What is personal style? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately. A seemingly simple concept, yet I’ve found myself wrestling with the answer. Is it what you would wear if money were of no concern? Or is it how you dress when no one is looking? One of my New Year’s resolutions is to answer this question for myself, but I seem to have lost what was once a firm grasp on my personal style.
After graduation from high school, I went through this odd phase. All through high school I had a very distinct personal style: trendy. I was a bit of a fashion addict. But without that daily dose of social interaction I found myself getting, well, lazy. Very lazy. I went from planning my outfits every day to wearing oversized t-shirts and sneakers. I quit wearing makeup and barely did my hair.
In college I attempted to revive what was left of my personal style, which was flat lining fast. For the next several years I yo-yo’d back and forth. On one extreme I would vow to start buying more bold and trendy pieces. Then I’d purchase and wear said pieces and feel like a woman wearing a pink prom dress to a funeral: over dressed and completely inappropriate. So I would resign to wearing a more casual wardrobe, attempting to convince myself that I would be happier if I fit in better with the jeans-and-hoodies college crowd. But I was still left wanting, feeling that I was truly missing something important in my life. Melodramatic, no?
So I started to think about what had changed. I mean, fashion used to be fun for me. I used to look through the magazines for ideas and inspiration, and then I’d adapt what I liked to work for me. And that’s when it hit me. I should just wear what I like. If I feel good, that’s really all that matters. So what if today I feel like wearing a black v-neck tee, jeans and flats. Tomorrow I may feel like wearing a boyfriend blazer, leggings and knee-high boots. Or maybe a retro floral dress with textured tights and kitten heels. Who says I have to limit myself to one style. If I like trying new things, and letting my mood dictate my style, who’s to say that’s wrong? Maybe that’s the key to true personal style: a sense of honesty to self. And being unapologetic about it.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Hopeless Newlywed By Allison Yeager
I’m that girl. Yep, the one who got married and gave up on fashion. Before I met my husband, I was thin from hours of Pilates due to my lack of dating. I was tan from hours of lying by the pool due to my lack of dating. I had adorable outfits, every perfect accessory, and loads of money to spend on them due to my lack of dating and the cash flow of working full-time.
Then I met my husband. He was tall and thin and adorable, so naturally I snagged him because I was thin, adorable, and perfectly accessorized. It’s two years later, and now I spend nearly every day in “comfies” (sometimes jeans, but usually pajama pants and tees with my hair in a pony tail), we keep way too much chocolate around the house, and my husband is afraid to step on our Wii Fit for fear that it will label him “obese”. We don’t have kids yet, and I’m no longer working full-time, but somehow the baseboard-dusting and kitchen-cleaning sucks up half my day, and I rationalize being too exhausted to work out, let alone curl my hair and accessorize.
Besides the fact that it just seems too far to doll up when we spend most of our nights on the couch with Domino’s and American Idol, we also find a lack of money to be a barrier to our more fashionable sides. Mortgage payments don’t forgive a new dress or new shoes. And what do I need a new dress for anyway? It would just make me cry because I have to go two sizes up and it would be too hard to wear while cleaning my baseboards. My mom tells me that everyone’s wardrobe drops in quantity and quality directly after marriage…don’t know yet if that’s due to the “newlywed 15…or 20” or the “newlywed budget cuts,” but it’s certainly true in my case. I’m doomed when we have kids.
Since money is an issue and the thought of buying pants two sizes bigger makes me want to crawl under a blanket with hot chocolate and never leave the house again, I think I’ll have to settle for a fantastic purse. Most Utah women are young and poor students, older and poor newlyweds, or a bit older and poor mother-of-5’s, so we can at least settle for a gorgeous bag hanging off our arms (it will distract from the bulging book bag or screaming 2-year-old). I manage to talk my husband into one or two purse splurges a year, and I guess we both figure it is worth it. I don’t have a book bag or a 2-year-old on my hip, but I do have a few extra pounds there I’d rather hide. He probably figures that it’s worth it just so that he doesn’t have to see me crying over our baseboards in a new dress.
