crackhead society dame

…is how I’ve come to define my style. Upscale but thoroughly queered. Fancy but freaky.

This outfit is a little gothier than I’ve been into lately, but I like how it came together. This is what happens when I give my thoroughly steampunk boyfriend a say in my ensembles.

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I found these tights in a ball under my desk this morning. I can’t believe I’d gone without them for so long!

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Bustier: Charlotte Russe Skirt: Goodwill Jacket: Downtown Threads Brooch & Necklaces: Old Gold Shoes: Dirt Chic Gloves: Gifted Tights: Found

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Bonus shitty cell-phone mirror shot of Boyfriend and me. We clean up nice.

look ma, no hat

“You look like a fae,” my boyfriend told me this morning. I’m all about that. I feel terribly mischievous today. Spring is second only to autumn in terms of the bubbly excitement it gives me deep in my stomach.

Or maybe it’s just the Fluoxetine.

I don’t think I care.

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My hairs! I’m in love with this cut.

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I’m proud of how this outfit came together. It’s just polished enough, I think. The dress is technically a skirt, but I really prefer it this way. The jacket is the only piece I own from Downtown Threads. Downtown Threads generally doesn’t suit my style; I am far more of a theater kid than a hippie. But I was pleasantly surprised by this jacket.

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This jacket reminds me of a medieval tapestry. The dress reminds me of butterfly wings.

Boyfriend and I saw a passel of girls wearing giant glittery butterfly wings out and about this afternoon.

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Dress & Necklace: Battery Street Jeans Jacket: Downtown Threads Belt: Old Gold Shoes: Danform Tights: Sox Market

I listen to a lot of Celtic Woman this time of year.

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I took these photos this morning, but they’re already out of date. I got my hair cut very shortly afterward. It’s bouncy and wonderful and the last of the nasty bleached bits is FINALLY gone. Pictures soon!

“You look like a gypsy,” said my friend who works at the shop across the street where I get pizza every day. Preach it. I wish I had a crystal ball.

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I keep trying to believe the fact that not only did this sweater and skirt not come as a set, I got them at two different thrift stores.

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Sweater & Blouse: Battery Street Jeans Turban & Necklace: Old Gold Skirt: Goodwill Tights: Sox Market Shoes: Danform

i’m a bad listener

So nobody liked this dress when I bought it. Jake, at least, was diplomatic when I came out of the dressing room: “Well, it’s your project, but I’m not feeling it.” The salesgirl was harsher: “If I see you wearing that downtown, I’m submitting your picture to People of Walmart.” The Old Gold salespeople know me well enough to tell me in no uncertain terms when they think I’m making a huge mistake, which I appreciate. But you know what? I loved this dress in the store, and I still love it now. I promised them I could rock it, and I’m confident in my ability to do so. The hat and the necklace give it a ’20s silhouette, but the colors are straight-up mod.

I’m a circus through and through, which is how I feel most myself.

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My hand is being subsumed into the rainbow.

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Dress & Necklace: Old Gold Blazer: Dirt Chic Shoes: Danform Tights: Sox Market Hat: Gifted

I must’ve listened to this song fifty times in the past two days.

hypocrisy

I’ve mentioned this a few times now: I’m a bona fide trypophobe. Though trypophobia isn’t yet recognized by the DSM folks, it’s experientially very real, at least according to my experiences. My heart positively races at the sight of tightly clustered holes. Raindrops beading up on car windows is by far the worst for me; I shut my eyes tight and hope I’ll be home soon. Not to put too Freudian a point on things, but I’m pretty sure the phobia stems from the dime-sized hives I sprouted on my thighs at age six, trumpeting my allergy to Amoxicillin. (And now I’m starting to feel the phantom welts. I’ll be in my ward.)

My love for polka-dotted clothes, then, is inexplicable even to me. By proper phobic standards, I shouldn’t even be able to look at them. I could get Freudian again on your collective ass and ham-fist some theory about my obsessive-compulsive superego attempting to impose order on my phobia…yeah, I have no idea. All I know is that polka dots on clothes are a strange and notable exception to my aversion. And that today marks my fourth polka-dotted outfit in as many days.

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Dress: Charlotte Russe Blouse & Necklace: Old Gold Tights: Sox Market Hat & Shoes: Gifted

I really love medieval and Renaissance music, and this is a great little track.

“that redhead with the polka dots”

A friend of a friend referred to me by that very epithet yesterday. “Hey, Cassie, who’s that redhead with the polka dots I always see you with?” It’s nice to know I’ve got a buzz going, though it’s funny to consider how utterly distinctive I wouldn’t have been just a few decades ago. What was commonplace then is quirky now. In fifty years, skinny jeans and Ugg boots and bodycon dresses will be vintage.

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Wearing pigtails every day, as you’ve perhaps noticed I have been, seems to have structured my hair into a natural flip. I can work with this.

I’m going to miss the pigtails when I get my hair cut (mostly) off in nine days.

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I’m feeling like Solanah of Vixen Vintage today.

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Skirt, Necklaces, Belt, & Bow: Old Gold Blouse: Battery Street Jeans Ring: Chatham Caravan Shoes: Gaiam

This song is srs bsns, you guys. It’s my favorite song on my favorite album by my favorite band.

the blogger hivemind and my inevitable submission

When I saw that Jessica of Midwest Muse was selling this fantastic skirt for a mere $5, I practically salivated. I’d admired it on her blog when it was initially posted, and I loved the idea of owning something initially rendered by a blogger I respect quite a bit. I jumped on it, and it came in the mail on Saturday.

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Eee!

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I’m back to my cheery, artificial femininity. Feels right.

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I thought that green nails might look kind of fungal, but I’m pleased with the result. (And, let’s face it, “fungal” isn’t exactly the worst thing for someone who loves skulls and eyeballs as much as I do.)

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My mom got me these twee little shoes this weekend!

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I tried on this vest on a whim, not at all expecting to like the result. I thought it might be a little too bohemian for the rest of the outfit, but I think the silhouette really works.

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Dress & Belt: Midwest Muse Vest: Battery Street Jeans Necklace & Bow: Old Gold Shoes: Macy’s Tights: Gifted

dirty dancing

This is Marissa. She’s the sexiest Queer Prom date I could’ve asked for.

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She’s way better at sexy kiss-blowing than I am.

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I went with a ’50s-housewife aesthetic, but queered a little in honor of the occasion.

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You guys. Our pearls match.

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She’s all srs bsns. And I clearly just struck that pose at the last second.

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She’s basically one of my favorite people ever. I hope it shows.

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Her dress is from Battery Street; mine, from Old Gold.

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Oh my.

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It was so much fun being a lesbian for the night. I liked grinding on the dance floor with a lady more than I ever thought I would.

please slander me

Remember how lyrical I waxed about how much I love artifice and construction? Well, I’m nothing if not a huge hypocrite. This is an earth-tone day through and through. Brights hurt my eyes a little today. I think I’m still burned out from the glory that was this weekend (Queer Prom. ‘Nuff said. Pictures soon!).

That said, something about this outfit feels out of place to me. I like each individual piece, but the whole thing doesn’t pop. It hasn’t quite been kicked from “this is an objectively cute outfit” to “this is something only Skye would think to put together”. I want to be not just pretty but distinctive.

I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong. I almost decided not to post, but I think it’s ultimately good for me to ask for constructive criticism instead of just posting combinations I already know I love. Please give me your impressions of today’s look!

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Dress & Blouse: Yard sale Cardigan: Battery Street Jeans Necklaces, Socks, Tights, Boots, & Hat: Gifted

slap me if i get too postmodern

I’m all about the hyperfeminine and the deliberately constructed. Lately I have little interest in outfits that appear haphazard or, shall we say, adventurously designed. I want strict and obvious artifice. “Appeal to nature” is a fallacy anyway. There seems to be this notion, not so much among fashionistas but among political and academic types, that socially constructed = bad. Everything that’s not 100% biological is a social construct in some way – and even wholly biological phenomena have to be articulated with language, another social construct.

“Fashion is an artifice,” critics tell me. Fake. Materialistic. “So what?” I invariably rejoin. The world is materialistic. One of my favorite things about fashion is its honesty about its materialism. High fashion refuses to pretend it’s not desperately trying to get itself noticed. There’s no self-effacing eye-batting, no murmurs of “oh, this old thing?” Fashion is upfront about being unnatural. Page through a photo spread, and you are entering a deliberately stylized world of pure imagination. The way something in the mind of an artist can create something that challenges or even overshadows the natural world – that’s magical.

There’s a fine line between art and insanity. I say this as someone with a mental illness. At the core of both is the concept of communicating something entirely new, something inherently unverifiable by empirical means.

I’m no longer content to combine various interesting pieces and hope the sum will do justice to the parts. I have to have a Theme. I have to be Constructed.So here you have it: my overbright, hyperfeminine homage to the unnatural.

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Dress & Necklace: Old Gold Jacket: Macy’s Belt: Handed down from Mom Tights: Sox Market Shoes: Danform Tank Top: JCPenney