Gothic Mementos

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

I'm the opposite of a moth; I'm attracted to darkness, it holds many mysteries, unknown. I'm a curious sort and have been as far back as I can remember. In order to keep my nose out of places it didn't belong, my mother always threatened me with the adage, "curiosity killed the cat." As a child, that just made me imagine that a giant monster killed the cat. I demanded to know more about the monster, so I could learn how to beat it, but she wouldn't tell me. (Age old wisdom parallels were clearly lost on dumb kids). All my life I've been exhilarated by fictional, supernatural terrors only to collapse back into the lightness and safety of laughter. Sometimes, supernatural terror is simply more palatable than the horrors of our personal lives. It is an escape. Everyone has their escapes from reality. For a long, long time I wanted nothing more than to escape my own life.  

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

 And so I escaped through literature. My reading preferences....predominantly dark. I adored the Byronic heroes of 18th and 19th century Gothic fiction.  Particularly, those proud, brooding, defiant characters that lingered at the precipice of self-destruction, but were capable of deep love and loyalty....if given a chance...if only they were understood and loved....Ann Radcliffe, Mary Shelley, Horace Walpole, Matthew Gregory Lewis, Bram Stoker, Charlotte Bronte, even Jane Austen, of the old ladies and gentlemen authors that have delighted me with crumbling castles, ancestral curses and secret passageways. (I just love a decaying literary setting). But my literary friends pleaded with me to read the works of living authors. So I picked up Bukowski and Thompson. But it wasn't long before they were dead too. I dug deep, I knew I'd read some living authors at some point, albeit few and far between. But you could probably guess, right?  Stephen King and Anne Rice.

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

I read Interview With a Vampire by Anne Rice, when I was a teenager. Oh, how I loved it and identified with Louis, the vampire. He was a lonely and immortal philosopher, doomed to walk the earth without a companion rather than keep the insufferable sadist, Lestat, by his side. (Sounds like stuff a teenager would identify with, right?) A couple years ago, when the "you should read living authors" prodding started, I picked up another Anne Rice novel, The Witching Hour, and was immediately entranced with the setting of New Orleans, specifically, the garden district with it's decaying, shuttered mansions, old ironwork, mossy trees and cryptic cemeteries....it's about as Old World as you can find without leaving the US. I had to see it, experience it...so I did. Twice in two years. This most recent visit was a family visit, where our goal was to share the New Orleans experience of gulf oysters and Preservation Jazz Hall with Mr. Franzos' father. In the early morning, before the rest of our traveling companions woke, Mr. Franzos and I did a shoot in Lafayette Cemetary No. 1. It was inspired by my love for Gothic anti-heroes and Anne Rice's vampires and witches of New Orleans. Rice has a new vampire book out, Prince Lestat, just released this week. I can't wait to check it out. 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

This post was supposed to be light and easy. I just was going to talk about fashion and literature. But life and death happens. Thanks in large part to my family and my writing outlets, I'm not nearly the dark soul I used to be, but I still have my moments. These past couple weeks for instance, they have been difficult for Mr. Franzos and I. We lost someone very important to us, Josh's Dad, (my father-in-law), Stan Franzos. He had an amazing, fascinating and rich life with a beautiful companion that he shared all but the last two years with. Stan and his muse, Dolly, were my inspiration behind this blog, because I see shades of Josh and I in their love story. But here's one of the most beautiful things about this sad event....Stan died on the 2nd anniversary of his wife's death. The. Very. Same. Day. With the same romance and pentameter as a 19th century poet. 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

 It is a long-standing, New Orleans tradition to honor the dead and revere their resting places on November 1st, All Saints Day, when according to the liturgical calendar, their souls ascend to Heaven. I don't know what happens after we die, but I know this much, the loved ones we lost do live on in us, if we let them come marching in. 

          Oh, when the stars fall from the sky
          Oh, when the stars fall from the sky
          I want to be in that number
          When the saints go marching in.

