Plaid and Sequin, Sequin and Leather

  "Your lips look awkward. Wait, now your hair is all messed up. Ah, you're shirt is disgruntled". Erica, fortunately, and I do emphasize the fortunately, reminded me of how unnerving it can be for a not so innovative being to do all sorts of unpleasant poses in the midst of utmost chaos. It got fairly uncomfortable when approximately five people would pass by each minute, and would look over at me with a presumable question on their mind, "Who does that girl think she is?", followed by a "freak". Gosh, the awkwardness. I did my best to look all composed and poised; but the truth is, I have absolutely no idea what I am doing half the time. The uneasiness can go from wondering where I should place my hands, to how closely I should put my feet together. A spark is all I ask for. Perhaps, Erica could work her magic, which she undoubtedly and relentlessly does, as she gets on the bristly (and filthy) floor with tired legs, and then I wouldn't really have to try so hard (the photos can do some magic on their own as the force of Erica elicits them). Magic? Magic, I tell ya. 

In any event, as I went through my mother's closet for the tenth time one day, as I found myself inescapably returning to the depths of timeless shoes and fur coats, I discovered an old sequin pair of Manolo Blahniks . I instantly became cognizant of the fact that I was in my own little rendition of the Sex and the City movie; that memorable scene when Carrie inevitably goes back to her own Manolo Blahniks, while Mister Big, the once Douche, McDouchebag, finally decides to take marriage seriously, gets down on one knee, and does a 'Cinderella' proposal. The only thing that made his proposal promising and not as lame was the Blahniks, as they were outrageously beautiful and were a very distinct cobalt blue. Eh, I'm just kidding  you; I'm not that superficial - give me one of those 99 cent rings you find in those cute little ring machines at the movie theatre, and I'm golden. No, really, I still have a collection. 


 Okay, watch me move my hips side to side. Now, watch me do my salsa walsa. Now watch me move my hips side to side, once again. Watch me move in a unique manner one more time. What are you thinking? Let me answer that: you're probably thinking, "Wow, she's so incredulously talented! Can she do that in her sleep? " I mean, watch the way I move - it's like I'm on cloud nine and it's so great. Never mind the fact that in the second photo, I shamelessly chose to stand in the middle of the street, while cars honked at me, left and right, right and left. It became exhausting, yet equally liberating. I was like, "Oh yeah, oh yeah, let me keep moving. Uh-huh, that's right". I'm movin', what's it to ya?  But there's a fine line between doing something for the greatness of the results, and doing something at the expense of your own life. But here's the thing, I do it all for you. A viber can formulate a very consequential question: Why in the world is this impressionable idiot standing in the middle of the street at the very expense of her own life? If you haven't thought of the answer, then it goes to show how little you value our particularly special friendship (or what have you). But that's okay, because I always have room to welcome a returning friend, or let in another condescending idiot with open arms. A relationship stemmed from a foundation of stupidity is irrefutably everlasting, I say. Case in point: When we were sane, we weren't the same.

And now, the outfit: I am wearing my father's Brooks Brothers sweater (in fact, I encourage you to steal something from a man's closet, as it will only do you good and will somehow make you feel like you're on top of the world), Zara pants and jacket (plaid and leather, leather and plaid), a BCBG Max Azria belt (it makes anything look weirdly chic), and finally, Manolo Blahnik heels (they'll never abandon me). 

Photos via Erica Cohenmehr.  

The Great Things about Streetstylin'

Let's get one thing straight: the term "streetstyle" is not a real word. You gasped? Well, it is used relentlessly by those who figure that the only thing that makes Fashion Week great is photos captured of trendsetting moguls. 'Tis true. Rather than looking forward to runway models strutting in not so very distinct designer clothing (for the most part - let's be real, as we tend to see the same stuff repeatedly), most are anxious to see what sort of bazaar, yet amazing (for the lack of a better word) ensembles they will be exposed to on the streets. It's all magic, really. 

Let's talk about florals.  Florals are the beacon to my soul, as vibrancy is always apparent amongst fine floral prints that do wonders. The reason I write from the bottom of my heart with a title of a website being "Vibrant Flair" is because of the brights colors that are used to create a floral pattern, although, I have yet to see more minimalistic florals (give me more black and white on a platter, please). Of course, the only thing that could make a feminine floral ensemble more intriguing is a touch of masculinity. Yes. That is exactly what I am talking about. Feed me with a button down topped with floral galore any day, and I will be the happiest camper on the planet. Don't you want to see an old viber happy? C'mon. In any event, colors are playing such a vital role on the streets, as anything could be matched with, well, anything. It's good ole bliss.

 Just when you thought plaid would fall off the face of the earth, it makes a riveting comeback. Should you care, the first time I wore plaid, I was told that I looked like I just came from a "rodeo". I thought, something is very wrong here, for since when was plaid  discriminated? Must we not become cognizant of the fact that plaid is a classic printso classy in all its classiness? If you wear a plaid button down, it doesn't mean you are coming back from a horse riding trip. What's up with that? 

 The best thing of all the great streetstyle photos is most certainly Anna Dello Russo rocking a multicolored sequin 'Snoopy' jacket. Besides the stick straight, highlighted hair and the sort of wrinkly hands (have to be frank), one could tell this is Anna just by knowing that she'll ensure utter vibrancy anywhere she goes. On top of that, she has unmistakably worn a flock of birds on her head once, along with a bouquet of fruit This only proves that the one and only Anna could rock a cartoon character that only leaves us millennials reminiscing about our sweet and ideal childhood. In fact, Anna is the only fashion queen who is rightfully allowed to wear a piece of my heart (quite literally, actually).

Photos via Tommy Ton.