I Post Links: Simplicity is beautiful

TinyHouseTalk.com: Five reasons you should start owning less.

TinyHouseBlog.com: Costa Rican Small Houses

Look at how lovely it is! This post sports some super-cute photos of little cabins and such. Since my ideal home is 550 square feet or smaller, and the average home in Costa Rica is between 400 and 600 feet, these look to be pretty much perfect. But then I'm one of those weirdos who kind of wish yurts were up to building code. I'm not about to move to the Appalachians and be a yurt-dwelling hermit with goats and chickens, and unless urban homesteading some day becomes yurt-friendly, I'm lookin' at cabins and such. Something with a nice open closet to show off my fashionista pretties, obviously.

TinyHouseSwoon.com: My Little Home
I MEAN LOOK AT IT. JUST LOOK AT IT. I could weep at the beauty. Right down to the spiral staircase I've dreamed of having in my dream home since I was a little kid! I'd build this exact house, but then probably paint its exterior some obnoxious color that pisses all the neighbors off.

AlreadyPretty.com: Sally interviews a minimalist and takes photos of her closet.

ExpertEnough.com: A minimalist approach to a killer closet
It's easy to be excited about getting dressed when all that you own are your favorite things.

Let's go shopping for flats with a recovering heel-addict!

But first, broken-heart recovery 101.

Lesson 1? Don't fall in love with your best friend. Preferably, don't sleep with your best friend. If, like me, you fail at both of these... well, just don't in the first place. He *will* end up dating someone else, and you *will* end up emotionally destroyed for several weeks. If you're awesome, like we are, you'll stay friends. But things will be awkward, and extraordinarily painful, for A WHILE. Especially if it's your second major heartbreak in six months. (Bad me! BAD!!)

Lesson 2: There are very few heartbreaks that copious amounts of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic can't fix.

Lesson 3: Friends don't let friends drink and Facebook.

Lesson 4: Therapy window shopping. It's all the fun of real shopping, but you don't clutter up your space or go broke. Just make sure you give yourself cool-off time before actually buying. Make lists. Make sure you actually at least somewhat need that thing you're about to buy.

This gets us, finally, to the point of our new post!



Fortunately, I need flats in a bad way. I got over my short-girl complex a long time ago, honest. But I wear heels because they're sooo very pretty, and they make my tush look better. We pear-shaped ladies tend to be self conscious about such things. Just the same, I'm getting older, and I need to not ruin my feet. Sob. My old roomies, with their orthopedic-looking shoes that they chose for function first, and style... eh, sometimes... would be so proud.

So let's go flat-shopping! Some of these fantastic finds do already grace my closet floor, by the way. I went from having only two busted-ass pairs of flats that needed to be tossed, to five! I go reasonably-priced or not at all. Alas, the Loubotin taste on a Payless budget. Here we go! (okay, we'll look at a few $400 pairs of shoes for funsies, as you wish.)

It's been too long since an update...

But I am far too heartbroken to come up with original content right now, so here is what is in my heart and my playlist right now.




All the world just stopped now
So you say you don't wanna stay together anymore
Let me take a deep breath babe
If you need me
Me and Neil'll be hangin' out with the dream king
Neil says hi
By the way I don't believe you're leaving
Cause me and Charles Manson like the same ice cream
I think it's that girl
And I think they're pieces of me you've never seen
Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen well

All the world is all I am
The black of the blackest ocean
And the tear in your hand
All the world is danging...
Dangling'...Danglin' for me darlin'
You don't know the power that you have
With that tear in your hand
Tear in you hand

Maybe I ain't used to maybes
Smashing in a cold room
Cutting my hands up every time I touch you
Maybe maybe it's time to wave goodbye now
Time to wave goodbye now
Caught a ride with the moon
I know I know you well
Better than I
Used to haze all clouded up
My mind in the daze of why it could've never been
So you say and I say
You know you're full of wish
And your "baby baby baby babies"
I tell you they're pieces of me you've never seen
Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen

All the world is all I am
The black of the blackest ocean
And the tear in your hand
All the world is dangin'...
Dangling'...Danglin' for me darlin'
You don't know the power that you have
With that tear in your hand
Tear in you hand
With that tear in you hand

Music Monday: the good version of Umbrella!

