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Cool In Your Code

jen — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 21:11:59 +0000

You bet I just ripped off the title of one of NYC TV’s hippest shows. But they can keep their clever concept, because I’m talking dress codes – not zips. Along with a few beauty bonus perks, my swanky new gig also came with a prescribed apparel policy: put-together, professional, and predominantly black. While the hue played right in to my usual palette, I was sort of lacking in the adult-age attire. But with a little help from my go-to online gallerias, I was able to assemble a working wardrobe that actually worked for me.

And when I’m feeling extra fierce, I like to jazz up my basics easy-bake style with man-made synthetics from Hollywood Mirror. Every modern maven needs a punchy power tie and trendy belt to secure her smart status.

Now you got it, girl. And I think I’ve got it down too. Just one quick tip for sure success: Don’t take any lip – unless it’s from New York Color (or maybe a critical client – P.S. they all are) – ’cause they know what they’re yappin’ about. N.Y.C.’s Retro Red lipstick sends me off with enough moisture and shine to make it through my dizzying day. And although they put in a lot of lab time in order to pop out these top-notch tubes, they never test their products on animals.

[$41 Liquorbrand cardigan at greasegasandglory.com, $15 cap-sleeved shirt at oldnavy.com, $39.50 low-rise trouser at delias.com, red leopard tie and silver skull belt at hollywoodmirror.com, $0.99 ultra-moist lipwear at newyorkcolor.com]

No Skirting Around The Issue

jen — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 15:30:23 +0000

So, while I’m not exactly thrilled about my 15+ pound weight gain in the last year, I’ve moved past the denial phase – you can only say, “This month I’m going to do it!” so many times before it loses all enthusiasm. It’s time to focus on a more attainable task – replenishing my wardrobe with clothes less likely to cause MP or any other circulatory condition. Aside from denim, which I did immediate damage control on, my skirt section was hit the hardest. Composed mostly of minis or pin-up pencils, I was left with very little wiggle room. On the hunt for something with the same mod rockability and more stretch, I found a colorful skull-clad gem by Lucky 13. Sans skeleton, it would easily make up for my lost essentials. But I’m always one for less sensibility and an extra ounce of audacity, anyway. My one gripe is that, although normally an online-only shopper, packing on a few pounds has made me a bit unsure of my actual size. Free exchange policy, anyone? Please? No?

[$32 at greasegasandglory.com]

The Ghost Of Purchases Past

jen — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 16:47:16 +0000

Working in such a social setting as I do, I frequently take solace in the inter-office exchange of wild weekend adventures, inappropriate jokes, and relationship drama. In fact, I’ve come to expect it. Need it, even. It’s a much desired break that pulls me away from my desk and allows my glossed over eyes a little less screen time. I’m not quite sure how or why, but last week the topic of conversation drifted away from the usual chit-chat and on to campfire tales, silly superstitions, and horror flick faves. None of these were really of much interest to me ever since I discovered Ouija boards were manufactured by Parker Brothers and actual witches were merely pagan practicioners. A scary tale skeptic? Most Definitely. Until I lived through a horror story of my own.

I was awoken early Saturday morning by a peculiar phone call. Now, I know what you’re thinking – classic When A Stranger Calls babysitter slasher story – but no… even worse. When I picked up the unknown number, I was greeted on the line by an all-too perky Bank Of America representative. She informed me that there have been an unusually copious amounts charges made with my card over the past few days. The rapid purchases and varied site visits was cause for suspicion of fraudulent activity.

A pause. Had my card been lost or stolen? Had someone swiped the number? Or was a part of a much larger scam?

As she continued on with her inquiry, she eventually asked for account verification and I, although still half asleep and hardly audible, was able to effortlessly recite debit card digits including the CVC code. And it was then, that I instantly knew where this now awkward call was going. I embarrassingly confirmed all the transactions as she very politely read down the list. My life had hit a new all-time low on the shopaholic scale of splurges. I was not a victim of credit card fraud. I was a victim of my own uncontrollable habit.

A fancy Frenchman once commented on overcoming addition, “The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.” A smart cookie, he was.

Apparently, my Lolita-Girl wearing ghost haunts me during the sleepless hours of the night. It is then, that the only sign of life in sight is the glow of my blood-red laptop and my fast-moving fingers, as my ghost compels me to click, click, click my sanity away and stuff it in a virtual shopping cart.

True story.