In Defense of The Gap

So I'm fully aware that The Gap is having financial problems or existential problems or probably a combination of the two. My mom is an accounting professor, and over the past few years or so, she has assailed me (more than once) with threats and tales of how one of my favorite stores is struggling to keep its head above water. A quick glance at the Gap website affirms this. In the past year or so, gap.com has become a strange mix of funky little movies, ugly outfits and fashion advice from Patrick Robinson, who remains better known to me for his Go! International Line at Target and the mega cute shirt I bought from said line. Gap does seem to be playing the role of the Jan Brady of the fashion world, its expensive celebrity models and flashy video begging for just one look while the whole of our culture stares complacently at the competitors' shiny, well-loved hair.

Today, on one of my favorite websites (jezebel.com), there is a post about The Gap, and the general consensus among the readers is that it sucks. Lots of readers have commented about how they have long since left the Gap behind for the greener pastures of H&M and Forever 21. I, however, sat reading the comments, feeling left out. I still like The Gap! In fact, I have a coupon from there that I fully intend on using before it expires on Saturday. To me, The Gap is STILL the number one place for denim (I can find the Curvy kinds I like in the petite size I need), and lately, I have found some really cute dresses there as well. I am just filled with Gap love!

My love for The Gap started when I was in the 7th grade. I'll never forget it. I had just made the giant leap from the kids department (at the time we didn't have "tween" shops like Justice or Limited II where I currently spend more money than I care to think about) to the juniors. My wardrobe was hurting. I remember having one pair of Levi's jeans that were a size 3 in an extra slim fit (it's been awhile....) that I wore with these uber heavy turtleneck tunics and Sam and Libby white leather ballet flats. I believe that the turtleneck tunics had roses embroidered on them. Anyway, my mom noticed my scant wardrobe one weekend and told me to get ready...we were going to Johnson City!!!! I remember just being so amazed; I think she was just sick of having to wash out my jeans three times a week. Growing up in southwest VA, Johnson City represented a sort of fashion mecca. It was about an hour and a half away, and it was the home of East Tennesse State University, where my mom had gotten her bachelors. To me, it was madly metropolitan. Hells bells--they even had an Olive Garden. So we packed up and drove over. I remember my mom parking near the Ruby Tuesday and telling me that we would eat there and that they kept the plates for their salad in some sort of chiller so that everything tasted fresh....I couldn't imagine anything more classy. After our Ruby Tuesday meal, we walked down the glittering hall of the Johnson City mall. On the right there was (and there still is--I bought a dress there when I was home for Christmas) a Gap. I had heard of the Gap from the beloved Seventeen, YM, and Sassy magazines I subscribed to. We went in. I remember it being like love at first sight. Everything looked so...perfect. I tried on everything. This ended up being our only stop because I was able to find so many things. I remember my favorite outfits being a pair of pallazzo pants with tiny flowers on them, paired with an olive green short sleeved sweater, a black jacket, and (gasp) a black hat, not so unlike the one Blossom wore on her regular Monday night 8:30 slots. I also managed to find a pair of low-rise jeans that broke the bank at $50 and that I paired with a white long sleeved t-shirt with a picture of San Francisco on the front (I never imagined that I would live near the city immortalized on my favorite tee!). I was in heaven.

And through the years, there have been many perfect pieces found at the Gap. I've had two denim jackets from there, and probably should be looking at buying a third. The outfit I was wearing when I first caught my husband checking out my ass was from the Gap. I got through the bulk of my college career with one wool skirt, a pair of wool pants and a few oxford shirts from the Gap. And although now it is not always my first stop fashion-wise, I always make a point to check it out.

Many argue that the Gap cannot find its target audience and that it is constantly toeing the everpresent tight rope between wanting to appeal to teenagers or their mothers. Possibly this is one reason why I find the Gap so damn appealing--because I am toeing that line myself. As a very young mom, I like things that grasp my "young maturity." Maybe this is why it works for me... Plus, it sure doesn't hurt that I can pick up stuff for my kids next door at Gap Kids. With its mix of well-made basics and cute foundations, the Gap totally fits into my current life, just as it did when I was a smart assed 7th grader.

So what are your feelings about the Gap? Do you shop there? Do you feel their look fits your life? Or is it just a remnant of the bygone past before the days of H&M and its ilk?

When Something You Love Doesn't Love You Back

Ok, so remember that time that I wrote that post about that lovely little hooded cardi that I picked up at American Eagle right after Christmas? (Of course you do, and if you don't, skip down a post, and you can read all about it.) Ok, here's the thing. I love that damn thing, as I do all cardigans, but folks, this week I learned that cardigans just don't love me back.

So I wore that cardigan the day after I wrote that post. I put it on that morning with some jeans and a white scoopneck tee from the Gap. I thought I looked sporty, and just perfect for making binders, which is what I had to do that day (this requires me to sit on the floor and stuff things, and it's something you just don't wear heels to do). I left my house feeling sassy. However, about halfway through the day, I made my regular journey to the ladies' room. The person I saw in the mirror was NOT what I expected. The person I saw in the mirror weighed a good 10-15 pounds more than me. This person looked sloppy--her t-shirt looked, well, defeated, and the cardigan just hung open, sadlike, exposing a soft, Buddha belly that I really didn't know I had. I think my exact words upon seeing this image were, "Oh my STARS!" Anyway, I did the best I could to remedy the situation--I put on some lip gloss, I fluffed my hair, and I situated the cardigan just so. Suddenly I looked like myself again. I skipped on down the hall, happy with the fact that I had averted crisis.

