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Category: Fashion

Me, Online Shopping

Me: This looks like a nice dress.

Me: *Clicks on dress.*

Me: Oh good there’s a video with a model.

Me: *Clicks play button.*

Me: Okay very nice, walk, turn, put your hands in the pockets.


Me: *replay video*


Me: *Looks for pictures of model with hands or hand in a pocket on the dress. Do not see any. Read the specs.*

Me: Well that’s a shame.

Me: Okay, I guess I just saved myself $78.

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New Balance Executive Meeting

Setting: New Balance Shoes Headquarters, Board room

President: So, give me an update on our sales. How are we doing?

(everyone looks around uncomfortably)

VP of Public Affairs: Well sir, we are now…officially the shoe brand of white people.

President: White people!? That’s wonderful! Certainly a healthy chunk of the population.

VP of Public Affairs: It’s a chunk of the population, yes.

President: Good point buddy, not all white people are athletic and healthy. But some are!

VP of Public Affairs: Yes, sir, I’m glad you feel that way.

President: What is the plan now? Will other races appropriate white culture and wear New Balance shoes too?

VP of Public Affairs: (perks up)

VP of Marketing: That’s not the direction style goes, ever.

President: What, why not? Aren’t we the preferred shoe brand of all white people?

VP of Marketing: We are the official shoe brand of some white people.

President: That is not what the other guy said.

VP of Marketing: Some white people love us. And some white people set our shoes on fire in small trash bins.

President: For warmth?

VP of Marketing: No. These are small trash bins, sir. I suspect these people have central air for warmth. They have the type of money where they can buy small trash bins for one time shoe-burning use.

VP of Public Affairs: (crawls under desk)

President: (eyes narrow) …which white people love us?

VP of Public Affairs: (whimpers) …the scary ones.

VP of Marketing: To be clear sir, the scary ones are NOT the ones that burn the shoes.

VP of Public Affairs: (whimpers) They’ll kill us all.

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More thoughts on my amazing coat

As you know, I have an incredible coat. Now that the weather is colder and darkness descends upon us all, I’ve had more opportunities to wear my black coat.

David has taken to complimenting my on my coat, and I’m going to put some of the compliments here, so I can remember them.

October 2016

David: You look like a futuristic witch.


November  26, 2016

Me: How do I look?

David: You look great, like you’re ready to fight in the Matrix.



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A New Haircut

I have always been interested in making myself a better version of myself. So I take haircuts very seriously, because if I look good on the outside, people think I am a better person on the inside too.

I’ve also always been interested in bangs. However, in the United States, when I go to salons, the conversation usually goes something like this:

Stylist: So what are you looking for today?

Me: I’d like a fresh new look.

Stylist: Oh, so like a bob or a short hair cut?

Me: No no, mother wouldn’t like me to cut my hair short.

Stylist: Okay, so maybe some layers.

Me: I want a fresh new look. I’m thinking: bangs.

Stylist: Long, side-swept bangs?

Me: No, real bangs.

Stylist: (looks uncomfortable) I wouldn’t recommend that for you.

Stylist: How about some highlights?

Me: No, mother does not want me to dye my hair.

And then after more back and forth, I get a trim and some layers.

Well, we were in Japan last week, and the Japanese excel in everything they do, so I knew it was time to get a haircut. I selected a salon from Time Out Tokyo, called Ridicule. With a name like that, I knew I was guaranteed a hip new look.

Here’s how the conversation went down.

Stylist: Irassyaimase!

Me: Konichiwa! Sumimasen, do you speak English?

Stylist: Very little.

Me: Arigatou, I was thinking about bangs.

Stylist: (blank look) Oh! Bangs! (frowns) (Says something in Japanese)

Me: Sumimasen. (I look sheepish)

Stylist: (takes out mobile phone, types in something, shows translation to me) “Do you know how to brush your hair.”

Me: Yes! (Did my hair not look brushed?)

Stylist: (hands me a magazine)

Me: (I flip to a page and point to a picture where the girl has bangs.)

Stylist: (Looks at picture, flips to a different one of a woman WITHOUT bangs, presents it to me.)

Me: (Shake my head, flip to a new picture of a girl, with bangs).

Stylist: Okay! (And smiles supportively.)

Anyway, here’s pretty much the outcome.


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Saying Goodbye to Audrey

I went to a going away party for Audrey yesterday, and it was really upsetting, because I was wearing this spectacular spring coat, and no one complimented me on it.

The event took place outside, and it was chilly out, so I was able to button up the coat to show off it’s asymmetrical closure. Still nothing.

I talked to seven people, in depth. I also talked to Audrey, of course. Not one single, “Hey, by the way, where did you get that stunning coat?”

I even threw out a whole, “Oh I’m so sorry I spilled cranberry juice on your shoes – they are so lovely! Where did you get those!?” to open a fashion discussion, but no takers.

I asked Kelli if her coat was from JCrew, she said no, but the conversation about coats ended there, and she somehow managed to shift discussion to Japan right after that. My coat isn’t from Japan, so that was annoying.

Jim just wanted to talk about the art of role playing and listening for professional development. During some parts of the conversation, I waved my hands around, to demonstrate how easy it was to move in the coat. Obviously that wasn’t the context I gave him, but he should have been able to pick that up from the conversation as well. Guess Jim isn’t as observant of people’s behavior as he thinks.