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

What I wore: White blouse: past season, Anne Fontaine. Waistcoat: past season, Masnada. One of my new, favorite brands! Earrings: Baublebar, here. Skirt: vintage, Thierry Mugler. Shoes: past season, Casedei.

Your Bosom Friend From Pittsburgh,

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How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Start Loving Elastic Waistband Pants, Which Are The Bomb

 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

I've lived in Pittsburgh for eleven years now. Although I've developed an acute case of civic pride, I can never be a real Pittsburgher, as I'm indifferent to televised sports. Good for the Steelers, the Pirates and the Penguins, but my blood runs red, not black and gold. As a child, I hated airplanes and flying, but I loved airports and watching the people in them. My brain worked over time as I tried to make out a person's character based on how they dressed and presented themselves to the world. Short stories cropped up in my mind and entertained me through many a flight delay. With my little face perched on my hands and my legs swinging from my gate side seat, I observed the hustle and bustle of airport terminals like a tennis match. Business men and women dressed in suits. Europeans wore black leather jackets and fancy sunglasses. Flight attendants were called stewardesses back then; they wore lots of make-up and fussy silk scarves. I miss the days when people dressed up for travel, but I understand. Air travel is a sordid business now. My stomach lurches every time I forget socks and have to shuffle through the security line barefoot, positive I'll contract plantar warts, or worse.

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

Traveling in the 21st century has neutered our sense of style in favor of comfort (on the plane) and function (of getting through security lines). What is the point of dressing up to travel? We have to take our shoes, belts, jackets, watches and jewelry off. We worry about leaving something behind. Sometimes we do. Sometimes we have to assist the other younger, older, sicker people we are traveling with. It's just easier to wear less and forgo belts and extraneous accessories. Yes, we understand these precautionary measures are in place to secure our safety, but it's still stressful. There is an internal countdown for when the plane leaves. The seats on the plane are narrower, the rows are cramped, closer together than ever before. It is uncomfortable. Babies just do what we all wish we could do, scream at the top of our lungs for being massively inconvenienced. Though I long for the romantic Humphrey Bogart steamer-trunk era of travel, when men and women wore suits and chapeaus, I understand the threats of terrorism and the airline's struggle for viability. Here in lies the reason why elastic waist band pants and socks with sandals have become de rigueur. There's a saying while traveling, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." I'd like to amend that with, When in an airport, wear stretch pants. Fashion blogger. Stretch pants. Fatal system error, right? No, seriously, I'm not talking about your Grandma's stretch pants. I've developed my own version of an air travel uniform that includes elastic waistband pants and I think it looks so cool, I want to wear it all the time. I want to be this cool, world-wise traveler all the time!

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

 In his essay, The Philosophy of Travel, George Santayana wrote, "We need sometimes to escape into open solitudes, into aimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, in order to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to be compelled to work desperately for a moment at no matter what." Perhaps we travel to experience new and interesting things or to revisit something we once knew. We  might  travel to feel a sense of wonder and bigness of the world but are often reminded just how small it really is. We travel for that personally significant moment and we will accept the massive inconvenience and discomforts of air travel as a matter of course. The important thing is we are moving and as an object in motion, we will gather no moss. 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

 Mr. Franzos and I got off the plane and checked in to the Sully Mansion Bed and Breakfast, in the gorgeous garden district of New Orleans. Instead of taking off our shoes and socks, walking barefoot on the carpet of our room and making fists with our toes (I hear it's better than a shower and cup of coffee after a flight. Thanks Die Hard!), we immediately headed to the New Orleans Botanical Gardens. We checked our mental baggage at the Japanese garden and got into the vacation mindset for a long, oyster-y, bourbon-y weekend in the Big Easy. There is an uncanny duality between the idealized, natural space of a garden and the act of travel. When we travel, we long for the comforts of home, but also want for things that are not home at all. Serenella Iovino writes, "the garden most of all represents the human aspiration to harmoniously live inside nature and, at the same time, to morally and culturally step outside her."* We are humans, we want it all and yet we don't. So in the tradition of the never-ending human dichotomy, we morally and culturally, stepped out of the zen garden to see what debauchery we could find on Bourbon Street. Follow my blog with Bloglovin


*Iovino, Serenella. Universita di Torino. "Redeeming Nature? The Garden As A Moral Space." Awesome article. Read it here.