But here's the thing. Lip gloss doesn't stay on forever, and cardigans that are situated just so are not apt to stay that way. As I left the building that afternoon, I caught a glimpse of myself in a glass doorway. Holy shit--did I shrink? How are my legs getting shorter? I got in the car and rode home listening to the Moz and feeling sorry for myself. It didn't help that it was raining like crazy. My life suddenly felt like a bad Lifetime movie with lots of hit you over the head metaphors. The world seemed to be wilting...like my sweater (shit, that's a simile, isn't it? Damn.).

I was pretty sure of what was up, but of course I blamed everything else. My jeans must have been wrong--maybe that fondue I ate was finally making its appearance--that t-shirt is getting a little long in the tooth, isn't it? The next morning I got up and put on my black corduroy pencil skirt (one of my faves) and a slimming black tank. On top I put on my berry cardigan from J. Crew. I love this thing--the color makes me look well-rested and spritely and it's pearl buttons make me feel all classy. Surely this ensemble would not disappoint.

But yeah, well, I'm guessing you know what happened. Midday bathroom break, and there I stand, wondering again how I've managed to get so fat in the middle of the day. And not even that--my weight has redistributed. Instead of being the hippy girl that I normally am, I suddenly see myself with this ginormous gut. I quickly figure out that it, indeed, is the cardigan. I just don't look good in them. In fact, the results are downright abysmal. If they are situated just right, I look fine--put together, cute, and well-dressed. If they are not, I look a lot like my dad. In a skirt. No offense to my dad of course.

But here's the bitch of it: I can't say that I really care that much. I really like cardigans, especially these two. They make me happy when I see them hanging in my closet--hells bells, I'm even currently watching another J. Crew one on ebay right now. Sure, they don't look stellar on me, but I'm willing to overlook that. How effed up is that? It's kind of like childbirth--you never remember just how bad it is, and that's why you're willing to hop back into bed with your significant other in six weeks. If you remembered, he would sleep on the couch and make do with a porno flick and bottle of Lubriderm for the REST OF HIS LIFE. It's just like that. I see the sweaters in my closet and I think, "Oh wow, that would be great. Let me put that on and feel hot!" only to find out at lunch time that I've been walking around all day disguised as a plumber.

So ladies, I want to know: Is there any item of clothing that you love so much that you don't give a damn what it looks like on you? Do you wear it often? Do you go out and look for others?

As you can see, I've picked out two cardigans here--the top is from J. Crew and is what I currently have (it's great--if you like this things and look good in them, you should buy it), and the bottom is from Banana Republic and is an outfit that I would love to have. See how classy and wonderful cardigans are? Body be damned, I'm sticking with them.

I'm Not Dead. Ho ho ho!

I haven't posted in a while, mostly because it's the holiday season, and if you're a mom (or know a mom, or well, technically, are a human being who lives in the Western world and has some understanding of holiday norms and such) you know that now is not the time that one has a lot of extra time for snarking on other people's clothes. Thus, my absence. Don't get me wrong--I love the holidays. My house is the brightest on the block (for reals) and I have a plethora of baked goods at any given time (today I have a huge bag of hazelnut crinkles on my desk, which I have been snacking on when no one is looking). But all the gifting and merriment can get a little...tiring. Thus, again, my outward appearance is somewhat lacking and not befitting of someone who write about this kind of stuff. I actually have on a full face of make-up today, for the first time in a week. Yes, folks, it's gotten that bad.

But I am excited to report that I am....going home for 10 days after the holidays! YEA!!!!!!! I haven't been home in a year, and I have been getting a little homesick the last little bit. Of course, this unlocks a whole ton of questions, the most important of which is...what will I wear? As soon as I made the flight reservations, I went to my closet to contemplate. What were my absolute favorite things that I have to have with me? If you haven't done this in a while, I invite you to do it. Even if you are not going on a trip, it can be an eye opening experience just to look at your closet, and pick out the few items you wear regularly, and don't feel you can do without. Not only does it show you where the gaps are in your closet (I realized that I had little practical footwear to wear with skirts and tights), it can tell you a little about your personal style, and ultimately, yourself.

Here is my list of things in my closet I love. I really want to pack them all, but I'll probably have to have my husband do the actual packing, as he is somewhat of a master at this kind of thing, and I, sadly, am not.
--J. Crew trouser jeans (you knew this was on here)
--my Gap curvy bootcuts and my new Gap long and leans (should be here today (!) and will hopefully replace the old Long and Leans that I have worn to death)
--J. Crew purple merino (lightweight, slim fit)
--J. Crew purple dream sweater (a bit heavier and a bit blousier--what can I say? Purple is my signature color!)
--J. Crew berry cardigan
--J. Crew black cord pencil skirt
--Ann Taylor black turtleneck
--Maggy London red wrap dress (my husband and I are going to go on dates while we are home due to the introduction of free, happy babysitting, and this has to be the dress--it is both of our favorites, and joy of all joys, doesn't not wrinkle)
--Gap black henley sweater dress (again, should be here today--I put it on here preemptively because I love it, got it for a good price, and bought it for the trip)
--J. Crew purple puff sleeve t-shirt (cute with jackets and really comfy)
--Gap black velvet jacket (had it for years, and only wear it at the holidays)
--Isaac Mizrahi cord zebra skirt (this skirt is how I knew Allie at My Wardrobe Today was my fashion sister--I bought this skirt eons ago and it got buried in my closet, despite my love for it. When I saw her rock it (I think the first day I saw her blog), I knew I had to dig it out and check her blog everyday!)
--Banana Republic black shawl collar sweater
--Banana Republic blue bateau neck sweater (when it comes in....)
--my W&M hooded sweatshirt (sorry! Totally a fashionista don't, but I do love it so!)

When I created this list, I ran my eyes over it and realized that I can make a lot of outfits with these things. And frankly, I pretty much do. While I do have other items in my closet (especially when I include work-out clothes and that kind of thing), these are the items I reach for day in and day out, so even when I'm feeling uninspired, I manage not to look that bad. And it's funny--just now as I was typing each of these, I felt myself smile at the thought of each item. These are all items I feel proud to own and take home to show my parents.

As far as shoes go, I basically love all of my shoes (he he!), but have to think of practicality. Since I'm from a place with lots of gravel roads and cold temperatures, I will only be taking one pair of heels when I venture back home. The rest of my shoe wardrobe will depend on how my two newest purchases turn out--I finally bit the bullet and ordered two pairs of tall boots! One pair is black leather, and the other is brown suede. When they come in, I'll have to make some decisions about what to take, as boots can be bulky in the bags, and I don't like to think about my husband's face when I tell him I need him to squeeze not one, but two pairs of boots into my bag. I will also be taking my Merrell mary jane-inspired sneakers, as they are comfy and cute, and my grandmother will not hound me about wearing uncomfortable shoes if I'm wearing them.

I will try to post more (holiday and child permitting) about my newest purchases, and also about my packing. Seriously, I'm not sure if anyone else out there is taking a holiday vacay (I'm sure someone probably is), but packing can be an eye opening experience. Embrace it (and then leave the hard stuff to the fellas)!

What Not to Wear to an Informal Job Interview

Ladies, I'm putting my foot down. I have been thinking of writing this post for a while, but I thought that perhaps I'm just being mean and ranty, and you guys know how I feel about a lot of these things already, so I held it all in. NO MORE! Today someone came to our office for an interview in....low rise jeans and a cropped shirt. NO NO A THOUSAND WORLDS OF NO. It's like God looked down from his post on high and said, "I will send this girl into the midst of the Morgan, and I will force Morgan to write something about this craziness! Let it be so!" And before you fire off an angry missive letting me know that the creator of man has better things to do than to care about me making fun of other people's clothes, I submit that if God didn't care about what we look like, he would not have made cashmere. So there.

So, because I want to please both deities and humans alike, I've created a handy dandy list of things you mustn't ever do if invited to a personal interview with either our company or another informal place. The reason I think this is important is because more and more companies are doing informal interviews--I have seen countless interviews taking place at the Starbucks across the street where both parties are dressed in jeans, and seem relaxed. Most companies who do this kind of thing let you know ahead of time that suits are not required--we send out emails explicitly telling people to dress as they would for a tutoring appointment, that we are not a formal kind of place. The strange thing about informal interviews, however, is that everyone has a different, slightly nuanced idea of what informal is. To some it means "not a suit" and to others it may mean "jeans are ok." I have tried to keep this in mind, and create nothing but big flaming "DO NOT DO'S" that are do not do's no matter where you interview. I will save the "Please Do's" for another time and place.

1. Do not wear a t-shirt with a logo or a slogan on it. We all have these shirts--you know, the witty ones that you wear around the house that say something biting or something cute or tell the world what brand of pants you have on. I've seen fashion blogs that say to not buy these things, that they are the devil, and while I agree that shirts that spell out "BEBE" across your ta-tas are a bit tasteless, I would not give up my "Good Grammar Doesn't Cost a Thing" or my "Ain't No Party Like a Scranton Party" tshirts for love nor money. However, an interview of any kind is not the time to break out your tee. You want to show us your personality through your answers--not have us read it on your chest. Further, you don't want to risk offending someone if they don't particularly get your sense of humor or like the brand of clothes you are pimping. A couple of weeks ago, we had an interviewee show up in a tight t-shirt that promoted some fake beach--it was one of those Abercrombie things that says something funny but is supposed to look vintage. To this day, I can't remember a damn thing about her except that she was the "beach" girl. Plus, a t-shirt is a bit casual for even the most casual of interviews. Find something else.

