The problem with false economies is that they're just that...things that seem prudent at the time...yet come back, when you least expect it, pointing fingers and saying "I told you so". Case in point, for quite some time now it's been apparent that a void existed in my life...a gap that could only be filled by a laptop bag that would hold all of my tech gear and (important point) be able to be carried...lifted...and schlepped through an airport without causing an injury.

False economy (that little swine) caused me to buy bags that were (in no particular order)...pretty...vaguely practical...great for the weekend/bad for the laptop...massively over-sized...black. None of which, sadly, fulfilled my requirements. A while ago I found a bag that I thought would meet all my needs but f.e. (that little swine) convinced me that it was too expensive. And so, "economy" set in...and I bought all of the other bags that were (to quote the immortal Goldilocks) "almost right".

A week or so ago...in the battle of Heb vs false economy...I found myself faced, once again, by the-bag-that-was-perfect-yet-too-expensive. This time, false economy was caught unawares by a nifty uppercut, and hit the ground. Yes, Louis Vuitton's icare is...expensive. But...it's practical...everything fits...I'm not in pain five seconds after I pick it up...and...it will last forever. Am I rationalizing? Yes...because I do feel a little guilty about this purchase. Have I learned my lesson...that false economies cost more in the long run...I'd have to say yes to that as well.

A drought in posting...such as the one that is currently blighting this blog...can usually be attributed to excessive quantities of work...or travel...or work-related travel. All of which are a blessing in the majority of respects but do have the unwelcome side-effect of causing the skin on my face to resemble the desert...beige, arid, and kind of scrubby.

Usually I'd fight these symptoms with extra-large sunglasses (working under the theory that if you can't see the dark lines under my eyes, they don't exist)...and the sort of quixotic hopefulness that characterized the beauty-outlook of ladies a few hundred years ago...when they ran to the mirror, hoping that the day would find them "in good face." Luck...and anything vaguely resembling the sort of sunshine that would necessitate eye protection...having run out, I needed a different solution.

One that I found, completely by accident, when I stumbled across a Clarins spa...and decided to try their Moisture Replenisher facial. Forget the fact that I spent the rest of the day enveloped in a herbal/floral mist...or that I was so relaxed during the facial that I almost nodded off...or any of the other random elements that I found so enjoyable...at the conclusion my skin actually looked healthy, well-rested, and non-abused. Even...gasp...dewy.

Sadly, there aren't too many Clarins' spas in the US; but if you do find yourself near one I strongly encourage you to treat your skin to a little pampering...dewy-ness, and not having to wear sunglasses on a cloudy day, being worth its weight in gold.

Summer...though not officially over…has been given the obligatory handshake and accompanying verbal brush-off “it’s been fun, let’s make plans to get together next year” that is Labor Day. So far I’ve managed to consume the obligatory Labor Day BBQ…and take part in that other great seasonal activity, the "3-day additional sale markdown" during which all the items that you’ve lusted over during the summer have been reduced to the extent that the only remaining obstacle standing between you and them is the question of whether they have any sort of longevity through fall and winter or are the sort of one-season pariah that you can count yourself lucky to have avoided.

Falling under the category of "objects of lust that have finally been reduced to a sum that doesn't give me palpitations" are these "Roy Orbison" sunglasses. Part of the collection that Rodarte did for Opening Ceremony they fulfill the craving for taupe-y framed sunnies that has been with me for most of the summer yet have a timeless quality that makes me think that I won't regret this final summer fling.

Two words that you don’t want to find staring up at you from your inbox (especially when, pressed for time , you’re just trying to find anything urgent that you have to take care of)...”statement” and “pants”.

Separately, perfectly fine words...combined, they strike fear into the hearts of man (well, this woman at least) and trigger the inevitable thoughts of the “objects will appear larger than in real life” variety in relation to the posterior region.

Like me, you may have had a yen to jump on the sonic skincare bandwagon and buy Olay's very wallet-friendly cleansing system...wanting, for once, to be frugal. Like me, you may have found this to be a frustrating and virtually impossible mission as no drug store seems to have them stocked on the shelves (the space is there for them, just no product...my personal theory is that they are delivered in the dead of night and sold by pushers by the back door of the store). Alright, I could have ordered one online...but, illogically, I considered it a drug store purchase and was not going to admit myself defeated by my inability to find it in an actual bricks-and-mortar drug store.

