great with white pants. Really really sharp.

And finally:

River Island ($86). Fluffy. Snuggley. Cuddley. Oh man, I want it so bad. Half-zip, oversized, oh Bubba nooooooooo……if you buy it, let me know what you think. River Island is always dependable and classy. This is a truly beautiful sweater, and if you buy it, I’m already jealous.

What to Wear

I’m brain-dead. The last few weeks I have had my blog posts pre-written and pre-published, but last week I just kept staring at the screen. Nothing. Nothing comes to mind.

Maybe because I have so much to grade and prepare for my classes.

Maybe because I am giving a presentation in Tampa in four weeks that I’m not prepared for.

Maybe because I am in the middle of memorizing my TED-talk.

The TED-talk thing is a huge leap for me, and I’m happy to share this with you. I love speaking at my national conferences, but being on a global stage is another animal completely. I’m looking to bring in 1.6 million views for my talk within two years. Where I got that random number is a story for another time. On to more immediate problems:

What to wear? When you’re 5’2, unless you’re very very petite, you run the risk of looking like a snausage on stage if you’re not careful.

And although the TED-team has not officially announced the title of my talk yet (yes, they are the ones who do that), nor posted the link announcing me on the speaker panel yet (I’ll share this when I get it), the talk will be about the power of widowhood.

So what to wear to look powerful?

Black is out. I’m not interested in looking like I’m grieving, and black makes TED speakers look like floating heads.

Red, while powerful, is supposedly too intimidating, especially on stage

White? Virginal, and out.

Purple? Yeah, the color symbol for victory, but Hillary Clinton ruined purple for me forever when she gritted her teeth through her concession speech, dressed in a purple suit.

I’m down to jade or emerald green, plum, or cobalt blue. Jewel tones. I want to be noticed. And should I wear a dress? A skirt? A suit? No, not a suit, my twins killed my waist. I used to have the cutest, tiniest waist.

Oi. Thanks for listening. I have papers to grade.

New York Fashion Week

If you like fashion (and I’m not referring to having a dressy pair of Uggs to wear on nice occasions), February is an exciting time.

Winter and fall fashion lines recede to make way for spring and summer.

Fashion magazines once again begin to pop with color and vibrancy.

Sales are insane, because houses want to make room for new merch.

Stores are glutted with hope and beautiful spring product.

And New York Fashion Week happens. It starts this year on February 11th, and by some egregious oversight, I once again have not received an invitation to attend. I mean, who makes these decisions?

Attending New York Fashion Week has been on my bucket list ever since I was a young girl. But not just attending. I’ve always wanted to sit in the elite front row, like my muse Carrie Bradshaw in the “Sex and the City” movie, dressed to the nines with her friends and freshly hydrated from brunch mimosas.

But until you research Fashion Week NY, it’s hard to explain how hard it is to get tickets to even attend, much less realizing the pipe dream of ever sitting in that front row. You know who sits in the front row? Anna Wintour. Nicole Kidman. The Olsen twins. Rooney Mara, Jennifer Lawrence, A-Listers like that.

So what kind of shot do I have?

Probably not much of a one, but who cares? That’s why it’s a bucket list, and I will never give up trying to attend. I think you’d be surprised to know how many things I’ve already accomplished on that bucket list, a yellow dog-eared physical list I actually still have upstairs in my personal papers.

Maybe I’ll publish it one day.

So this week, I am going to devote each blog post to one thing I have yet to accomplish on my bucket list. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with nonsense like “publish my book.” That’s in the works, anyway. No, the things I will be talking about this week are odd things you might not expect. Sweet, personal things that I’ve just always wanted to do, but either have not found the time, the money or the connections to accomplish.

But you know me. They’ll get done.

So as we transition from January to February this week, know that while March 20th is the official beginning of the spring season, February is actually the more subtle transition. We may be shoveling our cars out and going on skiing trips, but small buds of possibility are beginning to appear.

You just have to know where to look.

(Note: Don’t get bent out of shape about the Uggs comment. I have a dressy pair of Uggs, too. You’re way too sensitive).

Point of No Return

During my brief but meaningful stint in high end retail, there were customers who were known for their eccentricities. When these regulars walked in the door, all of our eyes would meet, and eyes would roll. We loved our customers, all of them, but some were tougher to love than others.

The tiny gorgeous 40-year old brunette who cried in the dressing room mirror because she knew her husband would tell her she looked fat in her XXS tights. I told her to buy the tights because she looked gorgeous, then go home and poison his dinner. She would always laugh. I hope that he is dead and now resides in the fourth circle of Dante’s hell.

The slovenly middle-aged woman who never bought anything but kept the floor staff waiting on her hand and foot for hours. “Get me this,” and “Get me that.” She. Never. Bought. Anything. Not in the entire two years I worked there. Not one thing.

The old wrinkly woman who would wait until she was totally naked then ask you to help her with something in her dressing room. Then she would stand there until you got a good look at her wizened knockers. Exhibitionism at its finest.

