Light coverage.

I feel like Taio Cruz and I would really hit it off, because I, too, throw my hands up in the air sometimes.



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.



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.



I already sang the praises of sheers in my Wang sweatshirt diatribe, 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.

Shirt: Rock Revolution.
Bra: Jezebel.
Leggings: American Apparel.
Shoes: Deena & Ozzy.
Watch: Timex.
Ring: Street vendor in Astoria, Queens.
Earrings and necklace: Inherited.

Squared 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 Vogue and countless other internationally respected publications, and home of me for the last ten weeks.







(Embarrassing that I took these photos. In my defense, I did it before I was an employee.)

You've seen Ugly Betty and The Devil Wears Prada. 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.

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 winners), 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.

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.

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: Vogue 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.







I may be back in Evanston, Illinois (Chicago, let's go with Chicago), but I'm doing my best to bring a little Vogue 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.





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.

Jacket: Thrifted.
Tank: American Apparel.
Pants: Vintage Lord & Taylor.
Purse: Oroton.
Belt: Thrifted.
Shoes: Thrifted.
Earrings, necklace and watch: Inherited.

Highlight 'er.

After doing some serious thinking (and I mean serious. I am well aware that I possess neither a model-thin body nor an impressive designer wardrobe), I've decided to try my hand at outfit posts. As fun as it is to talk about fashion, sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words, and there's no way to illustrate your style without...you know...an illustration. I'm sure I'll chicken out in a week and be all NOPE, NOT CUT OUT FOR THIS. But until that day, feel free to judge me.

So it turns out it's really hard to subtly take pictures of yourself in Bryant Park. I kept at it for about a half hour before putting my tail between my legs and scampering home to Queens. I failed to get a quality full-body shot because in all my sneakiness and inexpertise passersby kept wandering into the frame, but since the high temp in New York City today was 102 (really too hot for anything other than a simple skirt and t-shirt), I was all about the accessories anyway.







This t-shirt looks yellow in these photos, but it's really more of a chartreuse-y green. It's ridiculously soft. I'm stockpiling $5 Forever 21 tees and tanks, because I wear through my nice ones in a hot second anyway (not trynna put sweat stains on no Alexander Wang). Buy them small, because they lose their shape fairly quickly.



Note the aforeplugged gray nail polish. Also, I've taken to wearing a tangle of mixed-metal chains on my watch hand so that I can wear my old school Casio (obsesh) with gold or silver accessories.



My tattoo (on the inside of my left wrist) says "this is it." It's not a Michael Jackson homage, just a reminder to be present in every moment of my life. I liked that it was three small words that only had meaning because I gave it to them. It's in my handwriting.



This guitar pick ring is one of my favorites. My mom got it for me in Italy.





I love, love, love these crazy boots. There was one pair in Urban Outfitters (a return) and it was my size. I had to have them. The wedge makes them relatively easy to walk in (I once hauled ass from Times Square to SoHo in these babies), and the bandage detailing adds a little edge to what could be a deeply uninteresting nude shoe.





Yeah, that last one was just my lunch. But it was exceptionally delicious.

T-shirt: Forever 21.
Skirt: Forever 21 (you can't really see the detailing, but it has understated ruffle gathering and a zipper across the front and actually fits beautifully. A rare F21 win).
Purse: Zara.
Shoes: Deena & Ozzy.
Sunglasses: Lou Lou boutique in Middleburg, VA.
Earrings: Forever 21 (this is hilarious. I usually hate this store).
Watch: Casio.
Necklace, chains and rings: Inherited.

Nailed it.

American Apparel is a highly polarizing company. Dov Charney is a seedy mofo, to be sure, but so are many corporate CEOs; the clothes aren't terribly high-quality, but neither are they particularly expensive (or products of child labor). I wrote Am App off as overpriced hipster bullshit until my sophomore year of college, when my wardrobe became utterly dependent on v-neck t-shirts and high-waisted jersey tulip skirts. These days, I'm more into the brand's unitards, racerback tanks and leather-look leggings, but I've found a new reason to trek over to the Upper East Side location (the closest to my Times Square office) (the alleged existence of these droves of Upper East Side hipsters who require their own American Apparel store is another question entirely):



I've been in search of a non-shimmery gray nail polish for some time now. Gray polish is decidedly trendy at the moment, but not exactly a staple you're likely to find at your local CVS (or Duane Reade) (can you tell I'm excited to be in NYC?). When I saw American Apparel's "Factory Gray" polish (shown above) at the register, I had to have it. A bottle will set you back $6 - somewhere between $1 Wet N Wild and $9 OPI (we're not even going to talk about $25 Chanel) - and appears thus far to be sufficiently quick-drying and hard-wearing. Two coats provide full coverage of a medium gray with barely perceptible lavender undertones. The color is a perfect summer alternative to the deep purples and navies that have been cropping up these past few seasons - neutral and modern, without being aggressively vampy or girly.

