Saturday, September 27, 2008

"Shiny, Tight, and Short Is the Quickest Way to Look Cheap".

Thank you Nina Garcia, Elle "Editor At Large." (What a nice way for Heidi to put it...)

Whew. Good thing this dress isn't tight. Wouldn't wanna look.. cheap or anything. (Now I miss Alex Perry and his overusage of "expensive" on Australia's Next Top Model when describing Alice Burdeu, but with his fabulous Australian accent it was more like "expeenseef." Hee.)




dress- GOinternational
headband- Really long piece of ribbon!

Friday, September 26, 2008

Beauty in the Breakdown

It's FRIDAY yall. This has been the longest week ever. And of course instead of napping first thing when I got home from school like I was planning on doing, (because I have the sleeping habits of a grandma) a camwhore session took place. I had nothing to do with it. Duhs.

Despite the title of this entry and the fact that I'm blasting the Titanic soundtrack, things are good. I'm exhausted, but looking forward to cuddling up with the Grey's Anatomy season premiere. Fingers crossed that no more of this Izzie/George (lawlGizzie) business will ensue (Who am I kidding? I already checked the spoilers. Bahaha.)

^Been doing that all week. If it weren't for my halfasianness, I would probably be bald by the time I hit 30, I shed so much.


leotard- AA
skirt(that isn't even visible..)- made by Anan

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

No Answers, Only Questions (And Some Maybes)

As I heard two girls in Starbucks arguing about chick flicks, I kept hearing the retort of “that would never happen in real life,” I couldn't help but wonder if maybe all of the rules and romantic ideas that they ingrained into our brains as children were the root of our problems. They tell us that Santa exists. Because, they claim, every child should get to experience the magic of Santa. But is it worth the confusion and loss when we find out that it's a hoax? Maybe we spend our whole life looking for perfection and expectations that do not exist. They don't tell us about the worrying, the insecurity, and the inevitable inadequacies. They spent so much energy and time protecting us from the cruel realities of the world that they neglected to realize time would catch up. They taught us to reach for the stars but what if we cannot reach those stars? What happens when we learn that the impossible is not possible? We blame ourselves for being pessimistic but what if that's the reality? Does telling a 'little white lie' actually help in the long-run? Maybe painting a picture of a better world for an innocent child is the ultimate selfish act. A way to absolve yourself of guilt of not taking away the blissful innocence.
Some people respond by attempting to delude themselves into thinking that what they have got is the real thing. Others simply try and try again to find perfection, and on the way throw away completely worthy candidates. But the key to having it all, the dream, is to stop the encoding. To some extent. Stop expecting it to look like what you thought it was going to like. It's only when you face the fact that it won't but it can still be damn good. Maybe having it all exists. It's just wrapped in different wrapping paper and comes with slightly worn out ribbon. Don't miss out on it accidentally while you are looking for it in the wrong place and don't find yourself rejecting it simply because you believe that something else exists out there that is shinier. Chances are, you'll realize your true naivete when it's too late.
Maybe they knew that time would catch up. Maybe the childhood is worth it and we need the childhood in order to grow up and be functional adults. Maybe we're wired so that we need guidelines to follow or else we would get lost. Without the concept of a dream, failure, inadequacy, insecurity, and worrying would also not exist.

"But maybe the best any of us can do is not quit, play the hand we've been dealt, and accessorize what we've got." ~ Carrie Bradshaw

Just Like That, It Can Go From Bad To Cute-- Pt1

Someone people can hear a quick snippet of Britney Spears and instantly recoil because a vivid memory of being asked to dance to this song by an undesirable boy jumps to their mind. Others smell a whiff of perfume and remember the particularly nasty salesperson in Hollister that would not stop talking in her nasal voice at decibels that should be considered inhumane. For me, it's all about the clothes.

Do you ever associate clothing that you wear at a certain time or event WITH that time or event and therefore the ugly events of that day are reminded to you every single time you wear that outfit and so you can never ever bring yourself to wear this outfit because it is now ruined for you?

This is how two of my favorite dresses got ruined: my beloved f21 plaid dress and my cherished floral dress that I bought with MK in SF.

Every time I see my plaid dress hanging there in my closet, getting more and more wrinkly, I remembered exactly (give or take a week) one year ago when I wore this dress to school and the person I was at that moment and the horrifying taste I had in people in general, and the ridiculousness of the situation. And what was going to be in store for me.

