Lemonade

It's been rainy here in Chicago, meteorologists have been totally off their game (I know, I know, climate change is wacky, but I NEED YOU TO HELP ME DRESS MYSELF TOM SKILLING), and I've been struggling to deal with the fact that winter is eventually coming back to Chicago. Polar Vortex flashbacks... WHY GOD WHY.

I spent a couple of days feeling super blue about it. I always have a bit of heartache at the end of the summer season (not that it's really gone, yet)-- it's that little creeping feeling of the fun coming to an end. But really, we make our own fun, don't we? Seasons change, and especially here in Chicago, winter is going to happen (I am coming to terms with this by getting excited about furry thangs and boots, I fucking love boots. All of the boots.). So a couple of mornings ago I got up, and when I looked out the window into the gray haze/ tail of summer, I decided to make some fucking lemonade. 

This necklace is one of my favorite things (so is my back porch, and this antique oriental rug...). Instantly dresses up anything. I've worn it out dancing in Vegas, with a grey tee and jeans, to a black tie wedding, and...

When I met the monkey from The Hangover a few years back. He was really into it.
This necklace is from a zillion years ago... but this one is its beautiful bastard child. And, it's on sale through Labor Day!

I embraced my lemons. If I'm going to be a little tart about things, I might as we'll be bright fucking yellow as well... Don't ya think? I think. And the citrus bit has been one of my favorite trends this summer, after all. I love anything in fashion that demands you check your pretension at the door. Check it. 

I can't not smile when I'm wearing these! I am pocket-obsessed, too, which these are awesome for. I love when I CAN ACTUALLY PUT MY HANDS INTO POCKETS. None of this decorative coin pocket bullshit. REAL, hand-worthy pockets. It just seems to make the world turn more smoothly, you know? Pockets are some powerful shit. 

A little citrus, a little sparkle, a couple of comments from strangers/clients/passersby re: how gawdy my necklace is (I prefer the term AWESOMESAUCE) and the smile my lemons put on their faces, and voila. Lemonade!

I like my lemonade three ways: sour, alcoholic, and metaphorical. 

Summer, I hate to see you leave... But when there's fruit on your ass, I love to watch you go. 

Happy summer's end, chickens!

Xx.

Ash

Native Beauty

I've been lusting after a carved Turquoise eagle chest piece, an awe-inspiring squash blossom necklace, glorious rings, and every single killer Native cuff out there for... well, forever. Native American jewelry has always been my jam. Recently, while shopping for a pair of uber-toasty mukluks (because shut up winter, my circulation just gives up between the months of December and March and I need a whole sheep on each foot...), I came across an article about a Chickasaw designer by the name of Kristen Dorsey.

And may I just say, holy shit.

Tallon Earrings
Sapphires + Quartz + Rose Gold = YUM.

I'm a sucker for interesting lines and unusual combinations, and the textures and adventurous spirit of her designs wooed me on the spot. Wooed me.

Obviously, I'm going to be needing one of these:

Sky Serpent Cuff
Clearly this has magic powers. 

Oh hey, Christmas! You're not so far away! (Ahem, fiance... I's just sayin'.)


I would basically promise my first-born to Rumpelstiltskin to be friends with this:

Stingray and Larimar Breastplate

Unbelievable.

And frankly, I can't go much longer without owning this guy:

Foshi Pendant
Okay, so I have a thing for birds, but this is my favorite. How do you manage to make two-headed animals beautiful, miss thing?!

But alas, this beauty is sold out. One day.

Why wear any other pendant when you could be wearing a two-headed bird pendant, guys?! I may or may not have a jar of dollah dollah bills devoted to the acquisition of this bad boy. (WHY AREN'T YOU FREE, WEDDING? GO AWAY, PRIORITIES. FOSHI 4 LYFE!)

Black Diamond Barnacle Necklace

Ms. Dorsey weaves some delicious magic with her jewels. She is a storyteller with an impressive connection to her roots, one that spills into her pieces: fluid, light, and cosmic. There is a stirring fierceness in her collections, along with her choice of stones, that balances itself expertly against the pieces' unmistakably feminine and fashion-friendly aesthetic. Anyone that can marry stingray, sky serpents, diamonds, and avant garde badassery as she does without sacrificing elegance deserves ALL of the applause for being rad as fuck.

Woodpecker Bracelet

Also, TWO-HEADED BIRD jewelry. There is nothing that is not awesome about that.

I'm off to have that dream where I'm running through a field of flowers wearing a million Foshi necklaces. This may or may not be an actual dream I had.

Much love,

Ash.

Just the tip...

...of the iceberg, that is. 

At the Clover Grill, preparing to tear myself away from New Orleans and hop on a plane. This shirt always puts me in a great mood. THE COLORS. 