Andy told me about his family’s interest in tennis, because he heard I was a tennis player. That was a clear opening. He could have said, “Under that beautiful coat, I bet you have incredible muscle definition.” I would have said, “Yes, it is a beautiful coat, good eye, Andy.” But he didn’t say that. He shifted the conversation to baseball. I can’t really wear the coat to a baseball game, so that didn’t help. At all.

Tony and some other guy debated improv etiquette and finding “the game” during a practice session. They were lamenting players who derail scenes. I couldn’t jump in about my coat during that discussion, of course.

The bartender looked super disinterested in everything, and he was a smoker, so I didn’t want to stand around him long enough for him to compliment me on my coat anyway.

The second bartender should have noticed my coat though.  Not cool.

Anyway, I think Audrey had a good time.

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Aging Well

Some classy things I’ve done in the past week:

No no.
No no.

1) Telling the car rental person, “No no, you can’t be serious,” after she presented me with a black Scion as my rental car. “That looks like a hearse; I’m going to back it into a pole in my parking garage.”

“So you …want a different car.”

“Yes, absolutely. Why is that Scion on the consumer market? Wait. Is it even for sale on the consumer market?”

“You can have a Rav4.”

“Thank you.”

2) Explaining to my sister that I can’t help with Thanksgiving dinner because my outfit was too nice to risk dirtying.

3) Canceling my pending order on “No, I will not try again later, I will compromise on buying clothing in the incorrect size because these are great prices, but I will not tolerate technical issues.”

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Two Types of Clothes

I have two types of clothes in my closet. Clothes with chocolate stains and clothes I haven’t worn yet.

Thank you very much. I’m here all night.

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An Unexpected Twist of Fate

Today I threw caution to the wind and put two items of clothing in the dryer. The instructions advised line drying.

What inspired such reckless behavior, you wonder. Well let me tell you.

The two items of clothing were “lounge wear.” So they were casual attire. I never fathomed that clothes designed for comfort or exercise would have finicky washing instructions. And today when I was doing laundry and saw the label, I was at first flabbergasted.

“Line dry?! Cool iron if needed?! You are a hoody!”

Then I stared at the hoody. “Why stop there? Why not dry clean only, your highness?”

So I gave it some further thought: if these lounge clothes could not sustain a journey through the dryer, they had no place in my wardrobe which is already too full of high maintenance clothes. I debated returning them to the store. Then I had an inspired idea: I would put the clothing through a trial by ordeal. The Gods would determine their true merit.

I washed them with like colors, and then when the time came, I put them both into the dryer on tumble dry. But that didn’t dry anything. So then I added time and changed the temperature to medium heat. When the wash was done, I would know whether they could be a part of my closet team.

They both shrunk. So, the moral of this story is to check washing instructions before buying an item of clothing.

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Let’s Hope It’s Not Alive

I can’t be sure, but I strongly suspect the necklace I’m wearing today has become sentient. Let me explain. This morning I was debating whether or not to wear the silver necklace. I haven’t worn it for over a year, and that I even thought to wear it today was quite the peculiarity.

Anyway, I reached for the ziplog bag it usually rests in and was surprised to see that the ziplock was not closed. Rather the necklace was peaking out of the lock as though it already had its own plans this morning to exit. I didn’t think much of this at the time and put the necklace over my head.

I then walked over to a mirror to evaluate my ensemble selection for the day. Upon immediately deciding the necklace would not do, I reached to pull it over my head only to find that in the two steps between putting on the necklace and finding a mirror, the necklace had managed to entangle itself in my hair!

“I guess you get to stay on me today you devious necklace.” I said.

I then decided it wouldn’t be lady-like to have the necklace stuck in my hair, so I continued to attempt to disentangle it at the very least. Within seconds of declaring I would keep the necklace on, the necklace seemed to release my hair strands from its persuasive grasp and endear itself to me for being reasonable.

Now I sit here, content with my decision to wear this necklace today but slightly uneasy that the decision was not entirely mine.

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Bonjour Ma Cherie

Hello my dearest. I have returned from Paris, a city that lights up in the winter so brightly and beautifully that you forget how little you’ve accomplished with all the opportunities you’ve been given. “Wow, that sentence didn’t end the way I expected it to,” you think. Yes, me neither. We’ll have to explore that professional despair later though, because right now we need to discuss the wonderful fashion trend we found in Paris: Elbow patches.

Elbow patches instantly make every shirt, cardigan, and blazer outstanding. Take this hoody for example. It’s okay. Nice cut.

Now take a look at this. Boom.

You see me and you think, “Wow. Just wow. This woman is obviously an intellectual. She is that rare mix of culturally informed and socially accessible. I’m not quite sure how I know, but I do.”

If you hadn’t read this entry, you wouldn’t understand what is triggering this astute observation, but you would feel it in your heart. And then, then you would think, “I want to be her friend.” That is the power of elbow patches.

Fortunately I had the good sense to purchase not one, but two shirts with elbow patches, during my travels. I immediately put them into my ensemble rotation, and it’s only a matter of time before I am the sartorial envy of all my friends.

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