I may just be trying to find the silver lining in an exceedingly dark and ominous cloud but the lack of consumers actually consuming does seem to have one bright side to it...not the generous reductions that we'll be seeing in the sales (because those are somewhat marred by the fact that most of us have neither the money to spend nor any enthusiasm for handing over what little we have)...no, the welcome side effect in question is an increased creativity in the Fall advertising campaigns. That's right, in an attempt to lure us out of our shopping bunkers, there seems to be a push to move beyond the same old ads that seem to appear year in, year out. The first example of this was the Louboutin ads that I mentioned last week...the second, these architecturally themed beauties from Hussein Chalayan.

Things, at least in print, are definitely looking up...

There's something terribly demoralizing about a day that is both warm and wet...in a raincoat you'll melt like an ice cube in an oven...and with this lack of protection from the elements there's no incentive to wear anything particularly "nice" (as you know you'll end up looking like a wet puppy at least once during the day). A perfect time to fall back on old friends...a plethora of stripes (in all directions)...and a pair of Converse that are so disreputable that a bath (courtesy of the puddles than I never manage to avoid) can only be an improvement. Top - Dover Street Market, pinafore dress - Hengst, silver skull necklace, lo-tops - Converse

"Going to work for a large company is like getting on a train. Are you going sixty miles an hour or is the train going sixty miles an hour and you're just sitting still?" - J Paul Getty

It's a little surprising, given that I was rather a nerdy child, that I've never owned a toy train set. Perhaps, in the back of my mind, the stereotypical image of a trainspotter...in hooded anorak, geek glasses, clutching a pad of paper and a pen ready to jot down any minutiae related to the 10:15 to Aberdeen...was too great of a hurdle to overcome.

Or maybe I just never found the right train set...because, I have to say, one glimpse of this mechanical masterpiece in a briefcase and I was smitten. The idea of pulling your briefcase out in the middle of a boring business meeting...opening it...and then playing with your train set...is genius. If only it didn't come with such a hefty price tag.

Sunday mornings always make me think of long breakfasts in bed...lolling around reading the papers...surrounded by a general feeling of laziness and inability to do anything that could be deemed in the least bit constructive or energetic. Of course, as with every other scenario, my thoughts turn to what to wear.

In winter such daydreams center around thick woolen socks, plaid pajamas, and old school dressing gowns but in summer something altogether less substantial is in order...something like this pajama set from APC. Sweet dreams indeed...

A couple of days of heavy duty, but thoroughly aimless, walking have left me tired and nursing what I believe, after a consultation with Web MD, to be a strained muscle near my left ankle. Much as I hate to admit it, I'm beginning to think that a pair of Converse hi-tops...even those with some gel insoles from Dr. Scholl nestling inside...may not offer the level of support required for a ten or twelve mile walk along city streets.

This bout of realism however raises the ugly, and I use the term advisedly, question of what footwear actually would. I know myself well enough to say that I'd rather be required to apply ice packs ad infinitum than wear therapeutic, though hideous, options (having been scarred, in childhood, by an ingrown toenail/jesus sandal affair).

What to do? Any suggestions out there in blogoland?

I seem to have an internal calendar when it comes to nail polish...running on similar lines to the one that whispers to the bear that it's probably time to take a little nap and wake up in a few months...except mine is a lot more vain and a little less purposeful. In the colder months the i.c. urges me to smarten myself up a little by painting my fingernails (the theory being that although the rest of me may be a tad disheveled I won't look like a complete deadbeat if I have a manicure)...in warmer weather the concept is pretty much the same except my toe nails get the spit and polish treatment instead (as you may have guessed by now, this means that I am too lazy to attempt both hands and feet at the same time).

And while, in winter, I may add a cheery red or orange to the palette my summer polish selection tends to be dark...against the chalky paleness of my skin, and whatever footwear I'm wearing that day, somehow murkier tones are so much more appealing. Hitherto this has meant black...more black...and the occasional gunmetal gray...but yesterday I found myself at the Chanel counter with a bottle of Blue Satin in my hand. I know that I'm approximately a year too late with this one but...its inky depths called to me...and I just don't care.