So, I really pretty much can't stand Rihanna. Except for Disturbia. That song kicks some major butt. Anyway, Black Nail Cabaret is this amazing... darkwave? dark electro? Eh, duet which creates goth-approved music of an electronic persuasion. And they covered Umbrella back in, like, '08. And if you aren't floored by the awesome, I don't wanna know you.

Ode to Planet Fitness

Photo by Daniel Oines, do check out his lovely work!

You guys, I am in love. With a gym. A freakin’ gym.

No, they’re not paying me to say any of this. (Although if anyone from the Planet Fitness marketing department wants to pay me for an endorsement, I am SO down for that.) It’s just that I signed up approximately a week ago, and the soreness of attacking weight machines with all my strength has subsided, and I’m in love. The best part of the whole thing is that it’s only costing me about $20 per month, and it’s open 24/7, so no matter what stupid schedule work throws at me, I can easily stay on the wagon!

(Not that I’m still bitter at work for changing my schedule so I couldn’t keep up with the half-marathon training group last year. Nope, not at all….)

Anyway. They have a 30-minute allover weight training circuit, which is brilliant for defeating that “But I don’t have time!” excuse. The décor is predominantly purple, which is the best color ever, as anyone who is anyone already knows. There are approximately a zillion cardio machines and treadmills, so even in the thick of Resolution Season, nobody really has to wait for a turn. Members get unlimited tanning. (which, uh, means absolutely zilch to my snow-white hide, but more power to the tanorexics out there.)

Members also get unlimited access to HYDROMASSAGE BEDS! I’m telling you. After a rough day of solving first-world problems and getting cussed up one side and down the other by self-entitled iPhone users, that hydromassage bed is saving me from either committing homicide or suicide. Its warm, soothing water jets are a blessing upon mankind.

Then, there’s the “judgment-free zone” they promote. My curvy behind is right at home on the elliptical, flanked on one side by a rail-thin chick and on the other by someone whose potbelly hangs to their knees. We’re all there to maintain, or become, the best possible versions of ourselves. It’s a beautiful thing. We welcome newbies into the fold every day, showing them how to work the circuit, asking each other for form checks, whatever. It really feels like an empowering environment to me. There’s been one evening so far in which a few guys got into Leery McStare mode. I gave them a dirty look and they straightened up. If they hadn’t, I’d have felt absolutely no qualms about telling staff and trusting them to handle it appropriately. People can relax and get fit here.

There’s also the lanky, cute guy on staff who always greets me with a silly lopsided grin. “Hey, you made it in again!” he says. “Are you kidding? This is my therapy!” I reply. “That leg press is gonna feel my wrath!”

Last night, I caught him and one of the other staffers in full white-boy dance mode to whatever peppy, generic pop music was wafting from overhead. It was totally adorable. I wanted to invite them both goth clubbing.

Not insignificantly, they have over 600 locations. Three of them are in Indianapolis, so if I do get to move back in the near future, my membership will transfer. Score!

One more anecdote from last night. There are huge televisions everywhere, which… well, ugh if you’re a TV-eschewing hipster like me, but whatever. On one screen was Fox News. On the adjacent one was the History Channel. I caught, side by side, the “Rent is Too Damn High” guy and the “I’m not saying it was aliens, but it was aliens” guy. Total meme-ception!

This is approximately what it looked like.

 And then I finished 5 ½ miles on the elliptical, and imbibed a low-calorie grape Gatorade. At the time, it seemed like the greatest-tasting nectar that had ever crossed my lips.

Do you think exercise seems to make the other moments in life somehow more significant and enjoyable, or is it just me?

Music Monday: Until The End Of The World

This was my jam up 'til December 21. Still kind of is. Silly people freaking out about Mayan apocalypses. Never mind the fact that Mayans still exist, and they all thought we were nuts. Anyway, I love this song, and you should too, because it's entirely perfect.

