Fake 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.

Then, at an undisclosed point in the past week, my blog's title became wildly inaccurate.



And I joined the mighty legions of the bottle brunettes.

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 real, 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 (in a good way). 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.

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.









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.



Sweater: Salvatore Ferragamo.
Dress: I Love H81.
Tights: L'Eggs.
Shoes: Zara.
Headband: Aldo.
Earrings: H&M.

La Parisienne.

I love everything French. (Okay, not French dressing. I’m actually morally opposed to salad dressing. Don’t get me started.) I took five years of Spanish in middle and high school after being told it would be more useful in the "real world" (attention to all those with aspirations in a fashion-related industry: this is a lie), but I’m one-eighth French and exceedingly proud of it. When it comes to design, food and general worldview (okay, maybe not military tactics), there’s no denying that the French know best.

No surprise, then, that I spritzed on my YSL Parisienne perfume this morning and left my apartment feeling decidedly fierce.





If I'm going out, I usually strap on a cute balconette bra under this dress and embrace the cleavage buffet approach. For work, I layered it over a lace tank to make the ensemble a tad more office-appropes. Even Condé Nast has its limits.



If you're into this look, you would die over Paris-based Denni Elias's blog, Chicmuse. She's all about the legs, lips and massive platforms (and even heart-shaped sunglasses in her latest post). Her charming, quirky style is one of my favorite pools to dip into when I need a little style inspiration. Or workout inspiration. Those legs. No homo.

Tank: Kimchi Blue.
Dress: Kimchi Blue.
Shoes: BCBGirls.
Sunglasses: H&M.
Bracelet: Gifted.
Ring: Inherited.

Dyed and tied.

I had planned on taking a timeout from my rampant narcissism this weekend (to resume on Monday with the work week, duhzies), but then the best thing ever happened. I left to buy groceries this morning to find ten blocks of carnival outside my door. Not one to shy away from an opportunity to ogle one-of-a-kind pieces (or haggle with street vendors), I made a beeline for the nearest ATM and took a few laps to see what the local artisans had to offer. Sure enough, I left an hour and a half later with a funky straw hat, a leather fanny pack in the perfect shade of tobacco, a fistful of hand-painted rings, a beautiful Indian wrap skirt that can be tied 21 different ways, and this dress:





So into the unexpected combo of lilac and orange. I've been wanting a tie-dye dress for a while now, and this one will make for perfect weekend thrifting/poolside lounging attire.

Dress: Street vendor in Astoria, Queens.
Hat: H&M.
Earrings: Forever 21.
Ring: Street vendor in Astoria, Queens.
Cuff: Inherited.

Floral terrace.

Just as I was emotionally preparing myself for a summer of awkward lurking in Bryant Park, it dawned on me. I have a balcony. Well, a fire escape. I've always had a thing for fire escapes. They're this magical fusion between two of my favorite things: cities and being outside. So suck it, haters. It's a balcony. This girl's got a room with a view.

Today was a day for gray-on-gray and floral hipster glasses.







It took a while for the fashion industry to sell me on sweats as a fashion statement, but it happened. Much like how I'm now slowly but surely developing an affinity for clogs (blame it on Miu Miu). These H&M high-waisted jersey harem pants were the straw that broke this camel's back.



The white, yellow and rose gold bracelet in the middle is my all-time fave. Delicate and feminine, yet subtly unexpected.



Bodysuit: Forever 21.
Pants: H&M.
Shoes: Deena & Ozzy.
Glasses: Street vendor in East Village.
Watch: Casio.
Earrings, rings and bracelets: Gifted or inherited.

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.