Everyone...unless they're superhuman or a New York socialite...gets rumpled and slightly disheveled after commuting and doing a little 9-5 action when the temperature is (God help me) 90 degrees and humid. It's inevitable...after about an hour you're going to look like you've been screwed up and left in a ball. My battle plan...start the day rumpled...chances are things won't get much worse and you manage to remain somewhat upbeat as you actually planned to look this way. Also, as a British expat living in the US I get to take advantage of the whole unkempt/scruffy Brit myth (I know that we're not but it does provide a useful "Get out of jail free" card on the days when you know you're going to look a little the worse for wear). Ticking-stripe blouse with Peter Pan collar and gold trim - APC, raw-edged skirt - See by Chloe, ankle boots - Russell & Bromley, gold talon necklace - Erica Weiner

Once again I find myself lusting over something which is forcing me to consider the conceptual problem that I have with reality versus the altered universe where I would wear all of the articles of clothing that I steer clear of in real life. Shorts would inhabit this other-world...as would jumpsuits...and belts.

Belts like this biker-meets-pro-wrestler number courtesy of Topshop. In mythical fairyland mode I know that it would be a perfect addition to any floaty, summery items in my closet...in reality I know that, much as I love it, if I actually succumb and buy it it will get worn (optimistically) once or twice and then join the "my God, why did I buy this?" pile at the bottom of closet #2.

"The City of New York is like an enormous citadel, a modern Carcassonne. Walking between the magnificent skyscrapers one feels the presence on the fringe of a howling, raging mob, a mob with empty bellies, a mob unshaven and in rags." - Henry Miller

Just once I'd like to spend a day in a way that didn't involve some kind of ten mile death march...if only because it would open up a few more footwear options. Though, it has to be faced, wandering is what I do...it's in my bones...I just need to accept that (and the fact that all my dresses will be paired with Cons at some point).

Embroidered dress - Comptoir des Cotonniers, t-shirt - American Apparel, lo-tops - Converse, bag - from a MOMA exhibition

Yesterday was spent with my favorite things...Mr. Heb (just visible as a reflection in the blue painting)...art...the city...and an inordinate amount of good food and drink (iced mocha's...warm pain au chocolat...sangria...sugar snap peas with shallots and tarragon...shrimp with large crystals of sea salt clinging to their sides...Manchego cheese and quince paste).

I'm a very happy little Heb...demoralized only by my footwear and the translation of a poem from a Japanese woodblock print from the mid-1700's that I stumbled across in the art gallery...

"Despite all I do
It is of no avail -
My body has grown old;
While the waterfall remains
Unchanged in its appearance."

Just to be perverse I'm going to post an un-birthday song on my birthday...



I'm taking a blogging holiday today...enjoy the musical interlude (and possibly an archive post or two)...

I think by now we're all familiar with the concept of perfume that smells like food, drink, dirt, and a plethora of other objects that we know (and even possibly love) in daily life but don't necessarily want to smell like...and while I wasn't exactly on tenterhooks to see where this olfactory trend would go next I suppose you could say that I was curious. Well, regretfully, I have an answer to that burning (pun will become apparent in a few seconds) question. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Flame, the scent of...Burger King. To quote from their site..."The Whopper sandwich is America's favorite burger. Flame by BK captures the essence of that love and gives it to you. Behold the scent of seduction, with a hint of flame-broiled meat". I'd love to say this is the fictitious whim of some advertising exec who fancied a laugh but, no, you can actually buy it...admittedly it's $3.99 (which allows you to realistically set your expectations as to what this will smell like) but it is for sale. My mind is officially boggling...

Anthropologically, I suppose we should be excited that a new human species has been identified. A phenomenon that I discovered after stumbling across, in the space of a two week period, numerous articles, a couple of pictorial guides, and a “how to” video, that all shared a common theme. The subject matter in question, “it’s summer, but a lot of public spaces set their air conditioning on high at this time of year so, have you considered wearing a cardi to keep you warm?”

If I’d only read this advice once or twice I would have dismissed it as one of those summer themes that are dragged out, year after year, to inform those of us who wiped our minds clean between autumn and spring what style of swimwear suits our body shape or that nautical stripes are a summer staple. However after you’ve sat through a three and a half minute video (in the name of scientific research), and gathered little more information than your woolen wonder should fit relatively snugly and can be belted if you want to change things up a little, you begin to wonder if there potentially are a group of people who need this information...

