Thursday, 26 December 2013

The Lost Boys

Ever since I came of age to travel and have friends that traveled, the common denominator of all post-travel bragging sessions with those that returned from San Francisco was the following statement:

"You. You would love it there."

I"m not one to absorb hype to this magnitude and still be impressed, but impressed I was. This place has all the eccentricity of NYC (my favorite part), plus technicolor houses, quiet beaches, and an insane past few decades. I could complain about none of these things. 

While I traipsed around the city, spotting Looks in all shapes and sizes, the boys are who really caught my attention. Maybe it was the West Coast breeze, but their confidence in whatever they clothed themselves in was extremely apparent to my naked, sometimes even unfocused, eye.  

Found this gentleman managing to make the clothes that were falling off of him fit perfectly (an art all thrifters strive to master). (Shout out to my photo-bombing friends creepin in back:)



While I could not get enough of this possy of eco-friendly, possibly non-violent, new-age Hell's Angels, they refused to believe that this blog was praising clothing choices and not condemning them to the fashion underworld.

I almost missed this winner in my haze of finding unexpected gems at the Goodwill of Haight-Ashbury, but escape he did not. I still regret not copping an non-consensual feel of the fabric of this god of a coat. 


Down the street from the Dead's old haunts, this character was silently claiming his corner, not waiting for anyone or anything, just existing. As intimidating as his seemed on his corner, neck tattoos and all, I tore myself away for snapping endless pictures of 710 Ashbury to request his cooperation. I took his grunt as consent to take his picture....not that he helped out by moving in any way...


Long story, short, although it may be too late for that.....I shall return to this mystical land. Ladies, I'll make sure blast your styles next time.

Sunday, 8 December 2013

Humans in their Unnatural Habitat

While I have many enjoyable pastimes, People-Watching is definitely my favorite. It can be done anywhere, it can be mindless or thought-provoking, and, if done correctly, it wards off any potential new acquaintances due to the shear fear of the watchee that I may pounce at any minute. What's not to love?

Although there is an incredible range of locations that this action can be executed, an airport, preferably international, is the most optimal. In an airport, one is not restricted to observing subjects of a specific native area. The diversity is endless. Not to mention, the added element of being dressed to 1. be in public for an extended stretch of time and 2. be seated for an extended stretch of time, make the outfit choices of the subjects extremely interesting.

During a flight delay at O'hare on the busiest travel day of the year, Thanksgiving-eve, I was too busy observing the runway show presenting itself in front of me to focus on anything else, let alone my day job.

These are just a few of the gems captured during my procrastination session:

- Extra-large "purses" to get around the 1 carry-on + purse rule is key, especially if it may or may not be a thrifted Alviero Martini



- Green highlights and noise-cancelling headphones are the best way to eliminate the chance of a Cathy being Chatty with you

- Window seats are clutch for head-resting purposes but a draft is almost inevitable. It's always a good idea have a gorgeous brightly-colored faux (I hope)-trimmed coat on hand to keep you warm and stylin at the same time

Wednesday, 27 November 2013

Fashion moths to the Music flame

I was the luckiest girl on my birthday this year because I was given the absolute pleasure of heading to Brooklyn and hanging out with the gods of hip hop: A Tribe Called Quest.

.....and by 'hanging out', I mean sitting in the nose-bleeds at the Barclays Center for the Yeezus tour. While I didn't hate watching Ye come out in a bedazzled bank robber mask and speak to God on a mountain top, the boys from Queens were definitely my main event.

As history has shown us, the young dress to match their music. With great music comes great fashion. Thus, the transitive property allowed me to conclude that I could expect amazing getups at an ATCQ show. Once again, math was right.

Every person in my visual range was dressed to their version of the Nine's. If I were to ask a crackhead about their feelings while on their drug of choice, I guarantee their description would match my emotions at that moment.

I stopped this babe from making the white walk man because I couldn't get enough of her suede pumps and infinite hair. She had made moves from Philly to catch my boys in the flesh. Crossing borders in those kicks- that's devotion.


Next up is the homie with the perfectly fitted blazer and the jewelry that worked in his favor. There's nothing more refreshing than a man knowing what size he wears. The whole swimming-in-your-pants thing ended with the Love Movement's release. Catch up y'all.


While the Looks kept coming by the hundreds, my focus, alas, shifted from the clothes to the funky diabetic, Bonita, and her bum. Do you blame me?

Friday, 22 November 2013

Jungle Talk

Lets talk animal print.

I have a love-hate relationship with this topic.

Hate: This comes with the women and men that obviously should not be trying to look "fierce" (as They say animal print helps with) at inappropriate places and times. My disapproval doesn't stem from their age. Age is just a number.

...as is the number of children you are responsible, the number of people that report to you in a professional setting, and the number of police cars stooped up on the block you're walking down.

Your ferociousness will not help you when it comes in a skin-tight form and these numbers are high.

Love: this chick:


Strolling down the most aestheticly pleasing street in Chicago(Wabash), her two-toned shoes and p(hopefully)leather pants were the perfect match for mountain of wilderness she wrapped around her. There isn't a more appropriate time or place to pile on the fierceness than a windy, Saturday afternoon in the Midwest with not too much to do.

Monday, 11 November 2013

Bolos and Crocs

I finally made it down to the city that has been swimming through my dreams for far too long. A city that musicians flock to; a land of gourmet (aka heart attack-nurturing) donuts and the [insert any word here] tacos; a stomping ground for Weirdos, old and new: Austin, Texas.

It was clear from my first sight of the city as to why its (un)official slogan is "Keep Austin Weird". The deep-rooted weirdness existing in the city's early days may have faded throughout the decades but shines bright in comparison to what I'm used to. Needless to say, I felt right at home.

