|Florentine straw tricorn exclusive for Hippik by House of Nines Design
Corset waistcoat: Bad Button for Hippik
Gloves, skirt, umbrella: vintage
I don't mind at all that “rules” of fashion are up for grabs.
White after Labor Day? Yes!
Shoes don't match your purse? Who cares?!
Hemlines all over the map? Vive la difference!
Non-Scottish guys wearing kilts with hammer loops? I say: Let freedom swing, laddies!
It's given everyone a chance to look absolutely anywhere for fashion inspiration and personal style.
That people of all sizes and ages, color and culture can be style icons.
That hats and gloves are, in fact, useful and mad stylish.
|Yes, it's a selfie. But I was by myself when I opened the box! Too excited to wait!|
What were bad ideas:
No more Sunday Best
Nurses without caps
Nuns kicking the habit.
Whether dressing up for a ball or down for Sunday night football, we play to the costume. During the ritual of getting dressed, whether we are aware of it or not, we slip into that character as we slip into stockings and step into the shoes. The costume in turn inspires confidence in those for whom we dress.
A man dresses like a businessman? Probably means business. Don't waste his time; no one likes wearing ties. But some dude in a polo shirt and khakis? Are we golfing? Working at Best Buy? (And as a side note, business casual, in my opinion, is just another way of casually marginalizing women in the workplace. Those embroidered logo polos? For the most part, a company is too cheap to offer a huge range of cuts and styles. Most men can sort of carry off the polo and khakis and look like they're going golfing with the boss. Women just look like schoolgirls in a boxy pique knit shirt with a too big collar that curls up after one washing.)
A nurse rolling you into an operating room wearing the weirdly folded, crisp white cap of her nursing school inspires confidence that–call me crazy–you just don't get right away from a nondescript hand in shapeless, pilly scrubs–is this person the doctor, a nurse, or just some person who takes away the amputated body parts?
A nun without a proper, recognizable habit says nothing of the rich history of her chosen vocation, her personal sacrifice she's made to a life of service, community and prayer. Anyone can be a bitch in a polyester pantsuit. But a woman in a wimple and a belt made of rosary beads the size of baby fists? That shit gets respect.
Yes, you can fly to Chicago in your sweatpants and flip-flops. Yes, it's very comfy. Ever heard of lycra? They put it in just about everything these days.
Yes, you can go to the grocery store in your pjs. Are you sick and completely friendless? Is that a bottle of Nyquil, a box of tampons and a can of Raid in your cart? As you were. But did you know that ex-boyfriend of yours–the one that you still drunk text? He's in aisle 8 buying martini olives.
He looks fantastic, btw.
Hey–I understand. I'm a middle aged, freckle-faced farm girl–who needs to bother with style?
Why bother getting dressed when you're just nipping out to the grocery store?
But I could have definitely used a martini.