Lazybird Style: Vol. I

The Jumpsuit.

Running my mouth about something awesome, probably. Happy September, chickens!

Let's be real, some days you roll out of bed and want to put zero effort into your look, or you just don't have the time. This summer has been so crazy busy for me (full of great things, I'm not complaining!) the time crunch has been the case for me on plenty of occasions. My solution: I've worn easy, versatile pieces like this jumpsuit (about a zillion times). To fancypants dinners with heels and serious bling, on date night with leopard booties and a snakeskin bag, out for burgers and draanks with bright flats and a red lip. It's crazy comfortable, and it makes me feel a little bit like a disco pimp, which is obviously a plus.

Also, pockets. POCKETS ARE ALWAYS GOOD.

I was super hesitant to try out the whole jumpsuit thing. I had a German teacher in high school whose wardrobe consisted entirely of uber-tight jersey jumpsuits in quite possibly the worst patterns of all time. Props for being fashion forward, Frau! The shape of this jumpsuit feels contemporary, and it comes in various lengths-- hooray for being tall as fuck and still finding things that fit me! 

The drawstring highlights the goods, and gives a bit of extra room about the tummy, should you want it. For me, any outfit that says, "It's cool, eat all of the food, you will still be comfortable," is my friend. And after this photo was taken, I ate like three dinners. I highly recommend the practice. 

I was really surprised that wearing a jumpsuit didn't give me old lady ass. Can you tell that M. took this picture?

Red flats, rolled pant legs, and a snakeskin bag FTW. Comfy chic, ready in 5 minutes.

Also, this jumpsuit is awesome if you happen to be covered in 1,000 fucking mosquito bites (which I was, here, because yay outside...) and don't want to go out with meth-head legs. I'm happy I'll be able to transition this into fall, too. Just throw a tailored blazer over it, hop into some ankle boots, and BAM. Done. Or, two birds-- toss a bright sweater over the top and rock a pseudo harem pants look with a pointed kitten heel. The possibilities, people!

This smile is courtesy of the fact that I feel like I am wearing pajamas, AND I LOVE IT. 

Here's to easy style, a beautiful end of the summer, and the beginning of what is going to be THE GREATEST SEPTEMBER EVER. 

Xx.

-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














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