As did this little lady here. Claiming her husband labeled her as a "lunatic" for wanting to leave the house in her outfit, she was shocked that I wanted a shot at her stall on South Congress.
Unlike her beau, I couldn't get enough of the Western print of her sweater paired with the floral onesie that's peeking through. Not to mention, she's a master bolo maker. Check these babies out at www.UrbanBolo.com:

Just  as I thought I'd had my fill of lunacy (with all the bolos and whatnot), this gem of a person came into sight. I had do a quadruple-take to notice a fifteenth of what she had going for her with this outfit. I'll let you make your own list. 
In case you were a bit uncertain, let me clarify a couple points:
1. Yes, that is a lanyard.
2. Yes, she is, in fact, rocking it. 

To wrap up this uninhibited gush-fest for the Austinite culture, peep this disgustingly beautiful treasure I had to make my own:
Displayed above is the index finger of none other than yours truly. Being consumed by a vicious crocodile. 

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

The Bittersweet Sunshine State

Los Angeles may never be my favorite city (downing a double at the bar and stepping on the gas in your six-inch stilettos is probably safer than putting sober,  loafered me behind the wheel), but it does have its perks:
The constant sunshine, the diet one is forced into purely by judging stares alone, and, most importantly, the flexibility that wardrobes are given at all times of the year.

While all other fashion capitol-dwellers are busy rotating their closets at this time of year, the closets of Los Angeles stand unaltered. The beauty of this city lies in the fact that your XXL woolen sweater and combat boots are perfectly acceptable in July, just as your cotton, floral sundress is in January.

As November peeked into my life, I was excited to leave the seasonal states for a toasty weekend in LA. My friends had recently shifted locations from the West to East which was a nice change of pace. While the West-siders find a trip to the beach to be the solution to all of life's obstacles, East-siders share my opinion in that the beach is cool and all, but so is a double espresso paired with an incredibly unorganized thrift shop.

This babe knew what was up. After chasing her down at the Silverlake Farmer's Market, she had to set down the 80-year-old stand owner's hand-me-down cardigan she was interested in to indulge me with a shot.

While she rocked the Budwiser logo, we all know her broke beer of choice is PBR.

All these praises of the East side are not to imply that those who habite dans la plage are the scum of the earth. I love getting in-tune with my inner free spirit while dipping my toes in. Not to mention, the style by the water, while laid back, is also beautifully put together.

Take this lad I came across during lunch in Santa Monica, for example. He and his friend on the bench seemed to know every person that walked past them, personally; either that, or they spoke to every person that walked past them like they knew them, personally.


I'm just assuming he threw on perfectly fitted coral shirt after yanking it out from under his mattress. I'm also assuming that the professionally-faded-seeming Buddha purse was a result from a trade years ago with a gypsy on Venice for some rolling papers and coconut water, which were the only items he had on him at the moment.

Obviously, I'm just jealous these Cali kids can rock man purses and beer shirts while all the rest of us to work with are our oversized scarves and wool socks.

Monday, 28 October 2013

The Brightness of Beige

My weekly 6am flights to Newark International tend never to end in any anything other than my neck pillow falling in the bathroom stall and/or the pre-coffee tift with the taxi driver.

Fate was on my side today, however. After picking my neck pillow off the ground of the bathroom, I looked up and found this nude vision coming towards me.

When I asked him for a picture, there was none of the usual "as-if" glares or "Are you kidding?! I look like shit!" exclamations. All I got was the millisecond he took to slow his roll and strike this pose. Let's be honest. I wouldn't have too much time for the measly minions either if I had that masterpiece on my shoulders.

It is a rare feat to make a statement in nude colors but the statement was definitely made. I'm still not sure where the scarf ends and the shawl begins. What I do know is is this overload of camel sure did brighten up my vanilla Monday morning.


Tuesday, 22 October 2013

Time for Dinner

You never know what you'll find on the streets of Manhattan at dinner time but you can bet your bottom dollar it'll be interesting.

I caught this navy and banana-yellow knit tie speeding past me on the streets of Hell's Kitchen around that sacred time and, feeling the fading of a golden (literally) opportunity, I chased after it.

To my pleasant surprise, this attractive tie was out to dinner with a loud, but endearing, pair of burnt-yellow pants, both clashing phenomenally with each other. It was a couple that I would never have pictured together, yet made perfect sense.

Bon Appetit!



Sunday, 15 September 2013

Snakes on a Train

Met this fox awaiting the train from Newark Intl. to Penn Station. Obviously, not capturing that hair would've given me uncomfortable night-sweats and those dreams of being choked to death by super fat snakes (no? not a common dream?).

In town to head the hair styling of a Manhattan fashion show, Brittany Washington of Creative Intentions is based out of none other than my current official residence (and the owner of a large portion of my heart), Chicago, IL.

If this epic DO is any indicator, she's probably up to all kinds of dangerous things out there in the Midwest so look her up!

Thanks for the shot mama xx


The Spark

The idea to maintain this blog came from a close friend I made during my time studying in Manchester, England. While unsure if I had the ability to maintain a blog that was actually of any interest to the general public (you would agree if you witnessed my antics that semester), she could see the excitement bursting through every one of my pores when we crossed paths with anyone of unique style. If you've been to Manchester, you'd understand when I say this occurs more often than not. In an effort to keep my skin clear, she proposed the idea of a blog, as a method of expression.....and to save my poor oozing body. Two and a half years later, I am finally taking her up on her idea.


The only person I had the (liquid) courage to take a picture of during my stay across the pond- Double-fisting like a true Mancunian at a Mr. Scruff DJ set at Band on the Wall:
1. That is not a wig.
2. It is a rare feat to rock that many shades of red with a power-smirk of such epic proportions