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11:45 am | 23 September 2004 | more fashion rules and randomness

First off, and though you guys may totally hate it, let's talk fashion for a minute. Last night I concocted one of the cutest outfits of my sartorial trajectory and I would like to share it with you (some things are clickable). To the right you will see my newly-stencilled sweater with a slip poking out from underneath. Two points on this subject: One: monochromatic dressing, here seen with camel-on-beige, always gets points with me, unless you are looking like a bad Boyz II Men promo shot; I advocate either all EXACTLY the same tone (brown brown blue! brown brown) or overindulgence in shades of a crazy colour, like dark to light mint greens or something. The line is fine. Two: I like flaunting my non-cleavage precisely because it's non. In overall terms I am terribly pleased with my jouncy 36Bs, as they allow for both action and for the wearing of just such a sweater as this without looking desperate. Of course, if you are the porter of larger ta-tas, then hats off to you, and I will probably stick my face into them at some point if we meet, so be warned.

Here is the hip of the sweater which explains the general premise. It's not the freshest concept but I drew the chopper by hand, and it was a bitch figuring out the positive/negative space. Spray-painting on a sweater worked waaaaaay better than I could have ever hoped, plus I was able to fill in a couple of manky spots with a Sharpie 'cos that's how I roll. Kids: Rust-Oleum paints only. They're the durable-est. Also, check out (or join) the LJ community _stencilry for more tips and stuff, if you're getting ito this stencil thing. My friend Marc made one of Orlando Bloom that made me want to cry, it was so awesome.

I am a fan of many layers and I have this tip for you, ladies: If you want to rock a slip over jeans but the slip is hella long, like knee-length, and it is fucking with your proportions, just ruck up the sides with safety pins (fashion mags call this "ruching" but let's not be so precious) and out you go. It also helps the nylon cling to your ass which is a hott look, trust me, kind of Victorian and slutty while retaining the "but look I have pants on underneath" innocence. Any guy who does not immediately get a boner upon spying this look is gay.

Okay so then you wear your skinniest longest jeans which gives you a very slouchy top and skinny bottom, a look that my barrel-on-stilts physique appreciates. Also: If you own any jeans that flare more than this from the knee to the ankle, drop $8 and get your drycleaner to take them in. Woodstock is over. And quit writing "flair," which means "style" or "élan," when you mean "flare," which means "increase in size." Thanks.

I'm wearing my new purple-with-chain-on-the-toe-and-metal-heels shoes, and they're totally killer (style-wise, I mean; they're comfortable to wear), and that's a bazillion dollars right there, but then? You cuff the jean 1/2". Trust me. This is like the one-inch button of jeans cuffing. It says you don't give a fuck, and it's hot. Also see that white thing on my ghetto carpet in the picture? Yeah, it's a feather. One of my duvets* is about 60 years old, literally, and it's hemmorhaging feathers from every seam, but I can't toss it, dude.





Oh look, it's America. Hi America! Hi!



The bathroom stall in our new office building has PLEASE NOT FOR TO GO Sharpied on the toilet-paper dispenser**, which is weird and freaky considering there's no, like, immigrant deportation offices or adoption agencies in the building, so the combination of sad plea and broken English is befuddling, unless some fucker like me wrote it, which still: Weird. Also, there's a nice brass plaque in the elevator that says "In the event of fire or emergency, remain calm. Air is available and it is unlikely that this elevator will suddenly drop. Please dial the telephone for help." I appreciate its gentility every time I'm in the elevator, for reals. It's the little things. clm.


*I have blood pressure like 85/55 and I'm freezing 24/7, so I entomb myself in 500 blankets at night. Sometimes when I wake up it's like Dune, with all these hills of blankets, and I get to go look for the dog in them. Epic.
**There are also flip-out ashtrays in this shelfy-dispenser thing, and that is rad.


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