How to Wear Your Summer Dress into the Fall

I love it when it still feels like summer well into the fall. LOVE. IT. Gimme all the warmth and sunshine for as long as possible. I'm happy to say we've had our fair share of it here in Pittsburgh this year. I kind of wish it would last until January. But, and here's a huge admission on my part, I still like fall clothes. It's a weird time when you're still incorporating lighter summery things from your closet and shuffling in newer warm things you're longing to wear, but the morning are often cool, the afternoons, blistering hot, and the evenings cool again. It's best to dress in layers for the many heat levels of fall and here's how I styled one romantic vintage floral wrap dress I picked up from @Thriftwares on Instagram for those levels. 

Look #1: Hot Fall 

photo: Joshua Franzos

Hot Fall acts like summer in many ways. It's hot out. You're still sweaty. But it's past the autumnal equinox and the casual slip-on footwears of summer don't seem appropriate anymore, and it's just too hot for boots still. Maybe it's just me, but I find there's a certain gravitas to fall, probably because of years of starting school in September. Hot fall is the perfect time to wear those open-toe high heel sandals with your summer dress and feel like a grown up woman for a hot second.

 

photo: Joshua Franzos

Hot Fall is a good time to trade out your summer time straw bags for something leather, letting that be the only thing that hints at the cooler weather that is sure to come. It's also a fun time to think about accessorizing with jewelry again. With plunging necklines, I usually like to forgo necklaces and instead wear earrings that bring the gaze back up to my face. It's about balance. 

 

photo: Joshua Franzos

photo: Joshua Franzos

Look #2: Fall Fall

photo: Joshua Franzos

 Good news fall fans. Fall Fall is the 50-63 degree moment you've been waiting for. You can start bringing out the boots and other fall finery you've been dying to wear. You'll still find my summer dresses on rotation, only with frilly lace blouses layered underneath and tall boots. 

 

photo: Joshua Franzos

Fall Fall has even more gravitas than Hot Fall, and though my boots and bag are classic examples of brown (embossed) crocodile leather, I opted for modern and untraditional sunglasses and jewelry with pops of neon to keep the look fun and from venturing too deep into "school marm territory."

 

photo: Joshua Franzos

Look #3: Cool Fall

photo: Joshua Franzos

 

Cool Fall. It may be in the high 30's and 40's but it's still warm enough to be stylish and wear that summer dress if you keep adding on the layers. For this look, I added a tie-neck blouse and a pleated midi skirt that peaks out from underneath the dress like a black petticoat. Add a hat, tights, and a slightly over-sized blazer for additional warmth. I'm also wearing OTK boots in a low kitten heel because it's starting to get slippery out and I can't teeter totter around on high heels on potentially slippery surfaces. That's how you break a hip.

 

photo: Joshua Franzos

photo: Joshua Franzos

It's difficult to see, but I accessorized this with a large, shiny vinyl clutch. I also layered a fun charm necklace I assembled on top of everything to keep this Tombstone-esque look, light-hearted. I'm your huckleberry.

photo: Joshua Franzos

photo: Joshua Franzos

 This is the first time I've done a "three ways to wear" on the blog. The older I get, the more I want the items in my wardrobe to be more than one trick ponies. I much rather they were jacks-of-most-trades. The more ways I to style things, and wear them, the better. Let me know if you'd like to see more "three ways to wear" posts. If so, I may be happy to oblige you, m'am.

photo: Joshua Franzos

 

Your Bosom Friend in Pittsburgh, 

The Weight

i-phone photo: Joshua Franzos

"Take a load off fanny, take a load for free."

Even the music I was listening to was mocking me, cuz that's what I needed to do. Take a load right off the fanny. The Weight, as in my weight gain, was the result of a convergence of things. Giving up amphetamines. Getting a puppy that needed to get up 2-3 X a night and then skipping the gym in the morning because I was too exhausted. Also, not altering my food or alcohol intake to account for less drugs and activity. After a couple months of this, I gained some weight. TBH I didn't really notice it until my pants began to hurt me. But the real slap in the face was when a nurse weighed me and the scale was on an upwardly mobile path towards 10 stone. (I'll let you google that if you really want to know, but since the goal of this blog post is NOT to get hung up on numbers,  maybe you shouldn't and should just keep reading).

