OOTD: Smurfin’ smurfed

The sum total of comments I received on this outfit from workmates consisted of “you’re looking very colourful today” and “you look like you’re wearing a blue onesie under your dress”.  Which I suppose was 75% positive?

On a [turned out to be futile, but more on that another day] Kirkcaldie’s stocking run I bit the bullet and bought some “aquamarine” tights with my standard black opaques.  Fortunately, as detailed previously, my wardrobe is now somewhat approaching versatility, so I realised that with enough dark grey/black inbetween, they’d just match my blue City Chic top.

Add a bright-red belt, and well, I was being downright courageous with my outfit choices.

And, as I realised once I came to take this photo, I looked like a damn Smurf.  And we don’t want to get me started on the shitty gender issues about the Smurfs, or that damn annoying song, or how my partner occasionally comments that Gargamel “would be a lovely name for our daughter”.

Smurfdom aside, though, I was happy with this look.  A bit playful for classic business work attire, but as I’ve also mentioned previously, my workplace can handle a bit of playful/random/eclectic/call it what you will.

Unfortunately, it’s not a look that I can repeat any time soon due to aforementioned futile stocking shopping run.  But … really, more on that later.

The dress is a recent Jacqui E number, very dark grey with adorable detailing on the sleeves and that queen of features, pockets.  Got to love the dresses with pockets.  There’s something amazingly masculine about being able to slouch around in a twee little secretary dress with one’s hands in one’s pockets.

The belt is slightly problematic: being grade-A City Chic plastic belting, the buckle does not deal with strain well so I’m having to really work the elastic.  Plus, there’s little to no vertical strength, so when faced by such an awesome rack as mine, the whole thing tends to fold down over itself, especially when sitting at a desk for a while.  The solution for me is wearing it a little lower, more at high-waist level than immediately under-bust, but it’s still a bit of a constant-adjustment item.

The only question left is, does this count as colourblocking?  I would say not so much.  It’s a lot closer to colourblocking than certain Stuff “fashion” “bloggers” might dare to tread, but it’s still damn safe.

Until the coat comes on.

This is my pride and joy at the moment; a wool/poly blend bright purple coat from The Carpenter’s Daughter and a total deal at under half price.  I have been sceptical in my past of directing a big of scorn at some of the mainline NZ plus-size stores, largely on the basis of my instinctive, undying hatred for shapeless floral tunic tops.  Give me tailoring or give me death!  But when this coat came into my life, all was forgiven.

And I don’t think anything counts as safe when it’s purple, aquamarine, and red all up in there.

Outfit details:

Blue top/red belt: City Chic
Dress: Jacqui E
Stockings: Columbine but oh there’s a rant about those forthcoming
Shoes: Ecco
Jacket: The Carpenter’s Daughter

Wednesday Wanty: Fat Ladies in Spaaaaace!

On first seeing Nicole Lorenz’s Fat Ladies in Spaaaaace! colouring book at The Rotund I was straight off to La Facebook demanding my friends ensure that my hypothetical future children get their own copies (see also: plushy microbes.)

Now Definatalie has an advance copy, and …

Oh. My. God.

I don’t want to steal Definatalie’s awesome images, so roll on over and have a look.  And think of my hypothetical future children while you’re at it!

Fat-o-sphere classics: Fat Nutritionist twofer

If ten words ever really changed my life, they were these:

Eat food.  Stuff you like.  As much as you want.

And they were uttered by the fabulous Michelle, aka The Fat Nutritionist.

So for today’s fat-o-sphere classic I’m linking to two of her classic posts:

The rules of nutrition

Now then.

Are there ways to eat which will (potentially) optimize your functioning while minimizing (your immediate and long-term risks of) certain diseases?

Probably.

Are there ways to eat which will (possibly) undermine your functioning while increasing (your risk of) disease?

Probably.

And why do I say probably instead of striking out with a sexy, definitive Yes?

Because, while these are likely results, they are not inevitabilities. They are not laws. This is not a² + b² = c².

It’s more like a² + b² = c ^{probably, maybe, if x, y, and z are also present}.

Because — let’s go back to being obvious again — people are different.

And the aforementioned Eat food.  Stuff you like.  As much as you want.

It should come as no surprise to anyone reading here that our culture views food as a moral issue. A potentially dangerous moral issue. And, setting aside the very-interesting-but-not-to-be-had-right-now discussion of ethical and religious foodways, food just…isn’t.