* Charles Darwin

I can't believe that on my last trip to the UK I managed to overlook such a unique oddity as vending machines that sell a pair of ballet flats for five quid...but I did. A piece of fashion tourism that for a confirmed flat lover like myself should have been unmissable...I'm kicking myself (though in a different pair of shoes, of course).

The concept behind the machines is so simple that it's hard to believe that no one's done it before...vending machines, loaded with shoes, are placed in clubs...ready for that point in the evening when you have danced your little heart out...and the shoes that you left your house in have been transformed into instruments of torture...hobble to said vending machine...insert your fiver...and slip into your new ballet flats. Brilliantly simple.

Though it's not quite the same thing...none of the funfair-like thrill of pressing a button and getting a "present"...I may have to order a pair from their website.

Those dratted good intentions always seem to trip me up...I started the day by pulling a bright orange cardigan out of my closet...determined not to walk, entirely, on the dark side today. That particular g.i. lasted approximately half an hour. It felt wrong...too forced. Quick change to...black. Comforting...friendly...slightly rumpled (though not as much as it looks in the photograph)...black. Linen shirt - Uniqlo, cardigan - Fred Perry, plaid skirt - Zucca, Mary Janes - Gentle Souls, gold talon necklace - Erica Weiner, skull necklace - Chloe

They say that good things come in small packages...in reality, they come in small packages that have been x-rayed, cut open, and searched by the U.S. Government...

At least, that's what happened with my new "camera cable, iPod, iPod cable, memory stick, and other tech crap that I carry around on a daily basis" bag made its way to me from the UK. Alright technically it's a make-up bag but, as you know by now, the "make-up" that I carry around on a daily basis consists of one lip balm...and even I don't need a bag for that. The miscellaneous cords and cables that lurk in my handbag...melding into a tangled mess with everything else that I have to carry around that day are a different matter...they need to be contained. The bag in question? Satin sides...printed with whatever image I wanted...with leather sides and trim. In true "narcissistic blogger" style I chose a picture of myself (hiding behind Prada glasses and gloves). If that doesn't scare would-be cable thieves, nothing will...

"Small debts are like small shot; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely be escaped without a wound; great debts are like cannon; of loud noise, but little danger" - Samuel Johnson

I have to say, I am stunned...according to an article on the Financial Times' website, at the end of 2008 Prada had net debt of about €1.1bn ($1.5bn). One...point...five...billion...dollars. Beautiful though they may be, those Rem Koolhaas and Herzog & de Meuron designed stores certainly add up...don't they?

You know how it is...Memorial Day is long gone...the 4th of July is still a few weeks off...you're in the mood for a holiday...so you invent one. Thus, in this new found spirit of nonsensical holiday creation, I give you Vena Cava week! Celebrating this holiday is simple...on Tuesday, you stop by the Gap and pick up one of the printed khaki dresses that they created as part of this year's Gap/CFDA collaboration...then, later in the week, you swing by Vena Cava's sample sale. Cupcakes or some other sugary foodstuff can probably be worked into the celebration at some point...the seasonal libation will, of course, be some kind of cava.

	I suggest reading this post in your best Cookie Monster or Mumford voice...it's not obligatory but will add to the randomness of these musings... But why D you ask...well, it's because...
D is for demoralizing.	I've noticed in the past couple of days that, as a little warmth makes its way into the day, I've been pushing my jacket sleeves up around the mid-forearm region...which is great from the perspective of moderating my body temperature but is veering dangerously (and demoralizingly) into Don Johnson in Miami Vice territory.
D is for d'uh!	When I told Mr. Heb about my brainwave I was met with raised eyebrows and concern about whether the sun had addled my brain. Even though it is ludicrously simple I'm going to share it in case there's anyone who, like me, it just hadn't occurred to. In the summer I love to wear my Converse lo-tops but am caught between the conflicting requirements of a) not wanting to wear them sock-less and b) not wanting to actually see any of the sock (I want the foot coverage...not the bit that pokes out of the shoe and covers the ankle). Sports socks don't fit the bill...and nylon sockettes part company with my heel after a couple of steps and spend the rest of the time bunched up around my toes. My "brainwave"...to put on a pair of tights which had outlived their usefulness...and my beloved Cons...then take a pair of nail scissors and cut the tights around the top of the shoe, thereby creating custom socks that go where I want them to go...but no further.