What I wore: Vest and Tank: past season, Angelos Frentzos. Crop Pants: past season, Free People. Boots: past season Jeffrey Campbell, roscoe cut-out boot. Necklace: 1976 Magic Pyramid Talisman Guild Necklace, vintage. Bracelet: vintage.

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

Your bosom friend from Pittsburgh,

...In Bed with Mrs. Franzos

Photo credit: Joshua Franzos

It is a popular American custom to eat Chinese take-out and end our fortune cookie parchments of wisdom with the phrase, "in bed." Hilarity ensues when a state-the-obvious fortune would normally leave us unfulfilled or rolling our eyes. This week on Mrs. Franzos blog, I've been challenged by the lovely Melody Sours of Blingaholic88 Blog, to give up thirty random, hilarious and freaky facts about myself. Yes, thirty. So to make this less tedious. I urge you dear reader, to mentally add the phrase "in leather pants" at the end of every fact I proffer.

1. The last thing I googled was, "why do my ice cubes taste like old people ice cubes?"
2. I used to collect Victorian post-mortem photos. Don't judge me.
3. A donkey tied me to a tree once. He was evil donkey with a mustache. If there had been a train track, he would've tied me to that. Just kidding, he didn't have a mustache.
4. I had my first raw oyster at age 30 and haven't stopped since.
5. I used to be an improv comedian.
6. I can drink a man under the table.
7. I consider myself a feminist.
8. I talk like a sailor.
9. I collect books. I have one old tome from the 1600's, It's called the Book of Martyrs and it has some crazy etchings of people burning on stakes.
10. I was born in California, but like the Johnny Cash song goes, I've been everywhere man.

    

    photo credit: Joshua Franzos

11. I am writing my first novel.
12. Karoake terrifies me. Literally. But I have one song I could do, if a life depended on it and no one will ever know it because that scenario will never happen.
13. I have been in one fist fight. 
14. I can appraise antiques, jewelry, fine art, furniture. I have made a lot of money on the ignorance of stand-up organizations like Goodwill and Salvation Army. I am a jerk.
15. Oxford commas bother me.
16. I have been gluten free for four years.
17. Cops and security guards love me for some reason.
18. I detest books written in the present tense, unless they're Choose Your Own Adventure.
19. I have played Dungeons and Dragons and liked it.
20. I made a pregnant woman cry this week. On purpose. She dared me to. Don't judge me.

    

    photo credit: Joshua Franzos

21. I have a jack ass terrier. No, I didn't mean Jack Russell. I meant jack ass. He's a Jack Ass Terrier named Lando and I love him.
22. I have actually used an algebraic equation in an office setting, twice.
23. I am obsessed with finding white rabbits in the world. They're rare, but not so rare.
24. The longest time I've gone without vomiting, 10 years. I hope to beat that record.
25. I was raised by Born Again Christians that forced me to watch The Thief In The Night Series, ala A Clockwork Orange Style....when I was 9. Sort of not kidding.
26. I learned how to play the piano out of a Liberace piano playbook. Beautiful Dreamer was my go-to song when I was 10.
27. I have completely forgotten how to play the piano and Beautiful Dreamer.
28. I was on 29th street during 9/11.
29. If you like something that I own, I'm talking like, A LOT.  And you tell me this, on multiple occasions, I'll probably just give it to you. To date, I've given away one amazing grommet purse and one taxidermied albino Cobra.
30. And lastly, I still love and don leather pants even though my tenth grade algebra teacher said, "Those leather pants you wear really turn me on" and an old boss said, "You can't wear leather pants around dirty old men like me!" Never let anyone ruin a good thing.
    

