tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86559071013907602842024-02-19T17:44:03.154-06:00La Vie en GingerEmma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.comBlogger91125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-39685943176895790182012-04-10T22:14:00.003-05:002012-04-10T22:38:59.129-05:00Take a BITE.What are you still doing here? Is it 2011 again and nobody told me? I'm now blogging at <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.wordpress.com">Boredom Is The Enemy (BITE)</a>, if you can tear yourself away from the Royal Wedding long enough to take a look. Hey, did you remember to preorder our tickets for <i>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows</i>? No? Never mind, I'll find someone like you. Winning! Bye.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-67436879736131276682011-08-02T14:27:00.005-05:002011-10-28T00:50:55.289-05:00Still kickin'.In case you haven't noticed, I've been on hiatus.<br /><br />These past few months have brought a great deal of powerful and positive change, and I'm looking forward to blogging with relative frequency again as soon as I get my (rampant) wits about me. <i>La Vie en Ginger</i>'s "readership" may be miniature, but I do love writing this little blog, and I really appreciate all of you who have called me out on my disappearing act. I plan on relaunching in the next couple of weeks. Check back soon if you like me.<br /><br />Sorry I'm not...well, okay, I'm a little bit sorry.<br /><br />High fives all around,<br />EmmaEmma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-58451609454368964262011-05-18T22:08:00.007-05:002011-05-19T00:07:42.332-05:00Weighting in vain.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjdGEim5xaLNrDkQ57FxiaJcIFDJ9xN2qS7Aib2ZsYAwF72Upu9zF3J0r_qaa0r3W209LgdhAf2-HPYg9VwvF2ukZdkDAQ1-MEW1KaMhDHR4fwBH3974VWlvFXtA45my8noKILdw-HRI/s1600/Brigitte-Bardot-bikini.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjdGEim5xaLNrDkQ57FxiaJcIFDJ9xN2qS7Aib2ZsYAwF72Upu9zF3J0r_qaa0r3W209LgdhAf2-HPYg9VwvF2ukZdkDAQ1-MEW1KaMhDHR4fwBH3974VWlvFXtA45my8noKILdw-HRI/s400/Brigitte-Bardot-bikini.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608252564101185042" /></a><br /><br />Well. I've done it. After sorting through 22 years' worth of free t-shirts and impulse buys, selling those that were in good enough condition and donating the rest, gradually swapping out my H&M basics for name-brand alternatives and peppering my curated collection of timeless staples with one-of-a-kind vintage finds and the odd designer gem, I've finally amassed the perfect wardrobe.<br /><br />...For someone who weighs about seven pounds less than I do.<br /><br />Let's talk about buying aspirationally. Everyone does it. No one likes to talk about it, because no one wants to admit that a) they've got a few pounds to lose and b) they've deluded themselves into believing that the best way to deal with said extra pounds is to invest in things they literally cannot use. Buying clothes in the wrong size is completely illogical: even if you manage to lose the weight, chances are that by the time you get there you'll want something else. But does that stop us? I guess I can't speak for any of you, but doesn't stop me.<br /><br />Granted, my situation isn't exactly typical, in that two years ago I weighed nearly 65 pounds more than I do now. For a long time after I began my lifestyle change (people hate that phrase, but it is what it is), all I bought was "transitional clothing": things I liked, but wouldn't be devastated to say goodbye to once the next few inches came off. Now that I'm within 10 pounds of my original long-term goal weight, I have a reasonably good idea of what my body will look like when I finally get there. I've begun to invest in clothing again. The rub? I'm <i>not</i> there. Not yet, anyway. I've conditioned myself to try things on and, if they fit, buy the next size down, assuming I'll need it soon; I never buy anything I can't physically put on my body, but I definitely purchase with room to shrink. I'm a pathetic fashion cliche: a six with a wardrobe full of fours. But because I refuse to actually walk around in ill-fitting clothing, I end up only wearing about a third of my wardrobe, the unwearable part growing bigger as I grow neither bigger nor smaller.<br /><br />Allow me to disclaim. I know I don't <i>need</i> to lose the weight. I'm healthy, attractive, physically fit, blah blah blah. Whatever. There's something about setting a goal and reaching it that's incredibly gratifying, and since my goal is reasonable and realistic, I refuse to deny myself that human satisfaction. It's not about the size itself; it's about reaching the hotness potential I know I'm capable of. Yes, I've come a long way, but isn't living your life comparatively just as dangerous as setting high expectations? Isn't it all too easy to be better without being your best?<br /><br />After a mega-motivated April, I've been hovering at a plateau for a few weeks now, the dreaded swimsuit season looming ever closer. My dad is getting married on the beach over 4th of July weekend, and I'd really like to look like Brigitte Bardot in a bikini. You know, amateur stuff. Time to take the <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2011/04/razzle-dazzle-em.html">cupcake</a> consumption down a notch, more for the sake of my own confidence than any obscure societal standard of beauty. But here's the more pressing question: do I throw in the tacky starfish-print beach towel and snap up the remainder of my summer wish list (blush-hued leather jacket, crisp white jeans and pink shorts à la <a href="http://www.style.com/slideshows/2010/fashionshows/S2011RTW/IMARANT/RUNWAY/00020m.jpg">Isabel Marant</a>) in my current size, or do I wait a few weeks and see how things go? I'm itching for a seasonal wardrobe update, but I don't want to end up with things I can't wear, regardless of the outcome. Buy later to wear later, or buy now to possibly wear never? The answer should be obvious, shouldn't it? So why do we entertain the notion at the expense of our own pride and pocketbooks?<br /><br />Have you ever fallen victim to vanity buying? Did it motivate you, or did it end up being a waste of money and a blow to your self-esteem? I'm really interested in the psychology of this, and I'd love to hear your thoughts or experiences. Let's just put it out there. Lady to lady (or gentleman. I don't discriminate). This doesn't have to be a lonely dressing room struggle.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-5237181472313058702011-05-03T12:42:00.010-05:002011-05-25T19:15:15.565-05:00Off their chests and onto mine.I was recently approached by <a href="http://www.offourchests.com">Off Our Chests</a>, a collaborative blog and organization that champions the fairly unobjectionable goal of making the world a happier place. Their request? Style an outfit around a piece from <a href="http://offourchests.com/shop/">their new line of tees and tanks</a>. My response? UH DUH, because a) I stalk their Twitter feed like it's my job and b) when have I ever said no to free swag?<br /><br />Being the crochety old man that I am, I naturally gravitated toward the tee with the slouchiest, softest-looking fit. My first thought was to pair it with oxfords, suspenders and my favorite high-waisted pleated pants (OLD. MAN. STATUS), but I ultimately opted to glam it up with a sensible pair of sequined culottes and shoulder pads that would put any NFL linebacker to shame.<br /><br />As a newly minted soldier in the army of happy, I thought I'd give you a brief tutorial on stuff happy people do.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHPyxR3e9Zf4jIrzfZs98z6M2KxF_J-PdDxydxGHdP0itGR5E8L5Rs0jyz5ZZeZodvwpahvJDFKl5JlrO8uNZrzwpK6-xtvZ6GpaE-l8X26LcviSuCuiJWQLRWZl5i6-VsC5hCr5gEYk/s1600/DSCF1007.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHPyxR3e9Zf4jIrzfZs98z6M2KxF_J-PdDxydxGHdP0itGR5E8L5Rs0jyz5ZZeZodvwpahvJDFKl5JlrO8uNZrzwpK6-xtvZ6GpaE-l8X26LcviSuCuiJWQLRWZl5i6-VsC5hCr5gEYk/s400/DSCF1007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602331607322938418" /></a><br /><br />Happy people whip their hair back and forth.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquMn2_JEoty4ZRJwLuidO8TWfcdlE5FEMNLUOWmgRPYBPJ2Peps_JbYFCuJaMi_GPSWEokAJVgp9ix1NkgrJxHa2pKHSK7g4VntQIHgVhLtLFRT8FmuNVmNzudUijhKdinVAlzx2RTBc/s1600/DSCF1021.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquMn2_JEoty4ZRJwLuidO8TWfcdlE5FEMNLUOWmgRPYBPJ2Peps_JbYFCuJaMi_GPSWEokAJVgp9ix1NkgrJxHa2pKHSK7g4VntQIHgVhLtLFRT8FmuNVmNzudUijhKdinVAlzx2RTBc/s400/DSCF1021.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602329809894559842" /></a><br /><br />Happy people butcher the slogans on their t-shirts by eclipsing just enough to change the meaning. DON'T HAT ON IT PLZ.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYN2NCPhFXOd5VoF2XJ4gnmds7dOWbdm4KFuJdhvCYQa1e7VBylFCK18-wIcvGlTBVQdrDlx70br3i2qSHGdDaYJ59qAyi6pTLxPVPLaitVO10qKJVjD1-4y8GIuIiBUD7tgUCASzLEXM/s1600/DSCF1043.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYN2NCPhFXOd5VoF2XJ4gnmds7dOWbdm4KFuJdhvCYQa1e7VBylFCK18-wIcvGlTBVQdrDlx70br3i2qSHGdDaYJ59qAyi6pTLxPVPLaitVO10qKJVjD1-4y8GIuIiBUD7tgUCASzLEXM/s400/DSCF1043.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602331075393033282" /></a><br /><br />Happy people give totes soror skinny arm.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rkeeQX_6VXFl7XH_rAKfoMo29oT0S0q87k-vetNwr2jbQV_EO7xxoQTDQLDhzpoa5dhd8IhL-Xmvizbj_3XcHidmUH6cVsCY8b-DtmNa-0ehNpbN_FojaHmgxKr_dFSYCBBUKcYBUHs/s1600/DSCF1013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rkeeQX_6VXFl7XH_rAKfoMo29oT0S0q87k-vetNwr2jbQV_EO7xxoQTDQLDhzpoa5dhd8IhL-Xmvizbj_3XcHidmUH6cVsCY8b-DtmNa-0ehNpbN_FojaHmgxKr_dFSYCBBUKcYBUHs/s400/DSCF1013.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602331300810540370" /></a><br /><br />Please note that this post is devoid of the usual pouty smizing. All smiles for <a href="http://www.offourchests.com">Off Our Chests!</a><br /><br />Oh, fine. One sassy face for the road.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVj-un0HiBrpfsjESZDh8EzFjl9VxdeOKP5-1KouVAPUF-gSoh77VqY_0ICsQN948anPc0D9EO09UgjWQbWZz9tawVpKJC-wcCOjHhPfwP8RVS64dDAM3IMwbA1CjDuPTKTDtRDY6QfHA/s1600/DSCF1012.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVj-un0HiBrpfsjESZDh8EzFjl9VxdeOKP5-1KouVAPUF-gSoh77VqY_0ICsQN948anPc0D9EO09UgjWQbWZz9tawVpKJC-wcCOjHhPfwP8RVS64dDAM3IMwbA1CjDuPTKTDtRDY6QfHA/s400/DSCF1012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602329116447997714" /></a><br /><br />Peep their post on me <a href="http://offourchests.com/emma-rauberts-rocks-ooc/">here</a>. Then spend some time poking around their site. Amazeballs. <a href="http://offourchests.com/shop/">(And 10% of merch proceeds go to We Stop Hate.)</a> What more could one want from one's collaborative blogging experience?<br /><br />Jacket: Vintage Bergdorf Goodman.<br />T-shirt: <a href="http://offourchests.com/shop/">Off Our Chests</a>.<br />Shorts: Cynthia Rowley.<br />Shoes: Zara.<br />Earrings: Nordstrom.<br />Watch: Michael Kors.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-26762050981007816022011-04-25T22:43:00.006-05:002011-10-28T01:00:22.290-05:00Razzle dazzle 'em.I have a little problem.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJh8RyDy-6HHwsM4U3PLPE44QHoCWMoFmcBPeUGUN2wByeHI-PskPtG-icbyFsbp_coV5rfgcWOsTx3aOlh9rk4OfB9hyZA0V8IDQ7rQVdRNMiPqxugveejXWckEOAdkKGNKCVRgsiRfI/s1600/DSCF1042.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJh8RyDy-6HHwsM4U3PLPE44QHoCWMoFmcBPeUGUN2wByeHI-PskPtG-icbyFsbp_coV5rfgcWOsTx3aOlh9rk4OfB9hyZA0V8IDQ7rQVdRNMiPqxugveejXWckEOAdkKGNKCVRgsiRfI/s400/DSCF1042.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599715409429398210" /></a><br /><br />This cupcake isn't it.<br /><br />I'm referring to my oven. We are constantly at war. It teams up with my smoke detector to gangbang my culinary self-esteem on a regular basis. Up until Friday night, I'd never burnt a single thing in my kitchen...yet I had set off the fire alarm approximately 47581736 times. Roasting veggies? BEEP BEEP BEEP. Toasting coconut? WAH WAH WAH. Preheating the empty oven? YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS. I call my oven Beast #1 and my smoke alarm Beast #2. They're almost as bad as the neighborhood boys I used to babysit who tied me up, pushed me down the stairs and beat me with a rubber snake. Mary Poppins ain't got nothin' on me.<br /><br />No surprise, then, that when I first tried to make these cupcakes, I ignored the protests of Beast #2 when it raised its voice (à la Hilary Duff...but really, similar pitch and quality) about six minutes into the bake time. I propped open my back door and went along my merry way, blissfully unaware of the fact that my tartly fragrant and artfully compounded cake batter was meeting a slow death at the hands of Beast #1. By the time I returned to pull my lemony babies from the oven, a fine haze had developed along the ceiling of my kitchen, and the stench of burnt cupcakes and failure was palpable. Turns out you can't impatiently cram two pans into your oven at once, doomed edges grazing the sides. I briefly mourned the loss of the expensive cake flour I had finally caved and purchased. Then I pelted rock hard would-be cupcakes at the ground from my third floor balcony in an all-consuming rage.<br /><br />Woof.<br /><br />My baking has come a long way since September, but cupcake success had heretofore eluded me. Either the tops would dome in an utterly unfrostable manner (what do you think you are, a goddamn <i>muffin</i>?), or the edges would burn in cancer-y ombre, or I'd overmix and end up with something that could compete in the tuff 'n' chewy olympics (gluten bonds! Science! Baking iz edjucayshunal!). One more failure and I might have abandoned the noble cupcake forever. Resigned myself to trekking downtown to Sprinkles when a craving struck, and instead devoted myself to perfecting the art of dipping bite-size banana chunks in semisweet chocolate (best fake dessert ever).<br /><br />But I'm a Taurus. And therefore resilient. And I'm thrilled to announce that there will be many more homemade cupcakes in my future, because my second stab at this recipe churned out something divine. I'm not normally one for fruity desserts, but I gobbled these up with what can only be described as <i>relish</i>. It's possible that it can also be described as <i>gusto</i>. But, I mean, English is my first language, so I don't want to make any assumptions.<br /><br />These cupcakes are spring in a black and white toile cupcake liner. Thanks to cake flour and a hefty dose of citrus, they boast a light, fluffy crumb and a subtle symmetry of tart and sweet . And the frosting? Don't even get me started. Just go make some cupcakes. I'll be right here hooked up to this IV of raspberry buttercream when you get back.<br /><br /><center><b>Lemon-on-Lemon Cupcakes with Rustic Raspberry Buttercream</b></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DyIn1dRtrItdLtAidKFf_UFgAAxGx3Bhnqn395JsZ4Q810Jo7hXPsnf_CuLdJiLXPrjsK2BnoJXNIMPgcu2i6ld0wPOAqdgcNsPDLQ4_ROyS374qGz-Tkl8S543S7kyyhy16IDOiNdE/s1600/DSCF1008.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DyIn1dRtrItdLtAidKFf_UFgAAxGx3Bhnqn395JsZ4Q810Jo7hXPsnf_CuLdJiLXPrjsK2BnoJXNIMPgcu2i6ld0wPOAqdgcNsPDLQ4_ROyS374qGz-Tkl8S543S7kyyhy16IDOiNdE/s400/DSCF1008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599716577104065506" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06vL61NFlDRU5Lc1DP4zM8-6VvisZ5aK4I883RIz7-T9YNo-AEd-GRiIwA9vDdyT3Me2TN5pC-1cFOWKoZBcqGrwFGOcG480pY9wAL7lNu5QHapOZmpt4SzM8eGm4JM7_1Wlzco7eHFQ/s1600/DSCF1034.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06vL61NFlDRU5Lc1DP4zM8-6VvisZ5aK4I883RIz7-T9YNo-AEd-GRiIwA9vDdyT3Me2TN5pC-1cFOWKoZBcqGrwFGOcG480pY9wAL7lNu5QHapOZmpt4SzM8eGm4JM7_1Wlzco7eHFQ/s400/DSCF1034.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599716759473377346" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsjTvA2h2rjUsJPt1PDIAbsOrKdU5jCsJ-YYILWfqXkA01DRsRrSZVpgD8i72kEKX9t61ZiXeudlwqXZkjOE0Sz0DqlF-txRFkrz3RIajXJr-LEhZUrbcu4hEOII_UY7xqEbhGguTFb4/s1600/DSCF1050.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsjTvA2h2rjUsJPt1PDIAbsOrKdU5jCsJ-YYILWfqXkA01DRsRrSZVpgD8i72kEKX9t61ZiXeudlwqXZkjOE0Sz0DqlF-txRFkrz3RIajXJr-LEhZUrbcu4hEOII_UY7xqEbhGguTFb4/s400/DSCF1050.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599716346128478034" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnX4jBNtTYxrAU-6AHPxB-xWgP_knDBa6VacpySSajHdPEgN4zbGESS_j5t7Zj2uljJf3ZV7dm0u2Oo2AZoUN_cdOEFTCuXAZkNenVE0bRGpMIq8QDUIVpVsmAuQ6FUrMz2IrNkiI1O4c/s1600/DSCF1053.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnX4jBNtTYxrAU-6AHPxB-xWgP_knDBa6VacpySSajHdPEgN4zbGESS_j5t7Zj2uljJf3ZV7dm0u2Oo2AZoUN_cdOEFTCuXAZkNenVE0bRGpMIq8QDUIVpVsmAuQ6FUrMz2IrNkiI1O4c/s400/DSCF1053.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599716099277384418" /></a><br /><br /><center>"Rustic" means I was too lazy to strain the seeds out. Ain't no thang, really. Now you can count each cupcake as one serving of fruit. I used a store-bought lemon curd to fill them, but you could make your own if you're feeling up to the task and own a candy thermometer (try <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/lemon-curd-recipe/index.html">Ina Garten's</a> recipe. Let me know how it goes if you do!). Lemon cake recipe adapted from <a href="http://mingmakescupcakes.yolasite.com/">Ming Makes Cupcakes</a>. Frosting recipe adapted from <a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/raspberry-buttercream-frosting-10000001879938/">MyRecipes.com</a>. Highfalutin' concept author's own.</center><br /><br /><i>2 cups cake flour (just do it. Makes all the difference)<br />1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder<br />1/2 teaspoon salt<br />1 1/2 cups sugar<br />1/2 cup butter, softened<br />4 eggs<br />3/4 cup buttermilk<br />1/2 cup lemon juice<br />2 tablespoons lemon zest<br />1 jar lemon curd<br /><br />1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside.<br />2. In another large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Alternate between adding the flour mixture and the buttermilk to the butter mixture, starting and ending with the flour mixture. Mix in the lemon juice and zest.<br />3. Using a ladle or a 1/4 measuring cup, spoon your lemony fresh batter into lined cupcake pans (you did remember to line your cupcake pans, right?). Bake for 20 minutes. Let cool completely. Come. Pleat. Lee. Unless you like huge messes and things that crumble to bits in your grubby hands.<br />4. Cut a cone-shaped segment from the top of each cupcake. Trim off the bottom of the cone (use the extra crumbs to make a few <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/09/kitchens-arent-just-for-making-messes.html">cake balls</a>), fill the hole with about a tablespoon of lemon curd and cover with cone remainder. Makes 18 cupcakes.</i><br /><br />For the frosting:<br /><br /><i>1/2 cup butter, softened<br />1/2 cup raspberries (use fresh if you can afford them. I used frozen, thawed to room temperature)<br />1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />1/8 teaspoon salt<br />3-4 cups powdered sugar<br /><br />1. Beat first four ingredients at medium speed with an electric mixer until creamy.<br />2. With mixer on low, add sugar about 1/2 cup at a time, blending fully after each addition, until desired consistency is reached.</i><br /><br />Oh. Did I mention these were vanishing cupcakes?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Qtn4iCF9z2-8l55GDJHxkpGyZoG1zCuf-OpyokRzEmuHM0MVI_ZYfkbpNjyXseSHJf0jJoxOrDXLWgHG-YYYHkoVSZYh3PeAoKySccFzuY-t2wSPsTi7jUlB6ucKWx-FVgqbQENFkWI/s1600/DSCF1060.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Qtn4iCF9z2-8l55GDJHxkpGyZoG1zCuf-OpyokRzEmuHM0MVI_ZYfkbpNjyXseSHJf0jJoxOrDXLWgHG-YYYHkoVSZYh3PeAoKySccFzuY-t2wSPsTi7jUlB6ucKWx-FVgqbQENFkWI/s400/DSCF1060.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599714715443965714" /></a><br /><br />Just.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_y332ZUbJkB_dY9wI9oYl9plY4ZKnBccF8glI315n1l4H4dI0gCN5fWrIOFk0zxdsmIdfBpj5cYSzWrZzjKtOXgYbEsoCRYzuZgpHWrC1PwmVxr8QuM13sDKBVRqX373b_LOSbA7i38/s1600/DSCF1067.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_y332ZUbJkB_dY9wI9oYl9plY4ZKnBccF8glI315n1l4H4dI0gCN5fWrIOFk0zxdsmIdfBpj5cYSzWrZzjKtOXgYbEsoCRYzuZgpHWrC1PwmVxr8QuM13sDKBVRqX373b_LOSbA7i38/s400/DSCF1067.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599714896430693570" /></a><br /><br />Like.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-Q7rcCQ3kl0EmE0vxzPL5t3kbcnx9_Ch8Qcn-z3gZMZPvyxqI_wnC1ezk7NyJzTtXmt_OZ4LGvCwmLBJXe-WS3kt614iVLD0sZghUo_EKlK4wLKVsrcnA9thyOFyjkWAvJksdw2uSDI/s1600/DSCF1073.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-Q7rcCQ3kl0EmE0vxzPL5t3kbcnx9_Ch8Qcn-z3gZMZPvyxqI_wnC1ezk7NyJzTtXmt_OZ4LGvCwmLBJXe-WS3kt614iVLD0sZghUo_EKlK4wLKVsrcnA9thyOFyjkWAvJksdw2uSDI/s400/DSCF1073.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599715042756053026" /></a><br /><br />Magic.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-3956879580680186722011-04-04T12:42:00.029-05:002011-04-04T20:08:54.337-05:00A wristed development.Wrists are sexy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlUjZi4ToZE5BbHfUsWc7hb_HXGacrd768RzmhGtfNS14dJUvru5-SCNVYBAZ1ztIE2teF5WIcJVeduWS0gqFAsS5xeYh4VLAYOspImgccXEJegnjAsjYXCcQZJu-dr_-ALNzKxnUt18/s1600/Picture+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlUjZi4ToZE5BbHfUsWc7hb_HXGacrd768RzmhGtfNS14dJUvru5-SCNVYBAZ1ztIE2teF5WIcJVeduWS0gqFAsS5xeYh4VLAYOspImgccXEJegnjAsjYXCcQZJu-dr_-ALNzKxnUt18/s400/Picture+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591817266005266050" /></a><br /><br />I've thought so since the bathroom scene in <i>Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets</i>. Tell me Daniel and Rupert's exposed forearms didn't make your teenage loins quicken with delight.<br /><br />If you've been lurking around this dark corner of the Interwebs for a while, you know I have a <s>severe</s> minor watch fetish. These past few months, I've been letting my rose gold Michael Kors clunker (seen on my <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/12/scent-of-pining.html">Christmas list</a>, transformed into exquisite reality by <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/05/gail-force.html">Mama Gail Bail</a>) take center stage. It's utterly showstopping and approximately the weight of a small grapefruit (calisthenic bonus!), so there's been little need to don more than a pair of matching princess-cut CZ studs alongside. Easy? Yes. Boring? Maybe. Sometimes I like things that fall into the "classic" category. Sue me.<br /><br />But even I, the staunchest watch enthusiast, will admit that the canvas of the wrist offers far more potential than even the most high-rolling Rolex can fully exploit. If executed properly, a well-accessorized wrist can be as richly composed and artfully personal as an entire ensemble. Jumbled jewels have caught my attention as of late, particularly those that add unexpected dimension to the simplest of outfits.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_nRlFuXy7xm5Y-Yi2Yme_TnVCFhvYb_e0WCayOQn-7RXLPwyeuhyphenhyphen7gT0r1zajCiyJfvQOFu_TAcG5CrVmYlVdZenktHe5dnyWpMe8-GDJg2krL48weIj2qBGWHsv93eJ5eCUmKrqD2k/s1600/ORB.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_nRlFuXy7xm5Y-Yi2Yme_TnVCFhvYb_e0WCayOQn-7RXLPwyeuhyphenhyphen7gT0r1zajCiyJfvQOFu_TAcG5CrVmYlVdZenktHe5dnyWpMe8-GDJg2krL48weIj2qBGWHsv93eJ5eCUmKrqD2k/s400/ORB.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591820222460462082" /></a><br /><br />I'm always tempted to go full-on tribal or full-on hardcore when I layer my jewelry, but I love that this fashionista (captured by <a href="http://jakandjil.com/blog/">Jak & Jil</a>'s Tommy Ton) manages to hold on to the integrity of her preppy digs. A thread of red to complement the jacket. A hint of earthiness in the beaded bracelets. That ostentatious golden globe. Flawless.<br /><br />Some more recent inspiwristion:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhdgonktDSRp4HzBXs0TQxUVLGiS21VQUJ1l9Jaabrp46ykygPco4iUsa8FMfDDoF9j__ql7aqMkG2r_NiMkP08NCrT0bGsNhys_GW0Lx3kiu3w5CeWVTtFBqAz48bG4RdY97aHQh1Sc/s1600/IMG_1849.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhdgonktDSRp4HzBXs0TQxUVLGiS21VQUJ1l9Jaabrp46ykygPco4iUsa8FMfDDoF9j__ql7aqMkG2r_NiMkP08NCrT0bGsNhys_GW0Lx3kiu3w5CeWVTtFBqAz48bG4RdY97aHQh1Sc/s400/IMG_1849.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591817590097609714" /></a><br /><br /><center>(From <a href="http://www.stylescrapbook.com">Style Scrapbook</a>.)</center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQuWHoex1ygIUaHdo-Ihk1tdK_v2Hkr4CrpGtg2uOUww8gpM_djX41lpL1Ef2bvEn6tU4z0jHfv2Xyg1LZOk-I8ZWTwDbkLm8No0Q2tmiRq0aH4nAX_P_90Q93FXdRVxjvYe7CTHGrJg/s1600/121761.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQuWHoex1ygIUaHdo-Ihk1tdK_v2Hkr4CrpGtg2uOUww8gpM_djX41lpL1Ef2bvEn6tU4z0jHfv2Xyg1LZOk-I8ZWTwDbkLm8No0Q2tmiRq0aH4nAX_P_90Q93FXdRVxjvYe7CTHGrJg/s400/121761.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591817767696287522" /></a><br /><br /><center>(From <a href="http://carolinesmode.com/stockholmstreetstyle/">Stockholm Streetstyle</a>.)</center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKO5KkjefjI0hZmGxgTUCBJtpHEK_YRceo5tOqMAKxq2be-aP1ATrd9lYxB1x2LnrvYnDrWc2crYkQK8RGbDjqdjqL4ub-EO9xDfa_hBCogJ99ye85VDkTfVuTusO5v-nvPJoHlStJBro/s1600/ktdeet2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKO5KkjefjI0hZmGxgTUCBJtpHEK_YRceo5tOqMAKxq2be-aP1ATrd9lYxB1x2LnrvYnDrWc2crYkQK8RGbDjqdjqL4ub-EO9xDfa_hBCogJ99ye85VDkTfVuTusO5v-nvPJoHlStJBro/s400/ktdeet2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591829962744177010" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46xGL_-VxrWRWcSYf6DY4YxvsP492lihwo9F0EJxuNXDLLIqrWfrVwASrq8cPBtLgEpRt_CAWl-4JlZqiDKMMbJJ1rkInAhp2mk98lwSdFUElEPDYPVPQ6n3ezJhvCB7hDDF_vYJkqFU/s1600/Picture+11.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46xGL_-VxrWRWcSYf6DY4YxvsP492lihwo9F0EJxuNXDLLIqrWfrVwASrq8cPBtLgEpRt_CAWl-4JlZqiDKMMbJJ1rkInAhp2mk98lwSdFUElEPDYPVPQ6n3ezJhvCB7hDDF_vYJkqFU/s400/Picture+11.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591830065369462706" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZ8UNnGeoK9mN7IHchyrPnKwpzUbgU1vjwkLIqFiH3n35WP3Do7LbdzTir_V7rm8QPZaejMmYpLUCyglx-pkN650ePBU1c_kjaghV1Jl2gv_SxySO9VwBaj39j6JJW7Bb37FmXUBgO5U/s1600/IMG_5017.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZ8UNnGeoK9mN7IHchyrPnKwpzUbgU1vjwkLIqFiH3n35WP3Do7LbdzTir_V7rm8QPZaejMmYpLUCyglx-pkN650ePBU1c_kjaghV1Jl2gv_SxySO9VwBaj39j6JJW7Bb37FmXUBgO5U/s400/IMG_5017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591830194803475074" /></a><br /><br /><center>(From <a href="http://www.manrepeller.com">The Man Repeller</a>.)</center><br /><br />Restraint in accessowristing can speak volumes as well. Take, for example, goddess Diane Kruger (pictured below with Jason Wu, my current design crush):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zskU8bJm4uB42Wm7NCP765UtOSgypUq_kb_W64taq83iqlS7aYh4i_jOKaj5Eo7NEOoUjEBY5Kimh2nb1K743W5Wa2wucn7DlRDTUxdHmJU5d7Tpx_J7IbdFAVzwSseo15jIYeJe28g/s1600/Diane%252BKruger%252B2011%252BGreen%252BAuction%252BBid%252BSave%252BEarth%252BRl6Dxep8CGAl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zskU8bJm4uB42Wm7NCP765UtOSgypUq_kb_W64taq83iqlS7aYh4i_jOKaj5Eo7NEOoUjEBY5Kimh2nb1K743W5Wa2wucn7DlRDTUxdHmJU5d7Tpx_J7IbdFAVzwSseo15jIYeJe28g/s400/Diane%252BKruger%252B2011%252BGreen%252BAuction%252BBid%252BSave%252BEarth%252BRl6Dxep8CGAl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591818007297505602" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVVjt8JIjRy0p36A8oTl76xZCUTKlaEoKQun8GV_JoW6TAwh1dOhFYITMIJWX6hiZYkZBPO9UYJ8YfBDk40odUXn0_B9IiZ9Kur26WOX5j58Dc6tDDPdFrERoaWVUP-2QmU6EsozOz-M/s1600/DianeKrugergreen17.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVVjt8JIjRy0p36A8oTl76xZCUTKlaEoKQun8GV_JoW6TAwh1dOhFYITMIJWX6hiZYkZBPO9UYJ8YfBDk40odUXn0_B9IiZ9Kur26WOX5j58Dc6tDDPdFrERoaWVUP-2QmU6EsozOz-M/s400/DianeKrugergreen17.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591818152570864434" /></a><br /><br />So much to love about this look (the undone hair, the flattering silhouette, the sparrow-embellished white clutch...perhaps not the dyed-to-match bridal shoes, though I am willing to overlook them), but the delicate strand bracelet is what puts it over the edge for me. It's so feminine and intentional. You <i>know</i> she didn't run out of time to finish accessorizing. This was a choice. A choice that has me ready to renounce the majority of my jewelry collection.<br /><br />Which do you prefer? The calculated hodgepodge or the polished stand-alone piece? I go back and forth. The degree of self-editing involved in the second look definitely doesn't come as naturally to me (you can see evidence of my proclivity to pile it all on <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/09/orange-you-glad-its-fall.html">here</a> and <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/07/highlight-er.html">here</a>), but I'm increasingly drawn to simplicity, particularly as we head into the warmer months. Something to play with in the next few weeks, as I've officially forbidden myself to buy any new clothes until my birthday (May 2). This will surely result in much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Almost as much as when I tried to give up coffee for Lent.<br /><br />That lasted three days. I don't know what I was thinking.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-61255626370070632772011-03-17T21:06:00.001-05:002011-03-18T08:48:30.304-05:00Shall we play Risk or Sorry?It's official: man repelling has gone mainstream.<br /><br />Like so many movements in fashion, it began almost imperceptibly, an organic call to arms bubbling up from the dregs of society (or in this case, the Upper East Side). Popularized by blogging wonder and upcoming industry darling <a href="http://www.manrepeller.com">Leandra Medine</a>, the man repeller is defined by the following credo:<br /><br /><center><b>man·re·pell·er</b> [<b>mahn</b>-ree-peller]<br /><b>–noun</b><br />outfitting oneself in a sartorially offensive way that will result in repelling members of the opposite sex. Such garments include but are not limited to harem pants, boyfriend jeans, overalls (see: human repelling), shoulder pads, full length jumpsuits, jewelry that resembles violent weaponry and clogs.<br /><b>–verb (used without object),-pell·ing, -pell·ed.</b><br />to commit the act of repelling men:<br /><i>Girl 1: What are you wearing to the party?<br />Girl 2: My sweet lime green drop crotch utility pants!<br />Girl 1: Oh, so we're man repelling tonight?</i></center><br /><br />While I was vaguely aware of the movement's existence, my first encounter with a true man repeller took place last summer on the Condé Nast elevator. I was playing my usual game of Guess Your Publication Based On Your Outfit (Lord help you if I condemn you to <i>Brides</i>) when an unmistakeable <i>Vogue</i>-ette ducked in through the gleaming steel doors. I took in her messy hair, her horn-rimmed spectacles, her shapeless blouse, her baggy trousers, her piles of ethnic-looking jewelry. I was in awe. She looked thoroughly unsexy. She was the single most stylish person I had ever seen in the flesh. Sure enough, she pressed the button for Floor 12.<br /><br />Some call man repelling a feminist movement: women dressing for themselves rather than for men, content to have their outfits raise eyebrows instead of erections. Where the old adage advises, "When you got it, flaunt it," the man repelling school of thought would instead have us say, "I've got so much of it, I don't <i>need</i> to flaunt it." To man repel is to declare a womanhood that can't be stifled by layers of unflattering clothing. But is man repelling as accessible as Leandra Medine would have us believe? Or has she, cute as a button and boasting a wardrobe that comes, in her words, "entirely from Barneys and Topshop," been absorbed into the cultural zeitgeist despite otherwise insurmountable odds that render her message moot to the greater population?<br /><br />I don't dress for men. Perhaps that's a victory. But I don't think I've quite evolved to the point of dressing entirely for myself, either. I'm still dressing for what I believe others believe to be my perception of myself (got that? All of it? Read it again. Yeah?). A blatant disregard for the traditional standards of beauty can mutate into its own set of neuroses. I'll explain with a parable of what I call "karaoke dread."<br /><br />Awkward truth: I used to take voice lessons and think I wanted to be a musical theatre performer. Then I realized (spoiler!) I'm not really all that great at singing or acting. NBD. Over being a Broadway star and into being a writer. But what's funny is that rather than keep singing as a hobby (as opposed a career path), I now <i>dread</i> any situation where I might have to perform in front of an audience. Example: karaoke. Most people aren't "good at" karaoke. Karaoke isn't really about talent; it's about the tequila shots you take before your turn. But because I have a <i>musical history</i>, if you will, I'm petrified that people will think that <i>I</i> think I'm good at karaoke, like one of those delusional contestants on <i>American Idol</i>. (Or one of those delusional judges on <i>American Idol</i>.) The idea of someone doubting my ability to accurately gauge my lack of talent is more than I can handle. As Carrie Bradshaw says when asked to walk in a charity fashion show featuring "real people" as well as models, "I don't want people to think that I can't see the difference between a model and me."<br /><br />Now apply the same principle to man repelling, which, for me, turned into a perverse mind game tied up in my body image. Having lost a significant amount of weight over the past two years, man repelling became a benchmark of having "made it" as an attractive person. The manufactured sexiness of my outfits took on an inverse relationship to what I believed to be my level of innate allure, and I began to feel an acute pride in my ability to wear things not specifically tailored to make me look skinnier. <i>Hello, <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/07/floral-terrace.html">harem pants</a>! I can wear you because I feel thinner than I did yesterday!