“Redheads are as colorful as a day in autumn, as spectacular as the setting sun“
Yours truly will be posting pictures tomorrow morning with a fun new look!
A Year-Long Experiment in Vintage Beauty
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Hair Affair
“Psychologically, the brunette is cool and logical. Emotionally, she’s dynamite.” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man.
My sisters Hilary and Laura were beautiful blondes, like my mother. I was always envious of them, with their halos of fair curls, while my locks looked like wood paneling.
But it was my older sister Shaun (and movie stars like Geena Davis and Carrie Fisher) who taught me how to be a brunette. Shaun, as I’ve said before, was (and is) a knockout. As I got older, I began to embrace my dark hair, and Arlene says that brunettes are the “most sensational” My dark hair and pale skin have always accompanied my “look” very well, whether it was dramatic goth girl or funky hipster chick.
Ian gave me one of Arlene’s hair personality quizzes and, sure enough, I was a brunette. Animal magnetism and the brains of a chess player, a vamp, an adventuress, an eternal siren who always gets her man. I like the sound of all that!
But check in tomorrow, because everything is about to change….
Flirting in the Digital Age
“Practice the art of flirtation, but save the advance techniques for THE man” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man.
I think I have gone backwards.
In nine months of trying to become a glamorous flirtatious sex-pot housewife, I somewhere got turned around and became a blithering idiot in too-tall heels.
I have always, always been able to get male attention whenever I wanted. I had a way with a glance, a head-turning outfit, a clever remark in class. I’m not the prettiest girl in the world, but if I set my sights on a guy, more often than not, he ended up mine. (It took me three years to get Ian, but he was well worth the wait) and even now, I continue to practice my charm because, well, it’s fun. Almost everyone likes to be innocently flirted with–NOT HIT ON–but given a little charm and attention from a stranger.
So let’s say there’s this man. (We’ll call him Mr. W to protect his identity.) We had a conversation on Twitter, as people do, and nothing much of it. But lately, he’s been tweeting to me, with a darling nickname, telling me that I am witty and well-read. My immediate reaction to seeing these tweets was not coyness or charm, but immediate sweating (I do not sweat ever), followed by intense panic and layered with dizzy flattery. My transformation into Liz Lemon is complete.
Arlene and Helen and all the other charm-stars out there did not write about digital flirting, so we modern ladies have no guide. The general idea seems to be send a topless/nude selfie, which I’m not going to do. Those are advanced techniques, far too forward for this interaction. It’s not that type of flirting. There is no end goal or sex or marriage, just two people engaging in a little banter. It’s important to understand the end game of any flirtation and respond accordingly. A smile begets a smile.
Flirting in the digital ether is especially difficult because there are a thousand ways to read a sentence. What might be construed as flirting could be just an innocent answer, or an innocent answer may be seen as sarcasm. Aggressive techniques take over to make sure the message gets across, so charm and subtly–the fun parts of flirting, if you ask me–get lost.
So I waited a bit before tweeting back. I tried to be as charming and darling as possible. I continued our conversation and, in accordance with Arlene’s suggestion about making the conversation about him, asked him what he liked. He responded, very friendly. It is not a love for the ages (he doesn’t even formally follow me) but seeing “Mr. W has responded to your tweet!” pop up in my email still gives me a giddy little thrill. . . after the sweating has worn off, of course.
Burnin’ For You
I love Burn Notice. I love Michael Weston, I love Tyler Brennan, I love Tyler Grey because Kenny Johnson is a beautiful specimen of human male. Right now I’m MAD at Burn Notice because Michael Weston is being a jerk, but that’s besides the point.
THE POINT IS that Fiona is awesome, and today, I’m dressing like her. She generally sports very breezy, light, loose little dresses and rompers, and always, always wedge heels. She is the Patron Saint of Wedge Heels.
Also pictured: my awesome Fiona-esq Honda Del Sol convertible
This dress was given to me by my friend Amber. It’s one of my “lazier” summer dresses in that it’s loose and comfortable enough for me to wear while writing. It’s backless except for the cowl, so I don’t wear it any time I might have to be on assignment–it’s just a little too sexy for work.
Today I paired it with wedge heels (obviously, duh) a Fiona-esq cuff bracelet and statement necklace, giant Betsey Johnson sunglasses and a hobo purse.
