Won’t bury the lede–kind of another swing and a miss on this one. Not because of the style. Mostly a size issue this time. For example:
Creative Commune Marvelle Peplum Blouse
Style was cute. Design, also cute. But when I lifted my arms, the elastic waist ended up tucked under my boobs. Probably because they sent me a Large Petite, and while I’m not Torso McGee, I don’t think I have an especially short trunk either.
Also, the neckline had this cool twisty feature, but the hooks-and-eyes wouldn’t stay latched. Not a huge deal–I could’ve fixed it with a quick squeeze from a pair of pliers–but at $58, I don’t think I should have to do repairs right off the bat.
Another size casualty:
Greenich (yes, spelled like that :/) Striped Knit Top from Pixley
I loved this shirt and would’ve kept it. Look at the elbow patches! Patchy elbows! How professorial!
But it fit like a wetsuit.
And then with the opposite problem:
RD Style Rowca Scoop Neck Pull Over Sweater
This sweater made me look like a fat potato.
Fortunately, two items in the Fix were not really size-specific. First:
Sammie Plaid Infinity Scarf from Look by M; hair by Caught in a Light Drizzle; makeup by I Don’t Wear Makeup During the DayHere it is, doubled up.
I wasn’t sure about the scarf. I thought I liked it, but sometimes I don’t know what I like, so I ask Kate if I like it. Turns out, I like it.
Lastly, a purse because my stuff bucket‘s handles were falling apart:
Moda Luxe Brooks Crossbody Bag
Truth be told, it’s not perfect. First, I prefer silver accents to gold. Second, it’s got tassles, and tassles make me feel weird. And finally, the makeup pouch is in the flap, so the zipper for it is upside-down. Not ideal for a mombag–how’m I gonna grab my Dr. Pepper chapstick one-handed?!
But I like the style, mostly, and the color is gorgeous (navy, if you can’t tell from the pic), and well shit, I just didn’t want to go another month without a stuff bucket.
Stay tuned for future Fixes!
And if you want to try Stitch Fix yourself, please use this link because they’ll give me a $25 credit, and in return I’ll give you an internet high-five or smooch, your choice.
My third Fix arrived, and I would’ve been happy, except I had worn my Frye flats all day, so my pinkie toes were balls o’ burnin’ flame. (Seriously, what do I do about this? I sprinkled anti-chafing powder on my feet about five times throughout the day. Am I wearing the wrong size or something? Size 7s commit foot-murder on me, but I flop around in 7 1/2s like an 8-year-old who’s raided her mom’s closet. I’m committed to finding something I can wear other than flip-flops, but Jesus.)
I opened the box and tore apart the tissue paper. (One thing I’ll say for Stitch Fix is they do it up with the packaging—make it feel like an event.) First thing out of the stack was this little number:
Moni geo print blouse from 41Hawthorn
I heard a tiny tick as I lifted it up. On the tile by my feet was one of those brass-looking “buttons”. I figured it was just an extra, you know, like they put in a tiny ziploc on the tag, so you can sew the spare on if one comes off. Because you’re definitely a seamstress.
WHY DO THEY EVEN DO THAT? Everybody knows you’re not gonna sew that button on. Everybody knows you’re gonna put it in a drawer until you move, and then it’ll go in a box labeled Random Crap, which you’ll shove into the attic at your next place, thinking you’ll get back to it at some point. But Some Point never comes. In fact, you move that box six more times over the years, and then when you break your hip, and your ungrateful kids move you to a nursing home, and they dig through six Random Crap boxes looking for swag, they wonder why the fuck you kept an assortment of random buttons and those magnets for ambulance-chasing lawyers that you peel off phone books before you recycle them.
Well, turns out it wasn’t a spare button. It was one of the buttons from the sleeve, and two more of them fell off as I was trying on the shirt. They weren’t sewn on, just pasted, and clearly not that well.
Though the fit didn’t do anything for me—kinda made me look pregnant—I liked the print and maybe would’ve kept it, but hell if I’m gonna hot-glue-gun buttons onto a brand new shirt. Not my job. It went back.