Except for doctor visits, I do not weigh myself because it makes me crazy. It is easy for me to obsess. I'm an artist so it's a little weird for me to obsess over a number when I really despise all numbers, but I do. But I find that body weight numbers often don't give us the whole story. It doesn't tell you your fat to muscle ratio for one. But I tell you all this, because I want to peel back the fashion blog facade a little and be more real around here. The more personal I get, the more you, dear reader, seem to relate or at least view me as the imperfect human that I very much am. As a writer, my goal is to create multi-dimensional characters on the page and I feel like I should do more of that around here. I find myself, a blog reader as well, growing weary of everything being happy and perfect and on trend all the goddam time. I prefer our relationship to be one of mutual respect for one another rather than one-sided admiration.There are real people behind fashion blogs. I'd like see more of them and be advertised to a little less. So I thought I'd apply my own desires for other people's blogs to my own blog. Y'know, to show that I'm more than just a pretty face with pretty clothes. I swear. I drink. I don't have magical metabolism.

I've been in good shape for the past ten years. The best in my life, thanks to probably three things. Amphetamines. A gluten free diet. Working out 4-5 times a week. But I wasn't always in great shape. I was in the worst shape and in the worst mental head space right after my father died (17) until I was about 26. Most females are or have been in that toxic headspace at some point in their lives. The whole bitch of the matter is you don't even have to be in bad shape to have a poor body image!

Back when I had some abs. photo credit: Joshua Franzos

I was even a professional model with agencies in Michigan and New York during that period. Still no. Thought I wasn't thin enough. Most of us aren't explicitly taught to inhabit as little space as possible, but as females we tend to suck that message right up, almost osmotically. Be thin. Weigh as little as possible. Value what our bodies look like over what they can do. Don't even get me started on undervaluing the feminine mind. Ugh.

But then something changed. Maybe it had something to do with the onset of my thirties. Or maybe because I made a lot of brazen personnel and vocational changes so that I'm actually happy in love, happy in what I'm doing, and therefore, happy in body and my own skin. I don't know. But I do know that I'm done with the poor body image chapter of my life. I closed the door on that sadistic squatter in my head a very long time ago. But I tell you, almost two months ago, I looked at Doctor's office scale and I could swear that I heard her scratching at the door.

It would be easy to obsess over a number. But let's. just. not. I'm simply not going to look in the mirror and beat myself up or call myself awful names anymore. What do we hope to accomplish with that? Do we hope to motivate ourselves by shaming ourselves into action? How often does that even work? You wouldn't tolerate anyone else speaking to you like that, so why do it to yourself?

Don't.

I decided that I couldn't afford to buy all new pants. I decided that I need to love, respect, and be patient with myself, but tired or not, I needed to move because moving my body and being active makes me feel like ME in the head. That's most important. I also like to surprise myself with my own strength and agility. But also, I really wanted my pants to stop being a pain in the ass and stomach and thighs. Life gets away from you sometimes. You're putting out one fire only to have two others spring up. It happens to the best of us, but your physical and mental health is so important and you don't even realize how good you have it until the moment you don't. Make it a priority and snap it back into focus.

So part of this blog is telling you about things or products that I've found or picked up that add style, joy, value, or ease to my life. I have to admit, given my recent state of affairs, I recently jumped at a perfectly timed ad in my instagram feed. It was for Kayla Itsines' BBG (Bikini Body Guide) via the Sweat App. I needed a kindly kick in the pants, so I did about five minutes of "research" before I just decided to commit to a one week free trial.  I found that I really liked the challenging excercises and the app function during my free trial. What I like the most about it is, I don't have to think or plan anything, just do. It's $20/month and it's a great value. It's less than one session with a personal trainer, but it's like having a personal trainer in your pocket every day. There's even some food plan stuff that I don't even utilize. (This is not sponsored by the way, I'm just loving on this app). 

BBG encourages photos to track your progress. (You don't have to share if you don't want)

I've been doing the workouts for 7 weeks now. I can't tell you that I lost weight. (as you know I don't weigh myself). Someone commented on my arms last week. And I am seeing some attractive definition in my muscles elswhere. I suspect I may have even gained some muscle weight. HOWEVER, the moral of the story is after 7 weeks my pants fit again. My pants fit again and I didn't have to emotionally abuse myself. I'm eager to see how I feel and look as I continue this BBG journey. If you're in the same boat as me, I just want to encourage you to try and set the scale aside and focus more on how your clothes fit. It's less crazy making.

Look. I know you want it to, but nothing truly great happens overnight. Results will come.You are a piece of art. A work in progress, honey. So be patient. Be kind to yourself. Do the work and trust the process. Overthink everything else in your life, but not exercise. Never overthink exercise. I know it sounds trite, to say so because it's a brand slogan, but I honestly can't say it any better or more simply than, just do it.  Just do it and love yourself and those around you.

Your Bosom Friend in Pittsburgh,

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Just Show Up

Last week, I found myself in front of a blank page and an expectant, blinking cursor and I kind of panicked. In the two years that I've been working on my novel, I've never experienced the dreaded writer's block. For the last eight months, I've been editing 300 pages of previously written work. I had to stop charging full speed ahead and fix things. Some writing happens during the editing process, but it's mostly exhausting decision making. Cutting. Re-working. Placing things sooner. Placing things later. It was necessary and painful, but the foundation of my entire story is shored up, strong and ready to take on more weight. Ready, go. Start writing again Meryl. Go. Time's a wasting. Go. GO NOW. After months and months of editing, the blank page felt alien to me. Either my imagination muscles had atrophied or I was putting too much pressure on myself. Regardless, I ended up wasting that entire writing lunch on social media. 

My high school track coach, "Coach T," shouted cliche sport sayings at us during our tempo workouts: "Pain is weakness leaving the body!", "Running is 10% physical, 90% mental!", "Just do it!" -- are just a few that come to mind. He wasn't a creative man, Coach T, but for many of us, the first inklings of "hard work = results" started forming inside our hormone addled brains because of his distilled directness.
 

For the past year, I've gotten into a groove and I've been exercising 4-5 days a week. First thing in the morning. Very early. And I do it for three immediate reasons: 1. the high-water pressure shower I get to take immediately after. 2. the 30 minutes to 1 hour of writing I get done at a coffee shop after that, and 3. and perhaps the most important of all, exercise quiets the voices in my head.

Yes, I hear voices. I know you won't judge me, because something tells me you might too.

They're awful and critical. Hateful. Voices made of pure self-loathing. They prey on your weak moments and latch onto your insecurities. They say things like:

"Why do you even bother? You keep gaining weight, even though you work out all the time."
"Nobody takes your writing seriously."
"You're never going to finish the novel, like you never finish anything in your life."
"Even if you do manage to finish it, no agent or publisher will touch your P.O.S manuscript with a ten foot pole."
"You're going to die a secretary who impacted no one and nothing."

Yikes, right? And that's just the tip of the iceberg! I know my demons well, but whatever yours might be, if left unchecked, these voices will slowly drive you insane as you sit day after day in a tan cubicle, until you find yourself uncontrollably crying on the toliet in the women's bathroom stall. If you're in the market to avoid that, I recommend exercise.

Mr. Franzos and I moved to a new neighborhood recently. Life has been in a constant state of flux and the voices have been gaining some ground again, so I joined a new gym that's just three blocks away from our doorstep. I'm trying to find the same workout-shower-coffee-write-go to work routine that I had in our old neighborhood because I know that worked for me. But new gyms, have new procedures. 
I was asked to list some goals on my intake contract. I bristle at goals. I don't like to overpromise or overcommit, probably due to my crippling fear of failure. I considered putting "to write a novel," or "to see this creepy Capuchin crypt in Palermo, Sicily," and "to quiet the voices in my head." But I decided, perhaps wisely, to put, "to be strong and healthy" instead. A nice generic, non-committal goal full of legal loop-holes.

"Gosh, I wish more women said, 'to be strong' instead of 'to be skinny' on their intake form."

I looked at the trainer, there is some suppressed neurotic part of me that wanted that, but I kept my mouth shut. I was weighed next. My weight was higher than my wedding day, but I seriously cannot worry about stupid things like weight when I have a book to finish and I'm freaking out at a blank page half-way through it all.
"Is that about right? Is it high? Low?" asked the trainer. 
I shrugged, I don't even know what box our scale is packed in right now, "The last time I noted my weight was at the doctor's office, two months ago. I was two pounds less then. Before that, I can't remember the last time I weighed myself."
"Most of the women that come in here weigh themselves several times a day."
I nodded and said, "Yeah, I've been there." I have definitely been down that stretch of road. When I look back on it now, it makes me tired. And bored. Then I began wondering if I'd really only traded one neurosis for another. When I'm on the elliptical I'm not reading Self magazine and wishing I had the fitness model's thighs anymore, I'm reading the fiction in The New Yorker and listening to Die Antwoord to block out the gym grunters, the gym phlegmers. If I'm running or lifting weights, I'm listening to writing podcasts and wearing out the demon rugrats in my head until it's their naptime. Basically, I've got writing on the mind all the time. I much prefer that over counting calories and wrapping body parts with measuring tape.
Then the trainer pulled the body fat tester out. I had my body fat tested when I was 17, and one would think at my physical prime. I got 24% back then, so this was definitely going to hurt. I grabbed the metal hand grips and grit my teeth. Sex: Female. Age: 35: Height: 5'7" Diet: Eating bar food every single night for the past three months. I braced for the moment of impact, the moment of truth.