Friends, I admitted defeat.

Not to the point where I bought Olay's $26 version online...or where I broke down and ordered Clarisonic's $200 version that I knew (in my heart of hearts) was the one that I really wanted. No, I went for the mid-range NutraSonic Face Brush Skin Care System for $86. Yes, it's a strange kind of retro blue...and no, it doesn't have a timed shut-off like it's more expensive cousin...but (after a couple of weeks use at home and in hotels) I can say that I wouldn't give it up without a fight. Skin is smoother (I'd use the "baby's bottom" analogy but, never having touched an infant's derriere I'm unable to accurately make a comparison)...pore's are smaller...and (let's be honest) less grubby looking. And, as I have a five-year old's love of pushing buttons, it's made my morning post-wake-up routine a lot more fun.

After a few weeks of, admittedly rather unscientific study, I think I can claim that the only reason to cough up the sum required to buy US Vogue, Elle, or Bazaar is the question (to bastardize the bard) of...

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (e.g., risk your iPhone running out of battery mid-air because your flight is delayed and all your fellow travelers are hogging the power outlets)
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles (and, in desperation, buy a copy of one of the aforementioned trio in order to pass the time)

After being trapped in Newark airport with the August issue of Vogue...I'm leaning towards a third option...alternating between blankly staring at a wall and hazarding bizarre guesses as to the lives of my fellow wanderers. An "Age Issue"...again. Sarah Jessica Parker...again. A disturbing number of articles and ads for plastic surgery...alright there was one page celebrating 63 year old Linda Rodin but, apart from that, I found it impossible to walk away from the magazine without the sensation that devoid of laser eyelifts, surgical jawlifts, or earlobe tucks (seriously?) our lives are doomed.

Next trip...despite the additional weight it adds to my (already insanely heavy) bag...I'm packing a book.  Preferably beauty-based...and vintage...from a time when potions and lotions were fine...but you could be beautiful, at any age, without having a "lobelift".

Life being a tad hectic at the moment, shopping...as a purposeful activity as opposed to a pleasurable pursuit...is limited to rapid-fire online forays...generally at obscure hours of the day. The latest 2am buy...this little number from Barneys own label. With heavy-duty, furnishing fabric-esque cotton...and leather trim...it hits all the buttons ("classic-with-a-twist" and "yet another fabric and leather item in my closet" being the main ones).

The only niggly annoyance is that the industrial strength zipper (after being worn a couple of times and loosened up) shows a marked tendency to respond to the effects of gravity and un-zip...a small hook-and-eye closure at the top would have solved the problem but is lacking (at least until I have enough spare time to sew one on).

I realize that a good portion of the American-based population are at the beach today...laying in the sand...nibbling on mildly inedible (and overly grilled) bits of meat...and anticipating a ballistic barrage of fireworks once the sun goes down. I wish them well (from an air-conditioned apartment)...and hope that none of the female population are greeted by a man wearing these...

Hundreds of nauseatingly bad pick-up lines come to mind..."I have my eye on you"..."I'll be seeing you"...or "Here's looking at you kid"...scratching only the sandy surface...

Flight number one - finds yours truly seated next to a gentleman chewing clove gum...I think...whatever it was, it emanated from his mouth and reminded me of mothballs.

Flight number two - finds a slightly sleepier version of yours truly...seated next to a different gentleman...this example, emitting a lemon-y odor...cause unknown...could have been hand soap, moisturizer, or deodorant...but was infinitely preferable to bachelor #1.

Cab from airport - cab driver had bathed in the sort of overly pungent aftershave that suggests the wearer is trying (and failing) to mask one smell with another.

My nose is feeling decidedly abused...

Even though I can wear (essentially) whatever I want for work I find the idea of a "uniform"...pieces that will easily slot together when I cram them into a suitcase...yet allow me to feel vaguely pulled together...a very alluring concept indeed.

