Category: style

Your Cold Shoulder Top is Upsetting Me

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The world is full of injustice; Bravo’s ‘Gallery Girls’ only got one season, Rihanna hasn’t released an album since 2016, and Jonathan Cheban somehow still has something vaguely resembling a career. The biggest injustice as of late, however, is that the cold shoulder top has actually become a thing.

What is a cold shoulder top you ask? Well first things first, to answer your question, yes, they are one thousand percent as ridiculous as they sound. I would give you a more technical definition but when I went to Google to look for one, the first description I saw used the phrase “casual but classy” to describe a neon pink chevron patterned version of this top. I immediately fell into a rage blackout that I still haven’t recovered from some two weeks later. Maybe it’s because I don’t like any part of my body to be cold (just my demeanor), or maybe it’s because I don’t feel that my shoulders are my best asset, but I really just can’t condone the sartorial nightmare that is the cold shoulder top.

Most women have essential clothing items that they consider wardrobe staples, for most ladies that’s going to include things like a great pair of jeans, a little black dress, a chic coat, and other variations of pieces that are almost universally considered “classics.” There are some women (none that I personally have in my life, small mercies) for whom cold shoulder tops seem to be a critical part of their wardrobe, and although I’m generally against generalizing groups of people, I’ve noticed several things that almost seem to be mutually exclusive to women that wear these hideous tops.

  • Has children named things like: Brixton, Blaze, Maklemily, Maxkenzy, etc
  • Has gotten into an altercation with at LEAST four different t-ball umpires
  • Has one of those stupid stick figure sticker families on the back of their (usually white) SUV
  • Doesn’t give a shit that her $1 off $5 coupon expired in 2011, and thinks she is absolutely still entitled to use it
  • Needs to speak to your manager
  • Likes the “Women for Trump” page on Facebook
  • Thinks chain restaurants like Olive Garden are Michelin star dining experiences
  • Owns a $3,000 purebred dog, but she’ll still share animal rescue posts on social media because she’s such a good person
  • Has a vinyl on the wall above her bed that says “I Love You to the Moon and Back”
  • Loves wine, wine themed throw pillows, puns about wine, is essentially just SUPER f@$#%*& into wine (not like, particularly good wine though).

I could literally make this list at least 1500 bullet points long, but we really don’t have the time for all of that, do we? Look, I’m sure that someone reading this doesn’t fit all or even any of the boxes I checked, but just like when I see a red hat on a guy, your cold shoulder top activates my fight or flight response. I’m not saying that wearing a cold shoulder top makes you a bad person or that not wearing them makes you a good person, all I’m saying is that these shirts are stupid and it’s past time for them to go the way of the statement necklace.

 

Hold Me Closer Not-So-Tiny Dancer

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You know how people talk about the way certain smells can instantly bring back a flood of vivid memories? Admittedly, most of mine involve moments when I get whiffs of certain kinds of alcohol and am transported back to memories (using this term loosely here, as it implies I am remembering all of these incidents) that involve me puking or trying to get into the house without having to speak to my parents (an unsuccessful feat 99.8% of the time).

The other day at work, however, when I stepped into the bathroom to wash my hands after somewhat aggressively eating a pack of Peanut M&Ms, the smell of hairspray transported me to a place that I literally haven’t thought about, except maybe in therapy, for years, the basement of the performing arts center at Wesleyan College in Macon, Georgia.

I’m 10 years old, and my body shape can best be described as a steamed pork bun. I’m wearing red lipstick and a glittered little crop top/flared pants getup that, when paired with the unfortunate bangs I had, was worthy of at LEAST seven felony charges. I am at my dance recital, and although my disastrous ballet performance as a “French Lady” might be over, my jazz performance as an elementary school-aged sensual cowgirl temptress is in about ten minutes.

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If you can’t tell by now, I hated dance, like hated it to the point where I would throw tantrums before class because I hoped if my face got red and tear stained enough I would not have to go. My mom would then get to the point where she did nott want to risk me making a scene at the dance studio in front of other people, and let me skip class. This didn’t happen as often as I would’ve liked, because my mother is from the northeast, doesn’t embarrass easily, and had the audacity to make my brother and I fulfill commitments we had made.