...a by product of my expedition into make-up land was a reawakening of my desire for red lipstick. Why, as a confirmed pale gloss wearer, I should lust for bold, femme fatale lips I can't say...but Chanel's Passion may very well be the shade that pushes me over the edge and brings a touch more soigne-ness to my daily existence.

Whilst I love the overload of Liberty fabrics in Prada's 2010 resort collection I'm hitting a stumbling block over the baggy, side-knotted, bikini bottoms (a style I'd usually associate with aging lotharios in vintage holiday snaps...or babies in swimming diapers). I know, I know...harem pants...carrot pants...peg leg pants...and other types of non-conventionally flattering trews are having a "moment" right now but...well...not to point out the obvious...they're pants...not adult nappies with bunny-ear ties at the side.

Looking back I realized that I'm generally somewhat grinch-y on the topic of advertisements...a reflex action when faced with the usual banal inducements to shop that seem to hit my inbox, and mailbox, with depressing regularity or the glossy versions of the same, which stare up at me from the pages of magazines willing me to buy into the dream they're attempting to sell.

Christian Louboutin's Spring/Summer ad campaign, however, is so far above "the usual"...its images filled with the kind of muted, lush, slightly sinister, extravagance usually found in an 18th century still life...that if it weren't for one small, niggling detail (i.e. my inability to stand, let alone walk, in the kind of heels featured) I'd be unable to resist buying something.

As it is I'll just have to enjoy them as art...

“If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family anatidae on our hands.” - Douglas Adams There's an episode of the cartoon classic, Peanuts, where Lucy gets a sun visor...is mocked by the rest of the gang, who walk around behind her quacking...and, at the end of the episode, is followed by a family of ducks. I don't think they show the end results of all this hilarity...I always assumed it was Lucy walking into her house, muttering under her breath, and putting the visor in the trash. Whenever I pull this jacket out of my closet I think of Lucy's visor. I can't help feeling that, one day, there'll be a trail of ducklings tagging along in my wake...

As my last in-depth study of the Ten Commandments came courtesy of Charlton Heston I was rather surprised to find myself attracted to this vintage bracelet featuring graphical representations of the ultimate "what not to do" list. Yet I am...and find numbers V through VII especially appealing...from a visual rather than a moral standpoint I hasten to add...

Due to what Mr. Heb would refer to as my "addiction for flashing lights"...and my, self-confessed, need to beat the competition at completely lame games...I'm generally unable to walk past any carnivals or funfairs that come my way. Do I need...actually, let's be honest...do I even want...the star prize (a rather ratty looking stuffed toy)? No. Will I spend hours attempting to throw incredibly small hoops over seemingly massive bottles in a bid to win one? You'd better believe it.

On the up side, after failing to win even a key ring, I can usually drown my sorrows in a large cotton candy...

In celebration of my seeming inability to move beyond black, grey, and navy on those days that the sun decides to shine today's ensemble picture is in black and white (and therefore basically indistinguishable from if it was actually in color). Note to self: must try to get at least one colorful item into daily rotation... "RIP YSL" t-shirt - Blood Is The New Black, denim Jacket - Gap, skirt - Acne, flats - Jones the Bootmaker

I have to admit that my plan to...well, have a plan...in regard to prospective purchases took a slight knock yesterday. It was completely my fault...I should have realized that popping into Barney's sale "just to look" was probably a bad idea. Though if I'd made a bolt for the exit after drooling over the heavily reduced (though still way out of my budget) Alaia and Christopher Kane I would have been fine. But no, I had to "just look" at the Co-Op selection as well.

In rapid succession my eyes alighted on a vaguely 70's plaid smock top from APC...one of the floral skirts that Cacharel created from Liberty fabrics as part of its 50th anniversary celebration...and, most guilt-inducingly of all, a heavy cotton motorcycle jacket from APC. I say "most g-i" because the one thing that I probably don't need in my closet right now is another black jacket...even one with silver zippers and a very high cool factor.