Food isn’t moral. It’s not immoral, either. It’s morally neutral.

But, sadly, we live in a time and a place where it seems Twinkies = Eternal Damnation. (Notice, here, how the supposed moral value of food pretty snugly overlaps its supposed nutritional value. This is not a coincidence.) And we tend to take the most pessimistic view of human nature.

So, when I say “Adult human beings are allowed to eat whatever, and however much they want,” what people actually hear is: “GO OUT AND CRAM YOUR FACE WITH BAD, BAD TWINKIES!!!!!!”

On the one hand I feel a bit trag just leaving other people’s words sitting there with no comment from myself; on the other, I just don’t see why you should be wasting any more time reading my mere mortal praise when you could be squee-gee-ing your third eye open at Michelle’s.

Nails o’ the week: shattering, um, waitresses

My first ever OPI was I’m Not Really A Waitress, a gift from my BFF who is queen of all things nail-related (hopefully we’ll be getting a guest post from her in the not-too-distant future, so my mere mortal manicure skills can be put to shame).

It’s an amazing berry-red which I am totally in love with: not too fire-engine red but still with an impact.

What did I do with it last week?  Covered it in Black Shatter, of course!

(Now, of course, OPI have gone and released Gold Shatter.  I know I told myself previously that I really only needed black, it would go with everything, I wouldn’t really use any other colours often enough to justify the purchase … but.)

I also took a before-and-after of the shatter without a topcoat, and the shatter with.

I like my nails good and light-reflecty, so I would always advocate for a topcoat.  Plus, there’s that whole protecting-your-polish, avoiding-chipping side of things.  But if you like a matte colour, go without!  Any cosmetic which serves multiple purposes is all good in my books.

As I noted in my shattering lilac post, having a fairly dark colour under a black shatter across the whole hand can look a little dark, especially for work attire and especially when your nails are getting a bit longer. (God, could I put enough qualifications in that sentence?)

But it wasn’t as bad as I thought, and since I own a lot of red clothing I managed to wear enough red-centred outfits that the black didn’t dominate too much.  I’d definitely do this look again when my nails get stubby (and guess what happened after this look was on for three-four days?  Cursed breakage!).

Things what are not news

“Woman loses 73kg” … and has entered a Weight Watchers-funded “healthy lifestyle” contest which I’m sure is totally not just a sophisticated advertising campaign.

It’s always fascinating to see the media firstly basically give companies like Weight Watchers ad space for free, and secondly report on people’s **miracle** weight loss and **healthy** new habits … without actually mentioning the food side of things.  Oh, she’s walking 12k a day and, ha ha, remembers what her ribs feel like!  Oh, eating, you say?  Her “healthy lifestyle” might involve strict caloric restrictions which in other circumstances are essentially used to torture people?

But I guess the fact that Weight Watchers is  a company based on peer-pressure bullying tactics which considers so much as a cough drop to be the top of the slippery slope to sitting on the couch inhaling bonbons through a specially-modified hose isn’t convenient when peddling the same old “fat bad! Fatties gross! Stupid fatties, drinking lard all day!” bullshit.

Also, sadly, no mention of how long the contestents in this “competition” (but I thought “getting healthy” was all the motivation you needed … but if The Biggest Loser and countless, failed, celebrity endorsements have taught us anything it’s that money suppresses hunger pangs) have kept the weight off.  Remember the actual science:  if it’s less than 5 years, they’re both massive statistical outliers.

Which would be lucky for them, given society’s massive fathatred, but hardly an example anyone else should be guilt-tripped into emulating.

Wednesday Wanty: Jay Manuel for Sears Canada

Curvy Canadian has the scoop and I have the envy, especially of this dress:

And like Mr Jay needed to be any cooler:

Jay talked about how he was pleased that he could offer the line to a wider size range of women, and explained that if a piece wasn’t going to look good on women at any size, then he simply wouldn’t put it in his collection. He also reiterated one of Coco Chanel’s oft quoted design principles; that fashion is not about size, but about proportion, and that a woman can be stylish at any size.

The line goes up to a Canadian 18, which translates (according to mighty Google) to an AUS/NZ/UK 20 – it’s not true plus-size but it’s a damn good start.