Between the fading pants of the first Fix, and this button-sloughing top, I’m a bit concerned about the quality of items that Stitch Fix selects.
Next up, more skinny pants:
Giovanni straight leg jean in brown from Level 99
I liked the chocolate color, but these pants were really clingy. I know, they’re skinny jeans—they’re supposed to cling—but they didn’t do anything for my shape. No lifting or supporting in key areas. The look was less slim fit and more defective sausage casing. Sent ’em back.
Moving along:
Hilson pleat detail blouse from Papermoon
This filmy tank did not flatter—kinda made me look pregnant. And besides, I already own a hot pink tank top that kinda makes me look pregnant. Bye bye.
One of the nice features of Stitch Fix is you can write notes to your stylists, so last time I had written something like:
My friend Kate, who knows about these things, says I should try to incorporate some ‘statement jewelry’. Not that I know what that means, but she has a pair of earrings that are 2-inch white owls, so maybe that? I don’t do bracelets but can work on wearing earrings, necklaces, barrettes, scarves, and belts.
And they sent me these:
Carmelita twisted wire hoop earrings from Bay to Baubles
To their credit, they probably wouldn’t have made me look pregnant, but they’re not statement jewelry. They’re, at best, crappy mall kiosk jewelry. Back they went.
Was it to be a complete bust?! Was I going to send the whole enchilada back?!
No, once again, a dress came to the rescue:
Black and white Katana V-Neck Dress from London Times; pinkie-toe shredding Frye flats; wrist brace with thumb spica, for sexiness
Goddammit with the dresses though. Would my poor, poor inner thighs survive?
WELL, on the recommendation of a couple readers, I had ordered three pairs of Bandelettes—lacy, garter-like whoozeewhatsits—that are supposed to preclude chafing… and they did! Rubbery strips on the inside keep them in place, so though the lace pilled a bit, I ended the day with nary a hot spot. (And if my thighs weren’t 28″ in circumference and riddled with cellulite, they’d probably be sexy.)
And for #ThrowbackThursday: The stuff bucket I purchased 20 months ago is dying a painful death. Or at least the handles are.
I wonder if Stitch Fix does purses…
Stay tuned for future Fixes!
And if you want to try Stitch Fix yourself, please use this link because they’ll give me a $25 credit, and in return I’ll give you an internet high-five or smooch, your choice.
Weird. Found myself actually kinda looking forward to receiving my second shipment from Stitch Fix. Who is I, and what even where happening? Hold me. I’m cold.
But before we get into that, let’s talk about me trying to Make Fashion and achieving a victory, a semi-victory, and a decided non-victory. First the victory:
Gap trousers Kate picked out a couple years ago, top from oldnavy.com clearance, necklace from my first Fix, and red(!) Frye flats I ordered on a commenter’s recommendation.
I sent this picture to Kate. “How am I doing? Too much grey?” I asked.
She said, “You’re doing it!” and went on to praise the “pop of color” and “elongated foot line” of my shoesies. Sure! I meant to do that! Fayshun!
The flats were $$$$, and they still rendered my feet meaty nubs, but I’m going to keep wearing them because $$$$.
The semi-victory:
Blouse from oldnavy.com clearance, Gap pants (same as the grey ones, just orange), and grey Toms flats bought on a commenter’s rec.
Me to Kate: “Talk to me about this. Blouse from Old Navy–just OK, right? How does one accessorize when wearing orange pants?”
Kate said I could get the blouse tailored, but the tailoring’d probably cost more than the shirt, so nah. She recommended tucking it in and adding a leopard print belt or sassy earrings. I can do that! All I need is a leopard print belt and sassy earrings.
OK. Non-victory:
Shirt and tank from… I don’t know–probably oldnavy.com clearance; Stitch Fix black skinny pants (I’ll get to them in a sec); utilitarian flip-flops.
To my credit, I knew it didn’t work. I just couldn’t articulate why. (I mean, aside from the flip-flops–I had to give my feet a day off to regrow their epidermis.) Kate said the shirt’s elastic waist doesn’t do me any favors–“hits and blouses at the wrong spot”–and the tank throws off the proportions even further. I don’t know what any of that means, but she does, and that’s what’s important here.