(Just the tip! Just for a minute! Just to see how it feels!)

Because maybe it feels like 1/4 pound of pure Beef Pleasure!

Seriously, though, I'm about to get deep on your asses.

I found myself, this past week, in earshot of a statement that went something like this:

"Anyone who cares about fashion, or puts any stock in appearance, must not have much going on upstairs. You've got to be pretty shallow for that kind of thing to matter."

...and I was like, IS THIS DUDE FOR REAL?

I consequently found myself thinking, Oh dear, what a dickbag. 

This got me to wondering about the people I know-- male, female, and in between --who I count among the most stylish individuals in my life. The funny thing is, these are some of the most brilliant, thoughtful, creative, well-adjusted, remarkable people that I know. The lot of them are a drawer full of really fucking sharp knives. Or so the saying would go. 

The more I thought about these amazing human beings, who embody this accused "shallowness" with the accuracy of a fucking abyssal plane, I found myself thinking about why it is that they all might share this trait. These are artists, entrepreneurs, teachers, and stay-at-home parents. These are lawyers, students, baristas, politicos and NPO champions. These are people who think amazing thoughts, do amazing things, and in my humble opinion, help to create a reality that nourishes, nurtures, and provokes thought, all in very different ways. Also, most of them are unspeakably funny to boot. On the point of ye olde (aforementioned) bag of dicks, they could not be a farther cry from his assumption. 

Doesn't it just make you smile?

(It should be noted, perhaps, that this particular person appeared to excel in the styling of one practiced, perfectly ironic fashion. Just saying.)

If I think about this collection of people, I realize I have never actually asked them about why they find themselves in a love affair with style. If I did, I know I would get one very sassy, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just this naturally fucking fabulous." I would hear a lot about personal expression, identity, and creative passion. I would receive, I am certain, endless answers speaking to the human mystery of adornment and all of that. 

If I ask myself, it is simply this:

I dress for a feeling. Sometimes that feeling translates as a color; sometimes, it is a silhouette, a texture, or a print. When I see it in the mirror, it just makes sense. Sometimes that feeling is the power I seem to gain from donning a piece. Clothing (and all facets of self-adornment) can sometimes be an armor for me. Not in the sense that I am attempting to shield myself from the world, or keep myself withdrawn; rather, it is simply stepping into my day knowing that I am equipped properly for whatever battle I might face so that I may be more present (and in the mindset of kicking ass). Different days, each mood and perspective, simply require their own war paint, so to speak. I don't think I'm alone in that. 

Life feeling completely askew? It's cool. TRIBAL PATTERNS FOR EVERYONE!

This "war paint," or what have you, is done in the style of, some shit is going down with my health, and it's nothing new, and I'm okay... but it's still uncomfortable as fuck and kind of scary.

It's not that you will see me running the streets in chainmail anytime soon (though I am totally unopposed to this idea, WHAT'S UP LAYERING), it is just this: 

I have so many moving parts. If my decoration of the outside can make all of the internal gears turn a little more easily, I'm sure as fuck going to take that route. It is a kindness. And If I'm feeling peaceful, I want to paint that still bit of water all across myself. Maybe it will make someone smile. Maybe I feel connected to a sweatshirt with a doughnut on it that day, and someone is tickled enough to strike up an awesome conversation. Maybe I find within myself that I absolutely have to wear daytime sequins and hot pink cowboy boots, because, you know what? We don't have to take ourselves so seriously all the damn time. 

This is me, partying with my shit, shadows or none. 

Anyway, guy-who-made-that-comment, I would love to be able to ask this question of you. What would you say? 

Hugs, kisses, and every encouragement to wear whatever the fuck you want and do it proudly,

-Ash

The Moon Is Almost As Full As I Am.

It's a supermoon, I guess.

I just ate SO much pizza, I feel like I'm going to die. The energy today felt wacky as hell-- the whole week did, actually. I met the real life manifestation of Napoleon Dynamite (I have witnesses, it is undeniable, he's real!), I was super early to work (WHAT IS THIS HOODOO), everyone and their mother has suddenly sprung from the woodwork, and the booties I've been trying to track down for like 3 months materialized out of thin (interwebz) air. I blame (...thank?) the full moon. And now, I'm eating like a ravenous animal.


Conclusion? Turning into a Werewolf.

Obviously, you are a much cuter wolf than homeboy.

You too? It's okay! We'll get through this. I mean, being a wolf probably won't be so bad. No one will ever expect you to shave your legs, and after a short adjustment period, the fame will be the pay dirt you've been dreaming of. You'll stay nice and toasty all winter. Everyone will think you're totally edgy, because you'll be the queen of the raw food movement (granted, it's a muskrat you just killed, but whatevs...), and your outrageously lucrative talk show appearances will more than cover your expenses for the gear you'll need on full moon nights.

