Why I Love My X-Chromosomes
I spent the weekend NotWorking, which was great. I had ages and ages to get absolutely nothing accomplished, and I masterfully managed to avoid cleaning my boyfriend's house, doing dishes, cleaning out my car, getting an oil change, or doing homework. Instead, I watched awful television, did a bit of knitting on a blanket square for the animal shelter (how cute and charitable am I?), and, most importantly, shopped.
I trekked up to Chantel's (my best friend and mother of my 10-month-old godson, Matt). I stayed with her and her husband on Saturday night. The four of us went out to dinner at Applebee's and rented Shopgirl, which was better in the book in some ways (Jason Schwartzman), but mostly worse (uninspired performances from Steve Martin and Claire Danes, useless "this makes a film ART" montages, getting lost in its own simple and straightforward plot, and the worst narration I've ever heard). Chantel and I then played fashion show, where she showed me all the clothes she's bought since losing weight and then proceeded to donate half her jewelry and beauty items to me (gotta love compulsive buyers who change their minds after they face "it was cute in the store" reality). Afterward, we dug through one another's makeup and were both thrilled to realize that even if we do have worry lines and crow's feet at nineteen, so does our best friend.
The shopping, though, was the highlight. I always tell Chantel that she is my personal stylist; she picked out most of the best clothes I own. As all girls know, shopping is often all or nothing--either everything you try on works, or nothing does, and you end up a slumped, sobbing mess in the dressing room, resolving to go on an all-carrot diet and tan your skin black. I had amazing luck this weekend. Can you say "end of season sale"? I blew $130, but came out two dresses, one pair of pajama shorts, three pairs of pants, two sweaters, and four shirts richer, along with various other mundane necessities. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Fashion Week.
A quick Regina Spektor confession--I prefer Soviet Kitsch to Begin to Hope. Also on your download list after reading about my amazing taste: "Novotel" by Adam Green and anything by Arielle Dombasle. In both music and fashion, I believe in the risk. When I bought a very seventies wrap dress today, I was intimately aware that it was both a Do and a Don't. Not every glance will be approving, but isn't that the way it should be? So, too, with Adam and Arielle. If you like it, it's good. If you don't, it's bad. Do with it what you will.
I trekked up to Chantel's (my best friend and mother of my 10-month-old godson, Matt). I stayed with her and her husband on Saturday night. The four of us went out to dinner at Applebee's and rented Shopgirl, which was better in the book in some ways (Jason Schwartzman), but mostly worse (uninspired performances from Steve Martin and Claire Danes, useless "this makes a film ART" montages, getting lost in its own simple and straightforward plot, and the worst narration I've ever heard). Chantel and I then played fashion show, where she showed me all the clothes she's bought since losing weight and then proceeded to donate half her jewelry and beauty items to me (gotta love compulsive buyers who change their minds after they face "it was cute in the store" reality). Afterward, we dug through one another's makeup and were both thrilled to realize that even if we do have worry lines and crow's feet at nineteen, so does our best friend.
The shopping, though, was the highlight. I always tell Chantel that she is my personal stylist; she picked out most of the best clothes I own. As all girls know, shopping is often all or nothing--either everything you try on works, or nothing does, and you end up a slumped, sobbing mess in the dressing room, resolving to go on an all-carrot diet and tan your skin black. I had amazing luck this weekend. Can you say "end of season sale"? I blew $130, but came out two dresses, one pair of pajama shorts, three pairs of pants, two sweaters, and four shirts richer, along with various other mundane necessities. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Fashion Week.
A quick Regina Spektor confession--I prefer Soviet Kitsch to Begin to Hope. Also on your download list after reading about my amazing taste: "Novotel" by Adam Green and anything by Arielle Dombasle. In both music and fashion, I believe in the risk. When I bought a very seventies wrap dress today, I was intimately aware that it was both a Do and a Don't. Not every glance will be approving, but isn't that the way it should be? So, too, with Adam and Arielle. If you like it, it's good. If you don't, it's bad. Do with it what you will.
posted by Allison at
1:07 AM
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