2. Same goes for your ripped, faded "weekend jeans." Yeah, it's informal, and yeah, jeans are fine in a lot of cases. But if you wear them to be comfortable or you could feasibly have once seen something similar on Bret Michaels, they're not for the interview. Darker is always better, and your jeans should be crisp and fit you well. Also, check the hems--there should be no holes or loose threads or any of that. I don't think I have to tell you why this is a bad idea--ripped, soiled jeans say a lot of things to me, and not one of them has anything to do with trustworthiness. Plus, this is not a good look on anyone (except for maybe Bret).


3. I do not want to see your stomach. If there is any possible way that I could see any bit of your midsection due to either too low pants or too short of a shirt, you had better get your ass back in your room and change. Nothing is worse than someone trying to be all professional and then giving me a glimpse of a belly button. There is nothing about your stomach that is classy. Make sure you are covered. Seriously, a girl came in for her interview today, and not only was her shirt riding up under a zipped up hoodie, but she had jeans on that I'm sure she had to get a Brazilian wax before she put on. They were that freaking low. That, my friends, is nasty. She's standing there, telling me about this wonderful work she's done in Latin America and all I can think of is whether my daughter knows where babies come from or not, and you know, I really don't want to be thinking of that. Keep it covered. And for that matter, that goes for you too, Fergie. I know I will never interview you ever, but for God's sake. There, I said it. Another thing to cross off my to-do list.

4. Don't wear all black. This may sound strange, coming from someone who is writing on a blog called Cult of the Black Sweater, but it is good advice none the less. At an interview, we're looking for your personality, to see if you could related to kids and if you are fun. Frankly, a little color gives us that idea and black does not. Although black is lovely in most situations, use the interview time to show us your "signature color." Not only will we see part of your personality, but we'll also see you at your most comfortable--a favorite color has been proven to make you feel more at ease (and no, I don't know by who, and if you asked, I'm going to say "Your Mom!" Oooo...don't you feel served?). We had a girl come in last week, and she was wearing simple jeans, a simple long-sleeved top in a dark purple, and had a lovely paisley print scarf around her neck. I immediately felt drawn to her--I could feel her personality come alive as soon as she walked in. She got the job.

5. If the invitation says, "informal," don't think that formality will get you the job. We have turned down people who showed up in suits because we didn't feel they fit the culture here. If someone bothers to give you a clue as to what you should wear to get the job, heed their advice.

Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

This morning I read a fantastic post about age appropriate dressing on Faking Good Breeding, one of my favorite blogs. The post discussed the new Sex and the City movie and the cartoonish get-ups that the women are wearing--costumes that do not agree with their ages or levels of sophistication. I agree with everything Meg said, and found it interesting that this is a conversation that my mother and I often have (my mom is a 52 year old Ph.D. student and is constantly working that line between young hipness and mature style). However, as I read the post, I was reminded of an issue that I think is just as pertinent with age appropriateness--how to dress when one feels like a kid but suddenly finds herself saddled with adult responsibilities. In other words, making the tough transition away from the juniors department.

We have all seen the girl who hasn't quite made the transition yet. Just last week, a young lady came into our office for an interview. I had spoken with her on the phone ahead of time, and she seemed friendly and bright. She was working on her dissertation and needed some extra income so she had applied for the job. I invited her in for a personal interview right away, and sent her a confirmation email, noting that she should dress as she would for a tutoring appointment--we were not a formal interview kind of place. She emailed me back a couple of times, asking questions about the job, and how she should prepare for the quiz we give to applicants. We developed a nice relationship. And then she came to the interview. She was wearing no make-up and had gargantuan dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was rather pallid--almost to the point that I wanted to ask her if she was ok. Her hair had been thrown up into a hasty ponytail, with chunks of it hanging loose on the nape of neck. However, knowing that she was a Ph.D. student, I figured she was just tired--the "Prisoner of War look" as my husband calls it, is one of the main reasons he is taking a break from his Ph.D. program now.

But then she walked away from me and I got view of the whole ensemble. She was wearing a pair of ultra low rise stonewashed jeans. They were super, super tight and flared on the bottom. She was also wearing a tight black shirt that was basically a tank top with a mesh overlay. On top of that, she had put a very fitted black panne velvet blazer. The whole thing looked like it had been very hastily purchased from the sale rack at Forever 21 (do they even have a sale rack?). At first, I thought, "Well, she's very busy, so I guess she has no time to shop and hasn't since she was...16." But then I realized--these clothes looked relatively new, and I knew they were such bad quality that they could not have held up over the years. Interestingly, this girl was not big--probably a size 6 or8--but she looked bloated in the get up. And worst of all, with the run down appearance coupled with the crazy choice of clothing, she looked like a runaway teenage prostitute from an old episode of Law and Order. With a crack problem.

So I sat at my desk and thought about just how evil I was for thinking these things. I imagined that she would do well on her interview and that I would see her again, and I would feel worse and worse as she proved to be a nice person and a wonderful tutor. I fixed her a training binder, betting on the fact that she would be invited back. However, when my coworker finished the interview, he shook her hand and sent her away without getting the binder. I did a double take and asked him what was up. "I don't know...she's nice enough, but she just looked run down. And I didn't like the outfit either." Seriously. My jaw hit the table. Of course, the first thing I thought was just what a divine effect I'm having on my little test prep buddies. Then I realized just how much my basketball shoe and Wranger jean wearing co-worker had been correct in not hiring her. I can't imagine a parent alive who would be especially jazzed seeing this person come to their house to teach their kid a lesson.

Now, I'm not writing this post just to come down hard on this girl. She's probably much smarter than I will ever be, and that's what counts. But seriously, ladies. It can be hard to give up the velour sweatsuits, the Forever 21 ensembles, the glittery t-shirts of one's youth. If we're still taking classes, if we still watch cartoons in our PJ's and laugh at fart jokes, we must be still kids, right? Well, maybe, but we can't dress like them anymore. Your 20's, at least what I have experienced of them, are a time for new things. Some new things are good (money, new jobs, beer) and some new things are bad (lack of money, assistant jobs, girly drinks). I think it is very important that 20 somethings embrace their new look as a good new thing--we're older yeah, and Forever 21 just doesn't do it anymore, but so what? Your 20's can be a great time to experiment and build a personal style that will last you well into your glamorous later years.

And just think of it this way--if you don't do it, imagine the look of disdain you are going to get from Detective Benson when you don that mesh ensemble, you wanna be harlot.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Crew

Last Saturday, I took my kids to our favorite burger and pie joint to eat sinfully delicious things. We had just finished our burgers and were starting on our whipped cream covered pies when my son's eyes lit up and he looked at my husband and said, "Daddy, I see a boo-tiful girl. She's boo-tiful!" Keep in mind that my son is four. Matt and I both turned around to see a hardcore rocker chick carrying a a tray of burgers back to her table. She was wearing a short black skirt with a black t-shirt, black tights and huge black boots. Her hair was a dark burgundy/purple and she had studs all over her ears. She sat down in a booth, slammed the tray down and then threw her feet up into the seat in front of her, whilst concentrating on taking a gargantuan bite of the burger in front of her. Sam looked on, mesmerized, not touching the pie in front of him. "I see a boo-tiful girl," he kept saying. My husband sat in his seat, seemingly ecstatic that his son had checked out his first girl. I concentrated on eating my pie, and tried to forget that I was no longer the only lady in my son's life.

However, it wasn't something a mother can easily forget. While we ran errands, I looked down at my black henley sweater, twill chinos (that are kind of big in the waist--the perfect burger eating pants) and red ballet flats and thought just how staid and ordinary I must look. When we got home, I jumped at the computer to look up fun, exciting clothes that still showed how hard I still rocked. I ordered an ACDC t-shirt to cut up. I took a denim skirt that I no longer wear and cut it off, producing a mini with threadbare spots and holes. I decided I would need new websites to replace the Gap, Banana Republic and J. Crew shopping portals I frequented.

But then these pants came along:
I had ordered these pants back in early September when I was looking to update my denim wardrobe. They had been backordered, and I pretty much forgot about them. But yesterday they arrived at my door. I was pretty excited to start with because there is basically nothing I love more than trouser jeans and wrap dresses, but I didn't try them on, and I had a sneaking feeling that they might not fit (J. Crew jeans fit oddly sometimes). But today when I put them on--sheer magic. These things are very nearly perfect. Not only do they fit extraordinarily well (they're even the perfect length--granted, with heels, but I would only wear trousers with heels, so no problem there) but they look...perfect. Moreover, they are comfortable. Really comfortable. No waist digging, no crotch sagging, so yank 'em up before they fall...Did I mention they're perfect?

So this leads me to this simple thought: I am a J. Crew girl. Yes, they have gone up in price since I first ordered my wool toggle coat back in the 11th grade (my first J. Crew purchase, and interestingly, still my winter coat). But their clothes just fit me without tailoring or marks left on my tummy. Yes, I've had some problems with some of the jeans, but I'll take the blame for that (I should start considering laying back on the pie). Seriously. Our love remains strong and true. When I feel bad, what do I reach for? My J. Crew merinos (and now these trouser jeans--seriously, I think I"ll sleep in these tonight). When I feel good, what do I reach for? My black J. Crew jersey dress.

So no matter who my son decides to love, and no matter how that makes me feel, I'll be sticking with my favorite store. And Jack Daniels. Sticking to that too.

Stripper Style

Today is kind of an odd day--my grandmother (who lives across the country from me) is not feeling well, and thus, I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. I talked to her yesterday, and she couldn't finish sentences, faded in and out of conversation...it was bad. So today I am waiting around the house to hear from my dad who is supposed to call me and let me know if and when she is going to be admitted to the hospital. I am not stylish at all--wearing Old Navy yoga pants and a Mark Ellis A's t-shirt (and with that I say this: Suck it Dustin Pedroia. Just suck it.) Anyway, if this post comes off sounding weird, it's because I'm worried about my grandma, and am just trying to think of things to do until my dad calls me.

However, I have been wanting to write this post for a while now, and on Friday was spurred even further to action by an article I found on Jezebel. The article focuses on strippercise, which if you're a frequent reader of this blog, you know I do as my major form of excercise. In the article (just in case you want the Sparknotes version), the author talks about attending a pole dancing/strippercise class, an event that I don't think she found useful or fun. I want to provide the opposition to that. Keep in mind that I have only attended two actual classes--all the other strippercise I do is in my living room early in the morning, guided by the book The S Factor by Sheila Kelley. So while my experiences do not totally replicate the author's experience, I do know where she is coming from.

