The Girl I Was is the Girl I Am - Minus A Lot of Cool

I used to be pretty cool. I know that. I don't revel in it often, but every so often I think back to memories past, outfits worn, shoes scuffed...and I think I was prettttty hip; most of the time at least. I reminisce back to the days when I used to brave NYC sidewalks morning noon or night with my four-inch cockroach killing stilettos - I could rock a pair all day long straight through the evening's festivities with nary a blister. I took chances, man. I put together outfits that bordered on bizarre, but always managed to come off as interesting - at least that's how I like to remember it.

Not anymore. I don't know at what point dressing myself became a difficult chore, but I'd quite prefer to do a load of laundry than actually wear the clothes. Not that I'm saying I'd rather be nude, because I actually don't like being nude much - I hate sleeping nude, for one...I wake up from strange dreams when there is no layer between my VJ and the pillow wedged between my legs, and I think nudity in general is overrated, unless you have a sick pinup bod and you have found a way to master that famous position where you are kind of sitting on your heels, hip gyrated to the side, one arm on hip and one arm up behind your neck...but that's neither here nor there....

My point is, my friends tell me I've got pretty good style. My fam thinks so too, but that's their job to make me feel good about myself. (They also tell me my poo doesn't smell, so their word doesn't carry it's weight per se.) I personally think something has gotten lost in translation somehow. Nothing seems to work. I dress myself so slowly and laboriously these days, one watching might think I was choosing my deposition outfit - or deciding on my wedding day attire...now of course when it came to my wedding, I tried on 2 dresses and ended up having one made, but again, neither here nor there.

My closet is full of interesting unique finds. I have a Zac Posen jumper that screams chic every time I open the door. I have vintage Yves St. Laurent cardigans and Marc Jacobs pumps that would make some girls cringe with jealous envy. Yet putting together a proper outfit leaves me staring into the abyss of fabric like, "ummmm, how exactly do we make this work today?"

I think I must be going through a phase. It's like being a good cook and then going on sabbatical out of boredom or just plain being over it and cooking Kraft Mac for days on end. My fashion days hit a roadblock. Now I need to get out of the car, fix the flat tire, put on my YSL Spectators and sashay myself into tomorrow - a day when I will be the girl I was - but much more cool.

So here me, blog readers. I vow to be a styletto. (Which is a word I created and tried to sell to Fashion Week Daily and they were not so interested...screw them.)