To the Fix!:
19 Cooper Astair abstract print blouse; black Mira skinny jean from Liverpool; Tom’s flats.
This blouse has weird shoulders, but I don’t own much print stuff, so I kept it. The pants are super comfy, and unlike the last Fix’s, they’ve held up in the wash. I still think my lower half looks like an ice cream cone in skinny pants, but maybe the frozen dessert treat look is fashionable?
These flats too left red burny spots on my feet, but I like ’em. Gonna make ’em like me, if I have to use crutches to do it.
This filmy tunic is an awful lot like another filmy tunic I bought awhile back on oldnavy.com clearance, and both are meh. I would’ve returned it and the earrings in the next photo, except with the Buy Five discount it would’ve saved me only eight bucks. I’ll find somebody who wants the shirt.
Earrings that are fine but don’t light up my loins.
Last thing:
Brodee dress from Andrew Marc.
Kate: “Daaaaaamn, son! Put on some sexy times shoes and bring allllll the boys to the yard!”
I guess what she’s saying is that my Tom’s flats won’t cut it here, but I feel like I should get points for wearing something other than flip-flops.
Crazy Jetsons neckline; Marlyn Schiff earrings; one of these days, I’ll comb my hair and put on makeup too, and Kate will press her fist to her lips, holding back happytears.
As a general rule, I don’t wear dresses. The chubrub is real and painful, even when I lube up my inner thighs and lube ’em up good, but I wore spandex shorts under this, and they precluded any fires in my nether regions.
Plus, one of my (male) sixth graders said, sort of matter-of-factly, “I thought you were going to a royal ball when I saw you in that dress.”
Stay tuned for future Fixes!
And if you want to try Stitch Fix yourself, please use this link because they’ll give me a $25 credit, and in return I’ll give you an internet high-five or smooch, your choice. Thanks to the readers who already did this! You contributed to the bringing of boys to the yard!
My students* are hilarious and inspiring, and sometimes heartbreaking. As usual, I asked them to write get-to-know-you letters. Here are my favorite excerpts [comments in brackets are mine]:
the reason I like dancing is because you can just have fun be calm and relax, But in a swaying way
I want to be a 2nd grade teacher because I want babies but I want the kids to know what they are doing. It has to be a school that give me the money. If my teacher carreer doesn’t work out then I want to be a singer like Beyonce. [Wait, there are schools that will give me the money?!]
My name is Pablo, I knew how to create stuff in my mind [But he forgot.]
My baby sister is like me because she has eczema.
I love to spend time with my family and friends and my Pet’s (Genuine pigs) Thunder, Thunder Jr and lightning. [GENUINE PIGS.]
[At the end of her letter] Well that is me so DEAL WITH IT! (LOL just kidding)
After school I liked to Play football with my friend. I was the theird strongest player in the game. We a Person tries to takle me I keep walking intel I get to the end of the feild. [Best part is this was a girl.]
My hopes and dreams are to be a Pro football player. I also want to play defense of end.
In my dreams Im rich I have all the money In the world but when I try to spend it turn into meat. [Uh. I’m guessing this is less ‘hopes’ and more ‘dreams’. ]
I have only 5 boys in my family, not including me. Let me tell you a secret. Boys couldn’t survive without girls!
[This student disagrees with the previous one.] Other things I did this summer are that I played basketball and just enjoyed myself. Just laying back in the sun nothing else to do. Really when you live with girls is time to get away. You always get hit. You always get scratched.
My dad is 40. My mom says she is 29.
I also have antique baseball cards from maybe the 70’s or 90’s.
My family is a little odd, espicially my extended family. One of my relatives is a drug dealer. My brother is also crazy. My mom says we don’t need a dog because we have [my brother]. My dad grew up in a disfuntional family. He ended up fine, though.
I worry a lot so I go to a worry doctor. [:(]
Hello my name is Marius Carson and I have terrible hand writing. [His letter was typed.]
I have a box of stuff.
The morning routin I have is to think to myself how I think my day will go, and always smile to a mirror so I can see what a wonderful kid I am. [His morning routine is better than mine.]
I was in florida for one week. It was amazing how many people can fit in one car.
Dear Ms. Scott you will like me because I am ready for anything.
Well I’m a kid thats nice but at home Im not I don’t listen to my parents
My name is Jonathan Wu, and I don’t think I have anything else to say in the first sentence, which should tell you something. [Whoa. Deep.]
When im dead I want people to say they want to be like me. [Me too, buddy. Me too.]
First, my style guru had the audacity to move to D.C. two years ago to be with the love of her life. Then came the babies, and I’m not saying I had kids specifically so I’d have an excuse never to go clothes shopping, but it’s a side benefit, for sure.
But then women I knew kept posting online about Stitch Fix, a web-based service that shops for you and sends the clothes to your house, and I was all, “GIVEITTOMEIWANTIT.”
I filled in the profile, outlining my style (ha ha, as if), describing my body type (ass so fat that you could see it from the front), and specifying what I wanted/needed for my wardrobe (less special occasion wear, more work clothes).
A crisp package arrived a few weeks later. That weekend, Kate, the aforementioned guru, was visiting from Our Nation’s Capital. “Kate,” I said, and gestured to the box.
“Stitch Fix!” she said.
“Mm-hm,” I said. “Came a couple days ago.”
“You haven’t opened it yet?!”
Sigh. I wish I were a person who delighted in new garb, but it still feels like a chore, and OH MY GOD, I’M AN INSUFFERABLE CITIZEN OF THE FIRST WORLD SORRY SORRY SORRY.
Kate and I sifted through the stuff together to see what I should keep and what I should send back.
First up, a t-shirt, more or less. Not t-shirt material–more knit?–and, like, forty-something dollars, but pretty much a t-shirt.
Sam “Hi-Lo” Short Sleeve Tee
I liked the color and thought it fit OK, but Kate’s lip curled. “Mullet-hem,” she said.
“Is that bad?” I asked. She said she just didn’t, as a style, love it, and I’ll admit business-in-the-front-party-in-the-back is not the most flattering for my body type.
Bunchy
So why did I keep it? Read on.
[Side note: It’s not lost on me that those jeans suck. They’re too long and just blah, but until the fine folks at Stitch Fix send me some denim, I shall wear them, and you can’t stop me.]
Next up, this dress from Collective Concepts:
#olsentwinface
Considering my next date night is… lemme check… the 12th of Never, I decided to wear the dress to Meet the Teacher.
My colleagues were like, “Whoa! You clean up nice!” and I did feel good. I wore my wedge heels for an hour and a half without a medical emergency; I finally put to use the statement belt I bought more than two years ago; and I even put on makeup.
I give myself an A+ for effort and some sort of non-failing grade for execution.
Moving along. The stylist really tried with these stretchy petite Margaret M dress pants.
I’ve had this shirt for about ten years. I love it. Is it terrible? It’s probably terrible. Because I love it, it’s probably terrible.
And they’re definitely comfy, but as you can see, they give me elephant knees. Also, since they were too long for capris and too short for actual pants, and who has time to go to the tailor?, I had to DIY a hem job.
My e-book “Office Supply Fashion with the Avid Bruxist” is coming out in 2016.
Also, after one washing, they were significantly faded. Like, they look like old pants now. They were the most expensive thing in the lot! $98! That’s so many of the dollars! Thumbs down.
[Note: Again, I’m not stupid–I know that utilitarian flip-flops are not the footwear of choice for this outfit, but I can’t wear heels all day, and I have yet to find a pair of flats that doesn’t scrape all the skin off my feet. Suggestions welcome.]
The last two items were this lace-front tank from Paper Moon and Kara hammered coin silver necklace. The shirt has a sheer back (cami required) with a silver zipper. I. love. it.
Gap jeans I bought three years ago, and utilitarian flip-flops.
The necklace is fine (I’m ACCESSORIZING!), but $34?!
In fact, all the items seemed pricey to me, but that’s probably ’cause I wear Gap jeans and Old Navy t-shirts 90% of the time.
I kept the whole shebang because Stitch Fix gives you a 25% discount if you take all five things, and I liked each item just enough to justify 75% of its cost.
But this model of purchasing is unlikely to be sustainable because the bill came to over $200, and that’s a lot to be spending on clothes every month. Or maybe it’s not? How much do you people budget for clothes?
Stay tuned for future Fixes!
(And if you want to try Stitch Fix yourself, please use this link because they’ll give me a $25 credit, and in return I’ll give you an internet high-five or smooch, your choice.)
My dad and I aren’t taking our usual northward jaunt because I need to be within spitting distance of the hospital for Arlo’s sake, but here are a few gems of recent times.
Dad: Have you ever tried to open pistachios and read a book at the same time?
Me: No.
Dad: CAN’T BE DONE.
**********
Dad: I’ve got a couple of bananas on my dashboard.
(He did.)
**********
Dad: I’m still hungry. You got any munchies?
Me: (digging things out of the cupboard) Pistachios. Beef Jerky. …Sesame seeds.
Dad: (correcting me) Those are for the cardinals.
**********
Dad: (waggling his iPhone) I suppose this thing has a voice recorder on it too.
Me: Yup.
Dad: I don’t know how to use this thing. How’m I gonna learn how to use this thing?
Me: I keep teaching you, but you keep forgetting.
Dad: <blink blink blink blink blink>
**********
Dad: Apps.
Me: Yeah?
Dad: Do I have to buy them?
Me: You can. A lot of them are free.
Dad: Why would I buy any then?
Me: Well, I bought one called PicStitch–
Dad: Pig shit?!
**********
Dad, singing a lullaby to the baby:
Oh, dear, what can the matter be,
Seven old ladies got stuck in the lavatory;
They were there from Sunday till Saturday,
Nobody knew they were there.
**********
Dad, waxing philosophical: Life is really—hey, are those pretzels?
**********
Dad: You need breakfast? I could run out and get us something.
Me: I already ate.
Dad: I didn’t really have anything. Just… some ice cream. Toast. Pretzels. I love pretzels for breakfast!
Me: You need to eat some protein and vegetables.
Dad: I take vitamin pills.
**********
The best part about this is not that my dad texted the fancy vacation person back. It’s not even that he did it accidentally “with my ass”. It’s that he managed to put both “lol” and “poop” in an accidental ass-text to a spammer.
And then there was the time he was more deliberate:
Dad: Ames, I dropped a pair of reading glasses down your toilet. …Don’t worry! …I have about 15 pairs.
**********
Dad: I’m a big fan of Woody Harrelson. Especially now that he’s no longer a mushroom-eating moon howler.
(?????)
**********
Dad, re baby names: Of course, the best name is Abraham Lincoln.
Me: Abraham Lincoln Scott?
Dad, totally sincere: Yes. Greatest American who ever lived.
(I didn’t know my dad was such a fan! But I’m not naming my son Abraham Lincoln.)
**********
Dad: I’m trying to resist picking at this scab. If I can’t take it anymore, I’ll just smoke a cigarette.
(Dad hasn’t smoked in 55 years.)
**********
Dad: Guy in the white car. Should be shot. Tailgating.
**********
Dad pulls a disposable razor out of the side pocket of his cargo shorts, flips down the passenger-side visor, and starts dry-shaving in the mirror. After about 10 minutes of scraping: I’m damn-near handsome.
He scrapes for another 15 minutes and then returns the razor to his pocket, I imagine, for use another day.
**********
Dad, after attempting without success to engage me in a discussion of Middle East politics: Hello, Redford. Would you like to talk about the Kurds?
**********
Dad, re my nut-rice crackers: Look like Ganges River cow pies. (He eats one.) …Not bad.
**********
Dad, while getting breakfast from the Whole Foods hot bar: Maybe I should get some vegan rice.
(Funny because Dad’s a huge carnivore, and also because he pronounces it “vejan”.)
(And after…) The sausage is altogether too healthy. Gnu meat, not pork. Famous for its life-giving properties.