Then I met my husband. He was tall and thin and adorable, so naturally I snagged him because I was thin, adorable, and perfectly accessorized. It’s two years later, and now I spend nearly every day in “comfies” (sometimes jeans, but usually pajama pants and tees with my hair in a pony tail), we keep way too much chocolate around the house, and my husband is afraid to step on our Wii Fit for fear that it will label him “obese”. We don’t have kids yet, and I’m no longer working full-time, but somehow the baseboard-dusting and kitchen-cleaning sucks up half my day, and I rationalize being too exhausted to work out, let alone curl my hair and accessorize.
Besides the fact that it just seems too far to doll up when we spend most of our nights on the couch with Domino’s and American Idol, we also find a lack of money to be a barrier to our more fashionable sides. Mortgage payments don’t forgive a new dress or new shoes. And what do I need a new dress for anyway? It would just make me cry because I have to go two sizes up and it would be too hard to wear while cleaning my baseboards. My mom tells me that everyone’s wardrobe drops in quantity and quality directly after marriage…don’t know yet if that’s due to the “newlywed 15…or 20” or the “newlywed budget cuts,” but it’s certainly true in my case. I’m doomed when we have kids.
Since money is an issue and the thought of buying pants two sizes bigger makes me want to crawl under a blanket with hot chocolate and never leave the house again, I think I’ll have to settle for a fantastic purse. Most Utah women are young and poor students, older and poor newlyweds, or a bit older and poor mother-of-5’s, so we can at least settle for a gorgeous bag hanging off our arms (it will distract from the bulging book bag or screaming 2-year-old). I manage to talk my husband into one or two purse splurges a year, and I guess we both figure it is worth it. I don’t have a book bag or a 2-year-old on my hip, but I do have a few extra pounds there I’d rather hide. He probably figures that it’s worth it just so that he doesn’t have to see me crying over our baseboards in a new dress.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Natural Beauty by Bethany Kestner
Anyone who has ever been into a hair salon has seen one. The big books full of head shots of models with their hair tweaked and twisted, defying gravity in six different directions. I had always wondered why those books were there? My only guess was that they were meant to give customers ideas as to how they would like their hair cut and styled, but unless a client was a high-fashion model strutting down a runway in Milan, why would they want their hair to look like it could take an eye out? I'd never seen anyone don such an outrageous hairstyle as could be found in those salon books.
And then I moved to Utah.
My husband and I came from a town where hairspray and gel were used minimally, if at all. Perhaps it was because the interminable rain would wash out any product and leave a sticky stream running down one's face and neck, so there was no point in trying a "salon book style" anyway. Living in Utah showed us that people were, in fact, putting the ideas in those books to practical use. We now spend a lot of our time in public pointing out "Utah hair" to each other, each of us trying to find the ultimate specimen. We are not natives here, and the practices in hair styling have us baffled.
Over time, a few of the more popular styles have earned names. There is The Hedgehog, which is when a woman spikes her hair straight up, out and all over, usually with the bangs slicked to one side - the only part of the hair that isn't sticking out with the aid of something akin to Elmer's glue. There is also The Skunk, which is my husband's personal favorite. The bottom layers of hair are dark brown or black, (with or without the aid of dye), and the top layer of hair is bleached platinum blond. Both of these styles undeniably detract from a woman's real beauty. With hair that leaves passers-by gawking, it's hard to even notice a woman's face.
Last year we enrolled our son in our community's soccer league. He was assigned to a team, and on the appointed day the team gathered at a park to get organized and hand out team shirts. The boys all huddled around the coach while the parents got acquainted. The other moms and I got to talking about what schools our kindergartners would be attending in the fall and which teachers they had been assigned.