</i> or, on a rough morning, <i>Oof, better <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/07/good-war.html">opt</a> <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/07/la-parisienne.html">for</a> <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/07/trial-and-error.html">a sundress</a>. Don't want to look like I think I'm attractive enough to wear something ridiculous today!</i> My man-repelling clothes might have looked like a symbol of confidence, but really they were a symbol of the <i>appearance</i> of confidence; alarmingly fragile, shattered more readily by the judgement of myself than that of men, or even that of other women. There were so many dimensions at play it would put <i>Never Say Never</i> to shame.<br /><br />Maybe I'm just outing myself as some kind of self-conscious buffoon, but my hope is that you can avoid falling the same rabbit hole I did when it comes to experimenting with fashion. For better or worse, taking <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/07/cotton-candy.html">crazy (and sometimes downright ugly) clothes</a> and making them look cool has become part of my schtick. I don't always hit the mark, but when I do, there's nothing more satisfying. A few days ago, I wore an ankle-length high-waisted orange-and-white striped fruit-print skirt (for the record, there are more things wrong with that statement than there are hyphens in that statement) with a fur vest and turquoise jewelry. I raked in a ton of compliments on an outfit from which most sane people would have run the opposite way screaming. But more importantly, I felt truly and overwhelmingly myself. I wasn't wearing something insane because I felt the need to prove I could pull it off. I was wearing something insane because I loved it.<br /><br />I still subconsciously view man-repelling outfits as more impressive than conventionally attractive ones. Part of that is just my taste: I've long been drawn to the interesting over the beautiful. Part is the degree of creativity involved, that age-old distinction between fashion and style. Anyone can buy a trendy dress, but it takes a truly stylish person to throw together a jaw-dropping outfit composed of sartorial underdogs. And part is that the society of man repellers still seems like a high-fashion club for some elite upper crust of attractive (or at least extraordinarily confident) people. You rarely wade in the man repelling pool. You dive in headfirst, and you sink or swim.<br /><br />When it comes to fashion, I'll likely always be a risk enthusiast. But I think our reasons for taking risks are worth examining. Defying what's accepted can become just as imprisoning as embracing it if done to shock others rather than to make ourselves happy. This spring, when I don my bow ties and my <a href="http://www.anthropologie.com/anthro/catalog/productdetail.jsp?id=19128982&catId=SHOPSALE-PANTS&pushId=SHOPSALE-PANTS&popId=SHOPSALE&navAction=top&navCount=192&color=049&isProduct=true&fromCategoryPage=true&templateType=E">mum-print capris</a>, it'll be because I genuinely believe that a world without mum-print capris is no world for me. And if some tall, handsome gentleman can see beyond the nutty fashion façade...well, that's just icing on the cake.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-33538210829034484352011-02-21T10:19:00.045-06:002011-02-21T11:58:51.817-06:00Between a wedge and a wet place.Gather your meemaw. Pack your fox fur. Fatten your pig.<br /><br />The floods are coming.<br /><br />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 <i>ground</i>/I am perpetually wearing holes in the soles of my not-so-water-resistant footwear.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Enter the weatherproof wedge boot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSP8X1oEEHdT9bT-_rLwBpGGOBsec_SIiH6TcYzi6VEbiJlLdtrX_F0iDl95IQNUIaTywLXw-imQv-TLUxMQMF27KStLdG8x3BCFOZgcAaQnXCMGE2mdk3DymH4Uk-RTTS9X3x7RGR7H0/s1600/Hunter-Verbier-Slate_3_lg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSP8X1oEEHdT9bT-_rLwBpGGOBsec_SIiH6TcYzi6VEbiJlLdtrX_F0iDl95IQNUIaTywLXw-imQv-TLUxMQMF27KStLdG8x3BCFOZgcAaQnXCMGE2mdk3DymH4Uk-RTTS9X3x7RGR7H0/s400/Hunter-Verbier-Slate_3_lg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576190146748293762" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5T4qvHGCjsHtrW3ilDM2kVkp8YmEdr4pD3JLqB9MmUZQjNCzL9XuhGB-X4VtXqoEov13I3Gptyu41aQ2e7C8xoDiIil5Fpv4ChOXVsQ49ijwlUai_Zmnxkks41IpVNE1vnmvzUdFtck/s1600/loeffler-randall-rainboot-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5T4qvHGCjsHtrW3ilDM2kVkp8YmEdr4pD3JLqB9MmUZQjNCzL9XuhGB-X4VtXqoEov13I3Gptyu41aQ2e7C8xoDiIil5Fpv4ChOXVsQ49ijwlUai_Zmnxkks41IpVNE1vnmvzUdFtck/s400/loeffler-randall-rainboot-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576189088161864642" /></a><br /><br />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 version...love 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.<br /><br />Call me Natalie Imbruglia, because I am <i>torn</i>. 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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-59624441411480525932011-02-09T09:53:00.030-06:002011-04-06T17:52:16.205-05:00Are 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!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigObGaMqZl5K-pdPLD60tPS9qj8-g1AqLWiBfwhGOw5hiarb1tyQt5TuzlVuhf6wktbYfDQ1QRje7bux9-g-fI0PLY6U9pN41ncr5e-RXdDz8R05-8g7bxk9HaQaVoc3VblM9_gL2R540/s1600/Picture+13.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigObGaMqZl5K-pdPLD60tPS9qj8-g1AqLWiBfwhGOw5hiarb1tyQt5TuzlVuhf6wktbYfDQ1QRje7bux9-g-fI0PLY6U9pN41ncr5e-RXdDz8R05-8g7bxk9HaQaVoc3VblM9_gL2R540/s400/Picture+13.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571706632864054898" /></a><br /><br />(High-fashion cuticle scrutiny.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqi4nLqIfEym6nfv39a_vnMrOQPYbyIDjuAu46cxWcJKsU9Imws2QvPUv5sqWB3y51relTWlo8rqVoEUNNnpgegi5_OOG9efrW4LU-slmldzhm1o9o-5jkG4tlVIeYJUDtixyHTwlsYA/s1600/Picture+5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqi4nLqIfEym6nfv39a_vnMrOQPYbyIDjuAu46cxWcJKsU9Imws2QvPUv5sqWB3y51relTWlo8rqVoEUNNnpgegi5_OOG9efrW4LU-slmldzhm1o9o-5jkG4tlVIeYJUDtixyHTwlsYA/s400/Picture+5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571706884909782850" /></a><br /><br />(High-fashion pit check, complete with high-fashion ginger roots that can't be tamed/saved/blamed/changed/tamed.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I'd like to introduce you to a new friend.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59P0l_swPYHm6KDPzymLT9VdUnn-qZEwADjWYqdP2ckY7wbgz0QgbEjKB8GJ-XkcwIk_auvlJwpLQnDtYKkEG0eSoDXVUiio5xVdAJvzNWFpTykyMuNk98XS35rXznc208rZ4dX7cvu8/s1600/MyPicture-41.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59P0l_swPYHm6KDPzymLT9VdUnn-qZEwADjWYqdP2ckY7wbgz0QgbEjKB8GJ-XkcwIk_auvlJwpLQnDtYKkEG0eSoDXVUiio5xVdAJvzNWFpTykyMuNk98XS35rXznc208rZ4dX7cvu8/s400/MyPicture-41.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571704041629242082" /></a><br /><br />His name is Henry.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLWvOeGX-v8GHZTMTZixnywiULjGLdWJutQIU_jQD5QfGSUW2IxhjZ5SjAvRAhwOQcNrRxEx03-QuJUqapboWNn4Nq4ik6Y28SSPOykiuUzTJyEhFkqb8ZqmGayg7Cx5ipuxhowDNPpiQ/s1600/MyPicture-46.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLWvOeGX-v8GHZTMTZixnywiULjGLdWJutQIU_jQD5QfGSUW2IxhjZ5SjAvRAhwOQcNrRxEx03-QuJUqapboWNn4Nq4ik6Y28SSPOykiuUzTJyEhFkqb8ZqmGayg7Cx5ipuxhowDNPpiQ/s400/MyPicture-46.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571708009159322818" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9n1Bzca0mA98jPKxkOjUFpQHxIkb2gafGkNV9dC6F_L8XW__j8A1iN72ClQEPv3O1EYvS2eY4nJl0xvooR1mjnx3RAPkxg-Zy3xpGG8i4VILLzclGU7UnojAQst_C3jmt0posFaw3MoE/s1600/MyPicture-35.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9n1Bzca0mA98jPKxkOjUFpQHxIkb2gafGkNV9dC6F_L8XW__j8A1iN72ClQEPv3O1EYvS2eY4nJl0xvooR1mjnx3RAPkxg-Zy3xpGG8i4VILLzclGU7UnojAQst_C3jmt0posFaw3MoE/s400/MyPicture-35.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571727532215137458" /></a><br /><br />He's...rather mesmerizing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtnEuZVnRSTJwKL9bzvFSYmOQa1RXZ5MQCt-gEBC5XDyfdcY71Ys19NEytRvkBNeCTA6lFkF0lUlY6KipFbMog3y-zL4WeuHmGqqq7g-7_TlsNnslIF_9SFg9MSbbY_SmbAAxwgvGS2Y/s1600/MyPicture-43.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtnEuZVnRSTJwKL9bzvFSYmOQa1RXZ5MQCt-gEBC5XDyfdcY71Ys19NEytRvkBNeCTA6lFkF0lUlY6KipFbMog3y-zL4WeuHmGqqq7g-7_TlsNnslIF_9SFg9MSbbY_SmbAAxwgvGS2Y/s400/MyPicture-43.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571718971891096962" /></a><br /><br />And almost as photogenic as I am.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Whatever. I work retail. I know full well that downtime is the enemy. She was secretly thrilled.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2009/11/youve-got-really-nice-profile.html">Facebook</a>, 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.<br /><br />Now enjoy a "did-she-just-say-what-I-think-she-just-said?" <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppUm3TFnhtk">jam</a> 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!)Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-63502204449854384842011-01-26T21:20:00.016-06:002011-01-26T22:02:13.031-06:00Oil slick.I hated this year's spring fashion shows.<br /><br />While last year's collections (whimsical Miu Miu! Minimalist Chloé! Refugee-glam Balmain! Not to mention Karl's überfemme farmyard circus for Chanel) inspired me to push through Ye Olde Dark Days of Midwestern North Facery and onward to greener pastures, this year's offerings have left me decidedly unmoved. Pops of color, whatever. Oriental details, fine. But are you aware of the monstrosity we are being expected to embrace as "the shade of the season"? <i>Orange.</i> Who looks good in orange? Jennifer Garner at the Oscars in 2008. Halle Berry in her Bond girl bikini. Probably Brigitte Bardot, because, I mean...duh.<br /><br />That's it. Nobody else.<br /><br />I intend to avoid controversy and/or becoming a social pariah this spring by burying myself in vintage (four years out of style? Unforgivable. Forty years out of style? Genius! So <i>individual!</i>), but I will cede that there are bright spots in the modern-day fashion forecast. Maxiskirts, for one. I'm smitten, particularly those rendered in floaty fabrics like pleated chiffon and silk crepe de chine. And then there are metallics. I've always found metallic accessories to be a little too South Beach-chic for my taste (or a little too South Bronx-chic, depending on the designer), but I must admit that the latest crop is slowly burning a sunspot into my heart. I'll probably never be a gal who buys flashy gold bags and strappy silver Manolos (Carrie Bradshaw obsession notwithstanding); rather, my proverbial dollar goes to shades of aquamarine and copper that bear less resemblance to Snooki's night-out attire than they do to the sidewalk after it rains.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmqMuVnyw1Yeru4hbTpwbpC7VGTgS-M2SsxMFqk2bPgPGw71nO9b6V9BGDGSYPccQNy_MjZPBNUdpSbF3ipOQfuNKFRu89d37WbXIZSBxWwrU6aROFlWitNGxQgHF2b5zdwA2P8DbLCIo/s1600/big+black+pearl_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmqMuVnyw1Yeru4hbTpwbpC7VGTgS-M2SsxMFqk2bPgPGw71nO9b6V9BGDGSYPccQNy_MjZPBNUdpSbF3ipOQfuNKFRu89d37WbXIZSBxWwrU6aROFlWitNGxQgHF2b5zdwA2P8DbLCIo/s400/big+black+pearl_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566693426050276354" /></a><br /><br />Yarrr! It's the not-so-cursed "Black Pearl," Chanel's latest nail epidemic. While things are still hot and heavy between me and the ol' <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/06/nailed-it.html">"Factory Gray"</a>, I suppose I could be persuaded to alternate between nails the color of wet cement and nails the color of a rare and precious sea gem. I'm loving the oily iridescence that makes its distinctive deep green base seem almost neutral.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fhg4QHaJmdOuhMN5SvL64vpbEFeYgCfdIipJx6C9SKPDLriDTFmzwci0MTNeM4_LTj1VYi_S1trgBX-9m4f-CRVNfa2uvj3F2ipp_7gSKmDLV8tBgZKirSuzjGaPa1QlJOWzF8ckTgU/s1600/image1xxl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fhg4QHaJmdOuhMN5SvL64vpbEFeYgCfdIipJx6C9SKPDLriDTFmzwci0MTNeM4_LTj1VYi_S1trgBX-9m4f-CRVNfa2uvj3F2ipp_7gSKmDLV8tBgZKirSuzjGaPa1QlJOWzF8ckTgU/s400/image1xxl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566696525453085202" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqwdKaY3M7fXWFMok0Ptj0-eFNV8NBFHOU0vJdetOKSnjtXNtfLNFyWm23Fz7TzOoaTqdHZHiGq645TuzkFUqBdV5-PIrDhhXHUrubPAQCjiHzRWCzvW2izAr-2ggUKJiCK7Hu8XQMcU/s1600/image2xxl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqwdKaY3M7fXWFMok0Ptj0-eFNV8NBFHOU0vJdetOKSnjtXNtfLNFyWm23Fz7TzOoaTqdHZHiGq645TuzkFUqBdV5-PIrDhhXHUrubPAQCjiHzRWCzvW2izAr-2ggUKJiCK7Hu8XQMcU/s400/image2xxl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566696645276211442" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rvlicMjIk-Aw6cdh-P3US0aeY030cKn4Emgo-yeP8HJ1MQMFBfk25ifnQwClWqGyDTYvH4BEPRVNCEki7leZ1JH2xnlHaDSbVdxQ0iPX_Bflzym6nE5Te6cAfOZLiRJ-ts7M0lCa_k0/s1600/image4xxl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rvlicMjIk-Aw6cdh-P3US0aeY030cKn4Emgo-yeP8HJ1MQMFBfk25ifnQwClWqGyDTYvH4BEPRVNCEki7leZ1JH2xnlHaDSbVdxQ0iPX_Bflzym6nE5Te6cAfOZLiRJ-ts7M0lCa_k0/s400/image4xxl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566696736201080402" /></a><br /><br />I spent the morning getting paid to ogle department store handbags on a "comparative shopping trip" for my job as a resale buyer (rough life, I know. I got free coffee, too!), and this clutch by Halston Heritage was a major standout. The pictures hardly do justice to the complexity of the metallic. I just wanted to stand there and stare. And while we're on the subject of Halston (a brand headed by the real-life Carrie Bradshaw, Sarah Jessica Parker) and things that are shiny, I wouldn't say no to <a href="http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=282574492821439&PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446393722&R=846153205417&P_name=Halston+Heritage&sid=12DC1F774969&Ntt=halston+heritage&N=0&bmUID=iT27wC2">this</a> or <a href="http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=282574492821439&PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446393721&R=846153204632&P_name=Halston+Heritage&sid=12DC1F774969&Ntt=halston+heritage&N=0&bmUID=iT27EOh">this</a>, either.<br /><br />Metallics: not just for Lil Jon and the Macy's holiday windows. Who knew? Nobody, not one person.<br /><br />And just because it seemed somewhat relevant to the petroleum-streaked samples above, I thought I'd throw in this editorial from <i>Vogue Italia</i>'s September issue. It was met with mixed reviews from the fashion community - some thought the timing of the shoot was too soon/too real/too <i>wait, is Kristen McMenamy really imitating a choking pelican?</i> - but I thought it was beautiful and brilliant. I meant to do a post on fashion's ability to bring attention to current events at the time and got distracted. But even though it's a few months late, enjoy Steven Meisel's stunning and uncomfortable portrayal of last summer's Gulf crisis.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG268tGwPfEPcutq2zAA6hI1wLpBZnrN3N6AHnUpQwx5GuG4Ii6DQ3k4F0t9nu9Q7UwXnGzegSk6SSGgCvtNqtG2X-RsOlKMX23d43xtKW1UBe1bqSCKttCuGJC4O_8LV9ljxhe1xOtbE/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG268tGwPfEPcutq2zAA6hI1wLpBZnrN3N6AHnUpQwx5GuG4Ii6DQ3k4F0t9nu9Q7UwXnGzegSk6SSGgCvtNqtG2X-RsOlKMX23d43xtKW1UBe1bqSCKttCuGJC4O_8LV9ljxhe1xOtbE/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566702283850561106" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-yuZ9MKUgfeXr0E9u3jntr3WbkWTlvvB-kDrk4mvaCLSsEA1dw3yOh89f-pZFa1FbsC8WP02jmA5tERVIrqUaNTJ0mQvmqeH0FTZXQTBYGBcgw-HrpvMDlyMFO9fWbDf4xLYTnJpPdc/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-yuZ9MKUgfeXr0E9u3jntr3WbkWTlvvB-kDrk4mvaCLSsEA1dw3yOh89f-pZFa1FbsC8WP02jmA5tERVIrqUaNTJ0mQvmqeH0FTZXQTBYGBcgw-HrpvMDlyMFO9fWbDf4xLYTnJpPdc/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566702407881991138" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdLxMuxYw0prTBNemaQ8FX2zWrIxv8f7kLhdgW-LnynstE52CUysRhhYFCbBFtqmuaTBwxTQ_3HFxEmoDE_RxoIF74GAB1lleMPRoDX3Hy19snvPUptHofYxhHq9HEqAMrh00I2WJ8LU/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdLxMuxYw0prTBNemaQ8FX2zWrIxv8f7kLhdgW-LnynstE52CUysRhhYFCbBFtqmuaTBwxTQ_3HFxEmoDE_RxoIF74GAB1lleMPRoDX3Hy19snvPUptHofYxhHq9HEqAMrh00I2WJ8LU/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566702496699572466" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadYojT7KDvI6BCg068n38iS8QUj7FDMWpZAzWX-DH_V3_SLBi-YtQlnu7Ua40eBUl6Eu6fpA6cgO2HIRfzGTY5d4PqgZauiVARyqa-oyywpZJmdprK-ajX_x9-bgLN280C5E6D_6Xo74/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadYojT7KDvI6BCg068n38iS8QUj7FDMWpZAzWX-DH_V3_SLBi-YtQlnu7Ua40eBUl6Eu6fpA6cgO2HIRfzGTY5d4PqgZauiVARyqa-oyywpZJmdprK-ajX_x9-bgLN280C5E6D_6Xo74/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566702590658432770" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-sjO388xVfgGmhTgwEMFlydzQyMFK-7yoY2AY0qsScnw-kJ5jW2EtjNpSanY9CyBJt-QVRBWqu84jBKU4Ppk9vCS1sHPIExgGk_T8FdDNwR7h3FjHNJdRmew8L7R-UVosg78DUNE5OE/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-sjO388xVfgGmhTgwEMFlydzQyMFK-7yoY2AY0qsScnw-kJ5jW2EtjNpSanY9CyBJt-QVRBWqu84jBKU4Ppk9vCS1sHPIExgGk_T8FdDNwR7h3FjHNJdRmew8L7R-UVosg78DUNE5OE/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566702740368456658" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9rtimS3wX7K7_BFIKfU9CTJ2RjgINqeJj0oHMSpphnQGzPxA9QoNq5pE8l3EBTasCABkiLwY1UKeCwb0LDgtoXmeBpTkTXy875r0oJFrDG93AeBwkrfFdP1yG3C2f27qvvM7AyaY54U/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9rtimS3wX7K7_BFIKfU9CTJ2RjgINqeJj0oHMSpphnQGzPxA9QoNq5pE8l3EBTasCABkiLwY1UKeCwb0LDgtoXmeBpTkTXy875r0oJFrDG93AeBwkrfFdP1yG3C2f27qvvM7AyaY54U/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566702900213613042" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg03u7ERmABvTX7T5tPviw6D-H_PBuNo8D_gB-sxnzXqRBwGCd4BDGD-kbe5IvxcwSy6uAgQ_9SAXM3Uxv5OkdfD9OcxZYznjmnmvn2lbcu7xnVUxt8kWMBaFzyYK1S1oHrVOHfgfzVexk/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg03u7ERmABvTX7T5tPviw6D-H_PBuNo8D_gB-sxnzXqRBwGCd4BDGD-kbe5IvxcwSy6uAgQ_9SAXM3Uxv5OkdfD9OcxZYznjmnmvn2lbcu7xnVUxt8kWMBaFzyYK1S1oHrVOHfgfzVexk/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566703006083653778" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHrDEPsDhzHYwRuKgYj8tcImOxHwSoCeNBylTLLLVBdRvNEcSRRvVCpJeY3J59TyY-LF6Qm6dabsISUld7PWmBcQEt65J8ik8Ge2_Zk9bVB-Kujqr6vpQg0k5FVSUyStnENTHKeEBZh1w/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHrDEPsDhzHYwRuKgYj8tcImOxHwSoCeNBylTLLLVBdRvNEcSRRvVCpJeY3J59TyY-LF6Qm6dabsISUld7PWmBcQEt65J8ik8Ge2_Zk9bVB-Kujqr6vpQg0k5FVSUyStnENTHKeEBZh1w/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566703097319966546" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzQkvbVYHW89ZpFw7e1WGpGLiTzOXBFv6CGanZYMjHxB91mrciPGL7Ryt-e5pgcO6iRYM1eEKmzDr9KU-qtri6SyHrBe3QrWuVBBVTmpTLjYGjeVgpdD4LmZoS7ZpC19kM12uPPmnrmo/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzQkvbVYHW89ZpFw7e1WGpGLiTzOXBFv6CGanZYMjHxB91mrciPGL7Ryt-e5pgcO6iRYM1eEKmzDr9KU-qtri6SyHrBe3QrWuVBBVTmpTLjYGjeVgpdD4LmZoS7ZpC19kM12uPPmnrmo/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566703186868285186" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0TQRN0QaojJaf6qr7uWG8ZUSttsTHEASJzIaUNRiQ2OsOvWO3s6Qojd1qhJGwbD1ROywbyYGRMl6-e_yem-0FTe3MAqQgsjxdwZw7cRj2-K3qwAG24e3szwt9LzsOdBelS3Wa-yUXQo/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0TQRN0QaojJaf6qr7uWG8ZUSttsTHEASJzIaUNRiQ2OsOvWO3s6Qojd1qhJGwbD1ROywbyYGRMl6-e_yem-0FTe3MAqQgsjxdwZw7cRj2-K3qwAG24e3szwt9LzsOdBelS3Wa-yUXQo/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566703389684902866" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilroGFNk4B8c_8bB7AgbalwwoaNgGgxzH7eniAk1B7hdEmyZUd-l5xkHjLncKmmtUy49i-Q0u6L_WGZ3P3CI_hiMhO15Bb-0zAuY5OspJNtOemm57EHKXkX4q6HC9i3isdEHYrQ9rHry8/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilroGFNk4B8c_8bB7AgbalwwoaNgGgxzH7eniAk1B7hdEmyZUd-l5xkHjLncKmmtUy49i-Q0u6L_WGZ3P3CI_hiMhO15Bb-0zAuY5OspJNtOemm57EHKXkX4q6HC9i3isdEHYrQ9rHry8/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566703487390399826" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoic6aJ_MeH-mQCS1NcOeVIM8y8KYH7OYzW11PTQkBdRdNjQ278T9LQvKQIdbrLxpaohDT6uQe5RHwoJ4GwRmSdWzB0fW1mMZhqaTbtuf73AnkQv3qFcVkiVqYtfKvFwncd2p3CPw7nI/s1600/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoic6aJ_MeH-mQCS1NcOeVIM8y8KYH7OYzW11PTQkBdRdNjQ278T9LQvKQIdbrLxpaohDT6uQe5RHwoJ4GwRmSdWzB0fW1mMZhqaTbtuf73AnkQv3qFcVkiVqYtfKvFwncd2p3CPw7nI/s400/vogue-italia-water-oil-spill-12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566703580853137410" /></a>Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-2075253863172412122011-01-25T20:06:00.015-06:002011-01-25T22:10:57.957-06:00Say crack again.Boys and girls, I'm here today to talk to you about crack.<br /><br />Or rather, crack cookies, as my brother and I affectionately refer to those toxic, toothachingly sweet pillows of flour and sugar sold at grocery stores across America. You know exactly which ones I'm talking about. The ones with the inch-thick layer of day-glo frosting. Pretty much the only reason I looked forward to piano recitals as a child.<br /><br />Despite my well-documented love for dessert, I'm actually a pretty healthy eater. I buy things like almond milk and chia seeds and five-gallon tubs of spinach, and what's more, I genuinely enjoy them. So admitting that a supermarket baked good has made me its bitch on more than one occasion brings me considerable shame and bewilderment.<br /><br />Why does it happen? What are they laced with?<br /><br />I blame their cupcake-esque construction. If, like me, you view cupcakes as merely a vehicle for frosting, you'll immediately recognize that the cake-to-frosting ratio is vastly improved when said cake is restructured in cookie form. Pair that with a cheerful spatter of rainbow sprinkles and I'm a goner. Jamie Oliver himself couldn't kiss me out of my sugar coma.<br /><br />Fortunately, it's possible to achieve the same state of nirvana without the high-fructose corn syrup.<br /><br /><center><b>Cleaned-Up Crack Cookies</b></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJrbmXtHmXbt7XhUQnWk0DHzqjbj4EOs4jnYA-MI5PPB-zXbjraQulbWp9ApcBoKmgtI40Ve0YYwmCu2T0Grmfipbm8uNtdNFD3wDwedS7D5cexFiZ7pmLPE6N_WJfYZJ7TlZI2heb-c/s1600/DSCF1067.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJrbmXtHmXbt7XhUQnWk0DHzqjbj4EOs4jnYA-MI5PPB-zXbjraQulbWp9ApcBoKmgtI40Ve0YYwmCu2T0Grmfipbm8uNtdNFD3wDwedS7D5cexFiZ7pmLPE6N_WJfYZJ7TlZI2heb-c/s400/DSCF1067.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566342232133437618" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWXkRFIY-CYbKzdfFs5Yf88NHk6nYm8ABYnUMTkbVvl_-qs_Cc0YlM3RPrfNcOy6-0L8Eezbs99TJRbMAUqR0oNPJE8HG5g6GovZFGIg-4s6ANynRjGQl_NoY2s4AYDluXIPHPkjr8gM/s1600/DSCF1054.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWXkRFIY-CYbKzdfFs5Yf88NHk6nYm8ABYnUMTkbVvl_-qs_Cc0YlM3RPrfNcOy6-0L8Eezbs99TJRbMAUqR0oNPJE8HG5g6GovZFGIg-4s6ANynRjGQl_NoY2s4AYDluXIPHPkjr8gM/s400/DSCF1054.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566322516777397122" /></a><br /><br /><center>Same sugar rush and strangely addictive properties as the original, without the chemical additives and chalky mouthfeel. Though these are by no stretch of the imagination healthy, they at least contain real, recognizable ingredients like eggs, butter and vanilla. There's something reassuring about knowing your baked goods will spoil in days, not months. Adapted from <a href="http://eatliverun.com/diy-wal-mart-crack-cookies/">Eat, Live, Run</a>.</center><br /><br /><i>1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour<br />1/2 teaspoon baking soda<br />1/2 teaspoon salt<br />5 1/2 tablespoons butter, softened<br />1/2 cup sugar<br />1 egg<br />1/2 teaspoon vanilla<br />1/3 cup buttermilk (if you're a broke college student or, you know, a normal person who doesn't have an endless supply of buttermilk at the ready, just add a teaspoon of lemon juice to 1/3 cup regular milk and let it sit out for a half hour or so. </i>Voila!<i> Instant buttermilk. I did this and it worked perfectly)<br /><br />1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside.<br />2. In another large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the egg and mix until just combined. Alternate between adding the flour mixture and the buttermilk to the butter mixture, starting and ending with the flour mixture. Add the vanilla and beat until the batter is smooth (smooth batter, chunky thighs. It's like the cardinal rule of baking). It will look more like cake batter than cookie dough. Do not be alarmed by this.<br />3. Pipe or spoon the batter onto a prepared baking sheet, leaving about two inches of space between each cookie. Bake for about 12 minutes, or until the edges are ever-so-slightly golden. Makes 8 large cookies.</i><br /><br />Vanilla is the star flavoring agent in this recipe, so use a quality one if you can afford it. I seized the opportunity to bust out my fancy Nielsen-Massey Madagascar bourbon vanilla (a Christmas gift) with truly spectacular results. I love busting. I then slathered these puppies in a sunny-hued batch of cookie dough frosting from <a href="http://www.howsweeteats.com/2010/03/05/chocolate-chip-cupcakes-with-cookie-dough-frosting/">How Sweet It Is</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdAW_GfqhXG1OxcDu0lkaB4fvU2NuM5P8LxfSorTZakmx80dt2iQAx5gbTtiPgZQiA28mZCwd7J13dITip-tP1hFBtHDH6YniW7Wu9wj244hMANvNasPRrnoMrbxgFCT6BqDoYk31YvA/s1600/DSCF1042.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdAW_GfqhXG1OxcDu0lkaB4fvU2NuM5P8LxfSorTZakmx80dt2iQAx5gbTtiPgZQiA28mZCwd7J13dITip-tP1hFBtHDH6YniW7Wu9wj244hMANvNasPRrnoMrbxgFCT6BqDoYk31YvA/s400/DSCF1042.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566324908581631378" /></a><br /><br />I also love slathering.<br /><br />I don't think it tastes like cookie dough, per se, but it <i>does</i> taste like delicious. And I have a half-used can of sweetened condensed milk in my fridge that I am doing my best to slowly deplete into nonexistence (mostly by taking a cue from the Thai and adding a generous spoonful to my morning coffee). You can substitute your favorite buttercream recipe if you don't have any on hand.<br /><br /><i>1/2 cup butter, softened<br />3-4 cups powdered sugar<br />1 teaspoon vanilla<br />2 tablespoons sweetened condensed milk<br />Food coloring (optional)<br /><br />1. Mix butter and powdered sugar on low, adding sugar gradually.<br />2. Add vanilla. Mix until just combined.<br />3. Add milk. Mix until just combined.<br />4. Continue adding milk and/or sugar and/or food coloring until desired consistency and/or color is reached.</i><br /><br />If you look at the original recipe, you'll see that I've halved the butter and sugar, but not the milk and vanilla. I ended up with the perfect amount to generously frost eight cookies (and excellent flavor and consistency to boot). I piped mine on with a pastry bag to ensure neat edges and even distribution, then spread the top smooth with <i>le</i> butter knife and hit them hard with <i>les</i> rainbow sprinkles. We are very sophisticated and French over here, you see.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizuI_MZgU3Nmy0HUdkpeY_uefYUJO-EuDf4UrOg0wDQqsHuv72___UUZKksPbRW8PmE424O3pUKX5eGBCD_31CeFk6NehO_5faH8hn-U2QuXs9W4_Ec9rCHb4QrkW9z0UHLPvMBvK_jQ/s1600/DSCF1046.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizuI_MZgU3Nmy0HUdkpeY_uefYUJO-EuDf4UrOg0wDQqsHuv72___UUZKksPbRW8PmE424O3pUKX5eGBCD_31CeFk6NehO_5faH8hn-U2QuXs9W4_Ec9rCHb4QrkW9z0UHLPvMBvK_jQ/s400/DSCF1046.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566323211025596306" /></a><br /><br />And there you have it! Crack cookies fit for a grown-up gathering. Or for curling up and watching the snow fall with a hot cup of herbal and the latest episode of <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/07/stylin-little-liars.html"><i>Pretty Little Liars</a></i>. It'll be our little secret.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-7179108557850233762010-12-19T21:40:00.021-06:002010-12-19T23:42:09.062-06:00The scent of pining.The way I see it, we have two options:<br /><br />a) We can pretend like all I want for Christmas is world peace, or<br /><br />b) We can collectively swoon over the pretty things on my wish list.<br /><br />Which sounds like more fun to you?<br /><br /><center><div><div style="position:relative;width:500px;height:500px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/scent_pining/set?.embedder=1136946&.mid=embed&id=26133410"><img width="500" alt="The Scent of Pining" src="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-set/BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFnFKUnpxZW9MNEJHTzNyV1lUMVpNX0EAAAACaWQKAXgAAAAEc2l6ZQ.jpg" title="The Scent of Pining" height="500" border="0" force="1" /></a></div></div></center><br /><br />Clockwise from top left:<br /><br /><b>Michael Kors Bel Aire Chronograph watch</b>. The nontraditional femininity of rose gold juxtaposed against the classic, masculine shape of this watch makes it an absolute must. I've always considered a two-tone Rolex oyster watch to be my ultimate "I've made it" purchase, but until the day arrives that I can drop a year's worth of rent on a piece of jewelry without batting a Dior-lacquered eyelash, I'd be thrilled to have this madam-gone-military timepiece on my wrist.<br /><br /><b>Wolford Velvet de Luxe 66 opaque tights.</b> The idea of spending $45 on tights still makes my head spin, but I have it on good authority that Wolfords are worth every penny. Shockingly, my father (who is wont to roll his eyes at my love of everything unnecessarily expensive) didn't laugh in my face when I half-jokingly threw these on my list this year. I'll keep my fingers crossed for a Christmas miracle.<br /><br /><b>Prada "Prada" perfume.</b> Every perfume I've ever worn with any longevity has been some combination of orange and spice, be it the Demeter "Orange Cream Pop" I donned back in middle school, the Betsey Johnson tangerine/amber concoction I graduated to next, the bitter orange/cinnamon/vanilla blend of "L de Lolita Lempicka" that saw me through the better part of college or the YSL "Opium" I've been wearing since I "borrowed" it from the SELF beauty closet in July. Prada's original scent is the grown-up incarnation of my preferred citrus-Oriental flavor, with Bergamot and orange oils creating a power play in the forefront while undertones of vanilla, patchouli, sandalwood and musk awaken a baser human sensuality beneath.<br /><br />(Did I fool you? Do you think I know anything whatsoever about perfume? This shit smells good; you should try it sometime.)<br /><br /><b>3.1 Phillip Lim printed silk bralette and boyshorts.</b> Forgot the usual implications of lingerie. All I desire of this watercolor floral set is that it provide a much-needed pick-me-up from the bitter wasteland that will be raging outside my window for the next six months. (P.S. If you haven't, check out the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=8655907101390760284&postID=5168896713342369898">interview</a> I did with Phillip for <i>CS</i> magazine last spring. He's a gem.)<br /><br /><b>Farouk CHI 1" ceramic flat iron.</b> The Holy Grail of hair straighteners. I try to give my battered strands a rest from heat styling when I can, but if I'm going to subject them to frying on a semi-regular basis, I might as well use the best damn destruction tools available.<br /><br /><b>Miu Miu booties.</b> I'll keep this brief: these are my dream shoes, and I would do despicable things to get my hands on them.<br /><br /><b>Nespresso machine.</b> While I did ask Santa for a coffee maker, it's unlikely that the extremely highbrow Nespresso will be making a cameo in my kitchen any time soon. I'll settle for a French press and some World Market Texas Turtle blend for now, but I eagerly await the day when I can steam my own lattes using the most unapologetically snobbish appliance on the market. I'm fairly confident that with the money I'd save on Starbucks/Peet's/Panera (shut up, I love Panera coffee. I'm crazelnut for hazelnut. Don't judge), it would pay for itself in about three weeks.<br /><br /><b>Saint James sweater.</b> Breton stripes made <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/04/building-blocks.html">my top ten list of wardrobe musts</a> back in April, but I'd trade my whole stack of H&M cotton tees for just one of these perfect sweaters. Saint James is the originator of the Breton stripe (or at least its most famous producer), and I adore the coquettish buttons, low-maintenance crewneck and perfect ecru/navy combination of this particular style.<br /><br />Have you had the good fortune to get your hands on any of the above? What's on your holiday wish list this year?Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-12720032089257592162010-12-10T22:27:00.009-06:002011-01-24T19:16:38.678-06:00Deck the halls with hearts and cupcakes.The holidays have a way of amplifying whatever you're feeling by about a hundredfold. That's all well and good if you're happy and in love, but if your season is shaping up to bring more silent nights than joy to the world, it's easy to become overwhelmed by the sheer, magnanimous euphoria of it all. Some grow embittered by the bastardization of a religious holiday into a commercially-driven circus. Personally, I adore Christmas and the entire season leading up to it. The year's first holiday Starbucks cup brings a tear to my eye. I pull out my Hanson Christmas album (wait, there must be something wrong with my keyboard...I don't own that) the day after Halloween. I <i>do</i>, in fact, own a sparkly Santa hat. Fine, the *NSYNC Christmas album, too.<br /><br />I'm a little sad, however, to be spending this December away from my family. I grew up in two households that take Christmas extremely seriously. We have more traditions than we can even remember to complete each year. I'll be home a few days before Christmas, so I won't miss out on the best ones: driving around to admire neighborhood lights on Christmas Eve; enjoying treats like cinnamon twists, eggs benedict and our chocolate Yule log cake/giant HoHo known as the "HoHoHo" on Christmas morning; sleeping in the same bed with my three siblings on Santa's big night (to facilitate our 6am wake-up call) (okay, that last one doesn't happen anymore). But without my mom's angel collection and my dad's holiday 3D glasses, I can't help but worry that the next few weeks are going to feel a little flat.<br /><br />Which is why I have taken the liberty of erecting The Girliest Tree Ever To Exist Anywhere atop my <s>space heater</s> nightstand.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwM_vcvA1lcTLd-qgUs5E7Jcu2WNAsFG2dYXQRyVmwiSARUxqEKc9zu520uX3_ChxFj0zc9JZPlIL283C8yRyfz0wAh594QbSrLtxV4C56rVbqTXXo78TXwxnlHgw0eMxpLygQ5vpd-ks/s1600/DSCF1074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwM_vcvA1lcTLd-qgUs5E7Jcu2WNAsFG2dYXQRyVmwiSARUxqEKc9zu520uX3_ChxFj0zc9JZPlIL283C8yRyfz0wAh594QbSrLtxV4C56rVbqTXXo78TXwxnlHgw0eMxpLygQ5vpd-ks/s400/DSCF1074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549286925897668674" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguM4KgnU4TSDRoTlglFIhNNp8IHiFEDwSmVnETXU38hDixfUhI972KoYIRXdGzHugiSR4966BK1HdmmZwPL04ilkXcDSs7LLdpBbZwRP685DHJgjpofxw0NLklg11PbQWd0yBp_03Yj_o/s1600/DSCF1012.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguM4KgnU4TSDRoTlglFIhNNp8IHiFEDwSmVnETXU38hDixfUhI972KoYIRXdGzHugiSR4966BK1HdmmZwPL04ilkXcDSs7LLdpBbZwRP685DHJgjpofxw0NLklg11PbQWd0yBp_03Yj_o/s400/DSCF1012.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549274481465329538" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGt8sOdv8f5DbMs1qKBfo4o8Bk2aG_NgSGefZZCkqWn3G1FX-pdqRUg9QUR9UwfjGgtnC9xAQd6kdOlzWcvqt2Ni2EBPm1PnjCXaFNu3T8Kd1wNt8kqakTAs2mihHFz-XQzv7O3eQ_Y00/s1600/DSCF1008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGt8sOdv8f5DbMs1qKBfo4o8Bk2aG_NgSGefZZCkqWn3G1FX-pdqRUg9QUR9UwfjGgtnC9xAQd6kdOlzWcvqt2Ni2EBPm1PnjCXaFNu3T8Kd1wNt8kqakTAs2mihHFz-XQzv7O3eQ_Y00/s400/DSCF1008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549274654121344242" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohcbylOrnuBtXSy6lbZ0TZdxNi3r3T6SzogWvYzlhhAZ62RZnnB6LrbJ8OHyGuPibUMveKvyhyho30yH7oWC1ofLPbUIDrwHoJSIS49HAY7f_5n2y4s_taH61lNesnW_h9K7JE-dnDto/s1600/DSCF1020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohcbylOrnuBtXSy6lbZ0TZdxNi3r3T6SzogWvYzlhhAZ62RZnnB6LrbJ8OHyGuPibUMveKvyhyho30yH7oWC1ofLPbUIDrwHoJSIS49HAY7f_5n2y4s_taH61lNesnW_h9K7JE-dnDto/s400/DSCF1020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549274814891119106" /></a><br /><br />Why yes, that <i>is</i> a glittery fake tree trimmed with glittery hearts and glittery cupcakes standing next to a glittery snow family! Casual. Practical. Delightful. My hat/scarf/purse stand also got a holiday makeover, in the form of a bedazzled tree-topper.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScLK-PWWbCWizZCknaCU6LJjVs-t-SJTtMlhRDQBtn1P6_X8asscpkGd0gEiBqk_Za8f2BIrwdruf4_GjOsB-uX3mYnyczjp__J93UzTdovIgyDr-GreZiOQRjXlrEfVRITGj8WWLPpA/s1600/DSCF1033.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScLK-PWWbCWizZCknaCU6LJjVs-t-SJTtMlhRDQBtn1P6_X8asscpkGd0gEiBqk_Za8f2BIrwdruf4_GjOsB-uX3mYnyczjp__J93UzTdovIgyDr-GreZiOQRjXlrEfVRITGj8WWLPpA/s400/DSCF1033.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549275334302055010" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vonBNl7aBIbwl4k9jO3Q3L0et1IKxD_gZT4Vbq5lGT8SNRKb0q_GHp3aZhu_aX0-KvwLRI4SHrEdyPx_X4Msg6xSl4WY749NZ1JhHfQ2Wl-Xknvg9jHnqQpmIPYnmmBze8MUbtU8iRs/s1600/DSCF1061.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vonBNl7aBIbwl4k9jO3Q3L0et1IKxD_gZT4Vbq5lGT8SNRKb0q_GHp3aZhu_aX0-KvwLRI4SHrEdyPx_X4Msg6xSl4WY749NZ1JhHfQ2Wl-Xknvg9jHnqQpmIPYnmmBze8MUbtU8iRs/s400/DSCF1061.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549276027478002834" /></a><br /><br />By the way, if the wide shot above piqued your interest, this is how I display what I affectionately refer to as my "varsity jewelry":<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4d7J33VOTSK0_wrXJRFScXhYegEznOd7mwlYLLINCNECpQ48NkP38LN_v4trSkOFTx7ciwGnopTugORuH7_wQzLR5qvSYy-rPQVP6L5LOE4_NljZABLBTo3UkkEhYErbHpE8WxJ6BMKM/s1600/DSCF1081.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4d7J33VOTSK0_wrXJRFScXhYegEznOd7mwlYLLINCNECpQ48NkP38LN_v4trSkOFTx7ciwGnopTugORuH7_wQzLR5qvSYy-rPQVP6L5LOE4_NljZABLBTo3UkkEhYErbHpE8WxJ6BMKM/s400/DSCF1081.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549277770529211938" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1d7uNzGzDJM_K_5d62j1lNJIESkM67zOzyry3JNE4qloPNGieSJA0SeFA4cwWgBsP0U5xGyYNur4g31WcrKWOTS8ATq4LqXTFX8K3KV_-arwzFTk5fhArmgM6vs8YcHqBQ4gCE51vU1w/s1600/DSCF1088.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1d7uNzGzDJM_K_5d62j1lNJIESkM67zOzyry3JNE4qloPNGieSJA0SeFA4cwWgBsP0U5xGyYNur4g31WcrKWOTS8ATq4LqXTFX8K3KV_-arwzFTk5fhArmgM6vs8YcHqBQ4gCE51vU1w/s400/DSCF1088.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549278405771220050" /></a><br /><br />Brings a whole new meaning to the term "cocktail ring," no? My makeup brushes are stashed in a wine glass. I'm aiming for a full bar someday.<br /><br />This holiday season, do what you need to do to feel joy. Maybe that means one-stop shopping on Amazon instead of putting yourself through the trauma of mall parking. Maybe it means letting yourself gain a little bit of cookie weight. Maybe it means watching <i>A Christmas Story</i> for the eighty-seventh time (really just the best Christmas movie on the planet). Maybe it means swallowing your pride, smothering your fierce independence and surrounding yourself with people who love you. Maybe it means a putting up a sparkly tree on your space heater. And if all else fails, maybe <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2009/12/ultimate-stress-relief.html">this little guy</a> can lend a hand.<br /><br />Whatever the solution, seek out your holiday style and find a way to sing auld lang syne. After all...it's the most wonderful time of the year.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-4424754606917000572010-11-29T21:30:00.020-06:002010-11-29T22:34:11.413-06:00Turtle-y enough for the Turtle Club.The inverse relationship between form and function is well-documented when it comes to clothes. Are my flannel pajamas and shearling moccasins the most deliciously cozy items to ever adorn my person? Probs. Am I going to be successful/generally perceived as attractive if I wear them around on the daily? Doubtful. It's unfortunate, but unavoidable: stilettos will always trump slippers in the game of life (which is why I bought two pairs of stilettos today. Leopard-print calf hair pumps and gray suede ankle booties. Casual bankruptcy, don't worry about it).<br /><br />You may or may not have realized, however, that a similar pattern arises with desserts. Close your eyes and conjure up a memory of the best cookie you ever ate. Is it a perfectly formed, wafer-thin, painstakingly embellished tea cookie? Also doubtful. The best cookies are the homely ones: the monster mounds of butter and sugar and oats and nuts and gooey baking morsels in your flavor of choice; the ones that look more like turds than like tulips. Cupcakes more readily lend themselves to kitsch, but even they require you to stay <i>en garde</i> (spoiler alert! Fondant flowers are <i>not</i> as tasty as buttercream rosettes). I generally find that the tastier the dessert, the uglier the presentation. It's fine. I'm over it. I'm willing to occasionally sacrifice my sense of sight for my sense of taste.<br /><br />Imagine my delight, however, to discover a recipe that manages to straddle the line between "cookies to look at" and "cookies to devour until you can no longer zip up your J. Brand jeans." These turtle thumbprints nail the hearty texture of an ugly cookie with all the charm of a lemon wreath or almond sand dollar. These cookies are winners. You might, in fact, say that <i>all they do is win</i>. Feel like winning today? Set out a stick of butter. Take a preemptive spin on the elliptical. And prepare yourself for several hours of assembling:<br /><br /><center><b>Turtle Thumbprints</b><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghF4AnjHCwmqU7I8VTl4TKJPcBLOq2R8AWCYOdLJsTr5nBIwlRjtly1wph37rtbspPWbpIbFSKhbG23YDVNAvJp2Fw7x-REAFFNoCrOA8bGQm7WcKreTGGL3lg4bu-By2sKtZ5laSpxxU/s1600/DSCF1014.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghF4AnjHCwmqU7I8VTl4TKJPcBLOq2R8AWCYOdLJsTr5nBIwlRjtly1wph37rtbspPWbpIbFSKhbG23YDVNAvJp2Fw7x-REAFFNoCrOA8bGQm7WcKreTGGL3lg4bu-By2sKtZ5laSpxxU/s400/DSCF1014.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545175051989413842" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkneRI5dBjFCes8_JDP46ksyC8oPGIYKW7wrW_r2suWnlmveTfbENXIQUFActpvDJ08w8bEBtPK0C_8wZ_BCf_YHicpYXOvQ6H8ZuzWpf2xsFfA8tvD2aPBq5VObAKHIa5bb2Ir8gkjU/s1600/DSCF1005.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkneRI5dBjFCes8_JDP46ksyC8oPGIYKW7wrW_r2suWnlmveTfbENXIQUFActpvDJ08w8bEBtPK0C_8wZ_BCf_YHicpYXOvQ6H8ZuzWpf2xsFfA8tvD2aPBq5VObAKHIa5bb2Ir8gkjU/s400/DSCF1005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545196342675726914" /></a><br /><br />After making my daily blog rounds in search of a dessert that would satiate my pregnancy-caliber chocolate cravings (reasons I should never have children), I decided on these because a) they're so darn cute and b) I had all of the ingredients in my kitchen. Yep, I've become the kind of person who has things like heavy cream and semi-sweet baking chips on hand pre-grocery run. Sign me up for the nunnery. Anyway, I'm not gonna lie: these are labor-intensive. But if I, former domestic rogue and relative kitchen novice, can turn them out à la the above photos, so can you. Recipe adapted from <a href="http://bakedbree.com/chocolate-caramel-pecan-thumbprints-week-9-of-12-weeks-of-cookies">Baked Bree</a>.</center><br /><br /><i>1 egg<br />1/2 cup butter, softened<br />2/3 cup sugar<br />2 tablespoons milk<br />1 teaspoon vanilla<br />1 cup flour<br />1/3 cup cocoa<br />1/4 teaspoon salt<br />16 caramels<br />3 tablespoons heavy cream<br />1 1/4 finely chopped pecans<br />1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate morsels<br />1 tablespoon vegetable oil<br /><br />1. Separate the egg. Reserve both parts (the yolk you'll use now, but the white you won't need until later).<br />2. Cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy. Beat in the egg yolk, milk and vanilla. Combine the cocoa, flour and salt in a separate bowl. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture and mix until just combined. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for two hours.<br />3. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. While the oven is heating, roll the dough into balls about one inch in diameter. Whip the reserved egg white until foamy. Roll the dough balls in the egg whites, then in the chopped pecans (I had a nice little system going where one hand dealt with the egg white and the other hand dealt with the pecans. Kept my whites from getting chunky and my nuts from getting eggy. Highly recommend it). Place the balls about an inch and a half apart on a greased or parchment-lined cookie sheet. Using your thumb, press to form a well in each cookie. Bake for about 10-12 minutes, or until cookies have set (I always figure it's better to underbake than to overbake and burn, so I went for the lesser cook time). <br />4. While the cookies are baking, place the caramels and cream in a microwave-safe bowl. Microwave in 30-second intervals, stirring between each, until fully melted. Transfer cookies to a cooling rack (slip a sheet of waxed paper underneath to facilitate clean-up) and fill immediately with caramel.<br />5. Melt the chocolate chips in the microwave in the same 30-second intervals. Add the oil. Drizzle over cookies using a fork or a pastry bag (do </i>not<i> try to use a regular Ziploc bag with molten chocolate. It </i>will<i> burst. Fortunately, I didn't make this mistake because I'm really good at Googling, and because I </i>also<i> have pastry bags in my pantry. FML). Makes about two dozen cookies.</i><br /><br />Apparently they freeze like a dream, so grab a few to enjoy with your afternoon tea and pop the rest in the freezer for the next time an epic chocolate craving strikes. Or, if you lack self-control, Cady Heron that shit and dutifully tote them along to work to fatten up your co-workers (total frenemy move. Jaykay, guys!). Or bring them as a really impressive housewarming gift to your next holiday party. The possibilities are endless!!!!!11!!!11<br /><br />P.S. Decided to keep the blog title as is. I may not currently be a redhead, but I will <i>always</i> be a ginger.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-17093954768364742762010-11-25T23:05:00.017-06:002010-12-19T23:17:06.971-06:00Fake it 'til you make it.I have an exceptionally low tolerance for things that are fake. Fake people, fake Christmas trees, fake designer handbags, fake orgasms (don't be a quitter. You're only cheating yourself), fake conversations. You get the picture. With the exception of faux fur and the occasional diet Coke, I pride myself on only engaging in those pleasures in life that are 100% gin-u-wine.<br /><br />Then, at an undisclosed point in the past week, my blog's title became wildly inaccurate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3XwYWns8Ryk5VWM41RKUUGfyMl-FtXhJKu-6Qkz_7_UKD6ziUXHBQUULXy8hlpDVM2ItDrpZThCPUHkVQayLPGEWvSTx9ss8Bjr8M0rQdw7L1bLEilqlFRNN_4cDQ2hXaM4-_pbQ1c4/s1600/DSCF1002_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3XwYWns8Ryk5VWM41RKUUGfyMl-FtXhJKu-6Qkz_7_UKD6ziUXHBQUULXy8hlpDVM2ItDrpZThCPUHkVQayLPGEWvSTx9ss8Bjr8M0rQdw7L1bLEilqlFRNN_4cDQ2hXaM4-_pbQ1c4/s400/DSCF1002_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543973980039811234" /></a><br /><br />And I joined the mighty legions of the bottle brunettes.<br /><br />I know my ginger locks were rare and supposedly enviable. But they had been rare and enviable for upward of 21 years when I finally decided to do what I've been talking about since my junior year of high school and sample life as a sultry brownie. I've gotta say, guys: I don't know if I can ever go back. Ginger prejudice is <i>real</i>, y'all, and I didn't even know it until I was no longer on the receiving end. Strangers understand my sarcastic jokes better now that I'm a brunette. I get hit on less (<a href="http://apocalypstick.com/2010/08/10/stop-hitting-on-me/">in a good way</a>). I no longer have to subconsciously match my clothes to my hair. This is the Em Aub Rob you're looking at for the foreseeable future, so you had better get used to it.<br /><br />So here's the pressing issue: what shall I re-christen my blog?! La Vie en Chestnut? La Vie en Cinnamon? La Vie en Ginger[bread]? Sound off in the comments, please! I'm desperate for suggestions from minds more clever than my own.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRYeXs1cCqPnsuwJGkVz7cyOHIDT0qEBFyp6eoezK5JsBLQEfhT3ojoxTDvi9v_iONvZJ6yz7ctQUPTy4Axy4TQAEc56OmSNRQLFsHqX3J81uA0Mw43dReESBk4J4PtktiujEv974Hno/s1600/DSCF1038_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRYeXs1cCqPnsuwJGkVz7cyOHIDT0qEBFyp6eoezK5JsBLQEfhT3ojoxTDvi9v_iONvZJ6yz7ctQUPTy4Axy4TQAEc56OmSNRQLFsHqX3J81uA0Mw43dReESBk4J4PtktiujEv974Hno/s400/DSCF1038_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544057422789638882" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpMt6_HNJEdauY88aC8VDcQcQC3suYNrunSWlenMKhAmdevu8wSZ0LtyybAB4VYbJzJEiGrJiSL7QHTrhJMVReuuij1n8tN79LAH4FSGs1ue4MQBw_nSDI08gUvsyeOn2liP-PnrkKG8/s1600/DSCF1027_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpMt6_HNJEdauY88aC8VDcQcQC3suYNrunSWlenMKhAmdevu8wSZ0LtyybAB4VYbJzJEiGrJiSL7QHTrhJMVReuuij1n8tN79LAH4FSGs1ue4MQBw_nSDI08gUvsyeOn2liP-PnrkKG8/s400/DSCF1027_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543972393359863010" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97eAzi5TrCEUT4QYQiB0anc0JtocAjiSx9xPycZRm5FnJvdqdCuzK-adwSgvT8-7TaEAmFQtEEvNUL5bNvSOEkY5N7WA14tr9N3pk_F4Q-sS6g48joIp4oodZN5JGTCX6jLEWiNq6znc/s1600/DSCF1029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97eAzi5TrCEUT4QYQiB0anc0JtocAjiSx9xPycZRm5FnJvdqdCuzK-adwSgvT8-7TaEAmFQtEEvNUL5bNvSOEkY5N7WA14tr9N3pk_F4Q-sS6g48joIp4oodZN5JGTCX6jLEWiNq6znc/s400/DSCF1029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543972525142171026" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9RXGbPAwbP5Gxh1OuLOyfzKBSL05D15Ibv6O7jx8wKE_5Dww_tq0kX-0lnyiamvd05HI9M7UcyxBuirg3z3q3Q1fn8BYgkyMwH54mYTYgHIMCB-vdwAHEXIzDRUoGgvty0c3tt0Xj2o/s1600/DSCF1029_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9RXGbPAwbP5Gxh1OuLOyfzKBSL05D15Ibv6O7jx8wKE_5Dww_tq0kX-0lnyiamvd05HI9M7UcyxBuirg3z3q3Q1fn8BYgkyMwH54mYTYgHIMCB-vdwAHEXIzDRUoGgvty0c3tt0Xj2o/s400/DSCF1029_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543972151489463442" /></a><br /><br />Yesterday's Thanksgiving came hot on the heels of one hell of a fall. The past few months have tested me in ways I never imagined possible, but they have also taught me more about priorities and friendship and the strength of my own character than I could have hoped to glean from less trying times. As I sat down to consider my many blessings yesterday - family, friends, this vintage Ferragamo sweater I snapped up for less than the price of a Whole Foods grocery run - I was reminded to be thankful for the eternal possibility of change. Be it a new hair color, a paradigm shift or simply a switch in your daily coffee order, sometimes a new you can help you feel more like your old self than ever. And like all the best things in life, it doesn't cost a penny.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCpAuER-c9zAwVJ5W9edGLiGgyVYGv0OftwictFliSYPpKvIYojryUJ9uDHsHVSqs0ww_o0d6lbS2rPYU7cSuuc-YkV4iDvk20rFoNA0EKRIC5d48XgRqEh68NNn74uTfy5rc1v6ygV0/s1600/DSCF1018_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCpAuER-c9zAwVJ5W9edGLiGgyVYGv0OftwictFliSYPpKvIYojryUJ9uDHsHVSqs0ww_o0d6lbS2rPYU7cSuuc-YkV4iDvk20rFoNA0EKRIC5d48XgRqEh68NNn74uTfy5rc1v6ygV0/s400/DSCF1018_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543972728248128274" /></a><br /><br />Sweater: Salvatore Ferragamo.<br />Dress: I Love H81.<br />Tights: L'Eggs.<br />Shoes: Zara.<br />Headband: Aldo.<br />Earrings: H&M.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-40212489418302974552010-11-17T23:45:00.000-06:002010-11-17T23:46:46.999-06:00Find your center.OMFG WHAT I HAVE A BLOG?! Yeah, sorry about that. High time I stopped living my life and got back to writing about it instead. Rude of me. Won't happen again.<br /><br />Today I felt like Moses. Wanna know why?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDagSkUK6DcbXi83rz8uJIfRMXemVX6rhvP0vKeiZXAC16MWRS6TSAginzUg6lun2BxLes-zy4Z9WHsHRMDZMFslwiGIrSye7khBxIyLUZIMmR0NcbIVTrp8acs6XZBUvMEP_1ANyEqQ/s1600/MyPicture_7_2_2_2_2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDagSkUK6DcbXi83rz8uJIfRMXemVX6rhvP0vKeiZXAC16MWRS6TSAginzUg6lun2BxLes-zy4Z9WHsHRMDZMFslwiGIrSye7khBxIyLUZIMmR0NcbIVTrp8acs6XZBUvMEP_1ANyEqQ/s400/MyPicture_7_2_2_2_2_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540761713018148770" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0AS3SV3juiQhVRNJrlcM31hCO7Ynn2zOSNsCF6KqT7Wi19vlWParPpS2BtMhtLmLr5OPMVtLwLkfFo8jBVde6RsS47uMh9IfsY8wEs5TfgAWmQSJzSe_GgU7sAuk6XiPDHR90FDrhak/s1600/MyPicture_13_2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0AS3SV3juiQhVRNJrlcM31hCO7Ynn2zOSNsCF6KqT7Wi19vlWParPpS2BtMhtLmLr5OPMVtLwLkfFo8jBVde6RsS47uMh9IfsY8wEs5TfgAWmQSJzSe_GgU7sAuk6XiPDHR90FDrhak/s400/MyPicture_13_2_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540761830547474114" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2ErZHf7fBK9eXCZ4sZ1ce4ZMpPuTNKKXAL9MpKJOU09TPy51W02I7ClVEgS4Y52Vsz5ZqxS0YmFdhH3E4-tKN9aXmapPbMtkHpCjwmhYNuGzGn4zQVFt4VDRnvY3uFntS-2HriIua7s/s1600/MyPicture_7_2_2_2_2_2_2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2ErZHf7fBK9eXCZ4sZ1ce4ZMpPuTNKKXAL9MpKJOU09TPy51W02I7ClVEgS4Y52Vsz5ZqxS0YmFdhH3E4-tKN9aXmapPbMtkHpCjwmhYNuGzGn4zQVFt4VDRnvY3uFntS-2HriIua7s/s400/MyPicture_7_2_2_2_2_2_2_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540761945378366818" /></a><br /><br />Because I parted the red sea. Right. Down. The middle (that last part was meant to be said in a Lindsay-Lohan-circa-<i>Parent-Trap</i> voice, obvs. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mosNImz55MA">4:40</a>. Warning: You may be tempted to stop whatever you're doing to re-watch this entire movie and weep for Lindsay's career trajectory/general life choices. I support this decision).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCcOIt97_ZrzucvPVMagkmqc68jqqWLarbew6t3Q3gg5sZCLbw2lfTO2SxddlrGxliHekJx4KkSEC8spv28zdGfH_DjTKcy81SQxL4JfxMGZ52K7YYV2taE20E6NME_wkDbEonIvOquc/s1600/serena-van-der-woodsen-pic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCcOIt97_ZrzucvPVMagkmqc68jqqWLarbew6t3Q3gg5sZCLbw2lfTO2SxddlrGxliHekJx4KkSEC8spv28zdGfH_DjTKcy81SQxL4JfxMGZ52K7YYV2taE20E6NME_wkDbEonIvOquc/s400/serena-van-der-woodsen-pic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537419812659496674" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVwPONMzp2LhGgrsNGy_f0-cYmIGALl4vhbTba7EKFMksFZC9BykW6f69hviltoaxK1oKNixXM39r85hanko86UqlZx3VOLTsxWNQI8SnJMlhykSXoPvJSpNtmXI1gNUfnKPSC0HoJwc/s1600/Whitney%252BPort%252BOut%252BLunch%252BNew%252BYork%252BCity%252BpU2ZinE2QIEl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVwPONMzp2LhGgrsNGy_f0-cYmIGALl4vhbTba7EKFMksFZC9BykW6f69hviltoaxK1oKNixXM39r85hanko86UqlZx3VOLTsxWNQI8SnJMlhykSXoPvJSpNtmXI1gNUfnKPSC0HoJwc/s400/Whitney%252BPort%252BOut%252BLunch%252BNew%252BYork%252BCity%252BpU2ZinE2QIEl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537420113570414178" /></a><br /><br />People are quick to pin the blame for middle parts on <i>Gossip Girl</i>, but for me, the clincher was <i>The City</i> (New York, what do you have to say for yourself?). Serena van der Woodsen's bouncy golden locks may have lit the spark, but Whitney Port's long, face-framing waves escalated it to SoCal forest fire levels (let the record show that I am making this insensitive pun at a time when there are no actual forest fires in Southern California).<br /><br />Whit wasn't the only <i>City</i> cast member to make me swoon over symmetry.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCa2T9USbt5lknJUkcAoqTfo81KDYRM379UvxowRD2Hx4pGEjmKcGc4V_YmcYtjAJQ-TyZ0pHPGIDVAq8GmJh8ntYhltNyi4vESbMg5eUqCvQTr6BKezpdfIBoXUDKm5IbyZsbfdzPQrk/s1600/olivia_palermo_disappearing_before_our_eyes2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCa2T9USbt5lknJUkcAoqTfo81KDYRM379UvxowRD2Hx4pGEjmKcGc4V_YmcYtjAJQ-TyZ0pHPGIDVAq8GmJh8ntYhltNyi4vESbMg5eUqCvQTr6BKezpdfIBoXUDKm5IbyZsbfdzPQrk/s400/olivia_palermo_disappearing_before_our_eyes2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537419194991480562" /></a><br /><br />I'm a tad bit obsessed with The Liv. Her whole entitled-uptown-bitch act totally makes me hard in a girl-crushin', wanna-be-ya kind of way (not that I would ever speak to any senior co-worker the way she does to Erin Kaplan. Or any subordinate co-worker, for that matter. Oh, hi future employers!). What can I say? I'm gay for a fierce strut and a well-honed bitchface. Olivia may be utterly useless in her fake job at <i>Elle</i>, but her hair is certainly fodder for some maj middle part inspiration. Or at least the purchase of a wide-barreled curling iron. Excuse me, I have to go practice my jaw clench in the mirror now.<br /><br />For anyone who, like me, struggles with a widow's peak and an obnoxious cowlick that makes it all but impossible to make bangs lie flat, the middle part is a godsend. There's no better way to instantly smooth a rebellious hairline. I'm also way into the boho '70s thing right now, which pairs perfectly with a center part and long, loose waves (see: Hudson, Kate).<br /><br />The catch? While a side part draws attention to your eyes, a middle part brings the focus right. Down. The middle (to your nose). Not something I'm particularly excited about. Not something many of us are particularly excited about, I would imagine. Even if you don't have a well-seasoned beef with your schnozz, it's likely that, if given the choice, you'd sooner showcase your peepers. A strong brow and some liquid liner can help offset the effects, but it's hard to commit to starting off your beauty regime climbing uphill.<br /><br />So do we sacrifice the close-up for the sake of the overall silhouette? Unless you're a rare beauty with a tiny, perfect sniffer, it would seem these are our options. Exhibit Z bearing witness to why life just isn't fair. If if makes you feel any better, it wasn't any more fair at the birth of Venus, either.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyMNbWfa6C86Im88_MVc2VHlRNDNUoPHvXTVC7e9N3MJ7jgZV8b-78A6W5LieFiKevBLS49Mm2XqJ9cxnB2LNt9yLNhNXJTwoz-IjB1odg7kyF_gvFZBSvsrfe2nkVwbtoSd0-i5eJ7U/s1600/4128720726_65b28802b7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyMNbWfa6C86Im88_MVc2VHlRNDNUoPHvXTVC7e9N3MJ7jgZV8b-78A6W5LieFiKevBLS49Mm2XqJ9cxnB2LNt9yLNhNXJTwoz-IjB1odg7kyF_gvFZBSvsrfe2nkVwbtoSd0-i5eJ7U/s400/4128720726_65b28802b7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537408801803582898" /></a><br /><br />Really, Botticelli? Goddess of beauty? Even the mighty Aphrodite is struggling to pull off this look, so don't be disheartened if your mortal strands aren't up to the task. Think of it as a system of checks and balances put into place so that your beauty doesn't become too overpowering. Or something. Then choose wisely as to which days you're willing to sacrifice your face for your hair. And if you're Olivia Palermo, just keep doin' whatchu do.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-48973845363030260712010-09-27T23:23:00.018-05:002010-11-21T20:24:26.390-06:00Greexican.My diet is about as Mediterranean as they come. On any given day, a survey of my fridge is likely to include Greek yogurt, feta cheese, olives, pita bread, Roman tuna salad, stuffed grape leaves and, most importantly, a wide array of hummus. Sun-dried tomato hummus? Check. Spinach and artichoke hummus? Check. Man-repelling garlic lovers' hummus? Unfortunate check. My hummus addiction is a running joke amongst my friends and roommates, due largely to the dip's inclusion as #112 on the all-too-real <a href="http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/2008/10/27/112-hummus/">Stuff White People Like</a>. This hummus fever came to a head in June, when I attended - wait for it - a <i>hummus release party</i> for my internship. Literally an event designed to celebrate chickpea puree. There was a string quartet and free-flowing white wine and many, many WASPs in business casual attire. It was the whitest thing I have ever been a part of, and I have been to several Northwestern sporting events. <br /><br />As a former member of the James Madison High School step team (yep) (that happened) (ah, memories), I can no longer allow the tantalizing draw of tahini to interfere with my street cred. Pro-chickpea though I am, I have been known to cheat on my beloved with that other notoriously faux-healthy (well, healthy in small doses), quasi-ethnic dipping sauce: guacamole. Guac can serve as a respectable replacement in both dressing up boring veggies and adding satiety to empty carbohydrate calories. But how to reconcile this new dietary direction with my need to ensure that my veins are pumping at least 50% olive oil at all times?<br /><br /><center><b>Holy Greekamole!</b></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjOs7AmRDNik5pfIGA3vdhK7zsdlXge0GweAiwKZgHgNnB728a9tFXsnCqfe1scHDZbWR3HHT5vAf1gfs0jA0RY_Y43j6Up3G-AuxSdrzN3RHBcklNm6lY0p0kLgDrnN6CYAwtDH9yfoU/s1600/DSCF1020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjOs7AmRDNik5pfIGA3vdhK7zsdlXge0GweAiwKZgHgNnB728a9tFXsnCqfe1scHDZbWR3HHT5vAf1gfs0jA0RY_Y43j6Up3G-AuxSdrzN3RHBcklNm6lY0p0kLgDrnN6CYAwtDH9yfoU/s400/DSCF1020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521838410365013730" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRzsqqsHhnLXmM76i5zCfXz0UayWN2Q9hDUdJaiGV8hpc-rwc7UBTXZTXtPAH1SJb7MnE-i96yxM_a4sU_WyD6CB3qycoFtdbw_7pwHDG7R5znnMtRWyyuQRIbVcbeMfUxm1zVzZVgNM/s1600/DSCF1042.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRzsqqsHhnLXmM76i5zCfXz0UayWN2Q9hDUdJaiGV8hpc-rwc7UBTXZTXtPAH1SJb7MnE-i96yxM_a4sU_WyD6CB3qycoFtdbw_7pwHDG7R5znnMtRWyyuQRIbVcbeMfUxm1zVzZVgNM/s400/DSCF1042.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521838571712758482" /></a><br /><br /><center>(Not as photogenic as the <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/09/kitchens-arent-just-for-making-messes.html">cake truffles</a>.)</center><br /><br /><i>1 avocado, halved<br />1/4 cup fresh tomato, seeded and diced<br />1/4 cup red onion, chopped<br />5 kalamata olives, pitted and diced<br />5 large pepperoncini, seeded and diced (these are kind of emotional, so have a sharp knife at the ready)<br />Half a lemon<br />Salt<br />Pepper<br /><br />1. Mash avocado in a bowl with a fork.<br />2. Add tomato, onion, olives and pepperoncini.<br />3. Squeeze the lemon over top (very important! Keeps the avocado from browning too quickly) and season with salt and pepper to taste (but remember that olives are salty/pepperoncini are spicy and restrain yourself accordingly). Makes about 3-4 servings. Double the recipe for a trendy fusion party snack.</i><br /><br />Opa! Olé! Eyeball the mix-ins and alter the amounts to suit your preference. My recipe makes for a very chunky, tomato-and-onion-heavy guacamole, which I prefer both for texture's sake and to limit the healthy fat in the avocado per serving. I enjoyed a scoop over romaine for lunch today, with a generous sprinkle of feta on top (I considered adding feta to the guac itself, but was worried about how it would keep).<br /><br />But don't forget the best part of the salad:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVjRqd-nAjd_2T0NE8xkWRAMNgEtZUbxuupsqEPQXytDvfW2PaNiFr2mqZSPVmpxeyQisYtmnCdq933PyLB2YUxCsdBZXQ-nPy_EUCIyim4JcGPZbzAq6UUncuKfZgeQA-_dMP7VFZ64/s1600/DSCF1065.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVjRqd-nAjd_2T0NE8xkWRAMNgEtZUbxuupsqEPQXytDvfW2PaNiFr2mqZSPVmpxeyQisYtmnCdq933PyLB2YUxCsdBZXQ-nPy_EUCIyim4JcGPZbzAq6UUncuKfZgeQA-_dMP7VFZ64/s400/DSCF1065.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521838758382946178" /></a><br /><br />Mmm! Tiny, tasty ladybugs in my lettuce leaves. Thanks for that one, Whole Foods. At least I can say with 100% certainty that that romaine was pesticide-free.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-3532155191165092632010-09-26T12:03:00.021-05:002011-01-24T19:16:04.476-06:00Orange you glad it's fall?Okay. I get it. You're sick of my nude bandage booties. I have heard your cries, and I have responded by purchasing:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuxfzkSk75uk8dMuQXE5eVMVVg59DPB4Y6H7QWrtrWD1k5FCjVvmGe5GNsJjKq8z62LRhBSE_IKr35zVUQ7lRd-aTdK2fPCdAZDDUcKlclMG-4qTezAMyKvhwUrscXzREDUe1yoGKPqM/s1600/DSCF1037.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuxfzkSk75uk8dMuQXE5eVMVVg59DPB4Y6H7QWrtrWD1k5FCjVvmGe5GNsJjKq8z62LRhBSE_IKr35zVUQ7lRd-aTdK2fPCdAZDDUcKlclMG-4qTezAMyKvhwUrscXzREDUe1yoGKPqM/s400/DSCF1037.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521283545692254162" /></a><br /><br />A practical pair of knee-high orange suede moccasins. One of the perks of working at a resale store? First dibs on every outrageously cool item that rolls through the door (plus a discount on prices that are already way below sea level).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAznPHat4LIlKEcTOJ0BRrUgonCYe7hMvcxGKIrRBuE_F5frR7rABHfKlYAnhyclcvzErfTQ-da39DOE9nJZ4_4qw_jRxU83pke2cHfPDU40t15PdHZK9XmyV4svuuek7r81xS7x4wXDE/s1600/DSCF1030_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAznPHat4LIlKEcTOJ0BRrUgonCYe7hMvcxGKIrRBuE_F5frR7rABHfKlYAnhyclcvzErfTQ-da39DOE9nJZ4_4qw_jRxU83pke2cHfPDU40t15PdHZK9XmyV4svuuek7r81xS7x4wXDE/s400/DSCF1030_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521443730698562338" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sLcgOzdKiz9JTrwIttxuu8gIrD8udYB2G1TZcA8vJH1MkrHh9_mzOjKRjy4koN9KJ0mE9XfWx878mp1Xwiw2fDPDoAMa2vV0EcSEd4k-9cQn0K8etU6VLDOllbl0TeilXO4sDsmfCk4/s1600/DSCF1010.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sLcgOzdKiz9JTrwIttxuu8gIrD8udYB2G1TZcA8vJH1MkrHh9_mzOjKRjy4koN9KJ0mE9XfWx878mp1Xwiw2fDPDoAMa2vV0EcSEd4k-9cQn0K8etU6VLDOllbl0TeilXO4sDsmfCk4/s400/DSCF1010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521284734603287282" /></a><br /><br />The neutral parade from last spring and summer marches on, as does my infatuation with henleys. It's like <i>Animal Farm</i> up in here: yes buttons good, no buttons bad. The chiffon side stripe and neck trim on this one had me at hello. Also, bike shorts are a thing now, but I'd recommend performing my <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/01/just-pulling-your-leg.html">leggings test</a> before wearing them out of the house. I was going to say "taking them out for a spin," but here, the opposite is true; if you don't pass the leggings test, you should <i>only</i> take bike shorts out for a <i>literal spin</i>. As in spin class.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Aw43ZmFpv8E5OL96h5mI29Kg7Orwzunk6xexVOFT1mQViVWKZa88chL6XzjdnvchEsTqHpLONcjn8VdB8xf_x8N87oqQPXeSIFmaHwSyc2wvaLpYG53Wy1wUrkVrxBpi9n3agqtyrKY/s1600/DSCF1074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Aw43ZmFpv8E5OL96h5mI29Kg7Orwzunk6xexVOFT1mQViVWKZa88chL6XzjdnvchEsTqHpLONcjn8VdB8xf_x8N87oqQPXeSIFmaHwSyc2wvaLpYG53Wy1wUrkVrxBpi9n3agqtyrKY/s400/DSCF1074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521284917010683314" /></a><br /><br />I prefer to spice up a blandly hued ensemble with some kind of a statement in the accessories department, be it a pair of out-there footwear or a tangle of bangles. In this case, I went for both. No watch (shocker!), but I did include a "coins of the world" bracelet that functions about the same as wearing jingle bells. No surprise tickle attacks for me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dKWqSmc6ED5h04Xw8109LfARyUGk-nTBVC5jbIiWQwWWUTSZEJxs37sicuB6SMZn6RHOLJ_kB23qGSvSUBrNWS1MXorIkOJYcYiIir8n_6vEG2UJtevdQKTrsUbvlOo9koxs-b3vyjU/s1600/DSCF1066.