OOTD: ode to a versatile wardrobe

It’s been a very long time coming, but I am finally starting to have a semi-versatile wardrobe.

Back in the university days it was easy, of course:  lots of black skirts and blue jeans with a variety of black/red t-shirts and a few black cardigans, bog-standard black stockings, etc. etc.  It was fairly monochromatic and mainly just served the purpose of ensuring I wasn’t going to lectures naked (an especially poor idea in Wellington).

Then the need for a work wardrobe came, and it became a lot easier to just buy a whole outfit at a time – sure, I could get that dress, but I would have nothing to wear it with, so I’d also buy that cardigan and that belt.  And then I’d need another dress, which could go with the previous cardigan (anyway, everything goes with black cardigans) but would also be a completely new, vital-addition-to-my-working-week outfit if I got that top.

Long story short: lots of individual outfits, a bit of crossover (because everything was still pretty much black and red) but there wasn’t really much ability to say “right, this is clean, this hasn’t been worn in a while, and the weather’s crap so these boots too.”

(Also, no pants.  It was just hella easier on the mind, soul and wallet to forego pants for about five years, until the Great City Chic Jeans Revelation of a few months ago.)

But now!  Now we’re getting there, and I no longer feel quite so stressed about getting every piece of laundry done in the weekend to ensure I have sufficient work outfits, and no longer feel quite as bummed when my friends are playing outfit-designer with their far larger wardrobes.

So anyway, it was a Wednesday, it was raining, and I was feeling like a fairly relaxed look was called for.

Now, I feel like a bad budding-fashion blogger for saying so, but one of the secrets to my newfound ability to throw random items together and call them an outfit has involved limiting my shopping to about two stores: City Chic (I can feel your surprise from here) and Jacqui E, and keeping items to within a fairly narrow range: basically everything is a top-which-goes-under-dresses, or a dress, or a top-which-goes-over-dresses.  And a lot of it is black.  Or red.

I’m kind of talking myself out of this post here, but the fact is that I can finally get up in the morning without anal-retentively laying out my clothes the night before (and panicked doing handwashing to ensure I have stockings) and go to work looking entirely business-casual enough for the environment I’m in.

So that’s a blue top, black-and-white dress, and black bolero shrug from City Chic, over black stockings 101 and my trusty red Kumfs boots.  The necklace was a gift from the mother-in-law, and is lovely and chunky in green and purple, which … somehow ties the whole look together.

If there’s a moral to this story it’s that sometimes outfits just work and it doesn’t pay to overthink it.

Also, the dress has pockets, and dresses-with-pockets are basically infallible.

Here’s a closeup I prepared earlier, sans shrug:

 

I must say, the crossover on the bodice does wonderful things to The Girls.

All this post is really about is celebrating the strange milestone that is my realisation the morning I wore this, that I had many options of tops to go with this dress.  It could’ve been a pink or mint knit top with a white shrug over the top, a red singlet and a leopard-print shrug, whatever it was I felt in the mood for.

The modular phase of wardrobe-building is declared Mission Accomplished.  The dawn of a new buying-random-outfits-without-them-filling-a-specific-gap-in-my-wardrobe era has risen.

… Wait, can dawn actually rise?

Stop harshing my squee with your ignorant fathating, world

So not only are we getting Muppet-themed OPI, we are also being blessed with Miss Piggy fronting for MAC.  That pained sound you here is my disposable income wasting away to nothingness.

Downside?  In reporting that, Stuff (or whatever real newspaper they nicked the story from) chose to quote some utter berk:

… should we see Miss Piggy as the attractive creature she is convinced she is? Or should we see her as a pig that has a misguided fantasy that she is attractive?” Curtin University Professor of Cultural Studies Jon Stratton said.

“She is laughed at for her fantasy and her inability to see what she really is – a pig - while people sympathise with her as a passionate creature whose desire and love [for Kermit the Frog] is not reciprocated, and they empathise as she is a creature trying to make the most of her charms.”

… who one can only assume has never seen The Muppets in his life.  I mean, in the first place, there’s the tiny matter of her love interest’s “inability” to see what he really is – a frog – or their social circle’s “inability” to see what they really are – oh right, they’re ALL ANTHROPOMORPHIC PUPPETS. When Jon Stratton misses the point, he likes to miss the point as far as humanly possible.