I started stripping out of nowhere really--I'm not sure where I got the idea. My husband was in Russia at the time, and I knew we were going to take a trip to Tahoe when he got back, so I wanted to unveil tricks that showed just what an independant, cool chick I was when he was not around (interestingly, I also painted my bathroom, redecorated my living room, and learned to use a drill). So I bought the Carmen Electra DVD's off Amazon (I was a bit too shy to buy them at Target) and waited. I got the DVD's in, practiced them, and perfected the routine. It was fun. The exercises were not hard, and instead of making me feel like an idiot, bouncing in her bedroom, I felt sexy. However, after he got home, and I had completed my initial performances, I got a little bored of the few routines Carmen offered me. So I ordered The S Factor, again off of Amazon (you can imagine what the books Amazon recommends to me now are like--you would think I was Jenna Jameson or something). When it first came in, I started thinking that I had probably wasted my money--this was after all, a book--not something fun and interactive that I could pop into the DVD player and allow to titillate me and teach me. I actually had to interact with it. I let it hang out on my bookshelf for a few days, and then forgot about it. It was too much work, I thought, and I would probably do it wrong anyway.

Wrong. When I pulled the book off my shelf a week or two later, I realized just what was waiting for me. The S Factor works you through all the moves, tells you what you are going to feel, and spells everything out. There is no guessing about whether you are doing something right--you know if you are from the descriptions and pictures. I remember doing it the first time, and being amazed that my hips would jut out that far. That's what this book does--it reminds you of what your body can do. You can do the moves because even though your mind doesn't understand what to do (yet), your body does. Unlike a lot of work outs I've done where the moves don't feel natural (hello, pilates), your body knows this stuff. You just have to remind your mind that it does.

But the best thing about The S Factor is that it allows you to step away from yourself. In my everyday life, I am (and always have been) a bookish, glasses wearing chick who is more Velma than Daphne, more "cute sidekick" than "bombshell main character." I am the Jenny Humphrey to the country's collective Serena Van Der Woodsen. However, when I do my exercise, I step away from that. I adopt a new persona, a persona that is not a sweet Southern girl, but an all-out bitch, who would rather stomp your heart with a 6-inch heel than read another book about Whitman's poetry. It's damn fun. And I am damn fun doing it. I put on my music, and I'm me--not the "me" that everyone expects, but a fun, dynamic side of me that is strong and unattached and above all, absolutely frickin' gorgeous.

So I would recommend doing it. You don't have to take classes, although they are fun, but definitely try it. And since this is in some ways a shopping blog, here are my recommendations for the must-haves. The book is understood, I hope.

Morgan's Must-Haves for Prospective Strippers

1. a good soundtrack. The staples for me are Back In Black (for obvious reasons) and Cold Hard Bitch by Jet, but I use other songs as I find them.

2. cotton short shorts that are a little loose so you can get them off easily. I like the Prospirit ones at Target that fold at the waist. Kind of sexy.

3. a good pair of stripper shoes. Sfactor.com actually has a good selection. I have a pair but also use my regular heels if I want to break them in.

4. supportive, sexy bras. I know this sounds slutty, but I have found some really fabu bras at Frederick's. These get the job done. I generally wear a tank top with my shorts, and I like if the bra has a little "visual interest" to peek out of my tank top.

5. A good attitude. If you can't laugh at yourself as you're doing this, you're going to hate it. You're not going to be a bombshell on the first move. But you will be. Just wait, and laugh while you do it.

6. There are actually some pretty entertaining memoirs and books by ex strippers that can give you some inside info about the industry. I especially like Candy Girl by Diablo Cody.

The Uniform

I think the only thing worse than actually being sick is being repeatedly asked, "Are you sick? You look sick." Well meaning people suck, if you know what I mean. If you read my last post, you know I've been a bit under the weather lately. Yesterday was my gross day--I came home from work, put on my pj's and absolutely refused to move. However, when I got up this morning, I knew I needed to venture out and meet with students. After all, rescheduling five lessons is much more painful than actually doing the lessons while sick. But what to do? I didn't feel like dressing up, or even wearing jeans, which can dig into my waist. But I knew that if I didn't look halfway decent, I'd get the brunt of my passive aggressive co-worker's well-wishes, plus, I'd feel like crap for the rest of the day. Well, rather, even crappier.