And when I see the pink floral pattern, I am instantly reminded of my SpiceGirls coma that was induced by a stupid boy (Why is it always a stupid boy?!) who apparently did not understand the concept of making promises and that in some social situations (erm, ALL) perhaps that breaking certain promises would be considered leading a girl on. And then I am reminded of how naive I was, and that things like this only happened to dumb girls. I was a dumb girl.

Can you ever really erase the negative memories that have become to deeply associated an outfit, or will it continue to plague you?

I set out this morning in order to answer this question.

I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

EDIT 1: So apparently having a really good day would be key. Therefore, consider this to be continued..

Sunday, September 21, 2008

That The Bruised Heart Was Pierced Through The Ear.

When I was going through my whole emo phase, I decided that in order to fully embrace the culture, I needed to do something rebellious and something that involved metal. Ear piercings. I had always wanted a second piercing and ever since the extremely memorable scene in the 1998 version of The Parent Trap (back when Lindsay Lohan wasn't crazy and lesbian, speaking of which, OMG GUEST JUDGE FOR PROJECT RUNWAY? Since when did her horrible leggings line deem her a fashion designer. Ahhhhh) in which Hallie pierces theonewiththeBritishaccent's ear. See how cute she/they is/are!


Thus, I double pierced my ears with the Parent Trap technique. And it worked!
This morning I decided I wanted a triple pierce and so..

Without further ado, I present to you...


You will need:
-Rubbing alcohol (You should probably check the expiration date. I didn't. Until after. Umm.. Yes.)
-Pink lipgl-- Wait. What's that doing there?! Besides looking pretty...
-Fattyass safety pin. I mean it. Size does matter. This itty bitty pin that is shown here...did not work.. more about that later.
-A couple of Q-tips
-A thinly sliced apple chunk
-Some guts (Represented here by the pretty tube filled with pink liquid.)
-An earring with a pointy tip (I couldn't find a pointy tipped one, but it still works.. It just means you'll need to use more force.
-A door that locks so that nosy parents don't walk in and demand what the hell you are doing.

Step #1: Drown everything in your non-expired rubbing alcohol, your earring, the safety pin, the apple... BUT DO NOT LET THE RUBBING ALCOHOL TOUCH YOUR EAR DIRECTLY. This will dry out your earskin (that sounds like.. nvm) and the wound as well later on.

Step #2: Cover your pin in the neosporin ointment and position the apple chunk behind your ear. Firmly grab your ear and the apple with your hands and in a deft movement pierce your ear with the pin. It will probably not work the first time you try it. You might have chickened out. You might not have applied enough pressure. You need to apply tons. (Now, first time I did this, I used the itty pitty pin. It went in smoothly but when I tried to get the earring in, the hole that the pin created was not large enough to shove in my earring. Very bad. So actually go find a huge safety pin and don't be lazy like I was.)


Step #3: Try Step #2 again. If you do it correctly, it should pierce all the way through to the apple cushion. It makes a delightfully crunchy sound when it hits the apple.

Step #4: Don't feel proud or badass yet. That was the easy part. Leave the safety pin in for about 3 minutes. This gives it enough time to let the hole fully for and let you take badass pics of bits of metal poking in your ear! However, don't get too carried away.. we dont want the wound to begin healing with your safety pin still stuck in there.




Step #5: Quickly remove the safety pin with a firm yank and take your earring that you have so cleverly remembered to smear with neosporin. Shove the earring through that hole that you just created. Do. Not. Be. Gentle. This takes a buttload of force. If you hear a popping noise/sensation, don't be scared. That's what's supposed to happen. (I hope..)Also, if you at this point see a little blood, that's normal as well. Once it is in, smear the back and front of the hole with neosporin and rotate the earring a few times.

Step #6: Let it be. DO NOT PUT A BACKING ON YET. Don't touch it. If you can, put your hair up. If your parents are like mine, they won't really even notice it! Admire your pretty new piercing and perhaps give it a name.

If you are afraid of needles, pain, blood, the wrath of angry asian mothers, and doing all of this to yourself, I would recommend popping by your nearest Claire's store and getting it done there. Anan won't judge you. Suede won't either.