People will give you whatever you want all the time to avoid getting their faces eaten. Also, you can howl at shit, and no one will think its weird. You kind of have it made, if you think about it.

Just because you're a werewolf now doesn't mean you've lost your sense of style. Sure, you're a mythical creature, but that doesn't mean you have to let yourself go!

Your signature piece:

 

Boar's Tusk and Diamond Collar. Don't worry, it's only $17,200!

Hunt your own food, nothing goes to waste. Living off the land. You're a total homesteader! Rock it out, ya damn hipster.

You'll need kicks for the front paws:

I love you, Louboutin sandals.

And for the back:

I want to be friends with these.

Hello, instantly doubled shoe collection! Welcome to the pack.

You may be a really furry lady, but you're STILL a lady. So you'll need this:

I suddenly desperately need this skirt...

And up top, this:

Of course you can wear a crop top, wolfie, It's all about confidence. And it's like $30. 

Your wolf eyes may not love the daylight, so here:

Moon people shades. Dolce & Gabbana have your back.

Even though you're wearing a pimp boar's tusk, you still need some bling. Diamonds look excellent by moonlight.

You are a badass.

Half Moon Diamond Ring-- this shit was made for you.

Black Diamond & 18K Single Spine Earring. Because you're too cool to wear two.

Self portrait.

Celestial Cuff with Pyrite.

And if you're going to wear fabulous jewelry, why not just toss an excellent manicure into the mix?

Midnight and whatnot.

You'll need somewhere to stow your goods:

McQ... I want.

In your wolf purse: a chicken wing, a lint roller, and $300.

A signature fragrance to cover the, um... Fact that you're a freaking wolf (you probably smell horrible). Your musk is all your own, dear one.

This should do it:

Eau de Lune Eau de Parfum. Apparently this is what the moon smells like.

After a hard day (or night), settle in with a good read:

One of the greatest books ever. Maurice Sendak was a G.

And fall into dreaming...

My dog. I can't even deal with this.

The perfect place to rest your head.

Stay classy, and try not to eat anyone. 

XO,

Ash














Sent from my iPhone

Blanche Devereaux made me do it.

Dress that is awesome for wearing while eating everything all day, unless you're messy.
Wander-the-whole-city-comfy Booties.
Clutch that is actually big enough to put shit in.

Some days, you just wake up feeling called to channel your inner Golden Girl. Everybody's been there, right? Maybe?

Some days, the force of Blanche Devereaux is strong with you. And then this is what happens (my favorite day of my week in New Orleans):

You put on something acid-washed, and your hair finds an unusual amount of volume to draw from, and maybe it's just the Southern humidity, but probably it's the fictional ghost of Blanche Devereaux posessing your tresses...

She wore it better, obviously. 

You pick out the brightest, most harlot-y lip color you happen to have in your make-up bag at the moment, because it compliments acid-washed everything quite nicely, and of course a Devereaux girl couldn't go out with some ungodly Northern pallor (my face is made of ungodly Northern pallor, but a gal does what she can)...

You find the biggest earrings your head can support and rock them all day...

You get a little wild...

"Dahlin', I'm very concerned you're not quite sure what wild means..."

You get a little weird...

I met this guy at the Aquarium, later, and I don't know what the hell he is. But this creature is alive. THIS THING IS ALIVE. 

And you get a little dramatic...

You find the most fabulous old man kickin' to stand by your side, who will almost definitely follow you to Florida post haste...

How could I not take a picture with this man? Look at his damn shirt! Also, I'm pretty sure he only thought I was a little bit creepy.

Just kidding, he was super nice. Yay flamingos.

You spend the day living-- really living-- and doing whatever the hell your heart desires, because Blanche is just not the kind of woman to take a backseat to life...

Didn't we all?

And then you go back to that heart, because beneath the bright pantsuits, ginormo-glam clip-on earrings, and ooze of old people sexuality, that's what Blanche is. All heart.

Rue McClanahan before the Golden years of Blanche... Could she have been more adorable?

***

Lately, every time I reach for a lipcolor, or choose a color for manicure when I'm in for a no-chip (at this place, which is the best place, and I totally fucking love them), I am caught in the possibility that there is, perhaps, an elderly Floridian making these decisions for me. In the beauty-ish sector, I can't seem to be satisfied with anything but day-glo colors and super '80s palettes. It is very possible that in the near future, my morning routine will send me out the door looking something like this:

I mean, ya know... If I'm feeling adventurous. At least I don't have to delve into the world of permanents, because by Jesus, I hear them chemicals just fry ya ends right up. So says Blanche.

Next time, maybe, my rendition of Sophia-- wig and glasses mandatory. I would say Rose, but... Betty White is the world's greatest human.

Stay Golden, chickens!

-Ash