"Wow. You have 16.3% body fat...that's like, athlete level. Good job!"

I opened one eye, "What?"

Athlete level.

ME.



The rest of the gym visit, I didn't quite know what to do with that percentage while I did push-ups and held planks to test my strength, but I was suddenly faced with the reality that even though I hate cardio and have to distract myself into oblivion, I'd some how stumbled into the fairy glen of athleticism. I had in fact, already become strong and healthy. Not at all skinny, but lean. When I got home I googled some technical fitness stuff and determined that the percentage means I carry around roughly 21lbs of fat and 107.9lbs of sheer, crazy muscle...or something like that. Instead of wanting to occupy the least amount of space possible and reduce the grand total, as women are taught to want from a young age, I began to think, maybe my muscle could weigh more? Maybe it could take on the density of a neutron star? But the question remained, How did I get here? I started to follow the breadcrumbs backwards. How did I walk through the wardrobe and find myself in athletic Narnia? I mean, when it comes to the gym, I just show up and get it over with so I can work and write without the nagging voices of self doubt clawing at my coattails. 

My first and hopefully, last gym selfie. I'm cranking the "Helping Writers Become Authors" podcast. 

I've been thinking about Coach T a lot lately. I seem to remember sitting on the asbestos tiled gym floor of Daisy Brook Elementary School with my fellow track mates. It was early spring in Michigan, and there was still too much snow on the high school track for workouts. I was a sophomore and scared. All of us were getting yelled at for the few freshman that had cut practice the day before. Coach T made it really simple, "show up for practice."

Flash forward to my next day of writer's block at the library. My laptop was open, the battery back-up was plugged in, and my knuckles were thoroughly cracked. There it was again, the blank page. My chest started getting tight, but then I thought of running on the black rubber track and Coach T flapping his clipboard at us from center field, bellowing,"...90% mental, 10% physicaaaalllll!!!" I was over-thinking things, as usual, and I knew what I needed to do. I just needed to show up. I showed up at the page and I just went through the physical motions of typing. I wrote guttural nonsense until the engine in my head turned over and started spitting out complete sentences onto the page. Then those complete sentences turned into paragraphs and then dialogue and then more paragraphs and, the next time I looked up at the Carnegie Library's clock, I was going to be late heading back to work.  

Seriously, don't wait for inspiration. You'll figure it out. Just show up. 

Good things happen when you show up...Case in point, thanks to this blog, I was invited to attend the VIP grand opening for Chelsea Collective, a new, women's fitness boutique that aims to fuse fitness and fashion. It's an exciting new retail proto-type and brainchild of the Dick's Sporting Good company. I rsvp'd and took my good friend Amy as my date. 

photo credit: Kim Ifft Photography

We mingled, drank white wine and ate healthy and delicious hors d'oeuvres, tasted the yogurt bar, and ran into our friend, WHIRL magazine style editor, Liz Petoniak. Amy caught up with an old college chum and I checked out the wares. I picked out a super cool Nike hooded vest to use my complimentary $25 gift card on.

Iphone photo credit: Amy Cohen

 Chelsea Collective carries labels I've heard of: Nike, Hunter, Splendid, Vans, New Balance, Adidas, Asics, Brooks, Birkenstock, Saucony, Sorel and Under Armor. They also carry brands I've never heard of: Alternative, Calia by Carrie Underwood, Lorna Jane, Spiritual Gangster, Zobna, Sanuk, Onzie and Alala. The staff was warm and friendly, the store was clean and inviting, the schwag give-aways...jaw-dropping! We were both completely shocked that everyone was given a (really nice) Nike gym bag, with a free copy of WHIRL Magazine, a leather bracelet, Philip Pelusi product samples, and a Chelsea Collective towel. But wait, there was more! We also got to pick out 4 other items. I picked a Hydro Flask water bottle, a tube of Philosophy lip gloss, a package of make-up remover wipes, and a pack of five Nike hair bands (I don't know about you, but I can never have too many stretchy hair bands). Amy picked out a really nice yoga mat. I'm actually kind of jealous of Amy's yoga mat, but it was a mad rush and I had to make decisions quickly.

photo credit: Kim Ifft Photography

This event and the generosity of Chelsea Collective has truly made my week. I wish them the best of luck on their venture into the women's athleisure market, but I don't think they'll need it. They have great products (at a variety of price points), a great attitude, and great customer service. I would like to see the addition of a handful of really fashion forward brands like Stella McCartney and Y-3, but otherwise they showed up and hit the ground running. I can't wait to come back and find activeware that will help me on my way to becoming a neutron star. I hope you'll join me.

Your Bosom Friend in Pittsburgh,

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