I just reread this entire post. Teehee it sounds so dirty.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

I Was Your Silver Lining But Now I'm Gold



Yoinked this delicious belt from my sister. Tis tricky gold color to match with most clothes but I cherish it to bits. The rouched texture also makes me happy. Hurrah for simple pleasures.

dress: thrifted, ripped apart and resewn
belt: Nordstrom
shoes: Delicious

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The Lily Wraps Her Silver Vest

Any fan of the hit television show Friends is aware of The List. (For the two of you reading that have no idea what I'm talking about, SHAME ON YOU! Stop living under a rock and watch this fabulous show. Basically The List is a list of people that you and your significant other both understand that given the opportunity, you would totally be allowed to sleep with/pursue anyone on this list) Lily Donaldson is on my list. (I'm not sure if the SMB is aware of that fact).

First of all her style is absolutely amazing. None of her pieces are at all complex (which makes it really quite easy to get inspired) and they look so effortless and put-together.

Eeee I love fatty belts.
-adds leather jacket and black denim mini to list of wants-
Must get black AA lamé leggings. Pronto.
Love the navy blazer.
Finally, a female is able to pull off the tie. (Take note, Avril Lavigne.)
Shiny! (Firefly, anyone?)
Scandy! And it kind of works.

Crap. I really need to find some fashion inspiration that involves colors. Er denim blue is a color right?!

She's also kind of fieeeeeeeerce (I definitely just waggled my finger. Ew.) on the catwalk (I need to stop watching Project Runway australia {DID ANYONE SEE THE FINALE? OH MY GOD} runway.





She has the most interesting and plain pretty editorials. She looks like a porcelain doll. Loves it!








^ Possibly one of my favorite fashion editorials ever. This could have so easily looked trashy and she looks stunning.

Yeah... Is she on your 'List' now? (No, SMB she can't be on yours, ;] )

I Bet You Changed Your Wardrobe Since We Met

Black and white and loose tops and tiny skirts.
All my faves.



shirt: random xxl tank top I found in my closet...
skirt: Bread & Butter
shoes: Delicious

And I Call You Cutthroat Bitch, Well, Quod Erat Demonstrandum. And I Speak Latin Because I Don't Try To Hide What An Ass I Am.

This rant is dedicated to two kinds of persons. Extremely opposite persons. The power-crazed bitch and the ridiculously kind knight in shining armor. They both happen to be teachers at my school. And today, they both made me cry. I should probably start from the beginning.

As part of my halfasian culture, my asian mother has always emphasized the importance of math. Nevermind the fact that she herself cannot do half the homework problems I am assigned in math class, being in the highest math lane at school is not just a shiny trophy, it's a must. For example, my mom thought it was a priority for me to learn how to solve systems of equations in third grade. Yeah, I was that kid. Then, in sixth grade, at the prestigious (barf) private allgirls school, my parents decided that the curriculum wasn't stimulating my brain enough, so I got extra work. Anyway. Summary of this paragraph: math=supergood in the asian culture. However, you probably could have deduced this from well.. going to high school.

That's why deciding to drop down from BC Calculus AP to AB Calculus AP was a superbig decision in my household. My dad even said "Oh my god, it's like you are telling us you want a sexchange operation" when I first brought it up. Anyway, after a bit of ranting, I was able to get them to agree that this decision was a good one.

Then I had to get the signature of the main head person type thing of the math department. Can I just take a second to describe this hellish figure of a woman? Yes, of course I can. This is my blog. She's basically the bastard child of Sarah Palin and Professor Umbridge. Except with clumpier mascara. And uglier shoes. And every time she talks to you, she speaks in a super soft kind voice that draws you in, but in actuality she is telling you how badly you fucked up your life and how doesn't it suck when we cannot get the things we want and how she wishes so badly she could help you but you are a terrible person, so she can't? Anyway, apparently I was a sinner because I waited SO LONG (a week) to transfer out of this class and how she could not possibly let me when all of her AB Calculus classes were so ridiculously full. (Except that the BC Calculus class that I am currently in has 4 more people than any of the classes I am trying to switch into.) At this point however, meek little Anan just took the BS and decided to wait until people dropped out of the class she wanted.

