Tag Archives: Carrie Bradshaw

One Man’s Holy Mess Is Another Woman’s Harmony

8 Aug

Whenever I am at a loss for words for my blog, I can guarantee that if I watch one or two episodes of Sex and the City, it will stir something inside me. Something I can relate to, agree with or have just plain lived though. Last night was no exception. In a late night episode, Carrie Bradshaw was faced with a situation that many fashionista women are faced with at some time in their life—what is more important: the love of their beauty ensemble or the love of their beau?

In Season 4’s episode, “The Good Fight”, Carrie’s boyfriend Aidan moves into her not-so-large NYC apartment with all his “stuff”. The clutter is more than Carrie can handle, as she has liked her apartment the way it had been for several single-girl years. Aidan suggests that, to free up some room, she should clean out her closet of the clothes and shoes she hasn’t worn in a while. Carrie gasps and is at a loss for words after such a REPULSIVE suggestion. I mean, even I know that fashion is her life, her safe haven. But her country-boy beau doesn’t understand and he recommends she could start by throwing out a vintage Roberto Cavalli dress he has never seen her wear. Are you kidding? A Roberto Cavalli? Even 20 years past its peak, this dress needs to be in Carrie’s closet. Hell, it needs to be in MY closet! Carrie keeps the dress, and out of spite, wears the outdated frock out the next day. And she looks FABULOUS in it!

I’m a little different than Carrie. I’m not a single girl living in Manhattan with her friends. I’m a happily married mom living in the ‘Burbs who’s been with her hubby for over 15 years (anniversary is next week!). But as our relationship continues to grow—as well as our kids—we keep accumulating things together. So in addition to my fashion finds over the years, not just my personal space but all free space in the house is quickly filling up with… well, “stuff”. My stuff, his stuff, their stuff. Lots and lots of stuff.

As a woman, I admit it…. it’s difficult to part with our glamour. I’m not talking just clothes either—I mean everything. Hats, scarves, makeup, perfume, jewelry, coats, purses, shoes (especially shoes!), you name it. It all has a place in our lives–either in the past or in the future. Not to mention, if it has been worn even just once? It now has a memory attached to it. And it needs to be saved. Period. Even if it is 20 years out of style, we will know when it was worn and can justify its place in our closet. It’s kind of like how men are with their cars. Yeah, see, their cars are their “girls”, their babies. They can tell you when they got it, every place they have taken it, and everyone who has ever ridden it. They know how the stain got on the front seat, how the minor dent in the back quarter panel got there, and who knocked the mirror off the door. It doesn’t matter if it is 20 years old, doesn’t run, is up on blocks in the driveway, and has parts hanging from underneath. They will tell you they can not get rid of that car. Their reason? “I love that car! It’s my car. It is going to be a classic someday.” Well let me tell ya, fellas… your classic is our vintage. THAT is why we need to keep all of the stuff in our closet. And don’t you forget it!

Whenever I see someone walking down the street in a neon yellow shirt, black stacked bracelets with a lace bow in their hair, I think about how I owned every one of those things back in 1984 because they were in style. Do I have them still? No. Why? I moved from home and never thought myself… let alone my daughter!… would ever be wearing those things again because they the thought they would come back in fashion seemed obscene. Boy was I wrong! And I don’t like to be wrong. Therefore, some of the items in my closet might be moved to a less accessible area due to not-so-current styles. But unless I find a flock of moths has eaten half of my Bebe tee (including the sequins), it will never have a reason to be disposed of. It takes up the space of a juice glass in my room. Not the space of 200 cases of juice glasses in the driveway.

So, even though I do understand how men feel about their cars, I’ve got to say us women are the winners on this argument. Just like Carrie was. Our “stuff” doesn’t take up THAT much space. Yeah, don’t throw our fashion items out. Don’t even think about it. In fact?… don’t ever, ever suggest it. Oh, and when you can hang your 1994 new body-styled Mustang on your side of the closet next to your dress shirts without a space problem?…then and only then…can you compare them to my Guess? jeans!

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Sex And Whose City?