    

    photo credit: Joshua Franzos

Mr. Franzos and I traveled to Swissvale, an east end borough of Pittsburgh to try out a new ring flash. We are both pleased with it, but I didn't know that until later. I was dancing (including the sprinkler) because I love my new leather pants. Actually, here's the coolest thing about the leather pants. They're not leather. They're "Vegan Leather." They look and feel like leather and, wait for it......they're completely machine washable! I styled the Free People "quilted vegan skinnies" pretty simply because I wanted the pants to do all the talking. I paired it with an Old Navy t-shirt, Yves Saint Laurent gunmetal heels and a cheap gunmetal chain bracelet. That's it.

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

I want to take this opportunity to thank Melody for tagging me in the 30 facts challenge, read her 30 facts here. In classic chain letter fashion, I'd like to tag a couple of other bloggers that have caught my attention in my brief time in the fashion blogosphere. They are seriously great and you should check them out. Caroline of Pardon My Obsession and Carelia of My Small Wardrobe. Ladies, if you are reading you can accept the challenge or not. No pressure. Just a shout out that I enjoy reading your blogs and look forward to your outfits. Follow my blog with Bloglovin

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

What I wore: T-shirt: Old Navy, On Sale Here. Motorcycle pants: Free People, Here. Heels: Yves Saint Laurent, vintage. Similar $ and here $. Bracelet: vintage. Similar.

 

Your bosom friend from Pittsburgh,

Invisibility Jeans

 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

Slowly, but surely the crisp and unmistakable smell of autumn grows stronger every day. The excitement of a new semester and budding, young minds is palpable. There's harvest moons, fashion collections, Pumpkin Juice, Butter Beer...September is a month ripe with anticipation and magic. 
 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

Hot days, cool nights, amorous crickets...the imminence of fall is positively burgeoning, but it's not quite here yet. So we wait like happy children enjoying the remains of the summer before the cold, harsh reality of that season,we dare not speak its name, returns. But that's later and I, for one, am living in the now. I'm also living in these things called, boyfriend jeans. They've been here for at least three years and the trend shows no signs of letting up. Women be loving their boyfriend jeans. Since I consider myself something of a fashion anthropologist, do you mind if we dissect boyfriend jeans a bit? 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

Boyfriend jeans. 

Awwww! He thinks I look so cute when I cover up my nubile body with his shapeless clothing! Yeah, those boyfriend jeans. But of course, they aren't his jeans. It's just a cutesy marketing term that invokes male approval to sell short, easy-fit jeans to women. For the record, he doesn't approve of them. In fact, he doesn't even know they exist.

"Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

 "It's an invisibility cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is--try it on."

Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell. "It is! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him. Just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the Cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely" (201, Rowling, J.K., Harry Potter And The Sorcerer's Stone).

Boyfriend jeans are the muggle term for invisibility jeans. Yes. Ladies, your boyfriend jeans are in fact cleverly disguised magical artifacts. I did some research. They are woven with the hair of a female demiguise which renders the wearer invisible to the opposite sex. Isn't that cool? Just think of the things we can accomplish without the male gaze. Like...we can sneak around Hogwarts at night and look at the books in the restricted section. Or walk down the street without getting harassed and catcalled by complete strangers.The possibilities are endless really. 

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

Mr. Franzos and I went down to the Point State Park portal bridge to shoot these photos. He pointed the camera in the direction of my voice. I think they turned out pretty well considering he couldn't see me in my magic jeans. I wore a cross hatch print cardigan over a cool shirt from Mossimo, which I like because it looks like a rusty old garage rag. I topped off the Ann Taylor Loft invisibility jeans with a ponyhair leopard print belt because I love to complicate things by mixing prints and patterns together. This look is a variation of my weekend writing uniform. I added these gamine Chanel mary jane flats, these fantastic two-tone Ray-Ban sunnies and my every single day Prada purse. I like this purse because it's small yet my kindle fits inside, it's easy to clean if it gets dirty, and it also fits in my laptop backpack like a jettison pack. If you've been following this blog, you may have noticed that most of my outfit posts don't include handbags. This is because I have commitment issues with handbags in general, but I also take my Timbuk2 laptop backpack where ever I go. I chip away at my novel during any two spare moments that I can string together. My back pack and jettison purse combo ruins my outfits on a daily basis, but that's okay because I'm really more of shoe person anyway. Tell me about your adventures in invisibility jeans in the comments below!