I realize that a couple of months ago I claimed that I was done with sandal buying...the lack of comfort...the small stones that jump on board like bums leaping on a freight train...the numerous pairs currently lurking in my closet, virtually unworn. And I stand by that...I'm not buying any more pairs...I am, however, allowing myself to drool over these pictures of Christian Louboutin's lipstick red gladiator/espadrille hybrids.

As mother used to say (frequently during my childhood), "you can look...just don't touch!"

He can behold
Things manifold
That have not yet been wholly told,--
Have not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,
Follows the water-drops
Down to the graves of the dead,
Down through chasms and gulfs profound,
To the dreary fountain-head
Of lakes and rivers under ground;
And sees them, when the rain is done,
On the bridge of colors seven
Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"Once you can accept the universe as being something expanding into an infinite nothing which is something, wearing stripes with plaid is easy." - Albert Einstein

In an attempt to simplify summer dressing I seem to have ended up with a wardrobe of plain, dark colors and three patterns (stripes, floral, and plaid)...not that I'm complaining...this particular triumvirate fall under the heading of "non-stodgy classics that I'm perfectly happy to wear every single day either separately or in a humongous pattern clash" (NSCTIPHTWESDESOIAHPC for short)...I just found myself casting lustful glances at American Apparel's translucent plaid tee and wondering if it could be argued that I need another piece of plaid in my life.

"I came out here with one suit and everybody said I looked like a bum. Twenty years later Marlon Brando came out with only a sweatshirt and the town drooled over him. That shows how much Hollywood has progressed." - Humphrey Bogart This is, quite literally, a sweatshirt...a completely impractical hybrid where shirt sleeves and collar have been sewn into a short-sleeved sweatshirt. In theory, I hate it...one of the main reasons for wearing layers is the ability to discard or add them as necessary...being locked into a schizophrenic mixture of lightweight and mid-weight fabrics leaves you curiously unprepared for most temperatures. In reality, I can't help but have a sneaking liking for it...

It's the old story...you have a good friend...with whom you fall out of touch (not your fault, nor hers either, these things just happen)...a few years go by and you meet again...within five minutes you realize that a) she's the same and b) she's completely different. Such were my thoughts as I looked at some pictures from Phoebe Philo's debut collection for Celine (2010 resort for those playing at home) on Style.com...you still recognize the cool girl that you knew at Chloe...but in the intervening years she's become an equally cool, though more grown-up, woman. The friendship remains...but there'll be that awkward few minutes of guilt on each side...followed by a lot of catching up.

I suppose I should be waxing nostalgic about the cold, damp, chill which is currently assaulting my senses...reminiscing about the Scottish summers of my childhood when the period from spring to autumn (laughingly referred to as "summer") was frequently a 3 month period of rain broken by one (two if you were very lucky) days of sunshine. I "should", but I'm not... Empire-waisted trench - H&M, striped scarf - Muji, jeans - Levis, hi-tops - Converse

In general, fashion is the battle of need versus want. Does anyone need a pair of 18k gold safety pin earrings embellished with pavé black diamonds? Well, no. But, speaking as someone whose schizophrenia embraces both luxury and punk, I'd certainly like to have them...

There's a certain 1930's, arts and crafts, tribal elegance to Jamin Puech's Izia clutch...it would be equally at home resting on a coffee table as a piece of objet d'art as it would being carried around as a bag. A statement which, sadly, is a pretty accurate reflection of my prior history with Jamin Puech's bags...I love them...their creativity and attention to detail amazes me...but I get more of a thrill from looking at them than from actually putting them to their intended use (as proved by the JP bag which has been residing in my closet, or on my walls, for the last seven or eight years...unworn, but not unloved).

Striped top - Old Navy, cardigan - Fred Perry, skirt - Cacharel/Liberty, Mary Janes - Gentle Souls

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