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dKWqSmc6ED5h04Xw8109LfARyUGk-nTBVC5jbIiWQwWWUTSZEJxs37sicuB6SMZn6RHOLJ_kB23qGSvSUBrNWS1MXorIkOJYcYiIir8n_6vEG2UJtevdQKTrsUbvlOo9koxs-b3vyjU/s400/DSCF1066.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521285307046790226" /></a><br /><br />Shirt: Jpark.<br />Shorts: Sketchy whore store in Astoria, Queens.<br />Boots: Minnetonka.<br />Earrings, rings, cuff and bracelets: Gifted or inherited.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-69042487727222250662010-09-16T09:43:00.006-05:002010-09-22T22:21:18.259-05:00Modeling debut.This one time, at band camp/in the Condé Nast digital studios, I didn't have to set my camera timer and sprint into a cheesecakey pose. There was a real live photographer. And a makeup artist hired to make me look like I was wearing no makeup.<br /><br /><a href="http://makeover.self.com/">Yow.</a><br /><br />I think I look particularly fetching with a Carrie Underwood flip and bright orange lipstick. But hey, that's just me.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-10982576905211974542010-09-13T19:20:00.021-05:002010-10-01T17:02:17.499-05:00Light coverage.I feel like Taio Cruz and I would really hit it off, because I, too, throw my hands up in the air sometimes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7DHrG8dDIoU03igsyB1HqrkMypcwgtEB7U-Q1yhyphenhyphen-yNoLQDOknEBagk-rc-zYq1JnizczQqpxiQkYpzLLXLqwy1tTel-ybcXiseIj_uziwF6FJZXl3mLQWo6_-I_6R1t2rK36f-Wbzw/s1600/DSCF1074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7DHrG8dDIoU03igsyB1HqrkMypcwgtEB7U-Q1yhyphenhyphen-yNoLQDOknEBagk-rc-zYq1JnizczQqpxiQkYpzLLXLqwy1tTel-ybcXiseIj_uziwF6FJZXl3mLQWo6_-I_6R1t2rK36f-Wbzw/s400/DSCF1074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516558441937673522" /></a><br /><br />Presumably unlike Taio, I also attack my hair with craft scissors sometimes. I think my bangs look better a little shorter than most professional hairdressers are willing to believe, so I do minor touch-ups on my own. Fortunately, this trim went largely according to plan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_MSYnFtTk2u_K-ubmevp0gFo9OZaXxr5-eneTyhmy3XkzOX084hBEv0lBypdyJrRuK1nSmFEMzzE30DiiBL-Ssk-RvkuHIAEVPm_yn-y0iEPrBN5IyqMwPyxV3378Bq1d7vCVxgUGf8/s1600/DSCF1058.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_MSYnFtTk2u_K-ubmevp0gFo9OZaXxr5-eneTyhmy3XkzOX084hBEv0lBypdyJrRuK1nSmFEMzzE30DiiBL-Ssk-RvkuHIAEVPm_yn-y0iEPrBN5IyqMwPyxV3378Bq1d7vCVxgUGf8/s400/DSCF1058.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516570620854928994" /></a><br /><br />Leopard ring with a zebra shirt. Mixed animal prints is one of my favorite runway takeaways of the past year or so. The texture on this tank also makes the fact that it's basically see-through far less intimidating.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmH9XV4jGI7dFV7lI5kb6xrXpZt2SpIQ0NUeP0ePwr-bvUmdlJDPTid6-hL5DM3Fwry3DuLe7QTRxbno5sg48tP0a_cS0lv_ufUJNdzxlEUCGCVGgrUg162COecIxheczCxFle7CjzIc/s1600/DSCF1105.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmH9XV4jGI7dFV7lI5kb6xrXpZt2SpIQ0NUeP0ePwr-bvUmdlJDPTid6-hL5DM3Fwry3DuLe7QTRxbno5sg48tP0a_cS0lv_ufUJNdzxlEUCGCVGgrUg162COecIxheczCxFle7CjzIc/s400/DSCF1105.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516559393520626578" /></a><br /><br />I already sang the praises of sheers in my <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/08/youre-so-transparent.html">Wang sweatshirt diatribe</a>, and I think this outfit evidences my theory that semi-transparency is an excellent trend for those of us in the shapely-but-not-skinny club. If you disagree, I'm sorry to have offended your eyes. I also apologize for my highly primitive decor at the moment; I just moved into a new apartment a few days ago and furniture is about as far as I've gotten. Stay tuned for the surely epic transformation.<br /><br />Shirt: Rock Revolution.<br />Bra: Jezebel.<br />Leggings: American Apparel.<br />Shoes: Deena & Ozzy.<br />Watch: Timex.<br />Ring: Street vendor in Astoria, Queens.<br />Earrings and necklace: Inherited.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-86304619329391318462010-09-10T08:42:00.019-05:002010-10-12T11:45:44.197-05:00Kitchens aren't just for making messes.I've always relished being a sort of anti-domestic diva. I blame <i>Sex and the City</i>. There's a charm to the way Carrie Bradshaw squeals, "I keep sweaters in my stove!" (on second thought, what? That bitch has a closet the size of Texas) that I assumed would carry over to my crippling inability to so much as microwave popcorn. I approached my culinary ineptitude with as much conviction as I could muster, happily spouting tales of botched grilled cheeses and refusing to pay serious attention when I was forced to help out in the kitchen at home.<br /><br />Well, turns out there's something more charming than keeping sweaters in your stove: being able to whip up delicious food for yourself and others. It was like a switch flipped overnight. I woke up one morning this summer and decided I felt like scrambled eggs for breakfast. I eHow-ed "how to cook scrambled eggs." I threw in some feta and rosemary. Surprisingly tasty! And ready in minutes! I felt invincible. The world was my oyster. Hate oysters. The world was my cupcake. I made myself pancakes for dinner that night (breakfast foods are a gateway drug). I was hooked.<br /><br />Since I'm incapable of doing anything halfway, I've since expanded my repertoire to include everything from starters to salads to sweets. I'm a much better dessert chef than savory chef - I do better with the precision of baking than the more instinctual nature of cooking - but all things considered, my kitchen experimentation has been pretty darn successful (and thoroughly enjoyable to boot). I get much more excited about quirky flavor combos and aesthetically pleasing pastries than I do about honing a gourmet-level palate, so don't expect anything too refined, but I thought it might be fun to start posting a few <i>La Vie en Recipes</i> for my non-lethal creations.<br /><br /><center><b>Matchmaker Truffles (Where Cake Meets Candy)</b></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN4zCLb9lHlEeYKIr-VLErbCX9xZMPW1K5i5Y9sLt7gibbzM0sgwh_Qdac2Jlwn2PgBQrY2KzVaaZDbYR8HMQ4oL7CtQtg8IMkxvoMdIjeJJ6ylT26mbz8C3vaWknhh_pOH0QzGLiz-U/s1600/DSCF1037.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN4zCLb9lHlEeYKIr-VLErbCX9xZMPW1K5i5Y9sLt7gibbzM0sgwh_Qdac2Jlwn2PgBQrY2KzVaaZDbYR8HMQ4oL7CtQtg8IMkxvoMdIjeJJ6ylT26mbz8C3vaWknhh_pOH0QzGLiz-U/s400/DSCF1037.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515327200959599666" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Jj9NEEBdOA7KIT3ePArN8tBi4jxsUuTqaPt7wN9LS1lbop2Q4LvHAgtwfPrkLCBE0dlIns34vsr8ZgTF0-MFGotexWVhRMlGOkotyqfhlky95vAd6f2ZKiGttFw67BJuTkQ_04n2I68/s1600/DSCF1015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Jj9NEEBdOA7KIT3ePArN8tBi4jxsUuTqaPt7wN9LS1lbop2Q4LvHAgtwfPrkLCBE0dlIns34vsr8ZgTF0-MFGotexWVhRMlGOkotyqfhlky95vAd6f2ZKiGttFw67BJuTkQ_04n2I68/s400/DSCF1015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515327375960843618" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBRBPvL76K9ov9UvEdqBrNPzGP-oNwvrVaQUtTDGewudEzycSfikJLona0lWhmw48Ih3AdHULqSLXtB-nbxnW8PoyhfOzgZ89Un4ACE71ARnKwDhMzg4pzgVWwuKcUqyGadR-awTiji0/s1600/DSCF1034.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBRBPvL76K9ov9UvEdqBrNPzGP-oNwvrVaQUtTDGewudEzycSfikJLona0lWhmw48Ih3AdHULqSLXtB-nbxnW8PoyhfOzgZ89Un4ACE71ARnKwDhMzg4pzgVWwuKcUqyGadR-awTiji0/s400/DSCF1034.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515327583512487890" /></a><br /><br /><center>Warning: These are incredibly rich. They're almost too much for me, and I have, like, the sweetest sweet tooth that ever sweeted. Enjoy in small doses.</center><br /><br /><i>1 box cake mix (any flavor) and whatever ingredients it calls for (usually oil and eggs)<br />1 jar store-bought frosting (again, flavor of your choice)<br />1 package semisweet baking morsels or confectioner's coating<br />Sprinkles<br /><br />1. Bake cake as directed. Allow to cool for 30 minutes.<br />2. Crumble warm cake into a large mixing bowl, being sure to discard any well-done edges. Mash in jar of frosting. Mix until consistent (you can use a hand mixer or go old-school with a fork). Cover and refrigerate cake/frosting "dough" for at least three hours (or overnight).<br />3. Roll into bite-size balls, handling as quickly as possible. Freeze for at least an hour.<br />4. Melt semisweet baking morsels or confectioner's coating on stove or in microwave (see package or Google for directions). Using a toothpick, roll balls in molten coating for as short a time as possible (while still covering completely) and place on wax paper. Sprinkle immediately (one by one), as coating will harden fast. Makes about six dozen. Store in freezer.</i><br /><br />Mine are funfetti cake with vanilla frosting and they are wickedly scrumptious little sugar bombs. Next up: red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting in white chocolate. I've also caught wind of an alcoholic version that substitutes Bailey's Irish Cream for frosting. That might have to happen for this year's holiday parties. Just saying.<br /><br />Your melted chocolate or confectioner's coating will start to get pretty gross after about three dozen, so you might want to do a couple of batches. Unless you want cake truffles that look like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DbZ8S9ziDHxWDEClb5EuvBxVc_Xa06FRhgGxqPoLPsIbAD2T3Ln0NZg6vOuPo7X_j8ieI6-Gmg2ZydzxmOQFs1maFVIQft9H0hEEztv3ibj-C5Ie3PixlS1P0tzwp37cjE4xrEC6xTQ/s1600/DSCF1027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DbZ8S9ziDHxWDEClb5EuvBxVc_Xa06FRhgGxqPoLPsIbAD2T3Ln0NZg6vOuPo7X_j8ieI6-Gmg2ZydzxmOQFs1maFVIQft9H0hEEztv3ibj-C5Ie3PixlS1P0tzwp37cjE4xrEC6xTQ/s400/DSCF1027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515327780463682386" /></a><br /><br />Instead of this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdmNykNaHGw7FT4t7w3SHiFjaEY1ggZQBuT4Zf_sf5gGAdyZu_eTnxhd4fsniI7q-TagBUmQNZtOgLKu14YjANbDnUe6Vgz07yaWvxbLnnBtXxQwuQjNIe-uDbeDEaLrHwG525Hyu3iMI/s1600/DSCF1030.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdmNykNaHGw7FT4t7w3SHiFjaEY1ggZQBuT4Zf_sf5gGAdyZu_eTnxhd4fsniI7q-TagBUmQNZtOgLKu14YjANbDnUe6Vgz07yaWvxbLnnBtXxQwuQjNIe-uDbeDEaLrHwG525Hyu3iMI/s400/DSCF1030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515327937078790162" /></a><br /><br />Equally yummy, but not nearly as giftable. And trust me...you won't want to eat all six dozen of these yourself.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-42937352379659577272010-09-09T22:03:00.000-05:002010-09-10T15:14:46.462-05:00Squared away.Ah, Times Square: feared by natives, revered by tourists, thoroughly indescribable to anyone who has never experienced the madness. After spending five days a week in New York's legendary hub of overpriced sandwiches and overzealous humans wearing cardboard sandwiches (I'm going to make a t-shirt that says "I hate stand-up comedy" on one side and "bus tours are for quadriplegics" on the other), I've mastered the navigational tips that any NFT pamphlet will eagerly regale. But far above the impromptu subway concerts and the student rush lines towers a sleek skyscraper that challenges the carb-gobbling, sneaker-wearing culture of the area in which it stands. It is the Condé Nast building: home of <i>Vogue</i> and countless other internationally respected publications, and home of me for the last ten weeks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SsBLLAT47bno7zQzSGR7GheabQCqWMbx6vcH-RFZyp_7V0_2hHRx3U-tPlT1YiGIujcFQ1AlvSJj5T1IRKiQxj9Omjj5oISZPDjIGfKH7fSuUa00K9muik0HNr_eTt44JdedKXGEMho/s1600/DSCF1029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SsBLLAT47bno7zQzSGR7GheabQCqWMbx6vcH-RFZyp_7V0_2hHRx3U-tPlT1YiGIujcFQ1AlvSJj5T1IRKiQxj9Omjj5oISZPDjIGfKH7fSuUa00K9muik0HNr_eTt44JdedKXGEMho/s400/DSCF1029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510279448622016802" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhywJ2Kvs7mIS1H6ZWrC0A4lsu29G0NC_YpLNZhxE86MZW2B1496oiLjFCQbQz6z3HQwzYsQ0uNzgHuEC26FZfBOC_wTCMc3QB9Y-afu0IGaiLUrYjZnRBVf0ESuIM1koisQqLm2gNvEiQ/s1600/DSCF1031.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhywJ2Kvs7mIS1H6ZWrC0A4lsu29G0NC_YpLNZhxE86MZW2B1496oiLjFCQbQz6z3HQwzYsQ0uNzgHuEC26FZfBOC_wTCMc3QB9Y-afu0IGaiLUrYjZnRBVf0ESuIM1koisQqLm2gNvEiQ/s400/DSCF1031.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510279766045630850" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdm63jaFF482ipZUnWhisDssgNG0zAHwnUSGSz68c_xhKiB6sL2rIs3C5RqHhX9E9O_wYg7T87SauIKziHFHDK-qRJdc-eLr46qO8oqWPDLj-tCFvq3hdiwv6_PCBwx6FHEqcZbj3W3g/s1600/DSCF1036.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdm63jaFF482ipZUnWhisDssgNG0zAHwnUSGSz68c_xhKiB6sL2rIs3C5RqHhX9E9O_wYg7T87SauIKziHFHDK-qRJdc-eLr46qO8oqWPDLj-tCFvq3hdiwv6_PCBwx6FHEqcZbj3W3g/s400/DSCF1036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510280177666489746" /></a><br /><br />(Embarrassing that I took these photos. In my defense, I did it before I was an employee.)<br /><br />You've seen <i>Ugly Betty</i> and <i>The Devil Wears Prada</i>. You've heard urban myths of what goes on beyond the high-security turnstiles. And to be honest, Nasties are a lot like their fictional counterparts: a slender, well-dressed, workaholic bunch who have cultivated the kind of attitude that allows them to hold their own in a highly competitive and (to an extent) superficial industry like magazine journalism. Personally, I love it. I thrive on it. It's the pinnacle of New York's survival-of-the-fittest mentality; you don't come to this city expecting (or even wanting) to be coddled.<br /><br />What Condé Nast employees aren't: soulless airheads only interested in prying their skim lattes from your quivering, worshipful fingers. These women (mostly) are ambitious, yes, but they are also fiercely intelligent and generous toward those who are willing to work hard. Sure, I did my share of prime time-worthy bitchwork (I'm too scared to post stories here, but ask me if you're curious. There are some <i>winners</i>), but I've always understood that you have to pay your dues when you're first starting out. And at Condé Nast, those dues come with some pretty sweet perks: fancy parties, free haircuts (with Bobbi Brown and Salma Hayek's stylist, no big deal), free food, free gym memberships, free reign on the beauty closet. Oh, and I guess, like, knowledge, or something. I got more out of the experience than I could have possibly imagined, and probably realize even now. <br /><br />I chose to intern at a lifestyle magazine rather than a fashion magazine this summer, which was, quite honestly, the best decision I could have made. I enjoy fashion (I mean, kind of) (whatever) (wink, wink), but I've often questioned whether or not I could be satisfied by it as a career. After all, even this blog, which I suppose would be most accurately billed as a "fashion blog," is framed by my personal life and very much a product of my agenda. Writing for a magazine - adopting their voice, targeting their audience, pleasing their advertisers, adhering strictly to their views and purposes - is a whole different animal. It involves another set of skills that I'm equally interested in developing, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the glib, cyclical, business-oriented aspects of fashion journalism would drive me crazy after a while. Anyway, I'm not ruling it out, but I wanted to understand how the editorial process applies to other departments: fitness, nutrition, beauty, health, entertainment, sex. Fortunately, my internship confirmed my suspicions that writing is my first love. I'll be able to dress how I want no matter what I do; finding a way to make a living off of words is my first priority.<br /><br />Anyway, I'm sure this is all very fascinating. My original plan for this post was to provide the dish on the "uniform" of each of Condé's magazines, a categorical distinction I gradually picked up on through stealthy observation of who pressed which buttons on the elevators. But here's the SparkNotes: <i>Vogue</i> girls do not wear skirts. They wear pants. Only pants. All pants, all the time. It's Pantsville. It's a veritable pants party. Preferably cropped. Sometimes pleated. But always of the pants-y variety.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ArN5v-dkHIjHPjVkOIe1sezJpo-7iA1hg-EWXACDWCadTzVkeAYHRvQlcrG6cV31QTu2_aK6HOuSHJTb9mZMDnC41Uv1K-kGWcKY_Oi15IoRDpx9hidIR5kNz_v_iV4jdNMHTcq63I/s1600/DSCF1017.