photo credit: Joshua Franzos

What I wore: Cardigan: Ann Taylor Loft, past season. Top: Mossimo, past season. Boyfriend Jeans: Ann Taylor Loft, here. Leopard Belt: Express, here. Flats: Chanel, past season. Bag: Prada, here. Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Your Bosom Friend From Pittsburgh,

Wobegon Days of Summer

Garrison Keillor in his Seersucker Suit. Photo Credit: Michael Buck

I'm a voracious reader, always have been. I read anything and everything. When I was 6, I read all sides of the cereal box, every morning (It's part of a balanced breakfast). When I was eleven, I started in on my mom's nursing manuals (now I'm a hypochondriac). When I was a teenager, I read my parent's bathroom AARP magazines cover to cover (I have a Roth IRA?). I found an unlikely style icon within the pages of the AARP, sandwiched between a girdle advertisement and a Franklin Mint collector's plate ad. Garrison Keillor. 

Photo Credit: Stan Franzos

 You may know Garrison Keillor's sleepy baritone voice from the Saturday evening's, A Prairie Home Companion radio show. Or you may know his sarcastically wholesome writing that epitomizes the golden era of the American mid-west. Or if you are part of a younger generation or an upright citizen of another country, you may not know him at all. But believe me, there was an article with a corresponding iconic photo of him in that AARP magazine. He, the public radio icon in tortoise shell glasses, wore a seersucker suit with a red tie, red suspenders....red shoes. Keillor's ensemble stopped me in my tracks. He was a dapper Mark Twain and a Norman Rockwell illustration rolled into a 6'4" radio legend and slapped in red, white and blue for good measure. I immediately clipped out his image with my scissors (because that's what I did when I was a teenager-- I made lots and lots of esoteric collages on my highschool notebooks). My notebooks have long since gone the way of the dodo, but Keillor's sartorial imprint was permanently etched on my psyche. I wish I could dig up that picture of him for you. I tried, but the internet as we know it wasn't invented yet, but believe. He looked amazing and I've wanted to try out his signature look ever since. I couldn't think of a better time to try the seersucker/red shoe combo than the American-three-day-weekend-official-end-of-summer-holiday. Labor Day Weekend: an American Institution since 1887. 

Photo Credit: Stan Franzos

 I had a guest photographer this week, my father-in-law, Stan Franzos. We took these photos on the quaintly American main street of Charles Town, West Virginia. I'm wearing an asymmetrical top by BCBG with a J. Crew seersucker pencil skirt. For the red portion of the outfit, I'm wearing patent leather Christian Louboutin T-strap Coxinelle heels and carrying a vintage red Furla envelope clutch that I found at an estate sale for $1. I would wear this look to the Lake Wobegon County Labor Day Parade with a straw boater hat on my head and tumbler full of bourbon in my hand. 

Photo Credit: Stan Franzos

The beauty and magic of summer lies in its brevity. As the evening comes earlier and earlier, I will pine for the endless days and firefly-filled nights. I will miss sitting on the back stoop of my house with a juicy tomato in one hand and salt shaker in the other.  But such is life. Til we meet again Summer. Next year, same time. 

"I never wanted to be known for longevity, 

but rather for brilliant, tragically interupted brevity..." 

--Garrison Keillor

Photo Credit: Stan Franzos

Your Bosom Friend From Pittsburgh,

 

What I wore: seersucker Skirt: J. Crew, similar here. Top: BCBG, past season. Similar here. 

Heels: Christian Louboutin Coxinelle, past season. $$$ Similar here and $ here. 