The latest addition to my work wardrobe is this color-blocked sweater from Marni...men's, on sale at Mr. Porter...something that I am more than happy to steal from the boys...strangely colorful and subdued at one and the same time...

Oh God...I'm a bad little blogger...but duty (or should I say work) calls...and, for the next month, I'll be spending more time in hotels and airport lounges than my own bed. Which means...sporadic posting...incomprehensible musings on travel and cloud formations...and occasional outfit outings.

Bear with me...July should find me back on a much more even keel.

When it comes to sale shopping my purchases tend to fall into one of two categories...the entirely luck-based..."oh, my God...I never knew this existed...but now I have to have it in my life...and...it's on sale!"...to what I'm going to label "To the batmobile, Robin!".  Category number two is generally something that I spotted at full price...fell in love with...admitted to myself, with regret, was over-priced (or, worth it, but just too darned expensive)...and then proceeded to monitor its progress with the same beady eye that Batman would have given The Joker if he ran into him at the pub.

Case in point, this very restrained (yet summer-y) little tote...hemp, leather, linen...beautiful, vaguely practical, yet too damned expensive. Until, that is, summer sale met gift card...and then...in the words of the mighty Bat..."Bam! Kapow!"

In the summer of my dreams™...a carefree place...where it's possible to cycle in a skirt without flashing the local populace...remain sweat, I mean perspiration, free on even the hottest days...and take your time over an ice cream cone, undisturbed by paranoia over where its drippy residue will end up...the most perfect days usually include a lavish little picnic, packed into a "proper" wicker basket.

Then reality...and reminiscences...intrude. The picnics of my teens...at which my mother felt that outdoor dining could not be fully enjoyed unless most of the kitchen and dining room had been crammed into a suitcase-sized basket...and lugged half way across a field by her off-spring (i.e., yours truly). Try as I might to enjoy the fireworks...classical music...or jugglers...that were at the end of such rambles it was difficult to remain aloof to the fact that the *$%*@# basket had to be carried back to the car at the end of it (lightened by food, it's true, but still containing enough pointless impedimenta to tax the muscles).

Perhaps a better idea would be to pay homage to the concept of the SomD™...by dint of the indoor picnic. Air conditioning...easy access to fridge and pantry for chilled white wine or the odds and sods that invariably get left behind when one ventures into the wilderness...an homage to the pic-k-er-nic basket courtesy of wicker lampshades...heck, if I had a bigger apartment I'd be tempted to try indoor cycling.

I realize that I say this every year but...bear with me (and join in the chorus if you so desire)..."how, oh how, do we go from approximately one evening of spring to 90 degrees and high humidity?"...it's like mother nature enjoys a good practical joke...and I'm her chosen victim.

Time to consider...as I invariably do...before abruptly dismissing them...shorts. This year...the denim bermuda (minus the rather off-putting cork platform). Will this, I ask myself as I continue to curse M.N. under my breath, be the year that I actually succumb to the short pant?

Despite never having owned a cat...and therefore being fairly illiterate in the ways of the cat (though, with a couple of bouts of cat-sitting under my belt, not being a complete novice)...I've recently found myself contemplating the pros and cons of inviting a feline friend into the Hebden household.

Fast forward to Into The Gloss' feature on jewelery designer (and beautifully dressed woman-about-town) Gaia Repossi...and her Bengal cat, Petra. Forget the words of skincare wisdom...I want a cat that looks like a leopard.

Of course...then the research starts...and I discover that the Bengal cat "is a relatively new hybrid breed of cat, formed by the cross of a domestic feline and an Asian Leopard Cat ("ALC")"...and that, furthermore, "The Bengal cat has a desirable "wild" appearance with a gentle domestic cat temperament, provided it is separated by at least three generations from the original crossing between a domestic feline and an ALC."

Hmmm, so...over three generations of breeding, sumptuously beautiful pet...under three, semi-wild animal that could rip your head off. Given the bad luck that I can have with such things, should I continue to contemplate such a potentially risky venture?

