The only thing better than blue velvet? Red velvet [cake, in my belly].

My Balmain-meets-Chanel look for New Year's Eve '09:











Let's talk resolutions. In theory, they're positive, allowing us to imagine happier, healthier, more successful versions of ourselves. But all too often, resolutions stem from somewhere a little less bright and shiny: nagging reminders of our dissatisfaction with the way we already are, of our failures thus far. Even today, as I sat down to write my annual manifesto of self-improvement, I found myself zoning in on my shortcomings rather than the many ways I've grown (or literally shrank) in the past year.

So if I can say one thing to everyone who passes through this blog (thank you so much, by the way, for reading), it's this: forgive yourself. January 1 might be just another date on the calendar, but using it as an excuse to start fresh isn't silly or quixotic. Set goals. Set deadlines. And if you can only stand to make one resolution, make it this: start believing that you're the shit. If you ever come to a point where there's nothing about you that needs improvement, you're in trouble. My girl Miley said it best this year. It's all about the climb.

Some major changes to La Vie en Ginger are in the works; most notably, more personal style posts (read: self-indulgent photographs) and more frequent updates. I love hearing from people who actually read this thing, so keep the feedback coming. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you want to hear more of. Tell me why ain't nothing but a heartache/ain't nothing but a mistake/I never wanna hear you say "I want it that way," (seriously, Nick Carter, what happened to you?).

Happy new year! I hope your night sparkled like fireworks.

Dress: Topshop (Bought it!).
Tights: L'eggs.
Shoes: Dollhouse.
Necklaces and ring: Inherited.

Bodycon-oisseur.

In fifth grade, my favorite outfit was as follows: a lime green crushed velvet boatneck worn with leopard-print pants (both from Limited Too, duh) and a cropped leather jacket.

Today, at age 20, I am at this moment drooling over: a midnight blue crushed velvet bodycon dress worn with a leopard-print silk scarf (both from Topshop, duh) and a cropped leather jacket.

That's right, bitches. Velvet is back, and with none of the prissiness it had in the '90s. You can thank Balmain's Christophe Decarnin (the man who singlehandedly revived the shoulder pad) for its new incarnation: curve-hugging bodycon dresses made for nights out in Arctic conditions.



Controversial fabric aside - I adore velvet, personally, but I understand if you've filed it away with platform Skechers and popcorn shirts - let's talk about the cut. While bodycon dressing does require a degree of general fitness and proportionality, a slim-cut silhouette is far less intimidating than you might imagine. There may not be much of a margin for poochiness, but there's also no extra bulk added by the fabric, so if you've got confidence (and a reasonably flat stomach) there's no reason you can't pull it off. Long sleeves and a short hemline mean that allure needn't come at the cost of warmth; your gams will be just as catcall-worthy under a pair of black tights (choose sheer, not opaque, for maximum exposure).



If velvet's not your scene, epaulets provide an equally up-to-the-minute embellishment. They're like the Kate Bosworth of shoulder pads: kind of frail and spindly, but not unattractive. Am I right? Am I right?

Whatever. Both dresses make me want to sit in a swanky city bar and sip amaretto hot chocolate as I watch snow fall through a picture window. Now if only I had a Nate Archibald (or a Trip Vanderbilt) to keep my Serena van der Woodsen company...