Three weeks later. Anan is sort of failing BC Calc and not one but two people have transferred out of said desired class! So of course I ran off to Cutthroat Bitch and seriously I should not have been surprised, but once again, she said I could not transfer in. But that she supposed I could maybe talk to the teacher of the class and see what she thought. The teacher was fine with it. But alas, the next day Cutthroat Bitch would not sign my petition for a schedule change. Apparently, the woman is not aware of the meaning of a WAITING LIST. Between talking to the teacher and talking to Cutthroat Bitch, another student had requested to switch into the very same class and apparently an "awkward situation" was created, where the teacher did not want to pick between two prospective students. Okay hold up. I know who this other student is. She told me if they only let one person in, I could have the spot. Also, HELLO WAITING LISTS EXIST FOR A REASON. SO THESE "AWKWARD" SITUATIONS NEVER BECOME A PROBLEM. Ninnies.

It was at this point where my general aggravation at this woman for legitimately making me feel bad about myself kicked in and the tears started rolling. Okay, I usually never cry. Ever. Unless I'm watching Ice Age. For some reason, that movie gets me every time. I timed it. It took Cutthroat Bitch 3 minutes until she handed me a tissue. It was when she started talking about how "honest" she had been with me throughout this entire process that I kind of had enough and just got up and left.

Anyone who has ever been at high school knows that being seen crying is possibly one of the worst things to have happen at school. You get those fake bitches who never ever talk to you come up and ask really loudly in squeaky voices "WHAT'S WRONGGGGG???" and they add extra syllables to everything. Thank god I did not encounter any of those kind.

It was at this point that I decided to pay my beloved BC Calculus teacher a visit. I can't decide if I want this man to be my father, brother, or husband. There is quite possibly something wrong with me. The second I walked into his room, I knew that visiting him was the right decision. He was sitting in his room alone and the lights were all off and he was blasting some music (really good music actually, I had never heard of it, which therefore reinforces the fact that it was probably good music) and he happily exclaimed "Oh my god, you have caught me rocking out!" to which I wittily replied "-legasp- I thought math teachers just hung out by themselves solving equations in their free time." Okay shut up. I thought it was witty. Anyway, I had been changing my mind on a daily basis of whether or not I was dropping his class so the poor guy had no idea exactly what decision I had made at any given moment. Then I explained to him about Cutthroat Bitch. Now, she's his boss and all so he cannot exactly say anything bad about her, but my god, I could totally tell he knew exactly what I was talking about as I explained her eccentric logic in assigning people to classes.

There exists a rare person who can overwhelm you with his understanding of a situation and at that moment, I started crying again. This was probably because of PMS, the fact that he is kind of a very attractive man, and aftershock of Cutthroat Bitch. I don't even remember what exactly he said but I do know that I walked into that classroom overwrought and emotional and I walked out of that classroom feeling like I could probably kick someone's ass. I mean that in the best way possible.

And now I have to go running. Before I start throwing shiny things at people. Or stuffed animals.

However before I do, the moral of the story is that the world is filled with powercrazed bitches and if you're lucky, you might just find a knight in shining armor of a math teacher.

Monday, September 15, 2008

But My God, It's Beautiful When The Boy Smiles

A boy at one of the public high schools in my town died in his sleep last night of natural causes. It got me thinking..

There's this girl I know from way back when. Let's call her Stacy. She's pretty much one of those people that you look at and get really annoyed at because she has so much potential to be successful. What do I mean by successful? I mean, a happy person. But no, she is riddled with insecurities that lead her to paranoia. Stacy is desperate but she won't settle for just anything or anyone. No, even though she has no one and nothing, she still believes deserves the best. And so Stacy exists in a constant state of sadness because the cream of the crop has not yet passed her way and that somehow life is out to get her.

I used to be her. And it scares me to see Stacy because I could have so easily turned into her. It's kind of like how Frodo is both fascinated and horrified by Gollum. He sees how easily he could turn into a worshipping monster, a slave to his lust for the One Ring. And yet, at the same time, Gollum serves Frodo as a positive reminder, showing how far he is from this beast.

"Cold be heart and hand and bone. Cold be travelers far from home."

