Regina Phalange

I have a love/hate relationship with mani/pedis. The abbreviation for them alone can be hilarious/infuriating when you intend to text your mother, "Hey! Let's get mani/pedis!!" but due to the embarrassment inducing function known as auto correct actually send, "Hey! Lets get many penis!!"

Big Haute Boyfriend Jeans

The funny thing about boyfriend jeans is that boyfriends, in general, do not like them. They are big, baggy and although they may be haute they aren't hot in the traditional sense. 

Boyfriend Jeans: Zara

Leather Jacket: Vintage

Tank Top: Brandy Melville

Clutch: Louis Vuitton

Shoes: Forever 21

The second I put my new Zara selvage denim boyfriend jeans on my actual boyfriend grumbled, "Awwww, where'd your butt go?".  These jeans are a woman's fantasy, they make butts disappear, and for that exact reason they are every man's nightmare. I absolutely love mine and am literally obsessed with riding 'em high and cinching them with a belt. I wore them out on Saturday for date night with my boo and although he wanted to send a search party out for my ass, he eventually warmed up to them and loved the fact that, thanks to my androgynous denim, my derriere was now a highly concealed secret only he knew the contours of. I paired my new loves with a black tank, my black leather jacket, and a chunky pair of 70's style wedges.

We chose Luella for dinner where we had amazing wine, deep conversations about Tom Hanks and after a few drinks I actually convinced Ryan that Wilson the volleyball had won best supporting actor for Castaway. I wanted to be a complete wino and subsist on my Cabernet Sauvignon for dinner, but man cannot live on wine alone and I  ended up pigging out on everything because their food is so bomb. My boyfriend jeans allowed me to indulge in some tasty eats (ricotta filled donuts with lavender honey!) without instantly popping the button off my pants and feeling stylish all the while, win-win.

Hail Mary

self portaits are so artsy...

and necessary when your photographer leaves town.

Large Brass Cross Necklace: Melrose Trading Post

Turquoise Cross Necklace, Silver Cross Bracelet: Brandy Melville



As a real testament to my religious fixation as of late, I am currently listening to Neon Bible by Arcade Fire while writing this post. Jesus has always been my homeboy and my obsession with religious themed jewelry dates back to my Catholic schoolgirl days when I desperately wanted to wear my rosary around my neck as a compliment to the tiny gold cross I donned in support of my main man J.C..  This usage was frowned upon by the nuns, and other clergymen,  at my school because apparently the rosary is for praying not for accessorizing. My passion for the cross was reignited this spring on a trip to Melrose Trading Post while in Los Angeles visiting friends. We were doing a frenetic pre-Coachella sweep of the place when I stumbled upon an amazing sideways gold cross necklace that was screaming my name. The fashion gods must have been smiling down on me because a few weeks later I was appropriately fitted for the second coming of Tupac during Snoop Dogg’s set on the last night of Coachella. Tupac rose from the dead WWJD style to sing me my all time favorite gangsta rap, Hail Mary. Since that mind-blowing night I’ve been oddly obsessed with the song  and I’ve continued to amass the religious inspired accessories. Brandy Melville has some great pious pieces at the moment, including this silver cross bracelet and turquoise cross necklace I just picked up. I like to see just how many sideways crosses I can wear at once and how that number directly correlates to the number of people that ask me if I am a devil worshiper or part of the Occult.

                                                                                   Tupac lives

Big Haute Brigitte

The tousled, larger than life mane, the quintessential French fashion sense, I can never get enough of Big Haute Queen Bee Brigitte Bardot

Orange you glad I look this AMAZE??

That choker is killing it on so many levels

Do I look pretty...of course I do I'm french

 

 

Big Hair at the Beach

The beach is the perfect place to ponder my top knot philosophy...

The bigger the top knot, the warmer the head...

Thus it should follow...

I've got one haute noggin

 

Rad

Vintage sunnies and a massive bun keep me smilin through the cold

 Sunglasses: Vintage

Shawl: Origin Unkown (beyond the chest in the living room)

This past weekend Ryan and I pretended it was warm and ventured to his family's beach house.  Numerous sun dances and countless prayers for any semblance of summer weather were fruitless as we could not will the warmth. Alas, in the wise word's of Ernest Hemingway, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."

Give Me Some Haute Bloglovin

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Manic Monday

Back to the grind! The weekend is over and I am still in denial that it's Monday.  Mornings like these require the least amount of fuss when trying to look presentable to the world, so in honor of hitting the snooze button and burying my head in the pillow for a few more minutes I decided to honor my big haute bedhead superstars! These ladies make rolling out of the sheets and onto the streets look chic. Their tangled tresses, rumpled clothes and the glimmer of crazy in their khol-rimmed eyes make me feel better about not running a brush through my hair and doing a mad grab for anything that resembled clothing before I left the house today.

Kate can't be tamed, and neither can her hair

Ultimate manic monday move- passing off your nighty as daywear

Her topper is the perfect way to disguise an unruly hair swirl

I'm tired, step off

Big Hair in the Big Apple

Stomping it out on the mean streets of NYC

En route to the Warwick as the traveling shoe model for Arthur Beren Shoes
www.berenshoes.com

Sadly, I didn't see Donald and his legendary hair

On my recent trip to NYC for the Fashion Footwear Association of New York Spring 2013 Convention I learned the harsh lesson that big hair and humidity don't mix. New York in the summer means flat limp hair, but not even a bad hair week could dampen my spirits because FFANY rocked my world. This was a  trip dedicated to my favorite accessory, shoes, and it fulfilled all of my wildest shoe fantasies: I met Stuart Weitzman, I modeled amazing footwear and I contributed  to the Arthur Beren Shoes Spring 2013 picks. Basically I died and went to heaven.

Oh hey Stuart...NBD

Trying to act casual but secretly thinking OMG shoes!

Let's get some shoes

These shoes are $300...LET"S GET EM

Casual Friday Conundrum

Of all of life's great mysteries, none is more confusing than what to wear on casual Friday? How casual is too casual? Are these five inch Jeffrey Campbell snakeskin platforms office appropriate? Are jeggings socially acceptable as legitimate pants? This morning, like every successive Friday morning for the last year of my life, I stood in my closet paralyzed by the task of choosing my casual Friday garb. The irony of the situation is that my closet is stuffed to the brim with off-duty attire and sparse on work specific ensembles, so in theory this really shouldn’t be that difficult. I gravitated towards my favorite new Zara sweater, but it’s a bit of a sartorial mullet- business in the front, party in the back.

 
 

I am in desperate, dire need of the length in the back due to the fact that I had a mad late night craving for Annie’s shells and cheese and am really putting the seams of my dark denim jeggings to the ultimate stress test. I'm still haunted by that bunny on the box and his judging eyes.



damn you Annie and your magical crack and cheese

This hi/low knit would normally be a demure pick for me, the chest is COMPLETELY covered, but I’m not sure that this much exposed skin on the flip side is suitable for the business world. My hair, which has now morphed into a full blown hair blanket as a result of not getting cut in the last 3 months, covers most of said sexiness but I'm not taking any risks today.  My level of appropriateness in the office has been sub-par lately; yesterday I wore a chiffon shirt with a black bra underneath, enough said.