"My son is in Mrs. So-and-So's class," one mother told me. "She looks a bit 'natural', but I think she'll be okay." I was a little confused by her comment, until I met that teacher a few days later and realized that by "natural" she had meant that the teacher wore little make-up, pulled her single color hair back into a simple clip, and was dressed in a flowing, unfitted khaki skirt. That particular mother must have figured that a teacher's style was a key element in her ability to educate. If my son had been in her class, I wouldn't have fretted too much. Mrs. So-and-so wasn't wearing a hemp necklace or a bandanna, so I'm sure that her students were taught the approved curriculum and not hippie love songs or how legalizing marijuana could benefit society. My soccer-mom friend need not have worried over the teacher's hair or clothing.
Over the past few months, my husband and I have noticed the bitter-sweet dwindling of "Utah hair". While we are saddened at the depleted entertainment, we are pleased to find that fewer women in our state feel that they need to go to the extreme with their hair in order to be beautiful. In fact, I find that the softer, less extravagant styles make it easier to notice a woman's real beauty.
As women, we tend to determine our worth by looking at our neighbors and assessing who looks better in their designer jeans, who has the most chic hair, or who's eyeliner is painted on with the most dramatic results. In reality, less is usually more. It is very encouraging to see a woman who applies subtle make-up, emphasizing just one of her features rather than flashing all of them at once in a gory misuse of eyeshadow, blush and lip-liner. I love to see a woman's hair move when a breeze whispers by, instead of plastered-stiff helmet hair that can take a beating from wind and rain without relenting it's crispy shape.
Maybe I will mourn the loss of giggling opportunities as the "Utah hair" becomes extinct, but it's nice to see that more Utah women are discovering that natural beauty might actually be more stylish than the artificial creations they work so hard to sculpt on their heads and faces. It's always good to be true to yourself and to your own style, it's nice to be noticed and look your best - but your best self is probably the one that allows people to see the real you; without the aid of every aerosol can in the county.
And then I moved to Utah.
My husband and I came from a town where hairspray and gel were used minimally, if at all. Perhaps it was because the interminable rain would wash out any product and leave a sticky stream running down one's face and neck, so there was no point in trying a "salon book style" anyway. Living in Utah showed us that people were, in fact, putting the ideas in those books to practical use. We now spend a lot of our time in public pointing out "Utah hair" to each other, each of us trying to find the ultimate specimen. We are not natives here, and the practices in hair styling have us baffled.
Over time, a few of the more popular styles have earned names. There is The Hedgehog, which is when a woman spikes her hair straight up, out and all over, usually with the bangs slicked to one side - the only part of the hair that isn't sticking out with the aid of something akin to Elmer's glue. There is also The Skunk, which is my husband's personal favorite. The bottom layers of hair are dark brown or black, (with or without the aid of dye), and the top layer of hair is bleached platinum blond. Both of these styles undeniably detract from a woman's real beauty. With hair that leaves passers-by gawking, it's hard to even notice a woman's face.
Last year we enrolled our son in our community's soccer league. He was assigned to a team, and on the appointed day the team gathered at a park to get organized and hand out team shirts. The boys all huddled around the coach while the parents got acquainted. The other moms and I got to talking about what schools our kindergartners would be attending in the fall and which teachers they had been assigned.
"My son is in Mrs. So-and-So's class," one mother told me. "She looks a bit 'natural', but I think she'll be okay." I was a little confused by her comment, until I met that teacher a few days later and realized that by "natural" she had meant that the teacher wore little make-up, pulled her single color hair back into a simple clip, and was dressed in a flowing, unfitted khaki skirt. That particular mother must have figured that a teacher's style was a key element in her ability to educate. If my son had been in her class, I wouldn't have fretted too much. Mrs. So-and-so wasn't wearing a hemp necklace or a bandanna, so I'm sure that her students were taught the approved curriculum and not hippie love songs or how legalizing marijuana could benefit society. My soccer-mom friend need not have worried over the teacher's hair or clothing.