Let me just say that I didn’t hate dance because I was bullied or anything like that, in fact, I met several girls at dance that I still consider friends today. I hated dance because I was terrible at it and I was incredibly aware of just how awful I was. I would watch the taller, more graceful girls glide effortlessly across the floor and convince myself that I absolutely looked like that, when in reality, I more closely resembled some sort of large sea creature that had found itself beached, and was desperately trying to flail it’s way back to the water.

I’m not sure how I ended up taking dance for 13 years of my life when I loathed it so much. Maybe it’s because I was born with exactly zero rhythm and was trying to gain some? That never happened. I even have moments today where I struggle to keep up with the most caucasian of beats (my most humiliating moment to date was when I realized I was clapping off beat at a Taylor Swift concert last summer). Maybe it’s because the good lord saw fit to make sure I sought out therapy as an adult because he knew by that point the people in my life would deserve a break from my constant need to hear myself talk? It could be a lot of things but we really don’t have time for a complete list. However, I did learn a valuable lesson and that was that there were going to be things in life that I wasn’t good at, but had to do anyway (example, I met Lena Dunham at a work event a few years ago and had to pretend to be excited). Challenges like this have ultimately made me a more well-rounded (ish) person. That being said, I sincerely apologize to all those who had to sit through my dance recitals back in the day and had to pretend I had given a Misty Copeland level performance when you saw me afterwards and handed me a congratulatory bouquet. You’re the strongest people I know.

Flashback Friday: The Suspect Wore Louboutins

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If you’ve had even the most minimal of interactions with me, you are probably aware of my affinity and love for all things reality television. When I say reality television, I don’t mean “I enjoy Top Chef and The Amazing Race,” no, I mean “I can recite Teresa Giudice’s entire monologue from the iconic Danielle Staub provoked table flip scene from Real Housewives of New Jersey.” Unfortunately, when your love for trash runs as deeply as mine, you’re often faced with the devastating predicament of the shows you’re so fond of only lasting 1-2 seasons. It happened with MTV’s “Fat Camp,” and then again with Bravo’s “NYC Prep” and “Gallery Girls,” but none of these shows were, for me, gone too soon as E!’s “Pretty Wild.”

The show followed the Neiers sisters, Tess (who is actually adopted, her last name is Taylor), Alexis, Gabby, and their mother Andrea, who in my opinion, was the breakout star of this series’ one magical season. The two older girls are both “pursuing modeling careers” which back in 2010 I rolled my eyes at, but hey, Kendall Jenner is on the cover of the September Issue of VOGUE, so, anything is possible I guess. Gabby honestly wasn’t that memorable,  mostly because she didn’t get in trouble, and the biggest drama surrounding her was her decision to stop being homeschooled and start attending public high school. Yawn.

I feel like it’s important to note that the girl’s mother centered her homeschool curriculum (I use the words “school” and “curriculum” VERY loosely here) around the book, “The Secret.” If you’re unfamiliar, “The Secret” is a self help book (based on a movie, so, you know, completely credible) and the premise is basically that you get back whatever type of “energy” you put into the world. For context, let’s just say if I had to guess, Spencer Pratt was probably super into this book during his “crystals” phase. She also wakes the girls up by screeching “GIRLS! IT’S TIME FOR YOUR ADDERALL!” she’s literally Amy Poehler’s character in ‘Mean Girls’ brought to life.

The drama came to a peak (this is like episode 2-3 by the way) when the LAPD showed up at their house, demanded Andrea “contain her dogs” (aka like 4 unidentifiable toy dogs; this was mid 2000s Los Angeles after all) and asked that the cameras be shut off. We find out later that she was a part of the “Bling Ring” aka the group that stole from Orlando Bloom, Audrina Patridge, and most notably, Paris Hilton. Naturally, Andrea and the other girls act like Alexis has been unjustly detained and spend hours hysterically crying outside the LA County Jail. Eventually Nelson Mandela, I mean, Alexis, is released and they all weep, hug, and have one of their bullshit energy prayer circles or whatever.