(Yes, he pronounces it “guh-NOO”.)
**********
Dad: One thing I’m grateful for is that, at age 75, I haven’t lost any beauty or sex appeal. Because I never had any. …I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that joke before.
Every so often, my dad and I take a trip together. But sometimes, he just comes down to stay with me for the weekend. We sit and talk—he talks mostly. We go out to eat—he loves the Thai place. He uses my internet while I go to the gym. And he says funny shit I jot down.
**********
He showers, shaves, and changes into a clean shirt before breakfast.
Dad: How do I look?
Me: Good.
Dad: Not radiant?
**********
Dad, who loathes all organized sports that are not Formula 1 racing, begrudgingly agrees to accompany me to a Durham Bulls game, upon the promise of hot dogs and people watching.
Dad, re the mascot Wool E. Bull, who is dancing on the field: Do you suppose he just has to get really high before he goes out and does that?
**********
Dad: I’m scared of going to the doctor next week.
Me: The ear doctor?
Dad: Yeah.
Me: You’re scared of going to the ear doctor. Why?
Dad: What if he looks in there and says, “That’s the biggest ear cancer I’ve ever seen!”?
**********
Violet’s asleep on the doormat. Her feet start paddling.
Me: Aw, look at that. She’s having a dream.
Dad: She’s running away from the veterinarian.
**********
I back out of the driveway.
Dad: You’re a carbon copy of your mother. She doesn’t strap in until she’s moving forward either.
Me: You don’t buckle your seat belt until I yell at you about it!
Dad: BUT I HAVE NO RULES TO LIVE BY!
**********
Dad, to the dogs: You are satisfied with dog biscuits. I, however, would not be satisfied with dog biscuits. So, you get the dog biscuits and I get the chocolate.
(a little later) You may, if you like, snuggle with my armpit. You may not have my chocolate.
**********
Dad: I do one thing at a time. So I can worry enough about it.
**********
Dad, reading from the newspaper: “Ospreys are in full-on courtship.” Full-on courtship?! We know what that means—big bird on top.
**********
Dad, dropping then picking up a bottle of meds, to Redford: No! You could swallow a handful of my nitro glycerine pills and BLOW UP. If somebody shakes you.
**********
Dad, when I arrive home later than expected: I thought you might have been in a crash.
Me: Sorry, I just got caught up at the gym.
Dad: That was my second thesis.
**********
Dad, gesturing at my neighbor’s house: You ever see any movement around that place?
Me: Not much.
Dad: Think they just sit around and get stoned all the time?
Me: Yeah, maybe.
Dad: …Sounds kinda nice.
I wrote this is 2010, after a man, who had found me on a dating website, “done some recon”, and started reading my blog, made a sexual comment on a post. Here it is, excerpted and slightly edited for clarity:
I think every woman has had some experience where she has felt sexually threatened—it puts us on edge. It makes us more sensitive to the next comment, touch, sound, movement.
The son of my music teacher, when we were both about 9 or 10 and waiting in the car while his mom ran into the grocery store, started poking me in the chest and, when I covered myself, poked me between my legs. When I protected that part of me, he’d move back to the top. I kept telling him to stop. He laughed. I didn’t tell anyone that until a few years ago, when all of a sudden, it bubbled up and spilled out in a deluge of tears.
Guys groped me practically every day in the Mexico City subway when I lived there. One pinche cabrón came up behind me, stuck his hands down the sides of my overalls into the front of my underpants.
In 2002, in a crowded NYC number 6 train, a young man pressed his hard-on up against my ass and started breathing in my ear. I was pinned up against the door and couldn’t move.
In 2009, a dude followed me, jerking off, as I was hiking Occoneechee Mountain with my dogs.
There’s more, but I’ll stop. And I won’t even bother enumerating the verbal assaults I’ve received, though they are often no less scary.
My response, as an adult, to these experiences is to scream things like, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU’RE FUCKING SICK!” Except on the 6 train. Get this: I could see his reflection in the window, and I was pretty sure I had met the guy. I don’t know why that made me feel even more powerless, but it did. I just evacuated the car at the first possible moment.
