We're gonna spend a lot of imaginary money today, ready? Let's start with this jellyfish rug for the playroom! So expensive, yet so impractically off-white. Why not get a pair?
Man, what a depressing week. We gotta do something about this. You know what you do? You go out and buy eight sets of these and wear them all at once. That's what you do.
This is here as an excuse to talk about two other giant rings: the future Mrs. Kardashian's and the one Kandi Burruss wore on the recent RHOA reunion. What even was that?
Admit it, this holiday season sucked. As did the entirety of 2015, so far. Did anyone buy you perfect wedge boots? No. No they did not. And now, here you are, stepping in cat puke in your bare feet. What's wrong with the cat? You'll figure it out tomorrow. Today is for buying your own damn boots.
There's a party happening next week (or so we hear, we haven't been invited yet, fingers crossed!) and it would be great if you could all wear something entertaining this time. Something one of a kind. Something that screams. Screams! Plus, New Year's Eve is the fastest hot-to-not night of the year, so maybe you want to create a distraction? Here are a bunch of vintage finds that'll fit the bill.
Mystery Gift, free with $200 purchase.
Ylang 23 carries really fancy jewelry. I got a tiny ruby ring from them once and they included a handwritten thank you note in the box.
West Side Story Tony runs through the alley, calling for Maria. She appears, and he turns towards her delicate voice. Maria is perched on her fire escape wearing flannel drawstring pajama pants and an old Coldplay t-shirt. Tony makes his way towards her. If he’s disappointed, you couldn’t tell by his beaming smile. Wishing she had left her bra on until it was closer to bedtime, she decides to play this coyly. Breakfast at Tiffany’s…
I was killing time waiting for my daughter to meet me for dinner when I spotted the perfect leather jacket, adorning a headless mannequin in a fancy department store.
Standing in the men’s dressing room at Nordstrom, I am afraid I’ve made a mistake. My new suit from Topshop was designed for only the thinnest and cruelest of bargain-hunting British men. I am a five foot three American queer in Texas. The sleeves hang so far over my hands they disappear. The pants gape around my waist and cling to my ass. We have just spent $400 on this thing, and I look ridiculous.
Ten months ago, I bought myself a brown corduroy blazer. With elbow patches. As it settled around my shoulders, I felt a surge of confidence fill me—a knowledge that, while I may look like an utter dweeb, I was doing exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I took a picture wearing it—a professorial selfie—and shared it with my friends. Who does that? It would be so much easier to say goodbye to…
