A long standing pet peeve of mine that started long before J. Crew was a household name in my closet occurs when I have purchased something for myself and someone I am close to goes out and acquires the exact same thing. It’s funny that this would be a pet peeve of mine as one of my favorite pastimes entails reading biographies of fashionable women and then putting into practice their most lauded stylish trademarks.
I steal style from others, but do not dare steal from me.
Three times this year I have copied the outfits or accessories of two people I know and while they were perfectly fine with me doing so, I apologized profusely for doing it before, during or after my purchase. Originality and creativity are important to me and I respect that in others. Especially those who are close to me. But when I see someone sporting a classic, it’s hard to turn my head and walk to the other side of the sale rack. If I can’t shake it, I must have it.
Imitation is the highest form of flattery indeed.
Several women in the office have done a beautiful job of incorporating this year’s trend of flowing blouses into their work wardrobe. Creamy flowy blouses, that is. The kind that look effortless and whimsical, yet professional and versatile. While I purchased my own version of this kind of blouse at GAP last year, I ended up throwing it away after a hard night of dancing ripped an unmendable hole in the arm a few months back. The shirt cost me $10 on sale, purchased with a Groupon and it was the first article of clothing in a long time that genuinely made me sad to purge it from my closet. I loved how it made me feel when I wore it. I felt feminine, carefree and I loved the way it draped on my shoulders and hung on my body. It was the kind of clothing that felt like I was wearing a work of art when I looked in the mirror. The shirt more than paid its dues in my closet, but replacing it was going to be a difficult one, I knew. When you find something that works, you never want to lose it. Certainly not while dancing to Niki Minaj late into the evening hours.
I wrote a while back about the Aritzia blouse, one that a coworker had and that I salivated over for weeks. My sweet mother, one of the few but proud who read my blog, texted me one day after I blogged a short blurb about
wanting needing it and said: “Your birthday is coming up, what size in the blouse?”
The color couldn’t be creamier. The silk couldn’t be more luxurious and the cut couldn’t be better tailored.
I’m in love.