I'm truly NOT feeling this rapidly escalating "normcore" trend invading cities all over the United States (and Europe). It's not effortless, it's homely. I HATE when unimaginative trends swoop in and destroy an entire generation of fashion, style and taste. The worst part is, the majority of "normcore" offenders are in their early twenties. Your twenties are some of your most naturally sexy years, for it's the time to rock the most wild trends and embark on bold fashion risks (disasters are encouraged and embraced)! It's not the time to be flirting about a bar whilst wearing awful, frumpy chino pants. Wear something fabulous, wear something hideous, wear something insane, something trendy, something glamorous, something ripped up and punk; give your future grandchildren awesome pictures look at one day. I promise you they won't be excited about seeing pictures of you at twenty-two dressed like Jerry Seinfeld (who I adore, but that's beside the point), but they will be truly entertained by images of you sporting fierce faux fur and a blue wig. Have fashion regrets, don't play it safe, you're only young once. Don't waste your youth in khakis. Below are some examples of FABULOUS RISKS (what pictures do you think will amuse your grandchildren? The Picture above or these pictures below?):
My heart is broken to hear about the suicide of Lip Service founder, Drew Bernstein. I can't express how much designers like Drew helped me to establish my identity and become comfortable in my own skin. Since I was a kid, I have always been so passionate about fashion, but never felt like I fit the stereotype or attained the proper aesthetic for the fashion world. Discovering brands like Lip Service showed me that there WAS a place for me in the arms of fashion, and gave me the confidence to stay true to my own definition of style. I'm forever grateful for that. The impact Drew Bernstein had on the lives of the hundreds of thousands displaced punk freaks, like me, is immeasurable. I will never forget my first pair of Lip Service skull tights. I wore them to school and alienated all the uptight Westport, CT bitches with their Kate Spade mini backpacks and hideous juicy couture sweats and highlighted hair. It was such an empowering feeling to find a designer who could create clothing I felt comfortable in. Lip Service was the first brand to encourage me to trust my vision and express myself as a teenager. I'm forever grateful, it shaped who I am.
No matter how old I get
I'm currently stationed solo in a fabulous, bustling Echo Park Coffee Shop (Chango, for you LA babies). It's quite a scene in here, a true gem for anyone searching for something to write about. I find myself on this pressingly hot Monday, drinking a green tea (completely out of character for me, I must be going through something) whilst staring blankly into the vacant, piercing glow of my laptop. I'm in a strange/manic-mood as I had one of those wretched sunday night sleep-sessions, where you find yourself wide-awake at 3am bathed in a pool of your own sweat teeming with anxious ever-spinning thoughts about what the quickly approaching Monday will entail, which metamorphoses into anxious ever-spinning thoughts about what the greater FUTURE will entail. I never find myself traditionally "tired" from a lack of deep-sleep, rather my exhaustion manifests itself in bizarre behavior. I turn into this wild, uncensored loose cannon (punchy, drunk-acting, riding an emotional roller-coaster made up of bouts of joyful giggles peppered with a healthy dose of fleeting dark thoughts). Which is why I firmly decided that rather then writing a focused blog, I am instead going to share my free-flowing (hopefully not, but most likely mean-spirited) THOUGHTS IN THE COFFEE SHOP. I invite you into my inner-world. Enjoy. Have a glass of vino and take a bath.
Does anyone else have this terrible defense mechanism where as soon as they feel even a minor inkling of insecurity, they begin to harshly (and quite meanly) judge the fashion-choices of everyone within their eyeline? It's only 2pm and already I've been traumatized by the sore sight of at least 3 GROWN men (unsuccessfully) attempting to rock leggings ("meggings") with super long, baggy crotches. You know those "pants" (kind of like harem pants, only awful) that have the remarkable ability to unflatter the perfect figure of even a stunningly beautiful, paper-thin, eastern-european, sixteen year old model? Imagine those SAME pants on a repulsive thirty-six year old man with noticeable body odor and a ginger beard to boot (FYI: I'm in NO WAY knocking a ginger beard, I like them as much as the next guy...there just happens to be a excess of them today). Anywhoo--the worst/most hypocritical part of my fashion snobbery is that I get all worked up with swelling superior thoughts about how much better I am at life than these hipster-clowns and just as I'm starting to feel really smug--I catch a glimpse of myself in the window reflection. As i take in my own image, reality cruelly sets in. It hits me like a fist in a delicate moment: I'm by FAR the biggest CLOWN of all CLOWNS, more comical then any hopeless hipster with my desperate bright-red-lipstick, electric-blue-heart-shaped sunnies, and ruffled dress. I look like a misguided teenager meets amateur drag-queen meets slutty snow white meets white girl who is trying/failing to look like a cool japanese girl. SIGH.
When I want to avoid working/being productive/confronting horrendous creative-blockage, I have cultivated this snarky habit of scrolling through my Facebook friends list and stalking those who are newly engaged/married/with-child. I then proceed to sooth my lonely heart with an abundance of (surface) thoughts attempting to convince myself of how I'm so HAPPY to be single and fabulous and FREE. My mean/judgy thoughts are followed by a detailed fantasy where I map out the newly-weds dismal, suburban lives. It's both a creepy AND depressing habit of mine.
Speaking of being "coupled-up" (that term makes me CRINGE) do any of my single boys/girls/bois/grrls find themselves simultaneously loving the freedom of being single and career-oriented all while desperately longing for the cozy reassurance/unconditional love of a solid relationship? It's a very heavy state to live in.
Single life is bloody HARD. No one tells you this when you're about to have a break-up. Everyone feeds you this "empowered" bullshit (which you will feel eventually, but it's going to take time). You need to be fully aware that you're on your own now, girl. You better get your shit together BECAUSE no one is going to take care of you, like a boyfriend or girlfriend does. You're totally holding your own hand and on those vulnerable/hungover days it might feel like far too much to bear (this is often when dangerous, relationship relapses occur). But once you start (successfully) taking care of yourself, you become a super sexy to the outside world. Just don't expect it to happen over night. Rome wasn't built in a day! I had to relearn how to park a car after my last relationship. You don't realize how much your partner takes care of you, until you find yourself sweating and alone on the verge-of-tears whilst trying to parallel park the car.
But eventually you figure out how to park the car.
When I fall down that creepy rabbit hole, and start to deeply (via social media) stalk old "frenemies" on my "friend's list" that I haven't laid eyes on since junior year of high school (those cruel snakes who bullied you in middle school and now are being punished with ratchet split ends and an unfortunate looking spouse), it can SOMETIMES serve as truly uplifting experience. Sometimes it makes my day better, and I'm filled with desire to kiss the ground and THANK the universe that I'm single and feel proud that I REFUSED to settle and that I am ACTIVELY WORKING to have an un-compromised version of EXACTLY what I want (even if it's a frightening BIG risk that could result in major failure/forever loneliness).
Do you ever feel like you're either always growing out your bangs OR contemplating cutting them? It's a vicious cycle!
There is nothing worse then getting dumped whilst wearing Valentino. This happened to someone I know (me) once. It's much better to get dumped in sweatpants. If someone can take in the sight of you in a majorly gorgeous, expensive DESIGNER get-up and still wants to reject you...that's when know shit is rough. At least when you're wearing sweatpants you can blame the sweatpants. You know you must be a effing red-flagged crazy bitch if you're scaring someone off in stunning a Valentino.
I'm going to write a book called "Dumped in Valentino, and other life lows."
Read my Coming Out (AS POSH STORY) right here: