If you’ve been reading for a while (even only a little while), you are probably well aware that the main man in my life is and always will be an eight pound Maltipoo by the name of Smitty. What you may not know is that his namesake is my father and the reasoning behind that is because they were coincidentally born on the very same day, September 22nd. At some point in my early collegiate years, my mom passed down a vintage t-shirt that she’d owned emblazoned with the phrase, “Smitty did it.” Since my last name is, of course, Smith, I had taken it and worn it without really giving it much thought. Then I gave it some thought… and realized how inappropriate the interpretation of this shirt could be. Almost as awkward as the time my mom tried to hand off her keychain that says, “I love Dick,” which she carried for years without ever realizing that most people weren’t privy to the fact that her husband’s name was Dick and she wasn’t some kind of overly amorous individual.
I held onto the shirt and it became relevant again once this pound and a half of puppy entered my life. No longer indicative of anything other than the fact that my dog probably did it. I didn’t actually realize what a family affair this outfit was until I started listing the pieces individually below. The only member I’m missing something from is my eldest brother, Adam, but I’ve already sported his gear (thanks, big bro).
hat: Dick Smith (dad) similar here, flannel shirt: Andy Smith (brother) similar here, t-shirt: Georgia Smith (mom), jeans: c/o Frankie B., bag: vintage- similar here, boots: – similar here, on Smitty: camo hoodie by
It wasn’t me. Smitty did it.
Photo Credit: Michael Stiegler
One of the hardest parts about leaving New York for sunny LA other than just about everything was coming to terms with the fact that I was going to have to replace my blonde making magician of a hairstylist. Before I left, I got my locks artificially kissed by the sun, and kissed Anna (my hairstylist) goodbye. Living in the land of blondes, I figured it’d be easy to find someone , but having been burned (like, literally. My hair fell out.) before, I was totally hesitant to try someone new.
I don’t get many lucky breaks. No, really, ask my friends and family. It’s like I’m followed around by a storm cloud, but in this instance, I dumb lucked into the hair trend that took over the land whilst in between haircare masters: ombre. While most girls went out and had their stylists darken their roots and lighten their ends. I sat back, relaxed, and watched my hair grow. Which is kind of the equivalent of watching paint dry, except slightly more exciting because you never really know what color your natural haircolor is after 10+ years of highlighting.
When I started posting selfies on Instagram, my darker locks got some seriously positive feedback and many a blonde pal asked just how I had managed the switch. So, below I have outlined my rules to achieving the look and wouldn’t you know? The end of summer is the perfect time to try the continuing trend.
- Commit to the challenge. No one said it was going to be easy. They just said it would be worth it. Okay, it’s definitely not that serious, but just brace yourself for a transitional period. You aren’t going to look the same. You are going to have to change your makeup. Different colors are going to look better on you. Some people even told me my facial structure started to look different. I think that was because I packed on winter weight, but that’s neither here nor there.
- Blend In. This is just about the only situation in life where I will advise you to do so… unless you happen to be hunting. In which case, stick with camo. To make the switch from amber to auburn less abrupt, have your colorist paint in some lowlights and start blending away the blonde.
- Keep it trim. Sure, you won’t need to spend half your paycheck being painted the perfect buttery blonde anymore, but that doesn’t mean you have to skip the salon altogether. I hate getting haircuts, but letting too much time pass between trims can lead to some hairy situations; much like missing a bikini wax. Schedule a visit every six to eight weeks depending on your hair length and style.
- Be patient. Similar to growing out your bangs, your roots are going to get to that stage where you just wanna say, “F%ck it!” and get back on the bottle. But don’t do it. Stay off the sauce. Though you may be looking like Courtney Love of the 90’s (not someone I aim to emulate either), you will get through this. Much like how I got through Advanced Calculus and my last breakup.
- Start from the bottom (now you’re here). Your ends are old. Some of them have been with you longer than a few of your friends. Think about it: hair grows about half an inch a month. So unless you’re sporting a Miley Cyrus pixie cut, you may have strands aging over ten years! Now, when it comes to sudsing up in the shower, you’re going to want to focus most of the shampooing on your roots and conditioning on your ends. Same principle applies when putting on product post bathing.
The whole process took about an entire year, but I have hair that’s halfway down my back. And while that sounds like an excessive amount of time, each phase was kind of like having a new look. Where the lighter strands are in relation to your face make all the difference. You may stop the process when your golden strands greet your chin. Seeing as the sun has been kind to my color, I, too, will be repeating the process this fall. Unless, of course, I go for that Miley pixie.
