Monday, February 21, 2011

Between a wedge and a wet place.

Gather your meemaw. Pack your fox fur. Fatten your pig.

The floods are coming.

I'm not big on dressing for the weather. I tend to weigh the time I'll suffer the wrath of the elements (typically about seven minutes, tops) against the long, luxurious hours to be spent peacocking around indoors and just hightail it to my destination severely underclothed. Pros: I walk faster than most golf carts can travel and my immune system rivals that of a cockroach. Cons: Hey, is that a rock in my shoe?/Nope, that would be the ground/I am perpetually wearing holes in the soles of my not-so-water-resistant footwear.

No more. I refuse to sacrifice another pair of leather boots to some bitch sidewalk that thinks it knows my life. Destruction don't come cheap, and nor does it complement my home pedicure. Having said that, don't expect to catch me splashing around in some polka-dot Target monstrosity. The time has come to invest in a pair of wellies that don't make me want to gouge out my eyes with a pair of six-inch YSL Tribute sandals.

Enter the weatherproof wedge boot.

Hunter has more or less asserted itself as the mainstream king of rainy day footwear, and I'm altogether smitten with the brand's Verbier model in slate. Where traditional Hunters can be a bit utilitarian for my taste, these are glossy and flirty, but still neutral enough to be worn with almost any ensemble. I love that the jaunty red laces add an on-trend splash of color. I also love that the boots come equipped with a neutral set of laces that can be swapped in for non-red letter days. We are all about balance here at La Vie en Ginger. Which is what you'll be doing a lot of in towering heels on slippery concrete.

On the other foot, we have two slightly more gravity-cooperative options from Loeffler Randall. These win points for their back zippers, designed for easier pants-tucking and more graceful rainy day stripteases (who says I don't shop with practicality in mind)? I'm drawn to the knee-high me some ankle booties, but I question whether a shortie lace-up would hold up to torrential downpour and habitual puddle splashing. Rubber don't make it a rain boot, 'chu know? 'Chu know? Either pair comes in either color, which is yet another question to consider. Regardless, I delight in the fact that neither reduces the calves to cankley rubber stalks.

Call me Natalie Imbruglia, because I am torn. Jaunty versus striptease? Where would even one begin to make one's decision? Call me Sophie, because I have a choice to make! Just don't call me late for dinner!

Speaking of choices, yesterday was supposed to be the first day of my detox from the unchecked no-carb-left-behind spree that has been February 2011. Said detox lasted until 3pm, when I broke down and made banana bread (the brown bananas I've been hoarding in a paper bag for two weeks were finally perfect. Who am I to argue with nature?) and devoured half the loaf with butter and sea salt and possibly even a dollop (see, a dollop! So diet-friendly!) of Nutella. The good news: The banana bread was freakishly good and merits a recipe post in the near future. The bad news: What occurred when I tried to put on my pants this morning, aka the new first day of my detox.

Oh and I'm a redhead again, so if you see someone who looks like me but has a weird, unnatural version of my natural hair color, don't scream "ROBOT IMPOSTER!" and wrestle her to the ground. Unless she's wearing polka-dot Target rain boots. Then you have the green light.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Are you brave enough to let me see your peacock?

Hey! Hey guys, it's me! Your patron saint of practicality and poise, who wears shorts in negative temperatures and takes outfit photos in public restrooms!

(High-fashion cuticle scrutiny.)

(High-fashion pit check, complete with high-fashion ginger roots that can't be tamed/saved/blamed/changed/tamed.)

Celebrating New York fashion week with a vintage fur coat, Anthro cropped sweatshirt and Zara high-waisted pleated shorts. There's a reason I'm not your patron saint of dating.

I'd like to introduce you to a new friend.

His name is Henry.

He's...rather mesmerizing.

And almost as photogenic as I am.

As a devoted Potter fanatic, I've always had a sneaking suspicion that my patronus would be a peacock. Vain. Ostentatious. And a little bit too much. When I spotted this ring in Aldo Accessories a few weeks ago, I knew it needed a new home on my finger. Even if it meant forcing a harassed sales associate to dig through backstock to find a ring sized small enough to fit my freakish baby hands.

Whatever. I work retail. I know full well that downtime is the enemy. She was secretly thrilled.

Aldo also carries an eagle (for all you Philadelphia fans out there!) and a goldfish (for all you new Pisces out there! EH? EH?). I'm just happy the flash panic over the "new zodiac" has subsided, as no one affected is old enough to so much as bang out a dramatic Facebook status/we all know I would have stubbornly stayed a Taurus anyway. Speaking of Facebook, here's a current event I'm much more concerned with: did anyone else notice that Zuck and his minions have changed the "Remove from Friends" button? It now reads "Unfriend." EW. WHAT. WHY. EW. I've always said "Defriend." I feel like my creative liberties concerning Facebook terminology have been yanked out from under me, right along with unique interests and the little box under my photo (may it rest in peace). Salt, meet wound.

Now enjoy a "did-she-just-say-what-I-think-she-just-said?" jam from girlcrush K. Perr to start your Wednesday off on the right...feather. (Note: I had to remove the mp3 I had originally posted after receiving a scary copyright infringement e-mail from Blogger. Turns out K. Perr and her people are really on top of things. Sorry!)