Then there’s the whole fact that if you watched The Muppets for any appreciable amount of time, and your take-home from it was “Lol, the stupid fat pig doesn’t realise she’s a fat pig”, that probably says a hell of a lot more about your [highly supported by mainstream society's constant implications that fat people are oblivious to their fatness] issues than about The Muppets.

Bottom line:  you mess with Mademoiselle Piggy, you mess with me.  And I have a blog where I will write nasty things about you.  So just think about that, k?

Wednesday Wanty: City Chic swimwear WITH POLKADOTS

I don’t like swimming in the ocean.  I fry easily in any degree of sun.  The nearest public pool is a slightly-annoying hilly walk away.  But by God I shall go swimming if I can go swimming in this:

The rest of the lookbook is equally awesome, AND at time of posting they’re offering free shipping on swimwear, though probably only Aussie-wide.  Which is okay for me because I am God Emperor of Must Try Things On In The Store.

OOTD: Take that, subspace! (where subspace = fashion “rules”)

Or rather, “Take that, silly mainstream notions about pattern-mixing!”  But only because I didn’t know how many of my … one readers would get a reference to the classic “PARTY PARTY PARTY / SUCK BITE SUCK BITE” flea-treatment ads.

Admittedly, for a walk on the wild side of fashion, where pink and orange meet in darkened alleyways to share moments of illicit passion and plaid shirts strut down the main drag yelling “COME AT ME, BRO” to passing cars, mine was a pretty tame one – there’s a lot of safe dark neutral between the leopard print belt and the checkerboard heels.

Yep.  Leopard print belt.  Checkerboard heels.

And one fabulous damn pose.

Like 90% of my outfits, this one is almost pure City Chic (though recent trips down to The Carpenter’s Daughter on Featherston are convincing me there could be two whole stores in Wellington which stock multiple things which I like and which fit me), but I have to give a shout-out to my besties down at Molly N.

This is as shameless a plug as I will ever make on this blog, promise:  buy shoes from Molly N.  Kiwi designer, ethical manufacturing practices, and the heels are so well-balanced you will pinch yourself to ensure you’re not in some Shoe Nirvana Dreamland.

The most important fact about this outfit, however, is the reaction it got.  Not the “my gods and little wizards you look awesome” reaction, though there was plenty of that (and I make no apologies for puffing myself up on my own darn blog) – it was the universal cry of “STEPHANIE.  YOU’RE WEARING PANTS!”

Yep, pants.  Jeans.  Things what are not skirts or dresses.  It has been quite some time – enough time that there’s probably a much longer post on The Eternal Quest For Pants in my future.  But the photographic proof is undeniable:  I am once more a member of the pants-wearing club (though certain friends of mine would definitely point out that the no-pants club is where it’s at).

Here’s a closeup, shamelessly taken in the bathroom while other [drunk] people hammered at the door:

But I couldn’t help it, their lighting is far better (and the nouveau backdrop is a definite winner).

And an even better closeup (taken at home, hence lack of stylish backdrop), so you can admire my hair’s height and actual done-up-ness:

I am not a doer-up-of-hair as a rule (she says, blogging post-shower with wet combed hair tied into two ponytails for ease of sleeping on) and the art of the beehive is a difficult one, especially for a lazybones like me who can’t be bothered remembering to buy a proper rat-tail comb.  The main secerets are (1) tease that sucker till your arms hurt, (2) all the hairspray ever, and by “hairspray” I mean that Schwarzkopf product that comes in the ridiculous, huge, threatening black cans and is technically termed a “lacquer”.  Trust me, you’ll spend all evening telling people to touch your hair so you can see the look of wonder on their face when they realise … it’s pretty damn plasticky, but doesn’t look it.

Other notes … the lippy is Gypsy Rose by Avon, previously teased in my September Swag post.  I love it so damn much you better believe it’s getting its own post, perhaps along with its pink mate.  Phwoar.

The leopard print belt is adorably fuzzy and has some good structure to it, so it doesn’t crumple horizontally the way some City Chic plastic belts do (another reason to save up for some TCD real-cow products).  People were petting my under-boob area all night, but fortunately that’s how my buddies and I roll.

The nails are Not Really A Waitress by OPI under, you guessed it, Black Shatter – and yep, more on that later!

Outfit:

Jeans, black tunic, leopard print belt – City Chic
Checkerboard heels – Molly N
Blue singlet – Farmers bog-standard brand