There’s a certain sect of fashion design that has tapped into the rather lucrative and popular oeuvre of traditional artists. By that I mean taking from Van Gogh, Piet Mondrian, Gustav Klimt, Monet, and so on.
There are few films or shows that inspire me immediately to change my look.
Everyone once in awhile I watch certain films or shows and get an itching, uncontrollable urge to exude a style or a character. Sometimes it’s an entire outfit, sometimes it’s a makeup look, and sometimes it’s an air.
The internet is all abuzz at the prospect of sweater weather, as it is commonly called.
And all the “basic” types, as they are called, slink out from under flower crowns to slide into chunky knits and drink what shouldn’t be called a latte but is still dubbed as such; the pumpkin spiced latte.
(We all know it’s just liquified sugar, with nary a pumpkin in sight.)
It’s time for another episode of Unsolicited Styling Advice from Claire!
With all the beautiful colors in the world, all the hues and the variety of fabrics, I still find myself clad head-to-toe in black.
Style is as unique as it is a total sham. We copy, we remix, and we take from those in the spotlight, people otherwise known as style icons.
Labor day was yesterday and it struck me that I did not remotely know what Labor day was for and why we had it off.
So of course I googled it and scored through a few sources to bust that mystery open (if it’s still a mystery to you.)
If you’re a lover of old things and vintage finds (or thrift ones, at that) then you might know that your mother’s closet is golden.
Or your dad’s.
I want to show you what my mother gave me and not the kind usually referred to in songs okay?
When I travel somewhere I have the opposite sort of social media presence that most people do. This is not to say that one trumps the other, but that in the midst of being in another place I notice I don’t keep up with my phone as normal.
First, it must be said, that the prospect of posing for photos can be difficult for me. You’ll have to bear with me as I try to come to terms with that bizarre bashfulness. I don’t know what I’m doing.
In high school I had a rather astonishing promise that I made to myself: I would never wear the same outfit twice. I did not and, even when I wore the same clothing combination, I would switch up accessories or shoes or the little tucks and folds here and there.