Now, let’s get to the most iconic part of the entire series aka the Nancy Jo Sales phone call. Alexis is PUMPED because she’s approached by Nancy Jo about doing an interview about all the Bling Ring legal drama for Vanity Fair. She’s all giddy and excited because (allegedly) Nancy Jo gives off the impression that the article is going to paint Alexis in a positive light, redeem her, show that she was just a victim of falling in with bad friends, blah blah. Spoiler Alert! The article doesn’t even do that a little bit, like nowhere close, literally could not even be interpreted that way. Naturally, the whole fam gathers to confront NJ over the phone,  they get her voicemail, and proceed to make several attempts to leave her a scathing message, but between Alexis’s cry-talking/screaming and Andrea intermittently, randomly yelling “YOU LIED!” into the phone, I’m not sure if they ever succeeded to be honest.

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It wasn’t until Kimberly Noel Kardashian-West exposed Taylor Swift in July 2016 via Snapchat that I’ve been so invested in a piece of investigatory journalism as I was Nancy Jo’s Vanity Fair article. Honestly I don’t think I’ll ever be completely over the fact that the show that partially inspired “The Bling Ring” only got one season,  but, I suppose that when you strike reality television gold within the first season, it’s sometimes best to just cash out and go home (or, as the case may be, to Paris Hilton’s house). I’m not completely sure what the Neiers sisters and mother of the century Andre are up to these days, but I imagine that they’re probably in a West Hollywood bar somewhere, talking about how Alexis helped to launch Emma Watson’s career or something equally ridiculous.

We Need To Talk About Statement Necklaces

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If there’s one word I feel pretty safe omitting from the “Adjectives to Describe Grace’s Personal Style” list, it’s “trendy.” This probably has something (everything) to do with the fact that you can usually find me dressed like a suburban, Connecticut soccer mom, who “maybe, probably, most definitely” has Gin in her Dunkin Donuts coffee cup. The only exception to this tends to be on more formal occasions, when I instead choose to take my style cues from rich, older, Upper East Side widows. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti trend, I’m just self aware enough to know that while some people might look chic in a pair of adult overalls, I’m more than likely going to fall somewhere in between “First Grader with a Thyroid Problem” and “House Painter.” That being said, there is one trend I just can’t wrap my head around, and that is the Statement Necklace.

I know what you’re thinking, Statement Necklaces, aren’t exactly new, so maybe they don’t fall under the whole “trend” umbrella, maybe they really have withstood the test of time. This is exactly why I consider them to be the herpes of the accessories world; even if they aren’t everywhere/all up in your face like they were in 2009/2010, all it takes is an accidental trip into the jewelry section of Target to be cast down into Bubble Necklace Hell. Would I classify myself as completely anti statement jewelry? No, in fact, I’m not being dramatic at all when I say that I would literally die for Madeline Albright’s pin collection, but as far as people trying to pass off giant collars comprised entirely of bright chunks of plastic/shards of glass as “chic” and “fashion forward?”

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Maybe it’s because I just don’t get wanting to “glam up” a t-shirt and jeans ensemble with what essentially appears to be the grown up version of those spray paint dry pasta necklaces children make in pre school. If I’m in casual clothing, you can bet the last thing I’m going to do is hang an art deco albatross around my neck. The more likely scenario is me trying to blend in with the shadows like the soulless, pale vampire my makeup-less face and the doughnut glaze stain on my shirt suggest I am.

At the end of the day, apart from the aesthetic assault the majority of these pieces of neon hued nightmare jewelry inflict on me, I think the name is really just what makes my eyes roll all the way into the back of my head. Exactly what “statement” are you trying to make? That you have the word(s) “classy” “belle” and/or “sassy” somewhere in your Social Media handle(s)? That you’re the type of person who’s favorite cocktail is Diet Coke with Vodka (it’s absolutely not a cocktail by the way, it’s high school/freshman year of college desperation, don’t get it twisted)? That you’ve referred to yourself as a “future housewife” at some point, and were completely serious?