Over the past few months, my husband and I have noticed the bitter-sweet dwindling of "Utah hair". While we are saddened at the depleted entertainment, we are pleased to find that fewer women in our state feel that they need to go to the extreme with their hair in order to be beautiful. In fact, I find that the softer, less extravagant styles make it easier to notice a woman's real beauty.
As women, we tend to determine our worth by looking at our neighbors and assessing who looks better in their designer jeans, who has the most chic hair, or who's eyeliner is painted on with the most dramatic results. In reality, less is usually more. It is very encouraging to see a woman who applies subtle make-up, emphasizing just one of her features rather than flashing all of them at once in a gory misuse of eyeshadow, blush and lip-liner. I love to see a woman's hair move when a breeze whispers by, instead of plastered-stiff helmet hair that can take a beating from wind and rain without relenting it's crispy shape.
Maybe I will mourn the loss of giggling opportunities as the "Utah hair" becomes extinct, but it's nice to see that more Utah women are discovering that natural beauty might actually be more stylish than the artificial creations they work so hard to sculpt on their heads and faces. It's always good to be true to yourself and to your own style, it's nice to be noticed and look your best - but your best self is probably the one that allows people to see the real you; without the aid of every aerosol can in the county.
An Awakening by Bethany Kestner
As of a few weeks ago, my favorite article of clothing was a navy blue hoodie that I bought at a seafood restaurant in Cannon Beach, Oregon. On the front it says, "Eat at Mo's" and on the back it has a picture of shark jaws with the words "Bite Me" inside them. I sometimes worry that it might be offensive to people who see me in it, but more often than not, I have catered to comfort over fashion decency, and that hoodie is the most comfortable thing I've ever worn.
I like to think that I'm not a slob, but as a stay-at-home mom, my opportunities to dress up are few and far between. This spring, however, is my ten year wedding anniversary, and my husband and I will be celebrating by making a trip to New York City to take in a Broadway musical and try to squeeze in the whole "New York experience". Perhaps that is what my husband had in mind when he picked out my Christmas present this year. I have a very firm idea of what kind of style I would like to have if I weren't a mother of four boys who spends most of her time wiping lunch up off the floor and trying to make every dollar we have stretch into two. Back in November I found on the Internet a long-sleeved black t-shirt that was covered in a sweet pattern of rhinestones. I'm not talking the kind of shirt that looks like it's been "Bedazzled" by a crafty grandma, but the kind that looks a bit like a sparkly tattoo. The price tag was a hefty thirty-two dollars, and I couldn't imagine spending that much on a t-shirt! I could pay the gas bill with that, or buy three days worth of groceries! So I showed the shirt to my husband and told him that if it happened to go on sale between then and Christmas, it would be a great gift for me.
A week before Christmas, Mr. Husband came home from the mall with a bag that contained one gift-wrapped box for me. As I was balancing the checkbook later that night, I couldn't help but notice the debit from the store at which he had done his shopping. I was a bit sick when I saw it, because I couldn't imagine how two-hundred dollars worth of clothes could fit into one box! Guiltily, I ventured a peek at the receipt in his wallet to see what, exactly, he might have chosen for me. When I saw that he had spent $76 on a pair of jeans, $78 on a shirt and $35 on a belt, I instantly felt sick to my stomach and desperately tried to figure out how I could return all those items without hurting his feelings. I realize that seventy-six dollar jeans might constitute a cheap wardrobe addition to some people, but I can make seventy-six dollars stretch further than a pair of spandex shorts over Kirstie Alley's backside. Seventy-six dollars in our house is a fashion fortune.
