Oil slick.

I hated this year's spring fashion shows.

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"? Orange. 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.

That's it. Nobody else.

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 individual!), 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.



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' "Factory Gray", 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.







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 this or this, either.

Metallics: not just for Lil Jon and the Macy's holiday windows. Who knew? Nobody, not one person.

And just because it seemed somewhat relevant to the petroleum-streaked samples above, I thought I'd throw in this editorial from Vogue Italia'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 wait, is Kristen McMenamy really imitating a choking pelican? - 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.

Kitchens aren't just for making messes.

I've always relished being a sort of anti-domestic diva. I blame Sex and the City. 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.

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.

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 La Vie en Recipes for my non-lethal creations.

Matchmaker Truffles (Where Cake Meets Candy)







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.

1 box cake mix (any flavor) and whatever ingredients it calls for (usually oil and eggs)
1 jar store-bought frosting (again, flavor of your choice)
1 package semisweet baking morsels or confectioner's coating
Sprinkles

1. Bake cake as directed. Allow to cool for 30 minutes.
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).
3. Roll into bite-size balls, handling as quickly as possible. Freeze for at least an hour.
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.

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.

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:



Instead of this:



Equally yummy, but not nearly as giftable. And trust me...you won't want to eat all six dozen of these yourself.

New at Urban! Or, Fashion Week for the broke.

As amusing as it is to click through endless runway slideshows on Style.com, and as tantalizing as it is to live vicariously through personal style bloggers and their insane designer wardrobes, and as thrilling as it is to know that streams of fancy fashionistas have descended on Bryant Park Lincoln Center (I will never get over this) for Fashion Week...sometimes a girl needs a fix that's a bit closer to her own reality.

The Urban Outfitters spring catalog has arrived. Talk about catharsis. So much has been written on the subject of seasonal depression that I'm hesitant to add generic fuel to the fire, but having spent three months feeling chubby, pasty, and depressed, I'm thrilled to welcome airy sundresses - or at least trenches and open-toed shoes - back into my sartorial psyche.





I saw these two dresses and instantly knew I had to have them. My back is my favorite part of my body, so rear cutouts, scoops and detailing have become a mainstay of my personal style (see here and here). I've been waiting to debut them once the weather gets a bit more cooperative/my body deflates from three months of hibernation, but just knowing that they're hanging in my closet makes life - wait for it - a little sunnier.



Boyfriend khakis have catapulted to the top of my spring shopping list. I'll probably try my luck at Village Discount with somebody's real boyfriend's cast-offs first, but the slim cut and lack of baggy crotch on these has me sorely tempted.





Stripes. They somehow manage to be classic and quirky all at once. It's the combination of a gamine print in a feminine cut that makes these two cardigans so appealing.





High-waisted skirts are timelessly pretty and flattering for all body types. And for the tomboys among us:



Flirty shorts present an alternative perfect for sprinting down the beach. Love the vintage-inspired clutch, too!



This is what I imagine Carrie Bradshaw wears to bed.



A camera case that isn't masculine, utilitarian, or both?! You could probably fit your lip gloss, license, and keys in there, too.





Much like this season's clothes, this season's bags are slouchy and neutral. Soft leather, linen, and canvas reign supreme.

And every girl needs:



A French terry pullover.





A breezy white camisole.



And a fabulous khaki trench to wear year after year.

Season's greetings!

McQueen has McQuit.

Designer Lee McQueen (of Alexander McQueen) was found dead today in an apparent suicide.

I often feel that celebrity deaths are blown out of proportion. Maybe it's because I don't completely buy into pop culture, but I have a hard time feeling anything beyond an initial "Wow...really?" when I hear about another "tragic" celebrity death. Of course it's difficult for the families, but no more difficult than it is for any other family going through a personal loss. If anything makes semi-public grieving a harder pill to swallow, it's the paparazzi. Not the loss itself. All human lives end with equal gravity.

For the greater population, the only thing we have the right to mourn, the only thing that gives us the right to tweet en masse about the "tragedy" of it all, is the loss of potential. That I understand. It's the unexpected yanking away of an artist who could have turned out a work with such innovation and power to inspire that we will unknowingly suffer for not having seen it come to fruition. Heath Ledger, for example. Brilliant actor at the peak of his career. Heath Ledger's death was tragic. I realize that what I'm about to say will be controversial, but: Michael Jackson? He was the King of Pop. He changed American music immeasurably. But he lived a life full of self-hatred and public controversy. He hadn't put out a record in almost a decade, and even that was negligible in its musical impact. I would never say that Michael's life wasn't worth commemorating - even celebrating - but that, at least, felt a bit more like how things were supposed to end.

Anyway. I would be lying if I said that McQueen was one of my favorite designers, but as someone who has always applauded people who take risks over people who achieve so-called "perfection" (I mean, my style icon is fictional fashion nutjob Carrie Bradshaw), I think that his loss to the artistic community is a great one. Dubbed l'enfant terrible for his outspoken nature and his theatrical, risk-embracing approach to fashion design, he consistently brought fresh perspective to an industry that largely makes its buck off of recycled ideas. What takes the tragedy of McQueen's death to a whole new level is, of course, its supposed nature. Having dealt personally with losing friends to suicide, I never find the notion of it any easier to wrap my head around.

No one should ever feel like they have no other option.



I don't follow Alexander McQueen closely enough to give comprehensive highlights of his career, but this tulle and tartan confection is always the first thing that springs to mind when I hear his name (that's the designer himself posing with Sarah Jessica Parker). It's a little out there, but without question one of the more memorable red carpet looks of the '00s. If you'd like a bit more insight into McQueen's aesthetic, watch the "Bad Romance" video: Gaga is clad almost entirely in McQueen throughout.

Rest in peace, Lee McQueen. You will be dearly missed by the fashion community. All the best to your friends and family.

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.