Clutch: Vintage Furla. $$ Similar here and $ here. Bracelet: vintage modernist O.P. Orlandini sterling, try eBay. Watch: Gucci, past season.

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Let Me See That Sarong

"Ooh dat skirt so scandalous...." Well, not really. Sarongs are worn by both men and women in many other parts of the world (and have been for centuries). Only in the western world do we think of sarongs as those 'exotic' candy-colored, sheer things women tie on to get from their hotel room to the pool without flashing their 'problem areas.' On a side note, it's no wonder the female lower body is referred to in hushed terms like 'my problem area' when there are songs out there with brilliant lyrics like,"she had dumps like a truck, truck, truck and thighs like what, what, what..." (Sisquo, you are the musician of my dystopian feminist hell). Anyway, from a mail-order lingerie and swimsuit catalog's point-of-view, the sarong's versatile ability to reveal, yet conceal makes it quite the alluring swimsuit accessory indeed. Wait. Swimsuit, accessory? This is getting much too complicated. I think I'll just wear the hotel towel to cover up my dump truck butt in the elevator....and buy a sarong-inspired skirt because it looks cool. Sigh....Do you ever long for a simpler way?

 Sir Thomas More wrote his novel, Utopia in 1516. It was about More's vision of an ideal society. Just about every writer since, from the Marquis de Sade to Lois Lowry has tried their version of Utopia on for size. Law, religion and women's roles vary drastically, but only one thing is universal. One man's utopia is another's dystopia. I'm not going to get all political because this is neither the time nor the place, but what about fashion? Have you ever considered what your fashion utopia looks like? Probably not, but I have. My fashion utopia lies in the costumes portrayed in dystopian society films. The dystopian society in Mad Max for instance; I can't get enough of the gritty, post-apocalyptic look. I think what truly appeals to me about dystopian fashion is how functional and secondary it is to the main goal, survival. But, that is not say that each article of clothing wasn't carefully chosen, because it was. Dystopian clothing is clothing with a purpose, like the color palette is designed to blend with the natural habitat...or to reflect the heat of the sun away, minimize dirt in a landscape prone to dust storms, protect the wearer from road rash or zombie bites...You know, useful stuff, but through a film production designer's lens so it also looks cool. Utopias are important to help clarify what is important to us. I think what my fashion utopia tells me is that clothing should enhance our experience and our ability to perform our jobs and hobbies so that we can truly live. That's all I really want from fashion...to look cool AND go on all kinds of scouting adventures with my photographer/cinematographer husband. 

I'm wearing a sarong-inspired skirt by Free People in a dour-colored jersey fabric. I paired it with my favorite slubby linen t-shirt from J.Crew, some studded sandals and my favorite pair of Chanel sunnies that Mr. Franzos gave me when we were dating. The look is perfect for the Utopia of summer vacation living, and also perfect for the office (Just switch out the sandals for some ankle boots and a moto jacket to amp up the Mad Max/Road Warrior vibe). I topped this look off with a mid-century copper bracelet and my favorite NSFW necklace made from a salvaged old nudie pen (you know, where the bathing suit disappears and reveals a nude female body). I also have male nudie pen that I will use to make cheeky jewelry in a later DIY post. (I'm all about equal sexual objectification).

Speaking of cheeks, this skirt is jersey and machine washable and fabulous, but it is wont to show panty lines.... Soooo, I recommend wearing a............ummm.............. crap......
I just totally blanked. What are those called? I can't believe I can't think of it....damn. What a time to forget a word! this is so embarrassing....I mean, Sisquo wrote a grammy nominated song about it in 1999 and I can't think of it.....This is going to drive me insane!...I'm so sorry. Dear reader, if you can think of this essential undergarment that discourages panty lines, make sure you repeat it four and half times in the comments below. 

Your Bosom Friend From Pittsburgh,

What I wore: Linen T-shirt: J.Crew, Similar. Sarong: Free People, $ similar here and $$ here. Studded sandals: DSW, similar here. Sunnies: Chanel. Necklace: homemade NSFW necklace...(a DIY blog post coming soon!) Bracelet: Mid-century copper bracelet, search etsy here.

