It's Fall and I'm in love!

...with this leather jacket + bootie combination. 

 Every day is better when I look down and this is my footwear situation.
These {booties} are the greatest thing ever. Seriously, though. EVER.

Guys, it's officially FALL! I know the first day of fall was supposedly a while ago, but today is one of the the first days there are gathered leaves on the ground, it's a beautiful Chicago October, and I'm starting fall today. So obviously I just want to crawl inside the pages of Vogue and make myself at home in a Dolce & Gabbana campaign/fairytale-worthy brocades/fursandfursandfurs with a pile of doughnuts, a latte, a million pumpkin flavored things, and wear leopard print hair calf booties everyday. Because that's how everybody feels about fall. Right? Amiright??!!

I've got the booties bit down. Fursandfursandfurs, forthcoming?

I spent September distracted by the various fashion weeks' street style Instagram happenings, lavender tea, the existence of Nerds Ropes (LIFE = CHANGED), celebrating our first anniversary at work, and moving through the following stages of mourning (summer).

1. Panicking because the polar vortex is imminent.

2. Shopping for things that will make the polar vortex more bearable, such as shiny pants (oh waxed skinnies, you da best!), colorful everything, and fuzzy slippers. Or this... I really want this.

3. Preparing for the colder months by justifying the purchase of ALL of the booties, furry things, a taxidermy purse (that's another post to come...), winter boots, cozy sheepskin rugs, and piles of every Thai noodle thing. 

4. Soaking up every last warm night outside and eating way too much Halloween candy (looking at you, peanut butter Snickers, you irresistible little bastards), and wine.

5. Painting my apartment bright ass colors because HOLY GRAY WINTER, CHICAGO.

6. Getting over it because yay October/ fall fashion/ spaghetti squash/ apples/ pumpkins/ sweater weather. TIME FOR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.

I am incredibly excited for October! It helps that the weather here in Chicago is bright and clear, and I'm super pumped because M. has agreed to dress up for Halloween this year. THIS IS A BIG DEAL, PEOPLE.

          

          

The Best Leather Jacket 

Favorite Jeans

New Favorite $10 Tee (TALL GIRLS! THIS!)

 I want to celebrate by wearing all of the lizard & leopard things and frolicking through cornfields and Maine woods. I am celebrating by getting back to the bench and making some jewelry (the best way to spend any day). Nothing more rejuvenating to the soul than sitting down and sawing and firing some metal (to emerge covered in a delicious coat of silver dust, wax, and polishing filth, with a new creation that I hopefully did not melt and can maybe bear to part with but probably not because all of the rings should be my rings...)! Sound gross? You should totally try it. Spa day for the spirit. 

Also, sometimes you end up with a necklace like this one (which is hiding somewhere beneath my jacket in these photos ^^^):

I'm obsessed, I think I need to make more of these. Antlers FTW!

These are the most comfortable shoes. I'm in love with them. I am tempted to buy another pair so that, should they perish in some tragic future, I could spare myself the turmoil of  bereavement and slip into pair #2 unfazed. I just want to curl up with them next to a warm fire-- a couple mugs of hot (spiked) apple cider at hand and a stupid amount of "Don't Trust the Bitch in Apartment 23" on Netflix. 

I'm excited to see what October brings, and to wear these shoes pretty much every day until salt and snow show up... Then I'll just wear them inside. 

Happy October, chickens!

Xo,

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 

Vacation is the greatest thing. Ever.

Travel Essentials.

Booties
Hat (with feather because YES)
Daddy's by Lindsay Hunter. Mine is signed, "Happy Birthday, ya old ass bitch!" LOVE.
Sunnies

Today, I met the first gal of the summer who looked pastier than me. Her name was Sugar, and she seemed like kind of a bitch. We may well have been the same skin tone; perhaps she a bit more yellow, and I a mite more pinkish. Sugar, for the record, is an albino alligator. And I, for the record, am on the first real vacation I’ve taken in almost two years, in the loving arms of the Zydeco-soundtracked, swamp-creature-eating, opulent  mecca that is New Orleans.  And I’ve finally gotten a little color.

I could not love this place more. I just could not. 

It’s been a busy summer, and I’ve spent most of my time indoors during daylight hours. I love the sun—LOVE IT—and not being able to get out and play (even though I love my job and I work with the greatest people ever) has been a pain in the ass.  I didn’t realize how badly I needed a vacation (a break, and a new adventure) until we arrived here in New Orleans, my fiancé and I.