Luckily, I have a uniform of sorts--a group of seperates that I can mix and match to create looks that are comfortable, alluring, and pretty thoughtless. They are all things that I know look nice on me, won't wrinkle during the day, and can stand up to the day's torments. Of course, it changes by the season. In the summer, it consists of a knit dress of some sort (usually a black one), wedge flip flops, fun jewelery, and my denim jacket. But for fall, my uniform is a sweater (usually merino and v-neck, and most often from J. Crew, but I do have a black cashmere turtleneck that gets into play quite a bit), opaque tights, a skirt (tweed, corduroy, wool, or even denim), and cute low-heeled shoes. I've determined that I can wear this outfit anywhere, from errands to lessons, and feel confident that I look nice and well, not sick. This morning I got up, and instead of reaching for sweats or something equally as horrible, I pulled out black tights, an ivory wool skirt with a cute trim that I bought at the J.Crew Outlet ages ago, a black cami, my purple merino v-neck, and red ballerina flats. I took my freshly washed hair and pushed it back in a black leather headband. I then added tinted moisturizer, Nars Orgasm blush, DiorShow, and some Bare Escentuals lip gloss. Now, I'm not saying that I looked perfect, but I made it to work without anyone giving me sad looks or asking me if I was ok. This helped me get through the day. What's better is that I can wear something incredibly similar tomorrow and because I have enough things to mix and match, no one will be any the wiser.

What's your uniform? Do you have something you can turn to day after day, no matter how you feel? Let me know in the comments.

Bringing the Boys to the Yard

Ok, so I know how you guys feel about leggings...the answer to last week's great legging debate was a resounding "YUGH!! They suck!" with a side of vitriolic hatred. Now what I want to know is this...what do you wear when you want your significant other or the men or women on the street to take notice? It's an important question. We as women, no matter how successful we are, define ourselves in some ways by our ability to attract sexual partners. No matter how many women's studies courses you take, no matter how many copies of Our Bodies, Ourselves you have on your bookshelf, you know (or think you know) what you have to put on to get a rise out of your chosen party.

But here's the thing: it isn't always what you expect. This point was made clear to me this weekend. After the tutoring induced trauma that was the prep for the October 6 test, I decided to take Sunday and Monday totally off. As in, I didn't do anything of any substance. At all. On Monday, I did manage to run some errands, taking some books and DVD's to Telegraph Ave. to trade in for cold hard cash and then stopping for groceries. Knowing that I was going to be running these errands, I got up, and before taking Gabby to school, I put on a new green crewneck sweater from Target (cheap sweater, but a really cute color--I almost feel like going back to get the v-neck), old Old Navy jeans, and pushed my hair back in a floral silk hairband from J.Crew. I did my make-up part way (just some powder, mascara, and Neutrogena lipbalm). I checked myself in the mirror, and I thought I looked casual, but really nothing to write home about. However, while Matt and I were taking our recycling to the recycling center (I'm telling you--it was an exciting Monday!), I kept noticing him look at me. He would then just smile and look away. Finally, after putting up with this for a while, I asked him what was up. "You just look so good," he said. WTF? It's not that I didn't enjoy the compliment, but seriously. For someone who feels like I'm wearing house shoes if I'm not wearing heels, this came as such a shock. Granted, this is my husband:

Not the most driven guy on the planet, especially fashion wise. But still. It amazed me. I get up every morning and plan outfits around heels and pencil skirts but he finds me more attractive in my beat up jeans, Merrell mary janes, and $17.49 sweater.

So what gives? Is this specific to my beer swilling, classic rock dancing, Cal football adoring, Russian major dude, or does your man prefer a dressed down look? Or do you have to vamp it up Rock of Love style to get attention?

Holy Bad Blogger, Batman!

I apologize for my absence, faithful cult (all three of you....). While I could blame my not blogging on lots of things, I'm not going to feed you excuses. Yes, I've been busy. Yes, I've been depressed as my beloved A's have lost eight straight. Yes, my husband shrunk my favorite jeans. Yes, last night I turned to drinking and spent a good deal of my night laying in my bathroom floor, my arms akimbo, begging for the love of a career .300 hitting catcher. But these are no excuses. No excuses at all.

Here's another thing though: I haven't felt especially fabulous lately. You know the last time I wore heels? Cause I don't. I wore wedges two days ago, but even then I tripped over a box of binding spines whilst talking to a colleague and managed to come thisclose to hacking my hand off at the wrist with the paper slicer. And I blame it on something that has plagued me my whole life. No, not verbose-ness, or even a love of pastry.

The thought that fashion is stoopid.

It seems that any time in my life that I'm doing something I find to be intellectually stimulating, my wardrobe suffers. Case in point: my entire college career. Granted, I had no money and was basically living on the contents of the tip jar at my post at Joe Muggs Coffee. But I had really bad style knowledge then as well. My idea of hotness was an ill-fitting, snarky tee with jeans that only fit before I began my total bagel and espresso diet. I was a mess. I had one black skirt that was kind of ok, and I wore that to death. But I didn't see any problem with it--I thought that being smart and going to a fancy-pants school entitled me the power to look like a street urchin. I consoled myself with the fact that the Ph.D.'s that I aspired to be donned polyester and Birkenstocks, not Manolos and cashmere.

But when I got out of school, I started getting it together. And in ways, I still have it together. I haven't started wearing muu muus and flips flops just yet. But I find myself making different choices. I'm meeting with a parent today--should I really go with the leopard print peep toes? Will they think I'm smart if I wear my olive green shift dress, or should I just go with the jeans and v-neck sweater (again)? More often than not, I find that I'm erring on the side of caution and boringness.