16 Dec

After many long awaited months, I set aside some time this week to kick and watch the movie that has been on my “must see” list since all its hype came out. I hit the purchase button on my pay-per-view remote and watched “Sex and the City”. With a box of tissues in one hand and a stack of style magazines in the other, I sat glued on the couch watching every minute. And, just as predicted, it only took five minutes into the movie before I started to get the fashion itch. I saw dresses, jewelry, shoes and handbags that were beyond chic. Full skirted floral dresses with eccentric pins. Blue Manolo Blahnik stilettos with jeweled pointed toes. Drapes of pearls and chandelier earrings accessorizing thrift store finds to bring about a whole new trend. Even the makeup was natural yet stunning.

Immediately my mind began racing with vivid images of my own closet and what little add-ons I could infuse to get these trendy looks. I wanted to bring the marvel of Manhattan to my little Upstate New York town. The definition of “going to the city” where I live means driving to the Mall in my state’s capital, Albany. I wanted more. I wanted my area to know that Vera wasn’t just the waitress on Alice and Oscar was not always a grouch. Even with my full-time job as a Domestic Goddess, I know I could bring designer beauty to the ‘burbs.

fendiI took some time and read over articles which featured interviews with Patricia Field and Rebecca Weinberg, the fashion designers for “Sex and the City”. I browsed through stacks of Elle, Vogue and InStyle. Flip after flip, I looked for something I could pull off with my closet and my budge. After careful looking, I found a picture of a stick-thin blonde model wearing an outfit that I practically had in my closet right then. A pastel sweater with a plunging low collar, a pair of cropped pants, stiletto boots, and a long strand of pearls all topped off with a bold, short denim jacket. Of course mine was probably seven grand cheaper, but no matter. I had city chic in my walk-in and I was taking it to the streets.

The next day I had an appointment in the city… my city… and decided to wear my new ensemble. I had so much fun dressing. I did my hair in rollers. I applied my makeup with sheer precision. Never in a million years would have ever thought of putting this look together on my own. That would have been a risk and I tend to play it safe. But to be a Sex-ette I had to be a fashion risk taker. Decked out and ready to go, I grabbed my mini clutch and headed for the door. See, right away I have problems. I quickly realize a clutch does not hold a date book. A clutch does not hold a bottle of Motrin. A clutch does not hold a wallet complete with checkbook, supermarket discount cards and pictures of my kids. A clutch barely holds a lip gloss, cell phone and a full-sized pen. So now I need to put my other necessary items in a Wal-Mart bag just to keep in my car for when I am not carrying my clutch. My fashion statement is quickly turning into a fashion mumble. “I can still do this”, I tell myself. “I can still be the fashion diva that would make Carrie Bradshaw proud.”

Twenty minutes, five disco songs and one lip gloss touch up later, I arrived at my destination. I gave myself the final once-over as I grabbed my clutch and headed in to my appointment. Now, here’s the kicker. My appointment wasn’t in the local mall that houses all the trendy playgrounds like Macy’s, Sephora and NY & Co. It was next door to that mall at a medical professional building, complete with a designer blood lab and outpatient surgical center. No matter. Even if I was asked to model the one-size-does-not-fit-all paper gown, at least I had good shoes for it. With a smile on my face and my posture tight, I walked into the building. It took me all of one milli-second to realize I had gone beyond the lines of what my big city was ready for in regards to fashion. I felt like I had just stepped out of the Delorean in “Back to the Future”. I was a space alien in heels. People looked at me like I was walking with a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. A runway-length piece of toilet paper. I wasn’t really sure if my look shocked people because it was fashion like they had never seen before or because people only wore this stuff when they hit the clubs at night. Or maybe I truly did look like odd man out. Whatever they were thinking, it was obvious they were unprepared to see a “SATC “look live and in person.

I pulled out my magazine when I got in the reception room to make sure I didn’t mix and match the wrong items to create an outfit that would be featured as a “What Not To Wear” photo online with a fuzzed bar over my eyes. Nope, I had nailed the look right down. Even though the twenty-something receptionist drooled over my purse and my physician, who is approximately ten years older than me called my outfit “fashion forward”, I realized I would never be able to bring the eclectic looks of my favorite TV show to the streets of my town. Most of my fellow city gals and suburbanites were classy and chic but when it came to their fashions, “risk” was still a four-letter word. Of course, some females did attempt to push the envelope at times with sky-high heels and bold colors. Who are these Gucci gurus? Middle schoolers. And I KNOW they aren’t watching my show. (I hope they aren’t watching my show!) I guess I’ll just have to take things slow and infuse my “Sex and the City” clothes into my town with ease. It will be like getting into a pool… one (peep) toe at a time.