Though Cary was a pleasant surprise in a room full of familiar faces and stuffy industry types and his hair seemed to be a fresh interpretation for man coifs worldwide, he’s not the first to be seen sporting man braids. As a matter of fact, the night before rapper, Riff Raff, clad in denim had a head full of braids and is probably asking today, “Dafuq?” Even before Riff Raff, there was David Beckham, Axl Rose, and let us never forget Kevin Federline.
I, myself, spent a sunny Saturday afternoon in Amagansett this summer lackadaisically braiding cornrows into one of my man bun wearing guy friend’s head. We thought it was kind of funny and for him, the look actually worked. I even taught him the importance of patting his head when it started to itch as to avoid creating frizz. So, back to Cary’s internet sensational hairstyle and potentially the next wave of hipster hairdos (Slate created a pretty genius rendering). It may have something to do with the fact that he’s terribly good looking, but the only part of his hairstyle that truly bothered me was his (unintentionally) crooked part which The Cut got a close up of. You see though, I’m quite dextrous and great with a comb, so Cary, call me next time you’re you’re looking for some Poetic Justice.
Speaking of skating… I’ve skated right through two of the east coast’s coldest months by hiding out in California. While there have been more than a couple of bikini clad Instagram photos, to be fair the temperature does dip below 70 when the sun goes down, but those sherbert sunsets never get old. I’ve made it my duty to watch them nightly because not one is ever the same and not one can ever be done justice by an iPhone photo- though Lord knows I’ve tried.
Speaking of aesthetic strife, no one can ever say I’m not resourceful. Yet again I’ve survived with a mere carry-on suitcase’s worth of clothing for the last eight weeks. (California must have that effect on me). Luckily, black and grey go with everything and I inherited some thread barren t-shirts that my dad was just about to relegate to cleaning rags. To say my dad is stable would be an understatement. If you need someone to put on your “in case of emergency” contacts, he’s the one. For instance, there’s a pair of sneakers I bought while visiting him maybe my sophomore year of college that have made it through five or so moves and always manage to reappear in “my room” whenever I visit. The deal with these shoes is that I made the rookie mistake of buying them half a size too small because they didn’t have my actual size of 7 1/2 and I just HAD to have them. I continue to make the rookie mistake of thinking that maybe they fit now… as if my feet have shrunk with age. All’s good and well for a few, but about 15 minutes into wearing them, I feel as though I’m partaking in the ancient ritual of feet binding.
Full circle? There’s a trail near my dad’s house where my mini sneakers abide and where I relish in the pastel skies on a nearly nightly basis. As I’ve traversed this trail, I’ve been mesmerized by these things that I incorrectly call sand dunes. Since I can’t really describe them (let alone identify them), I figured it was the perfect place to pose. So, Smitty, my own personal mountain goat (one of the memes my brother introduced me to) and I trotted up the trail in my tiny toe crushing shoes for this post. (Told you a skater skirt would look stellar with a crop top).
jacket: (similar here), top: Splendid (similar here), skirt: H&M (similar here), socks: StockinGirl (similar here), shoes: Converse (similar here – good job, Dick… these are apparently rare), bag: Balenciaga, necklace: no clue (similar here), dog: Smitty
When I opted not to hop a flight to New Hampshire, I found that the city was essentially empty this past weekend. It was like my own little Manhattan. And while it sure is nice to have the sidewalks all to myself, it can also feel a little like the apocalypse. Fortunately, a few friends also chose to stick around, so we made the best of our sticky and abandoned city. Roaming the streets with to-go cups (yes, we acted as if Manhattan was Cancun on spring break) and my own personal paparazzi, we kept ourselves more than a little entertained.
The only way to keep cool during hot July nights is with your hair as far off your back as possible, t-shirts with plenty of ventilation, and short shorts. The boots may appear to be an odd choice, but with the unpredictability of downpours this past week, I’d had my sandals drenched and trekked through enough puddles posing as ponds to have learned my lesson.
I bought a pair of questionably patterned pants about a month ago, which Serena apparently wore on an episode of Gossip Girl. This is basically the closest I’ll ever get to looking like Blake Lively. These were a post holiday sale impulse purchase and while it took me a while to actually wear them (in public), I do kind of love them. Something I try to do during the colder winter months is stock up on pants of interest. I realize this is the opposite of what most stylists might suggest, but I love the idea of bringing drama to an outfit from the bottom up. Rather than slipping on a sparkly top, I slide into patterned pants, velvet leggings, or leather embellished trousers and “top” them off with a simple tee or neutral blouse and leave the rest up to accessories. If you’re looking to switch things up, I suggest starting from the bottom up.
You know how at the end of the year we’re bombarded with all those obnoxious “best of’s” and “top moments of” countdowns? Well, it’s your lucky day, ’cause I’ve gone ahead and jumped right onto that bandwagon and I’m about to give you my very own “Best of WhyDid 2012″ countdown. It’s always hard to pick your own favorites– not because I’m partial, but actually because I’m my own worst critic. I’ve selected thirteen (to stay in theme with the upcoming year– I didn’t forget how to count) of my favorites and hopefully some of your favorites as well. For those of you just now tuning in (shame on you), you’re welcome, here’re the highlights of what you missed and next time get here on time. It’s rude to be tardy: