the case of the unloved dress: a tale of fashion mystery

I had my very own fashion mystery the other week, albeit a rather sedate one. The cast of characters is me, your intrepid and loyal blogger*



and this dress

Now, I bought this dress over the summer while out shopping with my oldest friends. We had both grabbed a grand quantity of dresses from the sale racks (she was looking for a dress to wear to a wedding, and I was looking for any ol' dress) and jammed into a single dressing room. I picked this dress over a slick bright pink Joan Holloway sort of number that I loved, but couldn't imagine wearing around campus. I wore it to some family event (my grandma's birthday?) and then packed it away in my closet.

Days and weeks went by, months, and for some reason, I decided that I didn't like the dress anymore. "Oh you," I would think, glaring at it in the closet whenever I would shift past it. It became a symbol to me of my constant mantra while shopping: If you won't wear it, it's not a bargain. No matter how on sale it is.

Flash forward to a dreary day last week. I wanted to wear something fun, with a little kick, and none of my dresses were really speaking to me. "I guess I can try you on," I told The Dress, my last resort. I slipped it on and...

I really liked it. I honestly have no idea how or why I convinced myself I didn't; it has many of the qualities I love in a dress: black, white, polka dots, belt, vintage-inspired silhouette. It fits just fine. It's a fashion mystery, but even if it's never solved, at least there's a happy ending! I wore the dress, got some compliments, and intend to wear it again with my foxy blue heels to set off the yellow in the belt and lining. Isn't that a beautiful story?

Has this ever happened to you? Or am I the only one with random and fickle (ha ha) clothing prejudices?

*I am possibly too enamored with making gifs of myself. I made it here

never trust a man about shoes: a tragedy

This is a very sad story.

This past December a group of friends and I decided to make the trek down to Chicago for the day to have a Christmassy adventure (and sort of a last hurrah for one of my friends, who would not be returning after break). I, of course, was most enthused for the shopping.

Our group split up, and I ended up with the aforementioned friend. We had a grand time, wandering the streets looking at all the decorations and exploring Christkindlmarket (the German Christmas market that sets up in Daley Plaza). But I wanted to do some real shopping, so I dragged my compatriot off to the land of stores. We moved through the shops, not finding much of interest (I was looking for a military-style jacket, which I eventually found a month later at my own hometown mall) until we entered Nordstrom Rack.

It was my first time inside, and I was overwhelmed by the amount of things as well as some of the pricetags ($50 is really the bargain basement price for scarves? Ouch.), but I gravitated to the shoes like a confused little gnat to the screen of my laptop. And that's where I saw them.



Via Spiga "Sorina." Blue (though it was really more teal in real life) suede. Buckled. Beautiful. $80. I was smitten, and they were IN MY SIZE, which is rare in nicer places. Apparently big-footed girls should wear clogs and like it. My friend checked the pricetag for himself and scoffed. We weren't even done shopping, and I intended to blow my money on a single pair of heels? "That's a lot of money for shoes," he said, solemn. My desperate "but, but, but" was countered with another, "That's a lot of money for shoes." I knew that it wasn't really a lot of money for shoes, not nice shoes, but I didn't own a pair of shoes that cost more than $30, so who was I to protest? I put them back. I walked away. I consoled myself, telling myself that Old Navy was right on the corner (my manfriend was in need of boxers) and what a bounty I could reap there for $80! I would come home with armloads of new clothes!

I left Chicago empty-handed. Sorina haunted me, demanding to know how I could put her and her beautiful soft suede back on the shelf to be snatched up by some fashionista who couldn't love her like I could. I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. I had listened to man's opinion (not merely a man, a Minnesotan!) about shoes instead of trusting my own instincts. I knew I had to right this wrong! I would find my shoes and I would bring them home to me, at last.

I discovered that Sorina retails at $198. $80 was pushing my budget...that blows it out of the water. I had to give up on my shoes, like Rose let go of Jack's hand.

Now, digging her up from the depth of the internet again to write this post, I see that Endless.com has them for around $110. Cautious hope is rekindled. Drop down just a little farther, my beloved Sorina. If you reach $80, I swear to snatch you up, and nothing will ever keep us apart again.