As Christmas drew nearer, my husband tried again and again to get me to open that gift early. He was so pleased with his shopping prowess that he couldn't stand to wait another minute to see the expression of glee on my face for what he had purchased. Finally, I gave in, determined to let him down as gently as I could. I was quite flattered that he thought me to be worthy of such expensive clothes, but sensibility must win over fashion, right? I opened the box and pulled back the tissue paper, and the jeans that fell into my hesitant hands were the hottest jeans I have ever laid eyes on. Dark blue, with a lighter wash from the thigh down to the subtle boot cut at the bottom. Low-rise waist and just the right amount of flair on the back pockets. I tried them on, just to humor my husband, of course, and they fit as though the designer had taken my measurements and crafted them especially for me. And then I was torn. My practical head kept telling me that I needed to return the pants and buy three pairs of jeans at a cheaper store, but every other part of me was screaming for my head to shut up. I went back to the box, simply to satisfy my curiosity as to what a seventy-eight dollar shirt might look like. "It looks like me," is what I thought when I saw it, and then I knew I was in trouble. I was a changed woman, knowing that I would never again be able to turn up my nose at any well-made piece of clothing, claiming that anyone who buys such extravagant clothing is simply being ostentatious. People buy seventy-six dollar jeans because they fit, and they feel good! Just by trying on those two items, I had been converted to a believer in fashion investments.
It goes without saying that I did not return the gifts that my thoughtful husband bought me. (Though, the mystery as to how a man who wears basketball shorts and BYU t-shirts every day of his life managed to shop so successfully for women's clothing remains unsolved.) The shirt and jeans are now tucked safely in their very own dresser drawer, waiting for an appropriate occasion at which to make their debut in the outside world. I now spend my toilet-scrubbing days fantasizing about where I might go in those seventy-six dollar jeans that I never knew I had always wanted. As for my navy blue "Eat at Mo's" hoodie, I think I'll still wear it from time to time, but only while weeding the yard or taking out the garbage.
I like to think that I'm not a slob, but as a stay-at-home mom, my opportunities to dress up are few and far between. This spring, however, is my ten year wedding anniversary, and my husband and I will be celebrating by making a trip to New York City to take in a Broadway musical and try to squeeze in the whole "New York experience". Perhaps that is what my husband had in mind when he picked out my Christmas present this year. I have a very firm idea of what kind of style I would like to have if I weren't a mother of four boys who spends most of her time wiping lunch up off the floor and trying to make every dollar we have stretch into two. Back in November I found on the Internet a long-sleeved black t-shirt that was covered in a sweet pattern of rhinestones. I'm not talking the kind of shirt that looks like it's been "Bedazzled" by a crafty grandma, but the kind that looks a bit like a sparkly tattoo. The price tag was a hefty thirty-two dollars, and I couldn't imagine spending that much on a t-shirt! I could pay the gas bill with that, or buy three days worth of groceries! So I showed the shirt to my husband and told him that if it happened to go on sale between then and Christmas, it would be a great gift for me.
A week before Christmas, Mr. Husband came home from the mall with a bag that contained one gift-wrapped box for me. As I was balancing the checkbook later that night, I couldn't help but notice the debit from the store at which he had done his shopping. I was a bit sick when I saw it, because I couldn't imagine how two-hundred dollars worth of clothes could fit into one box! Guiltily, I ventured a peek at the receipt in his wallet to see what, exactly, he might have chosen for me. When I saw that he had spent $76 on a pair of jeans, $78 on a shirt and $35 on a belt, I instantly felt sick to my stomach and desperately tried to figure out how I could return all those items without hurting his feelings. I realize that seventy-six dollar jeans might constitute a cheap wardrobe addition to some people, but I can make seventy-six dollars stretch further than a pair of spandex shorts over Kirstie Alley's backside. Seventy-six dollars in our house is a fashion fortune.