Before there was a Christian Louboutin next to the deli on my block (before a bag of chips cost $10), there used to be an art gallery with big glass windows. Inside this gallery was a huge neon sign, a beacon of glowing red ligt in the night, that said, “Love Me.” I wished so badly I had the wall space and cash to acquire this piece of art that’s basically my life’s motto. Little did I know, this was from the same street artist who has made his mark all over New York, Los Angeles, and Tokyo with his signature, “Love Me” campaign. You may have seen it scribbled on everything from the side of a building to the side of a meat truck. The man behind this beautiful mantra? Curtis Kulig. Not only is his message beautiful, he’s not too bad to look at, ladies.
But alas, as all artists know, these bills won’t pay themselves. His “Love Me” logo gained so much momentum that everyone from Vans to Urban Outfitters has tapped him to add a little love to their products. And just in time for Valentine’s Day, he’s also teamed up with Smashbox, which may seem like an odd collaboration, but might be the most fitting as makeup application is actually a form of art. These are the perfect little items to treat yourself or a friend to for Valentine’s Day and, of course, to spread a little love.
Love Me Paint Pen Eyeliner, $24, Love Me Eyeshadow Palette, $34, Love Me Be Legendary Lipstick, $19, Love Me Blush, $28,
You know you love me.
I knew I’d eventually be reminded what the perks of living on the West Coast were. This week was that time. With temperatures in the pre-teens and a beast of a flu running rampant, I started to reassess my living situation (don’t worry, it’ll only last a week or so– it’s the flu talking). I’ve been radio silent for the last couple of days because I’ve basically only made it out of bed to let my dog out and make another NyQuil cocktail. So, even though influenza has become the “trendy excuse” for a brush off, I’m not really blowing you off, I’m actually sick.
- Having the flu and being stuck in bed with nothing to do.
- People bailing last minute on your birthday.
- Below freezing temperatures. When I can feel the bones in my face freezing, it’s too cold. Looks like Kanye found a cure.
- Public urination. I’m not talking about bums or campfires. I’m talking about the young lady in a sequin skirt who couldn’t hold it til she got home.
- People who think your dreams are crazy.
- People who are crazy enough to believe in their dreams.
- Having the people who matter celebrate your birthday with you.
- An apple cutter/corer/wedger. Seriously, never an excuse to not eat an apple a day with one of these guys (mine’s a turtle).
- Having a dog for a live-in feet warmer (especially when you’re sick).
- Having the flu and not needing to make any excuses for not getting out of bed.
How many calories do you think coughing burns?
Another year, another round of award shows doling out little metal trophies to folks who may or may not deserve them. But the fun is not in who wins what as much as it is in who wears what. So, let the self tanner application, lapses in style judgement, and wardrobe malfunctions begin and let’s kick things off with last night’s American Music Awards.
While it’s been a while since I’ve tuned in, some things remain exactly as they did a year ago… and beyond. These include but are not limited to:
- They’re still letting Chris Brown perform. Why they even let him out of his cage, I’ll never know, but this white girl won’t be dancing like it’s her birthday when his songs come on. Ever.
- Jenny McCarthy is still hot.
- You still can’t touch MC Hammer.
- Christina Aguilera still wears leotards when she probably shouldn’t (but she can still sing like nobody’s business, so we’ll give her a pass).
- Pitbull is still making songs that don’t make any logical sense in English or Spanish.
- Crowding the stage with babes in bedazzled bustiers will still cover up any bad performance.
- Taylor Swift is still singing about some boy who did her wrong in something that resembles a bad prom dress.
- Nicki Minaj is still in need of a time out.
- Pink could still kick your ass.
- No Doubt is still as rad as ever.
And while it’s nice to have a bit of stability in your life, I’m a little concerned about America’s choices in music. Perhaps that’s a better indicator of the state of our nation? One thing that does seem to be changing is Justin Bieber’s voice (anyone else catch that?) which was quite clear after hearing him dedicate his win to the “haters” (he realizes he’s an eighteen year old 98lb white kid, right?). So, I decided I was going to come up with my own award categories that seem much, much more important:
Color of the Evening:
Most in Need of a New Hairstyle:
So, let’s step it up, folks. We’ll consider this a “warm up.” A “rehearsal” if you will. Last time I checked, which was just now, my socks are still on, so no one particularly blew me away. Bring on the crazy… I’ve gotta have something to write about.