Blogger, who hath served me so faithfully for all these years, appears to be throwing a bit of a hissy fit. Not sure if others are affected or I am the sole beneficiary of his tantrum (that's right...historically, ships are female...issue-causing blog providers, male). Anyway, attempts will be made to post as usual...

What I had hoped would be my new summer fail-safe...Gap's billowing black dress...finally arrived. As did a question from Anon...which mysteriously disappeared when Blogger started acting up. Anon's question was as follows..."what size did you get? just your normal size? my boyfriend just bought me this (we're long distant) and I'm suddenly afraid its do big."

The answer...I did get my normal size but the dress seems to run a little large (not overwhelming so...the skirt portion being voluminous anyway...just a bit big if you like things tight around the bust area). Now for the rest...

The fabric, sadly, isn't what I hoped...it's a bit...cheap looking (the sort of thing that makes you scared to go too near an open flame). The dress is long...close to ankle length and I'm 5'11"...and the built in slip is rather long as well, which diminishes some of the summer floatiness that should be inherent in the dress, and makes you feel cocooned (great in winter, sweaty and somewhat shroud-like in summer).

The slip can be shortened...the length is more a welcome surprise than a let-down...the fabric is...a problem. I just can't decide if the dress is a less-than-enthusiastic-keeper that I would definitely get some wear out of...or a good-try-that-misses-the-essential-requirements-of-the-perfect-summer-dress (for me).

Anon...would love to hear your thoughts when your dress arrives...

Cautionary tale...the definition of "don't assume, it makes an ass out of you and me". When I moved to the US, I assumed that mother's day (like every other shared celebration) was on the same date on both sides of the Atlantic.  I realized my mistake when, UK mother's day having passed by in a state of silence, I received parental accusations of the "mind like a sieve" variety. Claims that the big MD was the following month...and that festive plans were in place...fell on deaf ears (until corroborating evidence could be supplied).

The moral of the story...celebrate mother's day early, and often...and never assume...

If there wasn't a lingering feeling that the need still exists for a thick sweater every now and again...ie, despite the fact that the sun has finally started to shine there's still quite a nip in the air...I would have embraced the bi-annual closet transition prior to this. As is, I'm loathed to move any "winter" clothes into storage as (depressingly) I haven't actually stopped wearing them.

This lack of transition means that I've also been rather tardy on evaluating the remnants of last summer...the things that I wore to death and (somewhat optimistically) packed away in anticipation of another year's wear. Something that I realized when I pulled my fail-safe black linen dress out of mothballs...and saw (in the cold, and exceedingly harsh light of day) that it was looking a little worse-for-wear.

Enter a (in my opinion) very un-Gap maxi dress from...the Gap...able to be dressed up...or down...worn alone...or layered to within an inch of its life...a theoretically-easy-but-difficult-to-find-in-reality basic...

In all things there is the high-maintenance option...and the low one. When it comes to lips...as in so many other things...I tend to fall at the LM end of the scale...with an addiction for lip balm and gloss...a couple of lipsticks lurking sheepishly in my medicine cabinet...and an inability to color inside the lines. As I constantly seem to "misplace" these items (for which I blame large handbags and stuffing my jacket pockets with the enthusiasm of an over-eager chipmunk) I am always on the lookout for replacements. Enter Covergirl's Natureluxe Gloss Balm...a gloss...with SPF 15...and, in peony, the blue/red shade that seems to work well with very pale skin and blonde hair.

Of course, if you talk about low-maintenance you have to balance things out...at the HM (sub genre - kooky) end of the spectrum are these temporary lip tattoos. Thousands of questions come to mind...what happens if it suddenly starts to peel off when you're talking to someone?...if you kiss is there a chance of lip transfer?...and, most importantly of all, are there really that many people who want pink polka dot, leopard print, or fishnet lips?

Time has passed...it's been a while since the last cracker was pulled...the final remnants of the festive shortbread have been eaten...and the missing fairy light bulbs have just come out of hiding. It's summer...when Christmas past is just a distant memory...and Christmas future is a mere blip on the horizon. Which could explain, I suppose, why someone created a straw hat that can only be described as a tribute to The Old Man's leg lamp in A Christmas Story...