And finally Anne, the lovely woman with the sweet personality who shopped for hours and hours and hours every week, and then three to four days after her purchase, she would return everything. Everything. Then complain about the merchandise like she hadn’t just drooled all over it a few days earlier. Of course we always took it back gracefully, and we came to a tacit agreement that she was just lonely, and enjoyed the social aspect of the store. But we couldn’t help but wonder:

Don’t these people have anything better to do with their time than shop and return? Shop and return? Shop and return?

Yesterday gave me pause to feel shame at this insight, because as I was driving to UPS to return packages, I realized I had become that person I was complaining about. I had done this shopping dump on Amazon, and almost immediately after arriving at my doorstep, the merch was bagged and ready for return.

The reasons? Well, I’m petty, and here are the reasons I typed into Amazon for “Reason for Return”:

A book: The cover is creased.

A sweater: It makes me look like Bea Arthur.

A coffee mug: The handle is condescending AF.

A red glass pitcher: It’s mocking me.

A desk calendar of an author who I’m jealous of: For spite.

I stole that last one from “Seinfeld.” Here ya go:

Sassy Pants

Remind me how to style work pants? Just look at that stylish woman on my featured image above. How does she do it?

I was actually cold yesterday walking around campus. See, I can only wear open-toed sandals ever since dropping a 45-pound plate on my toe at the gym (yes, I’m going to lose the toenail on my left big toe, hundred percent), so since any pressure on my toenail is excruciating, that leaves wearing any shoes except sandals or sneakers unacceptable.

It was 38 degrees, and I was walking around in a skirt and bare legs. Chilly.

I decided to go home in between classes to change, and as I stood in front of my closet, I realized I couldn’t remember how in the world to style pants. I wear skirts or dresses at work, and tights for the gym. Cozy sweatpants or yoga pants at home, sundresses in summer, tights and boots in winter. But work pants? Slacks? I hate them. My legs are like three inches long, so I look like the bottom half of a Lego when I wear pants.

I tried on a sweater with high-waisted black pants. Lego.

I tucked a white blouse into the same high-waisted pants. Waitress Lego.

I pulled on black crop pants, black suede heeled ankle boots, and a houndstooth blazer. UK Lego.

I tried a peasant blouse with navy blue pants. Momma Lego.

A black turtleneck with gray houndstooth slacks. Beatnik Lego.

A red flannel shirt with boot-cut pants. Woodcutter Lego.

A tasteful sequin sweater with wide-legged trousers. Christmas tree ornament Lego.

I mean, you get the point. I just finally pulled on knee high black leather boots and a black skirt and jacket, my go-to. Pants might just have to be added to my list of “Things You Just Can’t Pull Off Anymore, Bitch, Just Face It,” along with miniskirts, ruffles, skinny jeans, lace and leather, other than on shoes.

But it’s not so bad. It gives me something to think about while I’m spinning that wheel online that asks, “What year were you born?”

Ready to Wear

Hey guys, whatcha wearing for Thanksgiving Day dinner? Picked an outfit yet?

Eighty percent of men just spit out their coffee.

Pants. A shirt. Shoes. End of dilemma for men. For women, choosing an outfit for Thanksgiving Day dinner requires more effort. Don’t reach for jeans or shapeless sweaters, ladies, use the day to wear something pretty.

Here are some choices from one of my favorite designers, BCBG. BCBG knows The Dress. They know what we like, and what we look good in, so trust them. And while it’s too late to order anything from them in time for Turkey Day, you can see what you already have in your closet and try and recreate it.

A floral shirtdress. This dress earned me a half dozen compliments last week. The Winston Button-Down Mini-Dress is on sale, too.

A halter top and black pants. You can’t go wrong with a halter top and black pants. This emerald green Evie halter top is appropriate for older women, and looks great with all skin tones.

Peplum top and leather leggings. Little ooh-la-la here, but this two-toned rib knit jewel toned peplum top with black leggings will match the cranberry sauce, but you’ll look better. And sidenote: don’t ruin the outfit with ugly shoes. Wear sleek black shooties to keep the black monotone look consistent.

Long-necked crew shirt with leather skirt. This blue crew is a no-brainer, but if you’re 50+ ladies, please note: be careful with the leather skirt. It’s a look women our age can screw up if we’re not careful. Make sure the skirt hits the top of the knee or mid-calf, none of this mini-skirt stuff. Make sure it’s sleek and sophisticated, not tight and trashy.

Wrap and jeans. If you want to just be comfy, and you refuse to leave your jeans behind, at least make it this look: The hooded wrap with high-waisted jeans will keep you snuggy all day, and you’ll even be able to play in the post-feast touch football game without having to change.

Structured blazer. My first choice for any event, a structured blazer can go over ANYTHING. Gold lame tights, pencil skirt, jeans, leggings, it all works.

Black dress. Nothing more needs to be said. Black dresses work ubiquitously, and the Lara Wrap Vest Dress is one of my favorites.