Makeup-wise, I went with a bronze eyeshadow, a little bronze on the cheeks (in honor of her golden Miami tan) and pale pink lipstick.
I was not prepared for the compliments I got. To me, this is just a dress for chilling, but everyone–all of them older women–piled on the oohs and ahs! Guess I must be doing SOMETHING right to net those kind of compliments!
Professional Pirate
Anyone’s who’s ever had a movie conversation with me knows that I love Cutthroat Island. So much so that I follow Matthew Modine (William Shaw) on Twitter, only because Geena Davis isn’t on there.
In the opening scene of the movie, Morgan Adams (Geena Davis) having just finished boning some gross looking soldier, gets dressed to go off and be awesome. She puts on a vest with no shirt, and it looks amazing on her. Then she makes a dick joke and goes off into the sunrise/credit sequence. I swore that when I was an adult, I was going to wear a vest as a shirt, because at 13, my mom wouldn’t let me.
But, like becoming a Broadway actress, I never quite lived up to that dream…until now.
The vest is from Bebe, a gift from my office for my 30th birthday. The jeans are American Eagle and it’s the first time I’ve ever rolled jeans, because I have this weird thing about my ankles. The tank top is scoop-neck to mimic Geena Davis’, umm, treasure chest, and this outfit also allowed me to finally mastered the low-slung belt look. The secret to dressing like a pirate is to not look like a pirate, because that would just be silly.
For makeup, I went with something I once read about Geena Davis, that her makeup artist uses a lot of browns and pinks on her, so I went with brown eyeliner and pink glitter eyeshadow in a very subtle blush.
You can’t see it in this picture, but I’m also sporting a skull cuff that I made from a tee-shirt, and bitchin’ skull earring’s Ian’s mother brought me back from Mexico.
This outfit was a good chance to try out styles I’ve been wanting to attempt for awhile. I’m really surprised at just how many permutations can come out of my closet; I almost forgot I had that belt (it came with a pair of shorts) even though I only have five belts. One of the biggest things I’m learning throughout this whole year, fashion wise, is that being a clothes horse is not necessarily an asset. There’s something about having to put together an outfit with only a few basic pieces–it requires your imagination, a new way of looking at the clothes in your closet and forces you to experiment with new looks rather than just running out and buying a new one.
Let’s All Go to the Movies
“Don’t just admire…study beautifully-gowned women” Helen Gurley Brown, Sex & The Single Girl.
I, too, like to relax in my lemon costume
I never leave the house in just any old thing. For me, fashion is such an art, a way of saying “This is who I am today.” It’s a trait I share with Olivia, the fictional pig in Oliver Falconer’s children’s books. And much of my fashion inspiration comes from beautiful women (and occasionally, men) in movies. It’s hard not to feel glam when you’re pretending to be, say, Geena Davis.
My first outfit for this stunt week of dressing in the study and style of others is inspired by the late, very beautiful and very darling Brittany Murphy in Sin City: The Big Fat Kill. Now, putting aside the fact that I used to refer to one of Catch’s girlfriends as “The Barmaid” (as in “The one who never shuts up,” to which he would, with equal parts affection and irritation, reply “Damn it Gail, not now”) I have always liked Shelly and always
felt a little sorry for her, even if I liked Gail more. However, I cannot go out dressed in a series of belts and assorted pieces of fishnet, so Shelly it is.
The cowgirl shirt my dad bought me for Christmas is my essential white shirt, just barely covering the very tiny shorts underneath. I am also wearing a Siouxsie and the Banshees tank top (rather than just a bra) and the fedora rounds it out with a little playfulness. If you get a fedora, ladies, make sure it is a full fedora and not one of those weaslely little short-brimmed ones from Hot Topic that guys wear to announce the world, “I am a date-rapist & Reddit misogynist”
This is a specific variation on a uniform of mine; with dark eyeliner and pale lipstick it has a certain “Up All Night With a Man” vibe to it. If you can borrow one of his shirts, well, all the better. And if he won’t let you borrow his shirt, well, then, why are you even with him, what a jerk!
At Your Service, M’lady
“Women complain that chivalry is dead. Maybe we have helped kill it. A little patience on our part can revive it. If you want to be the woman men rush to pull up a chair for, give them time to get there.” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man.
My friend Ari & I were traveling to NYC over the weekend, meeting my friend Matthew & her husband, Pav. I’ve known Ari & Pav since college; I attended their wedding last year and they’re both some of my dearest friends. Ari is an actual genius and scathingly funny; Pav has a sweet face that is almost deceptive about his quick, wicked sense of humor.
When we got off the bus, Pav met us and immediately offered to carry my vintage red suitcase, which was sitting on the ground next to where we were waiting. “How come you didn’t offer to carry my bags!” Ari joked.
Pav’s answer was priceless. “I didn’t want to insult you,” he said. “After that talk we had about gender roles. I know you’re strong enough to carry your bag.”
It was a perfect example of both chivalry & love. He respected her enough to know that his offering to carry her bags might be considered an act of disrespect for her strength and position as an independent woman. But because I am their friend and in her company, it was a show of respect for me for him to offer to carry my bag, the same way a young man in love might offer to buy his girlfriend’s friends a round of drinks when he meets them for the first time.
I thanked him, but carried my own bag out of respect for their marriage. But I do love it when a man carries my bag; Matthew does it whenever we’re together and Ian, who was raised by a fiercely independent mother who taught him that all parties carry what they packed, picked up my suitcase when I arrived at the train station at the end of the weekend, without me even clearing my throat and awkwardly pointing.
Scents and Sensibility
“Into my underthings…I tuck a cotton ball scented with my favorite perfume” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man (although Helen Gurley Brown recommends it too)
I approached this one with some trepidation–after all, it required me to wear a bra, which I hate doing and because I was worried about being that girl with the stink cloud of perfume, setting off allergies and smoke detectors wherever I went. But I went ahead and doused a cotton ball with Love’s White Vanilla, crammed it into my bra, and went off smelling sweet.
And boy, did I smell sweet! It was nice to have that little whiff of yummy just under my nose. Especially because, in my race to get ready on time and smell lovely . . . and this is so embarrassing . . . I forgot to brush my teeth.
So it was gum and perfume all day, and I’m happy/disappointed to report that no one commented on either. But hey, I liked smelling nice!
Here, Dear, Alone With All Your Letters
“As you start to write, visualize the other person and talk to him, then write the words down. Write the sort of letter you would like to receive.” Helen Valentine & Alice Thompson Better than Beauty
I have long been a letter writing advocate. How I adored getting an envelope address to me, whether at camp or at home, a postcard from the shore or a card from my grandmother. Oh, and the love letters! My favorite. Every man I’ve ever loved has sent me love letters, many of which I still have. My boyfriend, Geza, who had silver eyes and jet-black hair, sent me a letter every single day when I was at the Silver Bay Young Writer’s Retreat, all full of the longing and poetry only a teenage boy can have. Martin wrote his in gold gel ink with J-Pop song lyrics, Catch with green ink and Sin City quotes, Mike in spidery ballpoint pen on loose leaf paper.
In college, Ian wrote me twice a week, packing his envelopes (which he made out of ads, because he’s an artist) with clippings and postcards and all sorts of goodies. My friend Liz and I primarily communicate with letters and have since we graduated. Our whole lives are written down for each other, records of our changing careers and movie star crushes, highs and lows, new boyfriends and new apartments. After all, you can’t send an Uglydoll in an email, like my friend Corey did to announce that, heck yeah, she was moving back to New York after five years working for NASA. (Yes, my friend is a rocket scientist).
A few years ago, I was at a conference in Bloomington and I met this guy, Jake. We wrote each other a few weeks worth of long emails before I suggested that we start writing letters. That was three years ago. In that time, I’ve read about his grad work and graduation, job searches and play rehearsals, meeting Anne, getting engaged to her and marrying her. We’ve never talked on the phone and only exchange emails when it’s something time-sensitive, but we know everything about each other’s lives just through words put on paper. We have this recorded history of each other when I, for the longest time, only had a vague recollection of what he looked like.
(Read his blog Video Game Underworld. It’s awesome. Somewhere I have the letter where he was asking me how he should do it.)
Find or make some awesome stationary (I made postcards out of CD liner notes with brown bag paper glued on the back) and write a letter to a friend. Ask them to write you back and get a pen-pal thing going. Get some kooky postcards (I have some Onion front pages that always get a laugh) and mail them to everyone you know, just for fun.
Fat Bottomed Girls
“History records few overweight sirens” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask A Man
To this, I say Hilda:
More great Hilda pinups can be found here.
Geek Girl Goes Glam 