Some days...

There are some days I really wish I was a super beautiful fashion blogger with really expensive Karen Walker sunglasses.


And others when I'm really glad I'm not.

Oh crap, it's Coachella

Today on Twitter, Whitney Port asked me (and her 654,067 other followers) what we thought of her "festival style." It was lunch time and I was bored. I clicked on the link ready for some glossy gloss. But then my stomach dropped. How had I not realized this? Coachella. Is. Here.


Every year around this time, I find myself out to brunch in Silverlake wondering why I didn't have to wait for a table at 11:15 am. Then I realize it's because half the city has made the epic trek to desert.

(Secret: I've never been to Coachella. I know it's crazy. I'm like those girls who thought saving their virginity for marriage was a good idea. In college it made them different, something to flirt with guys about at parties. But the older they get, the weirder it becomes. Suddenly, they're 35 and have missed out on this HUGE aspect of life and guys are now scared to date them because they don't want the pressure of being the "first.")

Anyway, after my quiet brunch, I inevitably logon to Facebook and spend the rest of the weekend looking at "artistic" pictures of my extended acquaintances dressed up like sweaty (albeit attractive) hipster assholes.


I wish I could eloquently express why Whitney Port's Coachella Style Guide made me feel so strange. I think it's because she seems to take going so seriously. I mean a "Style Guide?" This isn't a trip to Paris, you're traveling to a town who's name sake is a grapefruit.


Whitney writes "For first time Coachella goers, packing can be a painful and confusing experience." What? No! My virginity metaphor was a joke!! It's a music concert. It shouldn't be painful or confusing! Whit, I love you! Stop confirming all my past judgments about Coachella! I don't want you to prove that it's totally not about the music anymore and it's just about what you look like and what VIP tents you can get into.

But then I ask myself why I'm getting so hot and bothered about this? I've never been. Who am I to use phrases like "it's not about the music anymore?" I need to get a life. Or buy a ironic T-shirt that has that printed across the front. Hey, that gives me an idea..

Peek-a-boo I'm through

You guys, I'm not sure if I want to be a girl anymore. And I'm not saying that because I have a bad case of PMS or something. It's just... I'm really worried where we as a sex are headed when it comes to fashion.

Remember when Gretchen Jones won Project Runway and she wore this?

At the time I recall registering that what she was wearing was bananas but I was so shocked and appalled that Mondo lost, I didn't let the gravity of what was happening really sink in.

Until I saw this on Monday.
And I realized it's like, a thing. 'Cause if Sweatercups is wearing it, you know the rest of us are soon to follow. And then suddenly we'll be on the Topshop website converting pounds to dollars and wondering, "could I really pull off sparkly hotpants with a mesh overlay?"
And gals, that is a question that most men have never had to ask themselves.

An open letter to a little princess

Dear The Only Fashion Princess,

I'd like to say upfront I think you're super cute. You remind me of young Fiona Apple and I like that you often smile in your photos, Ol' Sweatercups could take a note from you (we can both agree that today's tutu was bananas, right?). Even though you maybe have chosen the silliest name ever for your blog, I forgive you because you are only 17 and from the Netherlands and maybe something got lost in the translation. What I'm trying to say is that I like you. I like your blog. And it's with love that I write you this letter.

Girlfriend, we need to have a talk. The other day you posted this picture on your blog with this short snippet. "très chic. Do I have to say more?"

(from fashionising)

Yes. Yes, you do. Honey, you just posted a picture of a woman wearing the Bride of Frankenstein's leopard power suite mixed with Price Charming's (the Cinderella one) shoulder pads.

And I haven't even gotten to the fringe! Maybe it's our age difference, but foot long arm fringe that resembles a horse's mane is not what pops into my mind whenever someone says "tres chic." I reserve that for gals like Jackie Kennedy, Audrey Hepburn or hell even Katie Holmes on a good day. In my mind almost anyone is tres chic-er than your leathery Brigitta with her thick gold chain and a bad spray tan. Next time add a few more sentences. State your thesis and then prove it. I'm really interested to hear why you think this is stylin' because right now I'm overwhelmed with all the comments on your blog telling you that they agree. HOW DO THY AGREE WITH YOU? Why is no one explaining this to me? Am I that out of touch with your generation?! Is this like how my mother doesn't understand Facebook? Am I old enough to be your MOTHER?

I'm sorry. Maybe this is more about me than you, I promise to settle down if you promise to go back to being a sweet little Criminal who Shadowboxes. Oh and congrats on finding that perfect silver blazer that you'd been looking for. I'm really proud of you.

xoxo,
Your pal Hal

Scary new dating trends

You know what's worse than being single for the first time in 6 1/2 years? Reading about a beautiful happy couple and their ability to dedicate a whole weekend to each other and Bah Mi. So you can understand why I visibly flinched when I came across this blog today. Not only is Liz pretty enough to pull off a Native American blanket/sequin mini combo, she also just "dedicated another weekend to searching out new eateries around the city." Just her, that sweater, her man and some baklava.

Can someone tell me why more and more guys seem quite happy to spend the weekend taking pictures of their pretty girlfriends with fashion blogs? Is this a thing I missed by not being on the dating scene for a while? At what point in the courtship does a gal say, "Honey, this weekend we'll go for walk, grab a glass of wine and then take 300 fashion street shots of me in my Marni?" Or is more of a bargaining technique? "Yes babe, I will go see Jackass 3D with you but only if you shoot this vintage inspired pictorial first." How do these girls find boyfriends who happen to be skilled photographers? Is there a box to check for it on Match? A board on Craigslist? Does he pick her up at the Barney's sample sale? How do these soul mates meet?!!!

Being single is weird.

Just a typical lunch on the run!

I told a few friends about this new blog idea of mine and asked them to send me the blogs they can't stop compulsively reading while also battling suicidal thoughts. The response was unanimous: Cupcakes and Cashmere. After perusing the blog, I have no idea what they are being so insecure about. This outfit is totally like the yoga pants and hoodie sweatshirt I wear when I pop out of my house for lunch...

Except I don't even do that because I work from home, have very few actual designers duds and am constantly broke.

I feel like I could write tombs about Emily from Cupcakes. While her pictures are like mouthfuls of frosting for my brain, when you stop and think about it her blog is really kind of weird. Her days must revolve around waking up, styling her "beachy waves" and deciding what designer shirt goes with which forever 21 headband. Then she has to scout a location and do a photo shoot with her boyfriend. "Darling, I know you are swamped at work but today's cloud cover goes perfectly with my Elizabeth and James tunic. I'll need you to meet me in front of Tom's Burgers. No time for lunch but you can sustain yourself with the satisfaction that your woman can wear muppet fringe with a straight face. We're so in love! Get a close up of my crotch!!!"


Or maybe he's happy to oblige her with photos because he is smug that he landed the one girl in America who somehow looks cute ALL OF THE TIME. Like even on a moving day!


I wish I had a photo of myself to compare and contrast except I don't because I am a sweaty, dirty mess when I move. NO ONE (especially not my boyfriend) would be even remotely tempted to photograph me in that state. And that's why thanks to good ol' SweaterCups, the next time I'm cleaning my house, I vow to dust while wearing lipstick and a bumpit.

Or maybe I should just vow to dust.