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Star Wars 'On Holiday' Special

"Somewhere... beyond the sea...."

 I have fond memories of my summer vacation or as the British would call it, "summer holiday." Whenever my mind wanders back to the North Fork of Long Island, I start smiling and Bobby Darin starts crooning Beyond The Sea. Listen, if you have a Vegas lounge singer providing the internal soundtrack for your vacation flashbacks, that's when you know you did something right.

Which brings me to vacation clothing and "resort wear." Resort wear is the fashion world's version of Star Wars Holiday Special*. If you've seen it, you know what I mean. No rebroadcast. The critics were not convinced that it wasn't written and directed by a sentient bag of cocaine. Let me just back-pedal a little, I'm not judging anyone for drinking the resort wear kool-aid. I love Star Wars, I love tacky, I love vacation. Heck, I especially love cherry kool-aid. I'm just saying, festive island wear isn't for me. For a few years now, I've been going through something of a fashion-fin de siecle-existential crisis-THING. I'm trying to only purchase items I will wear, a lot. Frequently. Year-round broadcast syndication, if you will. Less IS more. I'll take machine wash and non-iron, if you got it. I live in Pittsburgh, and it's a tough little city. We don't have happy little palm trees and trendy coral reefs. We have crumbling bridges and slag heaps. In spite of my ready-to-wear dogma, I did go out and buy something specifically for my vacation. I know, Scandal! But if there is such a thing as a sartorial bucket list, then let it be known: I've always wanted to be that glamorous woman in an iconic floppy, hat. "It's not a wholesome sundress with tiny lobsters embroidered all over it, it's a hat. And a classic one. Just do it!" pleaded my internal monologue. So I did.

There were big plans ahead for the big, floppy hat. I was going to wear it sailing, stand-up paddle boarding, shopping, vineyard-ing, antique-ing, brunch-ing...It was going to be my constant companion and nose freckle preventer. At least, that was the plan. But as it turns out, the hat is a fair-weather friend and goes whichever way the wind blows. Sometimes I looked like an old prospector, Holly Hobbie, occasionally, Marilyn Monroe. A particularly large gust meant LIGHTS OUT while I tried to keep my balance on a paddleboard and navigate the jellyfish laden waters of the Peconic Bay. I was almost run over by a car when I stumbled into oncoming traffic. While shopping in Greenport, I kept saying, "Excuse me, M'am" when I bumped into clothing racks and point of sale displays. With the floppy hat, the blind spots are legion (for they are many). With great sadness, I must report that a myopic hat is really only good for two things: glamor shots and sitting by the pool like a lady. And since I don't like to be outside unless I'm scrambling up trees or poking marine wildlife with sticks....what does that leave us with? For a few fleeting moments anyway, I was the woman shrouded in mystery and intrigue in the big, floppy hat.

I'm wearing a versatile work dress, an ivory split-neck tunic (I call it my Tatooine dress) that I bought at Macy's last summer. I re-purposed it as a swimsuit cover up/nearly-get-killed-as-I-walk-about-the-village-of-Greenport-shopping-and-sight-seeing dress. I paired it with neutral sandals and some futuristic jewelry in silver and wood that British costume designer, John Mollo might have sourced for a character in Star Wars. His 70's futurism is a regular well of inspiration for my outfit decisions. I hope you like the nautical Star Wars look. May the force be with you.

 Is this hat wookie or jawa brown?


Somewhere, beyond the sea, somewhere, in a galaxy far, far away....





*Just remember, if you follow this link and watch the Star Wars Holiday Special, what has been seen cannot be unseen.

Dress: RACHEL Rachel Roy. Similar. Necklace: gift, sterling and wood. Bracelets: vintage. Similar and here. Ring: vintage square sterling ring, similar. Hat: American Apparel. Sandals: DSW Similar. Sunnies: Chanel

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Your Bosom Friend From Pittsburgh,