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ArN5v-dkHIjHPjVkOIe1sezJpo-7iA1hg-EWXACDWCadTzVkeAYHRvQlcrG6cV31QTu2_aK6HOuSHJTb9mZMDnC41Uv1K-kGWcKY_Oi15IoRDpx9hidIR5kNz_v_iV4jdNMHTcq63I/s400/DSCF1017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515159317735262418" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFlEY-qaRa-6PplLf53-yowpvZwJ-M1o_mG7QBilnW9ykNycTmQpa9lfetifs8uhcaGWxpDBbpfOSZs9QD0TztAUwY8Ji2ulM0yeeQ3hQKo3bM7JDMUCe0liPXOi-ZUsOp2beyt9d8vo/s1600/DSCF1028.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFlEY-qaRa-6PplLf53-yowpvZwJ-M1o_mG7QBilnW9ykNycTmQpa9lfetifs8uhcaGWxpDBbpfOSZs9QD0TztAUwY8Ji2ulM0yeeQ3hQKo3bM7JDMUCe0liPXOi-ZUsOp2beyt9d8vo/s400/DSCF1028.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515336110261272882" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDitAI7toeyl4DODcPDWZ8u7V7M_j5-eYyx6ftDLgoGuLssIEPm2QbppV1UzS6nI95PlcZ_pE4ZgZqFXvW8EOZL70ifcEc4ywRM4Ib_jQ-OFlJ-f32s-TZWdl896s_PBu9aOA6OiPa2jw/s1600/DSCF1023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDitAI7toeyl4DODcPDWZ8u7V7M_j5-eYyx6ftDLgoGuLssIEPm2QbppV1UzS6nI95PlcZ_pE4ZgZqFXvW8EOZL70ifcEc4ywRM4Ib_jQ-OFlJ-f32s-TZWdl896s_PBu9aOA6OiPa2jw/s400/DSCF1023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515155025743849538" /></a><br /><br />I may be back in Evanston, Illinois (Chicago, let's go with Chicago), but I'm doing my best to bring a little <i>Vogue</i> to the Midwest. I used to abhor pants with every fiber of my being, but what can I say? They've grown on me. I love the laid-back flavor these green wool trousers bring to this crazy, shoulder-pad-inclusive floral bolero, which was a thrift store find in my even more obscure hometown of Vienna, Virginia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7t5rcpmmiTmetPPgFx1I1CXZuYb4QSSc7BbukAVGJyHFjAwWorKGsD7E0eb5zblXRSzezmhlb_YE4cz9soDEoG9L-wdaU-QooAVP75ckL4n0fWUH_ajyUK9OvnZI_CKn_H8bG_yfj78o/s1600/DSCF1011_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7t5rcpmmiTmetPPgFx1I1CXZuYb4QSSc7BbukAVGJyHFjAwWorKGsD7E0eb5zblXRSzezmhlb_YE4cz9soDEoG9L-wdaU-QooAVP75ckL4n0fWUH_ajyUK9OvnZI_CKn_H8bG_yfj78o/s400/DSCF1011_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515155180455611890" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEpwEakOiCXrIgbmXtudG9Opy57lsusmsMt2VVU_Ixe3biKSTToEZChoXiocsuWP17SMXehOdd2Bba3UeyizKibGA7rNgwQdsvDpyCRxAhYsg5NkVVj_E7OmWN20mr2ni3Wg0QCaz2X2k/s1600/DSCF1053.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEpwEakOiCXrIgbmXtudG9Opy57lsusmsMt2VVU_Ixe3biKSTToEZChoXiocsuWP17SMXehOdd2Bba3UeyizKibGA7rNgwQdsvDpyCRxAhYsg5NkVVj_E7OmWN20mr2ni3Wg0QCaz2X2k/s400/DSCF1053.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515160365326018386" /></a><br /><br />This is how you know I'm an amateur fashion blogger. An expert would have made sure the clasp on her necklace was in back for the detail shot. Fail.<br /><br />Jacket: Thrifted.<br />Tank: American Apparel.<br />Pants: Vintage Lord & Taylor.<br />Purse: Oroton.<br />Belt: Thrifted.<br />Shoes: Thrifted.<br />Earrings, necklace and watch: Inherited.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-78787584668710704302010-08-26T10:06:00.021-05:002010-08-26T17:43:32.706-05:00Wine and (say) cheese.With all the clothes, shoes, purses and accessories we have at our disposal, it’s easy to forget that our hair and makeup say as much about our personal style as what we put on our bodies. Pop in your go-to chick flick from any given decade: ‘80s hair and (cringe) ‘90s lipliner are proof that cosmetic trends are as real as any others. It’s easy to fall into a routine with makeup – most days, I’m a rushed and uninspired concealer-brows-mascara kind of girl – but if your unpaid intern salary (ahem) won’t cover a new wardrobe, a cosmetic update can be a cost-effective way to make your existing one look fresh.<br /><br />I’ve been romancing red lips like Casanova this summer. They give the face a youthful boost and elevate even the most basic outfit to something cheeky and playful. But in light of the heavy fabrics and moody color palates that come with the soon-to-be-changing leaves (or just even to offset this years camels and nudes), I think it might be time to switch out my beloved MAC “Ruby Woo” for a color with a bit more…inner angst.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFyyrTsxcK3_QMDCXfhDRN2E_FrCAqdZoTVvyoclhYXviH3l9Jfr7fVHfOEcoYkksaTOdC0PMpz5aPJawZnS-Ap7g09MqYtoirGN2Rc8YabW_ljthtw15Z3i_Wuo48B0NUTFeRKepZAI/s1600/Picture+6.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFyyrTsxcK3_QMDCXfhDRN2E_FrCAqdZoTVvyoclhYXviH3l9Jfr7fVHfOEcoYkksaTOdC0PMpz5aPJawZnS-Ap7g09MqYtoirGN2Rc8YabW_ljthtw15Z3i_Wuo48B0NUTFeRKepZAI/s400/Picture+6.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509748980930893586" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAfOFS7YaPNnlZn73XLpvWZqXdKtQD4ZmQvzOYt2zC7TNjQEoyVt6yxaBTpEco9XErWvk9NHpWXx3-glxz4GgIR_ijHdvVYi7MWoWf4QbUmqTIH5chsYioB_IahmrRIoAXaEP8BISqHE/s1600/Picture+27.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAfOFS7YaPNnlZn73XLpvWZqXdKtQD4ZmQvzOYt2zC7TNjQEoyVt6yxaBTpEco9XErWvk9NHpWXx3-glxz4GgIR_ijHdvVYi7MWoWf4QbUmqTIH5chsYioB_IahmrRIoAXaEP8BISqHE/s400/Picture+27.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509749235736695378" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPSTsLOUYINqq_dAZBgUZTQJMlApJDOgbASSguFNOl1bo3E3nqnahnvWnZZsMmgzr4zg_5yPkeosP6M67SdSiiShjOy2SBt-soDeQjx1GVVY1aQY2WAUg5g_0KTIwNr58igl3CL_w0X5U/s1600/Picture+25.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPSTsLOUYINqq_dAZBgUZTQJMlApJDOgbASSguFNOl1bo3E3nqnahnvWnZZsMmgzr4zg_5yPkeosP6M67SdSiiShjOy2SBt-soDeQjx1GVVY1aQY2WAUg5g_0KTIwNr58igl3CL_w0X5U/s400/Picture+25.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509828483215473522" /></a><br /><br />I first fell in love with wine lips in Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro” music video. The vid’s no “Bad Romance” (no offense, Gags, love ya like a sister!), but isn’t the makeup lovely and unusual? A deep mahogany stain is the perfect complement to the pasty skin we’re all about to endure for the next nine months (or at least I am, because I refuse to walk around smelling like Jergens “Natural” Glow). I’d add a coat of mascara to avoid channeling Silas from <i>The Da Vinci Code</i>, but the subtle winged eyeliner on the last frame is an alluring way to take the undressed eye into nighttime.<br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-4dzp_9KXD78hNOsA50tUNkIUrkw0GE5y_q7GEqvOVIa4_L8iyiQ03KrQySSa46_LgX5Xso4LthsukViSQ8ZSWvDjoSyzQY6oGxJAZ64Arvh65agNmaonSbtkgbzOpH0YeyMREV7YjA/s1600/Picture+4.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-4dzp_9KXD78hNOsA50tUNkIUrkw0GE5y_q7GEqvOVIa4_L8iyiQ03KrQySSa46_LgX5Xso4LthsukViSQ8ZSWvDjoSyzQY6oGxJAZ64Arvh65agNmaonSbtkgbzOpH0YeyMREV7YjA/s400/Picture+4.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509828607809623154" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6m9d2fPMNguNlOD7q_mc0_y5byWEliq3yRg5Mgx3J5VnsAkEu05GOC_T8sM7QkcyXSMxG-fnU4IEitZRvEER6g2GEaBlYpiwyj0rD2f1xCd0l6c5azdD4nwGd3OXHCqPcFWSibZZXMag/s1600/Picture+9.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6m9d2fPMNguNlOD7q_mc0_y5byWEliq3yRg5Mgx3J5VnsAkEu05GOC_T8sM7QkcyXSMxG-fnU4IEitZRvEER6g2GEaBlYpiwyj0rD2f1xCd0l6c5azdD4nwGd3OXHCqPcFWSibZZXMag/s400/Picture+9.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509828724351979250" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHj_za69goVjpo8q8vkCBE6ndRmV1Ygpu4T8hPWysro7u-Lhk7OzeIML_QFBMOVAFR2HqyImVPHIxskuXO3SZRe2elqfjyzA9co_joVdQ5KboHHMSxcFRk0xgje3u_M7xb08JicBa1lKc/s1600/Picture+18.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHj_za69goVjpo8q8vkCBE6ndRmV1Ygpu4T8hPWysro7u-Lhk7OzeIML_QFBMOVAFR2HqyImVPHIxskuXO3SZRe2elqfjyzA9co_joVdQ5KboHHMSxcFRk0xgje3u_M7xb08JicBa1lKc/s400/Picture+18.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509828855506110322" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqrapn79KO7KapEDEvO5p_wGGqjuZOJ-9I7bzEkazV2n_nZd3fof41N-voy4CQijUE3yL2iELbcGvtXToQQPbO2q6Xg7iYlb1vAfpqx6OsZLVvbUtEEdnHvpA-18jQ9KFZHSsKJlP4VXU/s1600/becauseimaddicted_chanelbackstageee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqrapn79KO7KapEDEvO5p_wGGqjuZOJ-9I7bzEkazV2n_nZd3fof41N-voy4CQijUE3yL2iELbcGvtXToQQPbO2q6Xg7iYlb1vAfpqx6OsZLVvbUtEEdnHvpA-18jQ9KFZHSsKJlP4VXU/s400/becauseimaddicted_chanelbackstageee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509828980492233906" /></a><br /><br />Then the world went nuts over the bare eyes and bright lips in the latest Chanel couture show. The color is a little lighter than that debuted in “Alejandro,” but the overall composition (note the bedhead to balance out the more substantial makeup) is similar, enviable and entirely transferable to a sultry merlot or cabernet lip. Meanwhile, Abbey Lee Kershaw has successfully convinced me that blunt, shoulder-length bobs with bangs are where it’s at. I’m going to need a lot of people to remind me over the next month that I a) don’t have thick, straight hair and eyes the size of saucers, and b) spent the last two and a half years complaining about how long my hair took to grow out after my 11-inch freshman year coif chop. Okay? C’mon, it’s what Jesus would do.<br /><br />The usual cautionary advice: Beware of brown undertones. Use a lip brush for better texture and accuracy. Surround yourself with friends who will tell you if you have lipstick on your teeth, dammit, because who lets some fool with lipstick on her teeth wander around unawares? I think there’s a special spot reserved in Hell for that, right next to “people who kick puppies” and “people who serve Lindsay Lohan drinks.” Speaking of which: if you're going to drink wine while wearing wine, be sure to check yourself out in a hand mirror (or iPod screen...not that I've ever done that) every now and then. Not many people can pull off <a href="http://theresalduncan.typepad.com/witostaircase/images/smeared_lipstick.jpg">this</a>.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-51106090540678502692010-08-16T15:18:00.031-05:002010-08-27T20:25:42.433-05:00You're so transparent.I love being naked. I may masquerade as a clotheshorse by day, but if I’m lounging around in the privacy of my apartment, I can’t get out of my clothes fast enough. I’m not a cavewoman - I’ll throw on a robe or a pair of booty shorts out of respect for a roommate who may not be as into my body as I am - but when I live alone, there’s a good chance I’ll eat, sleep, crack my knuckles, read and re-read <i>Harry Potter</i>, check myself out in Photo Booth, practice my Beyoncé booty shake and do all of my other embarrassing secret behaviors in the buff. Going <i>au natural</i> makes me feel more in touch with my body and holds me accountable to not, you know, eating entire jars of rainbow chip frosting in one sitting (don’t judge. These things happen, y’all). Nudity can also provide a devilish confidence boost for those sure-to-be-awkward phone calls (I once nailed a job interview wearing only a watch).<br /><br />It may come as no surprise, then, that when law or common decency require me to be clothed, I tend to gravitate toward body-skimming styles that hug my so-called curves. I have the kind of proportions – little waist, long legs, childbearing hips – that sound great in theory, but don’t take to clothes nearly as well as they do to hypothetical male fantasies. Loose-fitting, androgynous styles do me no favors. The more I conceal, the bigger I look. As such, this whole sheer moment that's happening right now is particular exciting for me: I get to wear the high necks and the loose, blouse-y shapes that would otherwise send me on a one-way trip to Frumpsville without concealing the shapely silhouette that lies beneath (yep, I love me). But as I rifled through my sheer-shoaled wardrobe, I couldn't help but wonder: how does one bring spring and summer's floaty fabrics into fall?<br /><br /><center><a href="http://s171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/?action=view¤t=Picture1-4.png" target="_blank"><img src="http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/Picture1-4.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a></center><br /><br /><center><a href="http://s171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/?action=view¤t=Picture2-5.png" target="_blank"><img src="http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/Picture2-5.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a></center><br /><br /><center><a href="http://s171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/?action=view¤t=Picture3-2.png" target="_blank"><img src="http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/Picture3-2.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a></center><br /><br />This Alexander Wang chiffon sweatshirt is DY. NA. MITE. The daring can wear it over an art deco bra à la the above photo, but a bodysuit or ribbed undershirt is a swell full-coverage alternative for the wallflowers/professionals/people who occasionally eat entire jars of rainbow chip frosting in one sitting. If you choose to go the exposed tummy route, you'd better love yours, and you'd better be pretty damn sure everyone else is going to love it, too. I've also seen knockoffs at Urban and Topshop with mesh or chiffon insets on the sleeves instead of the torso, eliminating the question of whether or not to reveal the inner workings of your gastrointestinal system to the world.<br /><br />Regardless, you'll want to minimize the gap between your hemlines. Opt for a high-waisted skirt, perfectly fitted jeans (muffin tops need not apply), languid cargo pants or - whaddya know! - <a href="http://emmaaubryroberts.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-see-youre-wearing-leatherare-you-into.html">leather shorts</a>. I also recommend balancing the peekaboo sex appeal of a sheer inset with a pair of flat boots or chunky platforms.<br /><br />This is the part where most bloggers would make a crack about this look being "sheer brilliance." But I'll save you the forehead slap and the drum solo. You need that energy for shopping.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8655907101390760284.post-64857390532655712692010-08-06T08:19:00.010-05:002010-08-06T09:03:15.455-05:00I see you're wearing leather...are you into handcuffs, too?Occasionally, an item of clothing will wrangle out of me an entirely inappropriate public reaction. It usually happens when I’m killing time in a store with no intention of buying or even trying anything on and, as such, am caught off guard by an instantaneous and deeply powerful connection.<br /><br /><center><a href="http://s171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/?action=view¤t=Picture10-1.png" target="_blank"><img src="http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/Picture10-1.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a></center><br /><br /><center><a href="http://s171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/?action=view¤t=Picture9.png" target="_blank"><img src="http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/Picture9.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a></center><br /><br /><center><a href="http://s171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/?action=view¤t=00100m.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u305/thecostofclass/00100m.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a></center><br /> <br />Such was the case with these Rag & Bone shorts. I made a beeline to them from across the brand’s SoHo boutique, caressed their buttery leather between my thumb and forefinger and audibly whispered, “I want you,” in an all-too-sexual tone (much to the discomfort of the salesgirl standing two feet away from me). Not only was it my least successful seduction to date, but I was also forced to make a quick exit before I could even ask for their digits.<br /><br />To clarify: forced by my pride to exit. Fortunately, the salesgirl let it slide.<br /> <br />Having since been informed by the Interweb that their “digits” are something to the tune of $795, I’m convinced that things wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway. They do, however, make a beautiful prototype for the next item on my fall wish list: leather shorts. I first added this line item to my long-term shopping list (a novella-length, fully categorized Google doc; the short-term one is on my iPod Touch for portable shopping purposes) a full year ago. I’ve since found a couple of potentials, but haven’t until very recently made actually buying a pair a priority.<br /> <br />When it comes to a stiff and highly connotative material like leather, cut is particularly important. Spare us the leather booty shorts and (heaven forbid) leather harem pants. Straightforward, relatively modest shapes keep leather from veering too far into territory already claimed by the two B’s: bikers and bondage. These long, loose A-line shorts with their nipped-in waist strike the perfect proportion. They’re tough and sexy, but also polished. Clearly worthy of a terrible pick-up line.Emma Aubry Robertshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375613917958752695noreply@blogger.com2