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

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

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 

Brought To You By Stripes & Moccasins.

I adore summers in Chicago. The city becomes a sticky-sweet treasure trove of sidewalk dining, street fairs, and the always exciting mystery of what season it will feel like from day to day (currently: a balmy fall day in the high 60s). Not to mention the glorious beach-lined miles of lakefront, buying armfuls of Paletas from carts, and night walks through curtains of fireflies. Of course, the ever wonderful presence of bangin' humidity as well, which I totally do not mind. But it's nice once in a while, on cooler days like today, to be able to wear jeans and let my hair down without everything sticking to me everywhere. So, I did, and:
1. Found low-key sidewalk eatery
2. Enjoyed a disgusting amount of chickpea salad and Ace pear     
    cider (Cannot eat gluten. I'm living on the edge, friends.)
3. Settled in for a couple rounds of drinks with my dude 
4. Stole all of his french fries

I love you, summer!

Rope Tee & Favorite Sunnies

This is me, falling over.

Rockstar Jeans

Sass.

Akemi in Japan Bangle

Because MOCCASINS ARE THE ONLY THING 

when I've hurt my ankle running... Knock it off, limbs!

Awesome Neutral Bag & Minnetonka Moccasins

It's fantastic to live in a place where we can walk a short distance, beside lines of trees made incredibly green by this rainy July, and end up with our happy asses at a seriously relaxing sidewalk cafe. My fiance and I-- feet up, cocktails at hand, stuffing our faces beneath the Maple growing up through the center of our table. 

Even more brilliant, while walking home-- the chanting of Buddhists, the soulful voices of a church choir flooding through chapel windows, backyard chickens, a gazillion lightning bugs, car windows down/music turned up, a million more incredibly tempting eateries and watering holes (THERE IS ALWAYS ROOM FOR A SUNDAE, MARGIE, YOU TRICK... TOO FULL, HURTS SO GOOD), the one lady in my neighborhood who is always out there hula-hooping (rock it out, girrrrl), neon murals, eight thousand wild rabbits, way-too-personal conversations falling down to the pavement from open apartment windows... And people, just relaxing, just letting themselves be in love with summer in this city, even if they're cursing its winters under their breath.

Happy Summer, Chickens!

XO,

Ash