And I don't like it. I really want to be more like myself again. So tomorrow, I'm making a concerted effort to wear something exciting. I just got a cute green baby doll shirt that I'm going to wear with my black pants, a big ole honkin' necklace, and my leopard print peep toes. Screw the two students I have tomorrow (well, actually, don't screw them--that's illegal). I will be cute. Because isn't being cute the smartest thing you can do? I mean, seriously, don't we all judge with our eyes first? Looking smart shouldn't mean looking dowdy, looking smart should mean looking appealing and fun, and well, like yourself.

I have some lip gloss to review, so I'll be doing that soon. I promise to be a better blogger. And a better dresser. And a better person, dammit! No more late night puking shenanigans! No more scrawling "Bobby Crosby Must Die" on Bay Area landmarks!

Make that Joe Kennedy Must Die. He just made an error and two runs scored. I'm going to go drink something now.

I'm On a Conference Call, So I Guess It's Time for Another Post

Every month, I go on a PR call, a call that I lovingly refer to as "The biggest one hour waste of my life I have ever encountered." Why? Because it's basically just 30-60 minutes of people trying to disguise their really, really dumb ideas with corporate pseudo-talk. It sucks.

So, in order to keep from actually falling asleep at my desk, I will update. Again, I have been called away from regular updates by Gabby's end of school excitements plus a whole crapload of work that I could choose to rant about here, but I won't. I also have been rather called away from looking fashionable at all. I've not been sleeping well lately, so perhaps that is why, and also, my three year old washed my contacts down the drain in a misguided effort to "wash dishes" in the bathroom sink. Therefore, I have not been at my most fashionable lately.

The penultimate degree of this nastiness was on Tuesday. I wasn't feeling fashionable on Tuesday. Not. At. All. Luckily, I have a closet full of things that I can mix and match easily, and that are easy care and do not require a lot of turmoil to wear. I jacked around that morning, watching a TiVoed episode of Grey's Anatomy and that kind of thing, but managed to slip into a denim pencil skirt, a blue v-neck sweater, and an eyelet cami before slipping on my brown wedges and running out the door. The thing was, however, was that my make up consisted of some tinted moisturizer, a swipe of Dallas blush, and some Burt's Bees lip balm, and my hair was actually still wet from a quick shower. I really didn't mind all of this--I have come to work looking way worse--but when I got here, I realized that our national PR guy (actually the guy who runs this hateful call every month) was in town visiting. And who does he want to meet with? Why, besides my boss, little old me, of course. All of a sudden I felt like an absolute troll. Although I only ended up having a short 15 minute or so meeting with him, I spent my day feeling uncomfortable, grouchy, and a little unhinged. Moreover, I wasn't confident with myself at all, and I think this affected the way I interacted with him.

Still feeling tired yesterday, I wore what I consider to be "The Chunky Girl Uniform." To me, that means, black jersey shirt, black trousers, and black heeled flip flops. To be a little interesting, I added a red scarf in my hair, but I was still more or less rocking the head to toe black. I went through the day feeling unimaginative and a bit dour.

This morning was a wonderful departure from that. I got up, and despite having blisters on my toes from a walk yesterday (I am fit and fabulous, despite making a poor judgement call as to what to wear to be fit and fabulous!), I decided to be my usual self. I put on a cute little dress (perfect for today's heat), a chunky turquoise necklace, and my leopard print peep toes. I got out earlier, went to the bank, and then stopped by Long's and bought a tube of mascara to last me until I reorder my DiorShow. When I walked into Long's, I saw the security guy look at my legs. Nice.

So the moral of this story is that it feels good to look nice, and really, it takes equal to or less time to look nice than it does to look crappy. I was surprised, being a person who feels like she knows the importance of looking good, at how much my clothes affected my mood. I'm not saying that this is the case for everyone. But I do wonder at how many women could be happier if they just took a few more minutes in the morning, and just saw a security guard check them out a bit more frequently.

What I Would Really Want to Wear, Were I Not a Chubby Girl Living In The Burbs

I've been reading a lot of things lately about the cultivation of one's own personal style. I, of course, am all for that, and feel that I have my own style rather locked in place. I would describe it as this: one part J.Crew catalog, one part business casual and two parts depressed English major, shaken and served over ice in a cheap Ikea martini glass. Oh, and with a sidecar of rabid baseball fan. Must not forget that.

Anyway, I've always seen these features in fashion magazines talking about personal style, and seriously, when those bitches talk about personal style, those bitches talk about personal style. Like X-treme personal style. As in, if you enjoy jeans, you are All-American. Nothing else. If you have a lace blouse, you're Victorian. That's it. There's no mixing of the fashion magazine personal style. You're this or you're that.

And of course I buy right into this because, well, I'm not that bright and shiny pictures of pretty women get me every time. And I always think that if I were to adopt one of these personal styles, I would definitely pick whatever the slutty offering is. It's sometimes called "bombshell," it's sometimes called "sexy," but whatever the thing is with the pencil skirts and the plunging v-neck sweaters, that's what I would go with. Mostly because I like to nurse my inner slut. But also because I love this hairstyle:

Seriously, if I didn' t work in an office or suffer from a real inability to style my hair, I would wear a bouffant every freakin' day. And also fishnet hose.