Headscarves hurt my head

I think girls who wear headscarves are a different breed. Like the girls who can pull them off are also the type to party on private yachts, show up in July wearing fur and/or are one of the Olsen Twins.

Watching this video (for the 5th time) I began to wonder if the key to happiness is simply the ability to go out in public looking like kind of an asshole and not giving a fuck.

Or maybe it was just the music.



Do you think anything is wrong with the bottom of her face?

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..

Because Ikea wasn't enough for her

Secret: Recently I've been feeling particularly vulnerable/single and thus have been curtailing my blog viewing as a way of incubating myself from all the Internet gloss that most days seems so unattainable. That's why you must understand that it was totally by accident that I stumbled onto The Swede Records. I honestly thought it was going to be a blog about about indie Norwegian rock bands or something equally obscure. But of course it's not. It's totally another blog about a totally cute girl (Jenny May) and her totally amazing marriage to her totally cute (and very Swedish) husband.

**It's worth mentioning that I totally have a thing for the Swedes too. But really what girl doesn't like a tall, friendly,blond haired, blue eyed man? I've only dated one and now he's happily married and living in France while playing for the national lacrosse team. His life may sound idyllic but I'm sure he's totally misses me too. :/

Anyhoo, like she could feel my insecure eyes lurking, yesterday Jenny May posted this lil' surprise:

"This is what I came home to last night after my spin class..."



I get it Jenny May, your life is happier/prettier/better than mine!!! Not only do you have a totally thoughtful/perfect husband, you're also going to exercise classes at night!!! Thanks to you and your flickering lights, I now really regret letting my Swede (and every other man I've ever dated) go. Maybe if I had stuck with one of them, I wouldn't have spent my Monday night drowning my sorrows in an extra large bottle of Hefeweizen and then somehow losing my blackberry. I swear the two activities were unrelated.

But please Jenny May, don't mind me. Go back to your beautiful Nordic love making. I'll just be over here creating my profile on swedishdating.net and cutting myself.

Just another beautiful blogger!

Which came first? The model or the blog? It's honestly getting harder and harder to tell these days. I'm totally late to the party but a fun friend just introduced me to the exotic beauty that is fashiontoast.

Not only is this girl Blogger of the Year, she's going to hot fashion parties, has actual model representation and was sent free clothes* to be part of the new Rag and Bone ad campaign. Have you seen this ad spread yet? Basically they sent clothes to pretty people with blogs, aka "models," in the hopes that they would take cool pictures of themselves and give the brand more real world approachability.

Do companies like Rag and Bone think they're pulling one over on us? It's very clear that none of the people featured are "regular folks." R&B, I have news for you, just because the Toaster can pose with a cardigan on a counter or effortlessly done floppy felt hat, I'm not about to attempt either. Just look at her model-ish thighs, they are skinny enough to pull off anything!!!!

*Similarly yesterday at the Bagel Broker I was offered a free dessert. Of course this gratis gift was probably more related to the fact that I was the only non wig/hat wearing female in the place (take that Rag & Bone!!!), and less to do with my beauty or certainly my blog.

**Please also note that I am aware that eating at said establishment is probably not doing my thighs or potential modeling careers any favors... But after consuming that slutty chocolate strudel, I'm pretty ok with that.

It's Friday night, do you know where your brain is?

So you probably think that reading girly blogs is a fun, harmless way to waste a few hours at work. Just a little junk food for the brain, nothing more. Well I'm sorry to burst the beautiful bubble, but today I had a scary revaluation... America is no longer home of the free. Our brains are being taken over... one blog post at a time.

In the beginning I too thought this blog stuff was all fun and games. It's no secret that I've been ashamed of my daily unwashed hair/yoga pant daily dress code and after spending too many hours staring at pictures of cute outfits, I'd decided to amend my sloppy ways. I've become a big girl who gets dressed in real clothes before running out to do errands. Today I even managed an accessory. An accessory I thought I was wearing for me... Oh, how wrong I was.

So there I am, ridiculous chunky scarf tied around my neck, when I decide to stroll over to CVS to pick up a tube of the lipstick. Now sure, Sweatercups was wearing it yesterday but I've been coveting coral lips for a while, unsure of what colors are actually coral out of the tube. I was happy that someone had finally told me what color to buy and that it would only set me back a few bucks. Much to my chagrin, CVS was out of the glorious Blase Apricot! All the other colors were neatly stacked but there was no blasted Blase! Knowing that my east side CVS is never thoroughly stocked, I was disappointed but told myself to move on, I had grocery shopping to do.

Oh yeah, I should mention that I'm making soup tonight. Sweatercups endorsed soup to be exact. Now in my defense again, I had been on Martha Stewart yesterday debating soups and thinking about how good sausage and kale soup would be. But if I'm really going to be honest, my mind wasn't made up until Sweater's recommendation. Boy was I surprised when I got to the produce isle of Ralph's and saw the gaping hole where the kale used to be. It was just like the lipstick, the surrounding chard and collard greens were plentiful but the kale bin was bare. Friends, I have never seen this. There has always been kale at the Ralph's. There's no other answer...

Sweatercups is taking over my brain and maybe even yours. What's next our mother's? Our (unborn) children? The world.??!!

I'm serious.

But keep this on the DL. We don't want any more executives finding out about her powers. Not only did she make a Coach bag, get to see the BHDLN line before any of us; now she's trying to sell us Madewell too. Resistance is not futile. We cannot keep giving in!!!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to make some graham crackers.. from scratch. Because they really are that much better.

Why wasn't I invited?

Have you ever logged onto Facebook and seen pictures of a bunch of your friends at a party you definitely weren't invited to and didn't even know about? Suddenly you're pouring over the images, obsessively tallying which of your acquaintances were there, what amazing outfits they were wearing and then coming up with terrible scenarios of why you weren't invited. Then the next time you see them you casually mention the party hoping for more details but they play it off like it was no big thing... even though you all know it was THE BEST PARTY of the year and it's super pathetic that you weren't invited.

Well that's exactly how I felt today when I logged onto the the blogs and saw that a whole slew of my daily reads were at an exclusive unveiling party for Anthropologie's new wedding line BHLDN. Not only are they cool girls, with cool clothes, great hair and the ability to create/eat an endless variety of cute snack foods, they also got to go to this super cool party thrown by every girl's favorite retailer!!!

They ate fancy lady desserts!


And drank champers with dresses!

And got a private runway show!


And were surrounded by these thingies!


I'm going to try to play it cool but I know it's going to be a little awk next time I leave a comment on their blogs.

Beautifully Depressed

I hate to admit it, but I was actually relived to read that even fashionistas sometimes "fall apart." They may be featured in Vogue but they have bad days just like me. Unfortunately, our similarities seem to end there. When Liz of Late Afternoon has a bad day she takes pictures around her apartment during "a lazy Sunday."

A chair covered in lace.

A stack of her favorite diversions.


Her beautiful tousled mane.


Ummm, I wasn't depressed until I started looking at her gorgeous images. How can her life be so bad when she can call other fabulously dressed friends on her pretty, vintage telephone? Not even on my brightest Sunday has my world ever looked so lux. Trying to prove myself wrong I decided to try to copy her images. Here's what "falling apart" looks like in my apartment.

A chair covered in lace.


A stack of my favorite diversions.


My beautiful tousled mane


Maybe we're not so different after all.