I don't know exactly at what point I stopped being Stacy. In my private allgirls middle school I prided myself in how secure and happy I was with myself. This kind of died when I started high school. So.. apparently not then. Teenage angst coupled with just being naive in general about everything lead to stupid decisions with wrong people. (Okay I know that sounds like I turned into a crackwhore who made special friends with boys on motorbikes, but I swear that's not what I mean.) And then I got over it all. I had a boyhating phase. Until I found this one boy who I didn't hate very much. He was... tolerable, I suppose. (<-- Pride and Prejudice reference anyone?) For once, everything was simple and sort of fell into place by themselves. There wasn't a fuckload of drama drama that ended up with nothing but unhappy people and ridiculous rumors. I actually spent a week thinking that somehow something would swoop in and destroy everything horribly. Nope, instead for once, it was perfect and more importantly, it involved a pretty perfect person.

It's simple at first. Everything falls in place around it. Everything is simple. Until suddenly you find yourself sitting in your head and everything gets complicated. All the things you promised you would never do. Compromise things, fall into the trap of overanalyzing, worry when there is nothing to worry about, become horribly aware of all those little faults you have known all your life but had been pretty sure you hadn't let anyone in close enough to figure out. Fuck. I had turned into that girl.

But then the day comes when you find out that it doesn't count as a compromise, not when he's involved. And the overanalyzing is just a plight of girlkind. And that you only worry because you care and that you are just slightly neurotic in general. And those little faults? He might just find them adorable.

At the end of the day, things are always still simple. And it's always nice to have a boyfriend ready to dispense hugs as the weather gets cold and you stubbornly refuse to wear pants, and instead don your ridiculous miniskirt. Yes, I use my boyfriend as an accessory. It's okay, he's slightly metro. He understands.

No Emotional Baggage, Just Big Bags Filled With Dior

Not exactly Dior...



dress: GOInternational
shoes: Delicious

Sunday, September 14, 2008

You Got Me Tripping, Stumbling, Flipping, Fumbling, Clumsy Cause I'm Falling In Love

When I was little, I used to run around the house and it was not uncommon to see me run into tabletops and injure myself. This was not just an awkward phase thing that just sort of melts away as time passes. No, it is still very much with me. It's not like I don't look where I'm going.. I just sort of end up banging into things. My legs are usually the main victims. It's kind of embarassing to wear miniskirts not because of the obvious reason, but because my legs are usually covered in dark bruises. It's alright though, my SBM usually takes most of the heat of being accused of being abusive.
I like to think that this all has a deeper meaning, perhaps that I have grown stronger and created a tough outer shell from all of these injuries. But no, it just means that my telomers are shorter because my DNA has had to replicate more in those areas. Great.
And yes, I did just write a blog entry on possibly the most mundane thing I could think of.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

If You Could Be My Garage Band King, I Would Be Your Punk Rock Princess.

I found this old petticoat that was an awkward length and that I never used and tore it apart and found myself surrounded in a sea of black tulle/netting/no idea what the actual fabric is called. (I'm sure the SMB will call me on this later!)

Anyhow, I imagine if a skanky emo fairy decided to take ballet, this would be the outfit it would choose.




dress: made by anan
shoes: isaac mizrahi
belt: thrifted

Thursday, September 11, 2008

...And That Sunnydale And All Of This, None Of It Was Real.

There's an episode [Normal Again, Season 6] of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Buffy is struck by a demon's talons and she is poisoned. She wakes to find herself being stabbed with needles by orderlies in an asylum. She starts having these vivid episodes where she is in a patient mental hospital. A doctor calmly informs her that she has been sick for years and that the entire "slayer" role and her gang of friends are all a figment of her imagination, to help her feel like she is special and that she has a role in the world. In these "hallucinations" we see that her previously thought dead mother is actually alive and that her parents never divorced. With the coaxing and therapy of her doctor, she decides that she prefers this "normal" life with her parents and Buffy attempts to destroy the things that tether her to the "fantasy" life of the Slayer: her friends. She almost does, but at the last moment, the antidote is shoved down her throat and she realizes what she is doing. However, because Joss Whedon is a sick bastard, he crafts the episode so that in the end, the audience is left wondering if the possibility that the real Buffy Summers is actually a very sick and scared child is actually the real truth, and that the previous 6 seasons of this television show have been a lie.


"Cause what’s more real? A sick girl in an institution, or some kind of supergirl, chosen to fight demons and save the world? That’s ridiculous."

What if I'm a crazy kid in a mental institution?

[God. This is why I need to stop listening to Avril.]

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

You Know You Love Me, XOXO....

Gossip Girl. Good evening Bay Area-ers. I read the books. At age 11. Was scarred by all the sex scenes and hardcore party scenes.