The Tension Between Fashion and Minimalism (Or, A New Start)

Helen Twelvetrees in an incredible frock and hat, probably by Elsa Schiaparelli, 1935, by Harry Freeman

So, my following of fashion has been half-assed at best lately. Because, again, I’ve been in a state of crisis.  Yes, sigh, again. It’s every bit as annoying to live in as it is to read about.

But, while my observation on the upcoming spring/summer fashion trends has been practically nil, my understanding of my own personal style has skyrocketed, somewhat out of a basic necessity. In the process of overhauling my lifestyle, I’ve made changes to my wardrobe, having learned that you fit into your own skin better when your clothes don’t clash with your life.

Oh, how things have changed in thirteen years. At fifteen, everything had to be sparkly, or velvety, or bedecked in feathers, or in a loud print. I had a pink marabou cardigan and a black marabou pullover. I had a black maxi-skirt that I’d self decorated with lace and glitter. I stuck rhinestones and silver glitter self-created stencil patterns on all my jeans. I remember my friend Mary Beth’s mother remarking, “If people have to discern your personality by your clothes, you’re doing it wrong. Everything you wear doesn’t have to make a statement.

Except that it does! Everything you wear does, indeed, make a statement. Whether it be “I’m very no-nonsense with my plain T and cardigan and Mommy jeans,” “I’m a diva, look at the leopard and sequins over here!” or “I give up” in a stained tracksuit. Everything, I mean EVERYTHING, you wear, does indeed make a statement, whether you realize it or not.

Gradually, over the last decade, my style has gone from “OH MY GAWD, LOOK AT ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!” to a more quiet, confident polish. Me with confidence? What? When did this happen? (hint: Sometimes I’m faking it. But I find that more and more often, it’s real.)

I recently threw out every article of clothing that isn’t a neutral solid or print, except for some purple accents. The first sweater dress I actually liked. My fabulous plum faux-suede booties that always get compliments. A floral shawl. The corset I wore to senior prom. You get the idea. And you know what? In cutting down my wardrobe to what basically fits in a laundry hamper and a half, I’ve found myself having a way easier time creating crazy-sweet outfits than when I owned four times as many clothes. Also, I still bring the drama with well-placed fishnet bodysuits, sequins, patterns, and frou-frou hats. The hats adorn the shelf of my open closet, next to my impractical high-heel collection. Minimalism ain’t necessarily about an austere, monastic way of being. It’s about a more fulfilling life through owning just the best. Just the things that help you create the life you love.

Minimalist ideas, man. I’ve been reading Becoming Minimalist, Unclutterer, Zen Habits, The Everyday Minimalist, and several other blogs for a while now. I overhauled the crap out of my bedroom and am working on the rest of my apartment. I have literally sequestered my entire living room as unnecessary. Seriously. It, and everything in it, are things I don’t want or need. It’s so very shameful the space, the things, we hoard and waste. My next apartment will be half the size of this one, and my goal is to fit all my possessions in my grandpa’s F-150. Why? Well, in part because I don’t have the time or energy to organize it. I have chronic depression. I just spent the last 3 months doing little more than sleeping and working. It was ugly. Things got gross around here. The fewer things I own, the less I have to clean or put away. That will help me budget my energy toward, y’know, freelancing. Writing. Finishing this blog’s redesign. Hooray!

I’ve come to realize the truth: This really isn’t a fashion blog anymore. It’s a personal blog in which, yes, fashion will come up a lot, because I still love it. I love fashion. I love personal-style development. They make me happy. Most art-forms make me happy, and fashion is such a ridiculously beautiful form of art. Just… taking the time to appreciate the weeks of research and sketching, the hours of meticulous draping of each little fold. The selection of colors and creation of patterns. When you get into it, it’s mindblowing.

But I’m also into minimalism, self-improvement, feminism, and mental-health advocacy. So I’m working on having room for those things here too. I’m pursuing the life of a bon vivant. Rediscovering joy. There’s no magic bullet to force all of us to rediscover our joy, but I hope that by sharing what does it for me, it might help someone along the way. That’s the new direction of this blog in a nutshell. I hope we can all dig it.