In general life news, today is my first day at SELF magazine. Amazeballs. I just had my first Condé Nast cafeteria experience - I've never seen so many aggressively thin and well-dressed people in one place. It even inspired me to order brown rice in my sushi. Baby steps.

Zac attac.

I've never been a fan of discount designer lines. They strike me as the epitome of buying something solely for the label attached. With the exception of Marc by Marc Jacobs (still not all that "discount") and a sprinkling of few-and-far-between successful capsule collections, I find that big-name designers usually balk when met with the inexpensive materials needed to produce at a lower price point. The result? A "designer" item that aims too high and ends up looking like just that: a cheap imitation of the real thing. The masses will buy it because it's Rodarte or whatever, but I think inexpensive clothing is best left to those who know how to handle it (H&M, Zara, Topshop). Creating discount fashion requires a simpler touch than most couturiers bring to the table.

However.









Zac Posen for Target's GO International line is one glaring exception to the rule. These four dresses are divine - they manage to capture Zac's unique flavor without looking froufrou-y or over-the-top. I would kill for the black dress with the snaps - such a flattering shape, with just the right amount of edge - and the braided belt on the lilac floral slip dress is delightfully quirky. Zac was smart to work with prints; they typically take to bargain fabrics much better than solid colors.



This lipstick tank has been hailed as the signature piece of the collection. Talk about a chic graphic tee for summer. This would pair beautifully with jean shorts, a breezy cardigan and leopard flats for weekend, as well as a tiny skirt, leather jacket and lethal heels for a night out.



This leather jacket (in "Target red") is the most expensive piece in the collection, at just under $200. It's real leather - and looks nice enough in the photograph, I suppose - but I'm wary of buying anything that costs $200 at Target. I feel like it defeats the purpose of the collection. At that point, you'd be better off saving up a little while longer and springing for a leather jacket from a more reputable brand.

There are a few other aspects of the collection that awaken my inner skeptic - a series of gold lamé swimsuits, for one (leave those to American Apparel, Zac!) - but overall, I was pleasantly surprised by what Posen had to offer. Apparently, it's not cruel enough for him to simply be woefully unattainable gay eye candy. He has to go and make me want to shop at Target, too.

Just pulling your leggings.

Ask any follower of fashion about the most controversial issue currently plaguing our nation, and chances are you won't hear some formulaic tirade on health care reform or the newly elected senator of Massachusetts. (Disclaimer: I am not trivializing these things. This is a fashion blog. You can find somewhere else to air that dirty laundry.). Instead, you'll hear a formulaic tirade on a debate that has been brewing since long before Michelle's toned arms registered a blip on our national radar: are leggings (workout staple-cum-darling of catwalk and sidewalk) a privilege, a right, or a bar none fashion faux pas?

The most interesting thing about this debate is our tendency to oversimplify it into a mere question of categorization. We all have that aggressively opinionated friend (Deanna): "I don't care how skinny you are. Leggings are not pants. They just aren’t." I hate to break it to you, haters, but leggings are pants. Dictionary.com defines pants as "an outer garment for covering the body from the waist to the ankles, divided into sections to fit each leg separately," so by definition, leggings are an acceptable pants substitute. You heard it here: leggings are literally pants. Case closed.

But the question, then, takes a far more inward turn: should I wear leggings? Is it in my best interests (and the best interests of the innocent bystanders who are going to have to look at me all day) to do so? It would be ridiculous to say that pants with tapered ankles aren't pants, or that pants a size too small for you aren't pants. But do I recommend that the unfettered masses take those looks out for a spin? Hell no. The key to looking chic has always been to wear what flatters your body, and leggings happen to offer a little less leeway than, say, an A-line skirt or a pair of straight-legged jeans.

So let’s instead define that boundary with a simple litmus test. Stand up. Jog a few steps. If you can feel the cushiony part of your rump bounce independently from the rest of your body, the only place you should be wearing leggings is to the gym. (And that’s not to say your lady lumps aren’t hot. Is Christina Hendricks gorgeous? Duh. Does she run around in leggings? No, and to her credit.) The line is a fuzzy one: in-between territory can be tough (holla atcha, sixes!) and becomes more of a matter of confidence. If you think you “can’t pull off” leggings as pants, you probably can’t. If you have a feeling you just might be able to rock the look, wear them with heels for a little extra lift.

Having said all this, I love the look of leggings when worn appropriately (that is, with a shirt that’s not a crop top; the ‘80s may be back in vogue, but they are definitely over). Like skinny jeans, leggings provide an excuse to play with more billowy upper-body proportions, and, as such, pair well with the boyfriend shirts/tees/jackets we’ve been seeing these past few seasons. Texture is another variable ripe for experimentation (I’m a major proponent of the Shiny Leggings from American Apparel in Lamé Matte Black; their visage hovers somewhere between leather and sparkly mica). As for spring's jeggings? Use your judgment. Personally, I think jeans and leggings are great, but I’d rather wear them separately. Don't all those seams and rivets look lumpy in such a tight cut?

I’ll leave you with a few inspiration shots from "collective fashion consciousness" Lookbook.nu. For day:







For night:





And for weekend:







However, even by modern standards, wearing leggings to the office might be a bit of a stretch.

Quizically yours.

I skimp when buying:
...Tights? Let's be real here, I'm not much of a skimper.

I splurge when buying:
Underwear, perfume, make-up, high heels. Any clothing item I can justify to myself. So everything, really.

I always break this fashion rule:
Wearing black and brown together. Wearing black and navy together.

I never break this fashion rule:
Wearing a Canadian tuxedo that matches my significant other's.



Must-have item for Summer 2009:
Metallic gladiators, navy men's blazer, multi-chain necklace, tons of v-neck t-shirts. Jersey dresses in every color of the rainbow.

Favorite store:
H&M. Urban. American Apparel. Any boutique or vintage shop.

Style icon:
Carrie Bradshaw (not to be confused with Sarah Jessica Parker).

Most cherished accessory:
Gold necklace with tiny sun charm, cubic zirconium stud earrings, emerald and citrine cocktail rings - all courtesy of my late and terrifically elegant French grandmother, Jeannette Cavalier.

Favorite item of clothing:
Red Keds, watercolor Matty M top with braided neckline, any of my 1950s prom dresses from eBay.

Favorite "fashion-y" movie:
The Devil Wears Prada.

Guilty pleasure:
Black high-waisted skirts. I own at least four.

Describe your personal style:
Girly and eclectic.

I feel best wearing...
A day dress with platform heels.

Personal style quirk:
Wearing a broken watch.

Most overrated item:
Crocs. I don't care how comfortable they are: you look like a dumbass.

Most underrated item:
A great skin-colored torture thong.

Most stylish city:
Paris.

When I was high school I wore...
Freshman year: Pretty minis, my cropped jean jacket and a side ponytail with a hair ribbon.
Sophomore year: Lots of sparkly clothes that were in retrospect entirely inappropriate for daytime.
Junior year: Victorian tops. Preppy classics. Cowboy boots.
Senior year: Vintage dresses with black footless tights and ballet flats.

Shine your own shoes?
Never. But I've colored scuffed toes with a Sharpie.

Favorite fashion magazine:
Harper's Bazaar and Elle.

Perfume:
Betsey Johnson for spring and summer, Tocca "Stella" for fall, and Lolita Lempicka "L de Lolita Lempicka" for winter. All of which are composed of some combination of orange and musk/praline/vanilla. At least I'm consistent.

I always dress my best for...
Whenever I know that cameras will be present.

Stars + stripes = solid colors?

Painstakingly assembled outfits are great for those days when your first class happens to be at noon. But when you just pulled an epic all-nighter/you're addicted to the snooze button/you knocked back one too many at the Mark II Lounge last night, it's always a safe bet to default to good old American classics.



No time for make-up? Not a problem. Hide those puffy eyes behind a pair of sassy aviators. While you might get a couple of funny looks if you insist on wearing them all through lecture, your dignity will at least be safe in the walk to and from Kresge. Until you can save up for the Ray-Bans you've been dreaming of, this $5.80 pair from Forever 21 should do just fine (when buying low-end sunglasses, bear in mind that a label-less pair will always look chicer than cheesy rhinestones or unconvincing knock-offs).



If you asked me what clothing item I couldn't live without, I would sing the praises of the white American Apparel v-neck t-shirt. Classic cut, deep v-neck, organic cotton - I own about ten varieties, and I wear them to shreds monthly. With a high-waisted skirt and heels to go out. With jeans and a blazer for class. With nylon shorts at the gym. With colorful panties to sleep in. While the white ones are my favorites, I am gradually expanding my collection...





The latest bone of contention: acid wash or tri-blend?



Any jeans enthusiast will defend her brand to the death. My latest denim obsession? The J. Crew Matchstick. With a cut that's slightly more forgiving than your typical skinny jean, the Matchstick is well-suited to a Saturday night out and brunch the next morning.



And few things deserve to be treasured more highly than a pair of shoes that serves both form and function. The new Keds Champion, available in every color from plum to pumpkin, is the perfect accessory to give your uniform a splash of color. I just ordered these red ones online, and you can bet I'll be watching the mail room with an eagle eye for the next 5-10 business days.