Even though I’ve been daydreaming about putting my feet up on the balcony railings of our second story townhouse rental (SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS, IT’S PINK ON THE OUTSIDE AND EVERYTHING INSIDE IS GILDED AND ANTIQUE. THEY’RE GONNA HAVE TO PRY ME OUT OF HERE WITH THE JAWS OF LIFE. AND THOSE JAWS WILL BE WEARING A SWEET ASS GRILL THAT HAS NOLA BURNISHED INTO ITS SURFACE. WITH DIAMONDS.), cold glass (let’s be real—bottle!) of Sauvingon Blanc in my hand and a seven month backlog of Vogue that I’ve not had a chance to get to at my disposal, I just didn’t realize how dire the need was.  

When the door to the apartment looks like this... You know there's something good inside.

Heaven, though. Just... heaven. And everything is metallic gold. Eeverywhere. 

Now that I sit here, nested in the height of an ancient ivy-clad oak, I wonder when the last time was that I really relaxed. Like, really relaxed. I can’t remember.  

Aaahhhhh.... Finally chilling the hell out. This green juice is my attempt at detoxing. Because alcohol. A lot of it.

Now, here I am. I feel feather-light, and tension is removing itself from my body in places I didn’t even realize it could dwell. It’s fucking amazing, for serious. I’m realizing I’ve barely taken any time for myself for far too long a stretch. I’ve gotten up each day, walked the pooches, tried to make myself look presentable (even though I have overslept through 5 alarms and am in a tremendous hurry, so there’s probably mascara on my cheeks and Chihuahua hair on my pants, sorry boss lady), rushed off to work, and come home exhausted to collapse in a pile of Thai take-out and online window shopping. And also Vampire TV shows that are marketed at an age group much younger than M. and I (shut up, you like them too).

This is me getting sunburned in my lazy people romper & old-ass bandana, and hanging out with the cutest damn alligator I've ever met. Not that I've met many gators, but I loves him. I wanted to take him home. But, the whole bit about eating my Chihuahuas is not really a selling point.

Side note, M. learned how to ^instagram^ things today! Yay.

Full disclosure: I’m not wearing a bra. I’m on vacation. I don’t fucking have to. My hair is in the greatest nest of a topknot and bundled with a black bandana I’ve worn Aunt-Jemima-style for fifteen years (I say "Aunt-Jemima-style," because I really wanted her to dress me when I was a little one. So, she wins.). I’m relishing the giant black Karen Walker Sunnies that are devouring most of my face (and let’s be honest with ourselves, I have a big fucking face, so these are some impressively large shades), I am wearing the romper equivalent of sweatpants, and I’m listening to the cackling of the neighborhood hens on the sidewalk. Talking about dudes, talking about love, talking about pork rinds and where to buy weed. Oh, Chickens. And I haven’t felt this happy in nine million years. I’m thrilled to recharge, to reconnect with the awesomeness that is me when cared for, and to bring it all back home to rock out my daily responsibilities with a brighter light and a rested, sharpened mind. Also, a “tan,” which really just means a sunburn that I really enjoyed getting. I have a widow's peak tan line, which is just impressive. Sorry I’m killing you, skin cells. We’ll discuss our melanoma situation when we get to it. Just kidding. Sort of.

So this is me, imploring you all to GET THE FUCK OUT AND TAKE A GODDAMN VACATION. Do something wonderful for yourself. Go SOMEWHERE. Turn off your damn phone. Drink a Bloody Mary the size of a bowling ball (which I did, last night, from which point awesomeness ensued and I went nuts on Bourbon Street like the semi-tourist I am), pick your poison, I don’t care. Then turn your phone back on again, and try to insta-capture the drunk ass you’ve made of yourself. Good job.

Said Bloody Mary... Bigger than my face.

You’re all amazing, chickadees. Seriously, monstrously fucking rad. But you’ve got to take a little time to do you, whenever you can, or you start to disappear into the monotony of making ends meet on the daily. And, so do I. Otherwise, that remarkable, soul-stirring YOU-ness starts to fade into the walls. And we can’t have that. No, we cannot.

BOOK A FUCKING FLIGHT. Do it right now.

When I'm loving life, seems to love me back <3

Love from NOLA!

-Ash