Please, enlighten me! Just what is your giant, brightly colored, gaudy neckwear trying to tell me? Because the only thing it’s communicating to me, before you even open your mouth, is that it’s incredibly likely that I am going to find you absolutely insufferable.

The Things We’d Actually #ShareADietCoke With..

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It might shock you to discover that I am not someone who is all that impacted by the feel good campaigns that brands tend to run in order to make our world a better place*. Obviously I’m kidding about that shocking you, anyone who has spent more than a few minutes with me knows that unless it deals with animals, I don’t care, and more often than not perky ad campaigns will just leave me feeling nauseous.

Case in point: Coca Cola’s #ShareACoke campaign, which encourages consumers to Share a Diet Coke with BFF, VIP, a couple hundred really random first names, Mom, Dad, the winky “DTF? slash U Up?” emoticon etc. Maybe it’s because I never found my name (#StillBitter), or just because I find the premise ridiculous, but I’ve taken the liberty to compile a list of things that most people are more likely to #ShareADietCoke with.

#ShareADietCoke with Delusions of Grandeur

#ShareADietCoke with Your Abandonment Issues

#ShareADietCoke with Self Loathing

#ShareADietCoke with that “I forgot to take my Birth Control” Panic Attack

#ShareADietCoke with that Plan B Pill

#ShareADietCoke with those Wine Induced Texts You Sent Last Night

#ShareADietCoke with Your Hangover

#ShareADietCoke with Commitment Issues

#ShareADietCoke with Your False Sense of Entitlement 

#ShareADietCoke with That Think Piece You Just Read

#ShareADietCoke with Curated Social Media Accounts 

#ShareADietCoke with That Super Informative Buzz Feed Quiz You Just Took

#ShareADietCoke with the “Still Watching?” Message on Netflix

#ShareADietCoke with Sallie Mae

#ShareADietCoke with the Downfall of JCrew

#ShareADietCoke with Your Seamless Delivery Guy

#ShareADietCoke with that Person from High School you’re stalking on Social Media

#ShareADietCoke with Your Fleeting Mortality

#ShareADietCoke with Your Tinder Matches

Just kidding about that last one, you’re never sober around those!

*sell their products

A Few Choice Words regarding Kitten Heels..

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Where do they get off? Look, I get it, the fifty-something, sad divorcee crowd needs a shoe to cram their cankles into when they’re heading to their local California Pizza Kitchen for yet another E-Harmony date, but they have absolutely no business on the feet of any individual under the age of 45.

Kitten Heels were developed (by Lucifer) in the 1950’s, and since most fashion trends from that time period are dead, it’s pretty disturbing that people are still trying to pass them off as legitimate footwear. Also, the name couldn’t be any worse, I mean, Kitten Heels? The phrase makes my skin crawl, almost as much as the words “moist” and “panties” (don’t worry, that chill that just crawled up your spine? I felt it too).

One of the biggest arguments for Kitten Heels is made by tall girls who don’t want to tower over everyone around them, but still want to wear a heel and s#$%. Here’s a newsflash, if you’re already really tall, a couple inches added by a pair of pumps isn’t going to be something I notice. What I am going to notice is the creepy baby heels you’re wearing look like the should come with a complimentary set of varicose veins.

The other argument for these atrocities is that they are more comfortable than their taller, more legitimate counterpart. Guess what? Those blisters will fade, and chances are you’ll be too intoxicated to realize that they’re there until you sober up the next day, but do you know what won’t fade? Wearing shoes that make you look like the type of girl that claps and says “Yay!” when her pancakes arrive at brunch. Either way I’m going to be judging you, because you’re in Kitten Heels, and because we both know you consumed plenty of calories in liquid form the night before.

Some might say that my anger and disgust for Kitten Heels is excessive and misplaced, after all, “they’re just shoes.” If you’re spending your time psychoanalyzing my hatred for a particular genre of footwear, you should probably find a hobby, and then remember we’re discussing shoes that get their name from an animal that takes it’s s%&*$ in a box.