As Christmas drew nearer, my husband tried again and again to get me to open that gift early. He was so pleased with his shopping prowess that he couldn't stand to wait another minute to see the expression of glee on my face for what he had purchased. Finally, I gave in, determined to let him down as gently as I could. I was quite flattered that he thought me to be worthy of such expensive clothes, but sensibility must win over fashion, right? I opened the box and pulled back the tissue paper, and the jeans that fell into my hesitant hands were the hottest jeans I have ever laid eyes on. Dark blue, with a lighter wash from the thigh down to the subtle boot cut at the bottom. Low-rise waist and just the right amount of flair on the back pockets. I tried them on, just to humor my husband, of course, and they fit as though the designer had taken my measurements and crafted them especially for me. And then I was torn. My practical head kept telling me that I needed to return the pants and buy three pairs of jeans at a cheaper store, but every other part of me was screaming for my head to shut up. I went back to the box, simply to satisfy my curiosity as to what a seventy-eight dollar shirt might look like. "It looks like me," is what I thought when I saw it, and then I knew I was in trouble. I was a changed woman, knowing that I would never again be able to turn up my nose at any well-made piece of clothing, claiming that anyone who buys such extravagant clothing is simply being ostentatious. People buy seventy-six dollar jeans because they fit, and they feel good! Just by trying on those two items, I had been converted to a believer in fashion investments.
It goes without saying that I did not return the gifts that my thoughtful husband bought me. (Though, the mystery as to how a man who wears basketball shorts and BYU t-shirts every day of his life managed to shop so successfully for women's clothing remains unsolved.) The shirt and jeans are now tucked safely in their very own dresser drawer, waiting for an appropriate occasion at which to make their debut in the outside world. I now spend my toilet-scrubbing days fantasizing about where I might go in those seventy-six dollar jeans that I never knew I had always wanted. As for my navy blue "Eat at Mo's" hoodie, I think I'll still wear it from time to time, but only while weeding the yard or taking out the garbage.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Utah StyleListe Meet and Greet and Fashion Show
Utah StyleListe Meet and Greet
and Spring Preview Industry Party
and Spring Preview Industry Party
January 12th 6pm to 9pm
at Noahs Event Center in South Jordan
Come meet the creative team behind Utah StyleListe Magazine, the Fashion and Beauty Magazine for Utah Women. View Utah StyleListe's top picks and trends for Spring in our Fashion Show.
The event is free to attend but limited space is available. Please email your RSVP to events@styleliste.com.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
My Not So Secret Fashion Emergency by Awbree Summers
When my younger sister asked me to enter this writing competition, being put on by one of her friends, I immediately jumped on the chance to participate. I had never heard of StyleListe Magazine, and I truly had no idea what subject I would have the pleasure of writing on. Perhaps, I could share my thoughts on parenting tactics, floral design techniques, or maybe even a little something on gardening. However after doing a little research, I quickly found that this was not to be the case. I could slowly feel the color draining from my face as I read the subject I was being asked to write on…
FASHION…
Sitting here with my computer in my lap, I carefully lowered my gaze to the white tube socks I am presently wearing with my brown leather shoes, and immediately realized that I am in trouble. I wouldn’t say I am a walking fashion disaster, but I can swallow my pride enough to tell you that I am, one of those people who reach for my legal notepad, and hurriedly take notes when I watch Stacy and Clinton on the TLC show What Not To Wear. Sadly, I truly own three pairs of shoes. Two are exactly the same, but one is black, and the other one pictured here is brown. The other is a cute, but much worn set of black heels that I can magically make go with everything.
Further incriminating evidence can be easily found in my jewelry drawer, where there is an array of colorful accessories that I have purchased over the years that I really don’t understand how to put into proper use, or proper rotation for that matter. Truth be told, if I am being totally honest with you, I would confess my desire to write Lia Sophia a letter of apology for the misrepresentation of their beautiful jewelry.
Now that we have established that I am by no means a walking “fashionista”, let me attempt to do a small amount of damage control concerning the tarnished first impression on my good fashion sense.
I know how to spot a nice pair of jeans.