Everyone who is anyone is watching it. Reading this and disagree with me? Yeah, point proven.

What is so intoxicating about this show? Is it the snarky voice-overs of girlcrush Kristen Bell? Or the cheekbones of one Charles Bass? Or is it even in the slight hope that once again a catfight of two excruciatingly gorgeous rich bitches will grace our flatscreen televisions? My theory: the clothes. Think about it. Josh Schwartz has once again achieved popular success that rivals and probably even topples the popularity of his previous gem: The O.C. Sure, the writing on the show can be witty (and sometimes cringe-worthy, Motherchucker, anyone?) and the acting isn't BAD. (Have you seen the chemistry between Chuck and Blair? Damn.) The plot twists are not too predictable either.. (Okay so we did see Serena's little brother being outed, Oh wait no. That was me. Reading spoilers. Oops!)

Sex and the City. A show ridiculously popular with the women. And a few men as well. When the movie (horrible, by the way) came out in theatres, women flocked to the theaters. No surprise there. However, all of they came clad in their armor and Carrie Bradshaw-inspired attire. Sitting in the theatre for 2+ hours in tight-fitting clothes? That's love right there. I still have problems with much of what Carrie wore on the show, however.. there's enough ranting for a whole nother post about that one.

Blair Waldorf, my hero. Why? Her insecurities and general paranoia about anything and everything in her life. Her need to be obsessively in control of any situation. Her friendship with mother figure Dorota and Dorota's party planning abilities are too cute. Her need to convince herself that she is not in fact a scheming bitch. But she totally is. But we totally forgive her. Because she is the epitome of fabulous. It is a difficult task to shine whilst standing next to glamour girl Serena van der Woodsen who has legs up to there, and yet she pulls it off. While wearing a headband! Can we ask for any more from this girl? (The answer is no. Except maybe be our bffl?)

Without further ado, I present to you the..
Top Ten Outfits of Queen B:

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The dress is nice and all. (Okay it's gorgeous.) But I barely noticed because I cannot stop staring at that headband. Wants it. My preciousss.

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I want this entire outfit. And possibly a bright pink lollypop to accessorize. (Tried and probably failed to copy this headband with a patterned headscarf. Previously mentioned slighty metro boyfriend definitely picked up on the influence.)

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I have a relationship with this outfit similar to the one I have with my mother. I kind of love and am disgusted by it. At the same time. I would wear every single part of that outfit. In fact, I want it all. Just maybe not together. The cape itself however, steals this #8 spot all on it's own.

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I like to think that Blair and Chuck are matching in this picture. Headband plus adorable dress = made of win. I also want her hair. And it doesn't make me feel any better knowing that Leighton Meester wears a wig for the character of Blair Waldorf.

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Turban headband. Loves it! I would never imagine wearing all that together, but once again B rules. I think they should do an episode where Blair visits California and redoes my wardrobe.

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Navy Blue. White. Red. Our little Blair is oh so patriotic. Everything matching. Bright flahes of red? Little J totally tried to steal that look but with purple. Nice try, Jenny. (By the way, have we seen her new haircut? Don't get me started. Okay, just one comment, Why. Would. She. Do. That. just as she's trying to launch her modeling career with IMG Models? Seriously.)

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So many amazing pieces. And they actually work without being too busy. I kind of want some sheer white tights now. What would I wear them with?! (Does it matter?)

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I so love that Blair wears this to hang out with her friends at home. I think I would make up an excuse to leave my house just so that I could wear this. In fact, I definitely do that all the time. Social pariah. I think I have an unhealthy obsession with these turban headbands. In fact, has there been ANY outfit without a headband? Oh dear.

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Lacy black tights. Amazingly textured slip dress? A jeweled headband? AND she's in the middle of corrupting little J? We want to be her. Or at least have this outfit. Or at the very least the tights. In 8 colors.

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Squee! Cape! [EDIT: Slightly metro boyfriend has informed me that "cape" is actually "shoulder shawl" One of many reasons we keep him around.] Tights! Purse! Dress! Apparently I can't form actual sente- oh, there we go. If I could marry an outfit, (Yes yes, I would have serious mental issues) it would be this one. As the slightly metro boyfriend proclaimed "Jesus christ, that entire outfit. Just works."

You Know You Love Me, XOXO...