It takes a lot to get me to commit to something, and there aren’t that many cases in which I choose to do so. Exceptions include, my job, ordering iced coffee even when it isn’t seasonally appropriate, refilling my Adderall prescription, and avoiding the bars in my hometown like a rampant case of herpes when I’m visiting my parents.

There’s another area of my life I choose to make definite commitments in, and that’s footwear. There are heels, and then there are flats, heels are generally always appropriate, unless I’m scraping myself off of my bed on a Saturday morning long enough to go out and get food, then I’ll throw on a pair of flats. What I’m not going to do is put on a pair of shoes that make it look like I’m being held up by two infant thumbs, and you shouldn’t either.

Why Black is the Supreme of the Color Coven

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Unless you’ve been living under a rock since 2013, chances are you’ve heard of American Horror Story: Coven, even if you’ve never actually watched it. Arguably, Coven is the best season of Ryan Murphy’s AHS franchise, but I may be slightly biased because it combines a few of my favorite things, which include, but aren’t limited to, Jessica Lange smoking cigarettes, Jessica Lange drinking, sassy one liners, Jessica Lange rolling her eyes, and the color black.

For those who haven’t seen the show (get on that), here’s a quick rundown. Basically, young witches come into a “Coven” in New Orleans where they are introduced to the concept of a Supreme (aka Queen Jessica Lange). A Supreme is basically the HBIC of the Coven, and each generation a new one surfaces. The Supreme is generally discovered by her ability to perform the “Seven Wonders” which are essentially seven hard as s#$% witch tasks.

Anyone who has known me for any extended period of time knows how deep my love and devotion for the color black runs. It compliments my icy stare perfectly, and the fact that it matches everything means when it comes to putting together an outfit, it requires minimal effort, which I am 110% here for. As I was re-watching Coven last year in preparation to join my own Coven (meaning, I was going to see Fleetwood Mac at Madison Square Garden) I realized that the color Black is the true Supreme, because it totally performs all Seven Wonders. So, because I’m a sucker for slightly dated Pop Culture references, I decided to break it down for you.

Telekinesis (AKA Moving things with Your Mind): In my experience, nothing parts a group of tourists moseying down Broadway on a Saturday faster than a sensible all black getup and a stare that says “Your existence is making it extremely hard to tolerate being alive right now, please move.”

Concilium (AKA Controlling Someone Else’s Mind): The “Little Black Dress” is a thing for a reason. As his holiness Karl Lagerfeld once said, “One is never over-dressed or underdressed with a Little Black Dress.”

Transmutation (AKA Taking Another Form): Personally, when I’m wearing black (as in, 98% of my life) I’m able to feel more like Posh Spice, instead of like the sixth Spice Girl I usually feel like, someone who I’ve named, “Eleven Secret Herbs and Spice.” (For the record, yes, that was a KFC reference, don’t look at me).

Pyrokinesis (AKA Controlling Fire with Your Mind): See 3:05 in Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” music video.

Descensum (AKA Road Tripping to Your Personal Hell and Back): I perform this task every day when I take the 6 Train to and from work, but nothing makes me feel more protected from the woman across from me peeing her pants (yep, that happened) than being cloaked in licorice colored clothing.

Vitalum Vitalis (AKA Draining Your Life Force to Save Someone Else): Black keeps me honest, in the sense that while I’m wearing it, I find it easier to say things like “Put down that neon tote that says “Eat Cake for Breakfast” and walk away slowly” instead of “OMG that’s so totally you, you better buy it!”

Divination (AKA Seeing the Future): Anything worth buying is also worth buying in black, because no matter how many Pantone colors of the year come and go, black will always be in style.

Maybe these rambling comparisons only made sense to me, but black is near and dear to my heart, and no, not just because they’re the same color. To sum it all up, I’ll leave you with a quote that launched a thousand memes: “I’ll stop wearing black when they invent a darker color.”