Furthermore, I would venture out to say that short of a personal trainer ,or plastic surgery, there is nearly nothing better out there for a woman’s self esteem then a great fitting pair of jeans. You know the pair of jeans I am talking about; the mystical dark wash with a slight boot cut that makes your behind bewitch anyone who might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse. When I started writing on this topic, I suddenly became aware of the large number of Utah women who have great fashion sense when it comes to the selection of an essential wardrobe necessity; a pair of nice jeans and slacks.
One of the other things I enjoy and appreciate about Utah fashion is the manufacturing and distribution of the “longer bottom” shirt. This life saving shirt can be purchased from a number of retailers such as Shade Clothing ,Down East Clothing and I believe American Eagle, just to name a few.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the inner workings of the “long shirt,” please allow me to explain. These mechanical genius shirts are made a few inches longer than the average t-shirt, and usually have a little stretch built into them. They are the key factor for saving the eyes of those of us in the rear when women bend over to pick up their children, or garbage, or the clothes that our boyfriends and husbands should have picked up in the first place. They are also truly delicious for women who are expecting a baby or for that matter those of us who just had a baby. The shirt stretches and shows of the beautiful curves during pregnancy, and then also allows some forgiving fabric for that not so forgiving time after the bundle of joy arrives.
I know it is not a gushing of fashion knowledge, with flowing mentions of designer handbags and $200.00 jeans, but today, for this time in my life, these are my EMT’s to help me avoid too many real, intervention and rehab worthy fashion emergencies.
FASHION…
Sitting here with my computer in my lap, I carefully lowered my gaze to the white tube socks I am presently wearing with my brown leather shoes, and immediately realized that I am in trouble. I wouldn’t say I am a walking fashion disaster, but I can swallow my pride enough to tell you that I am, one of those people who reach for my legal notepad, and hurriedly take notes when I watch Stacy and Clinton on the TLC show What Not To Wear. Sadly, I truly own three pairs of shoes. Two are exactly the same, but one is black, and the other one pictured here is brown. The other is a cute, but much worn set of black heels that I can magically make go with everything.
Further incriminating evidence can be easily found in my jewelry drawer, where there is an array of colorful accessories that I have purchased over the years that I really don’t understand how to put into proper use, or proper rotation for that matter. Truth be told, if I am being totally honest with you, I would confess my desire to write Lia Sophia a letter of apology for the misrepresentation of their beautiful jewelry.
Now that we have established that I am by no means a walking “fashionista”, let me attempt to do a small amount of damage control concerning the tarnished first impression on my good fashion sense.
I know how to spot a nice pair of jeans.
Furthermore, I would venture out to say that short of a personal trainer ,or plastic surgery, there is nearly nothing better out there for a woman’s self esteem then a great fitting pair of jeans. You know the pair of jeans I am talking about; the mystical dark wash with a slight boot cut that makes your behind bewitch anyone who might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse. When I started writing on this topic, I suddenly became aware of the large number of Utah women who have great fashion sense when it comes to the selection of an essential wardrobe necessity; a pair of nice jeans and slacks.
One of the other things I enjoy and appreciate about Utah fashion is the manufacturing and distribution of the “longer bottom” shirt. This life saving shirt can be purchased from a number of retailers such as Shade Clothing ,Down East Clothing and I believe American Eagle, just to name a few.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the inner workings of the “long shirt,” please allow me to explain. These mechanical genius shirts are made a few inches longer than the average t-shirt, and usually have a little stretch built into them. They are the key factor for saving the eyes of those of us in the rear when women bend over to pick up their children, or garbage, or the clothes that our boyfriends and husbands should have picked up in the first place. They are also truly delicious for women who are expecting a baby or for that matter those of us who just had a baby. The shirt stretches and shows of the beautiful curves during pregnancy, and then also allows some forgiving fabric for that not so forgiving time after the bundle of joy arrives.
I know it is not a gushing of fashion knowledge, with flowing mentions of designer handbags and $200.00 jeans, but today, for this time in my life, these are my EMT’s to help me avoid too many real, intervention and rehab worthy fashion emergencies.
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