In an attempt to rationalize this transgression I'm going to hide behind two well-used lines of defense...1) they were reduced by a rather hefty percentage...and 2) they're all, in their own way, classics that will stay in heavy outfit rotation for years to come. Actually, I'm also going to include the third, and infinitely less successful line of defense, "Your honor, I just couldn't help it..."

“They shall be burnt with hunger, and devoured with burning heat, and with bitter destruction: I will also send the teeth of beasts upon them, with the poison of serpents of the dust.” - the Bible Back at the end of March (egad, how time flies) I knew that I wanted some kind of golden tooth or talon to hang around my neck...I just couldn't decide which one. After (probably too) much deliberation I finally decided on Erica Weiner's raptor talon...and, thanks to a quick visit to her blog, got it for 30% off. The code's good through June 2nd so if you're in the mood for some vertebrae, talons, or other items (and can make a decision considerably faster than I can) check it out.

Though they're not exactly twins there's a distinct similarity between Heimstone's beaded square necklace and Urban Outfitters' collar...call it 30's tribal...the kind of thing that Josephine Baker might have worn when she wasn't up to her ears in bananas (though, admittedly, little else)...or a last minute addition to my summer wish list. Or, potentially, yet one more entry on my constantly growing "DIY projects" list...

For quite a while now I've been on a sort of magazine diet...the ever-rising cost (especially of those from distant shores)...and space concerns (i.e. the piles of 'zines rising from the floor like stalagmites)...didn't stack up (sorry, bad pun) against the actual content...I just didn't need to read another article on the latest cure for cellulite...and the majority of editorials felt a little...stale.

But then...yesterday...the craving came upon me. I wanted a magazine...a French magazine...preferably Jalouse or l'Officiel. I stopped by my local Barnes & Noble (okay, not actually my "local" B&N because the one down the street closed last winter...let's just say the closest B&N within a 2 mile radius) and found...

The April issues...of both.

I went to the Service Desk...there was no one there...I went to the register...

"Can you let me know when you'll be getting the May (or, heaven forbid, June/July) issues in please?"

There was a pause...then a sigh...then a request for each magazine title to be spelled (thrice)...then another sigh...then...

"We don't carry l'Officiel any more. We might have the May issue of Jalouse in the store room...oh, wait...no, we don't."

I walked away feeling discontented (what kind of store has no product?) and guilty (if I'd been buying these magazines on a regular basis perhaps they wouldn't have had to stop stocking them). And still craving a little French 'zine action. I decided to look into subscriptions...visited Jalou's website...and stumbled upon their archives...l'Officiel, Jalouse, muteen, La Revue des Montres...dating as far back as 1921...and all available electronically...and free. Even May's issue was there in glorious, click-able, Technicolor.

The guilt is still there, though it's been assuaged slightly...

You know how it is...you wake up...you're moderately hungover...you get dressed...you go out... Then, right after lunch, you realize that it's late May (virtually June) and you look like you should be curled up in front of a log fire watching the autumn leaves fall off the trees... I obviously need to work on the concept of "seasonal dressing"... Dress - H&M, leopard print scarf - APC, moccasins - Minnetonka

It's the old question...if you see something orange-y red in the sea...and, in your mind, you imagine it to be a sea anemone whose tentacles are wafting lazily back and forth in the current...is it any less beautiful once you get closer and discover that, in reality, it's an empty soup can that someone threw over the side of their boat?

At first glance...from a distance...when I looked at the dress below...I saw waterfalls of gold...a difficult-to-put-my-finger-upon shimmer against a crash of coral. Then I made the mistake of clicking on the detail shot...and the shimmer revealed itself as 70's pre-school wallpaper.

The illusion was gone and, in this instance, reality just wasn't as alluring...

According to Webster's a fetish is, amongst other things, "an object of irrational reverence or obsessive devotion"...and that does seem to sum up my feelings for (sorry, I'm going to say it twice in one day) stripes and...erm...rubber footwear. I blame a childhood spent squelching around Scotland (and least for the footwear part of the equation)...I don't care if the rest of me gets drenched...somehow having warm, dry feet makes everything alright. These particular boots...a sort of rubberized take on the Chelsea boot...are virtually indestructible and a carryover from a (very) short-lived bout of girlish enthusiasm for horse riding.